Based on Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus by Mary Shelley
Produced by: Maggie Gyllenhaal, Emma Tillinger Koskoff, Talia Kleinhendler, Osnat Handelsman-Keren, etc.
Main cast: Jessie Buckley, Christian Bale, Peter Sarsgaard, Annette Bening, Penelope Cruz, Jake Gyllenhaal, etc.
Cinematography by Lawrence Sher
** May Contain Spoilers **
Maggie Gyllenhaal’s THE BRIDE! (2026) is a film bursting with ideas—sometimes thrillingly so, sometimes to its own detriment. Drawing inspiration from Bride of Frankenstein (1935) and ultimately Mary Shelley’s seminal novel, Frankenstein, Gyllenhaal transplants the myth into a Gothic vision of 1930s Depression-era America, filtered through the anarchic spirit of outlaw cinema like Bonnie and Clyde (1967) and Natural Born Killers (1994). The result is frequently intoxicating. The film opens with an inspired flourish—Mary Shelley herself narrating from beyond the grave—immediately signalling the director’s playful ambition. Visually, the film is extraordinary: lavish period design, smoky Gothic textures, and a lurid romanticism that feels both classic Hollywood and defiantly post-modern.
At the centre of the mayhem is Jessie Buckley, delivering yet another unforgettable performance. Her ‘Bride’ is feral, seductive, and volatile—an electrifying feminist creature of impulses and contradictions. Buckley plays her with a kind of joyous unpredictability, veering between danger, sexuality, and sudden jolts of manic dialogue that feel almost Tourette-like in their intensity. Opposite her, Christian Bale lends gravitas as her monstrous partner, and together they rampage across a mythicised America in a lovers-on-the-run narrative that often feels gleefully unhinged.
Yet for all its invention, THE BRIDE! (2026) often collapses under the sheer weight of its ambitions. Gyllenhaal’s screenplay seems determined to juggle too many ideas at once—meta-narration, Gothic tragedy, outlaw romance, and genre pastiche—without giving any one of them the structural discipline they require. The direction follows suit, veering between tones so abruptly that the film begins to feel atonal rather than daring. Key twists arrive with little groundwork, leaving major emotional beats feeling strangely hollow.
By the final act, the film’s wild energy begins to resemble narrative confusion. Plot holes emerge, character motivations blur, and revelations arrive as pure payoff without the careful setup that might have made them land. It leaves an odd lingering question: was this an $80 million piece of audacious cinematic art, or an extravagant misfire? Perhaps it is a little of both—a fascinating, chaotic vision whose brilliance flashes intermittently through the fog of its own excess.
Main cast: Rachel McAdams, Dylan O’Brien, Edyll Ismail, Xavier Samuel, Chris Pang, Dennis Haysbert, etc.
Cinematography by Bill Pope
** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS **
Having watched the trailer for survivalist horror-comedy, Send Help (2025), starring Rachel McAdams and Dylan O’Brien, I thought the blend of bloody chaos and desert island class warfare was right up my street, well, beach. But when I knew one of my favourite directors, Sam Raimi, and film composers, Danny Elfman, were involved, I realized it was not just a recommendation but a personal summons to the cinema.
Send Help (2025), takes inspiration and feels spiritually indebted to the extended final act island meltdown of Triangle of Sadness (2022). But this is an all the more riotous, funny and gory battle of survival. Overlooked for promotion by new-CEO-son-of-deceased-boss, Bradley Preston (O’Brien), Linda Liddle – a fantastic McAdams – is full of downtrodden and bubbling rage. Preston, an arrogant, apparent-alpha wants to sack her, but the business needs her prodigious work ethic for an upcoming business summit to Bangkok. Following an exhilarating plane crash set-piece, that Raimi rinses brilliantly for suspense and surprises, the two become the only survivors. With Linda armed with survival knowledge, and Preston’s leg smashed, the tables, in terms of power, are turned, resulting in all manner of twisted, mental and bodily torture.
What starts as survival thriller territory quickly mutates into full-blown horror farce, complete with makeshift weapons, crustacean poison, tropical storms, shifting power dynamics, and the kind of escalating insanity that feels one chainsaw away from Evil Dead 2 (1987) territory. Not only do the horror beats land, but the tit-for-tat power struggle and verbal sparring between Linda and Preston also heighten the the conflict and dramatic stakes. Indeed, Linda inhabits the alpha-hunter role on the island, culminating in a bloodening and sacrificial slaying of a wild boar. Preston, once he is on his feet, is keen to even up the power balance and challenges Linda’s authority in a desperate attempt to get off the island.
McAdams and O’Brien’s combative chemistry on-screen adds to the enjoyment and at one point I even wondered if Raimi and the screenwriters were going to redeem their battle with a potential romance. Instead they double and triple down on the twisted violence in the final act to much eye-gouging hilarity. Lastly, like Triangle of Sadness (2022), the film weaponizes the underdog’s survival against privilege, flips hierarchies and skewers toxic masculinity in the process. The final act becomes particularly frantic, pushing the horror genre framework, and the class satire into a brilliant pay-off of Linda’s ascendant arc. This ensures Send Help (2026) launches a flare into the sky as an early contender for one of my favourite films of the year.
Screenplay by Chloé Zhao & Maggie O’Farrell – Based on Hamnet by Maggie O’Farrell Produced by Liza Marshall, Pippa Harris, Nicolas Gonda, Steven Spielberg & Sam Mendes Main cast: Jessie Buckley, Paul Mescal, Emily Watson, Joe Alwyn, David Wilmot, Jacobi Jupe, Olivia Lynes, etc.
Cinematography by Łukasz Żal
There are actors who impress, and then there is Jessie Buckley, who seems to detonate the screen every time she appears. From the feral menace and vulnerability of Beast (2017) to the raw, soul-baring musical grit of Wild Rose (2018), Buckley has proven herself fearless; from the existential unravelling of I’m Thinking of Ending Things (2020) to her razor-sharp, unclassifiable turn in Fargo (2020) – Season 4, and the aching restraint of Fingernails (2023), her work consistently redefines what emotional truth on screen can look like. Now, with an earth-shattering rendition of Agnes Shakespeare in Hamnet (2025), Buckley doesn’t just command attention—she claims her place as one of the most electrifying actors of her generation.
Hamnet (2025) is an adaptation of Maggie O’Farrell’s critically acclaimed novel is a quietly thunderous piece of cinema—one that chooses intimacy over spectacle and emotion over mythology. At its core is the relationship between Agnes and William Shakespeare, charted from their first, tentative connection through marriage, parenthood, and the fractures that emerge when love collides with loss and ambition.
The film is less concerned with the legend of Shakespeare than with the human beings behind it: a scholar and poet struggling to find his literary voice, set against Agnes, a woman of the land and forest, spiritually attuned to nature, instinct, and ritual. Their romance blooms in the space between these worlds, with Agnes’s chanting communion with the natural world acting as an unspoken counterpoint to Will’s search for language and form.
Director Chloé Zhao brings her signature elegance and patience to the material, allowing moments to breathe and emotions to surface organically. Her collaboration with cinematographer Łukasz Żal results in imagery that feels almost painterly—soft, natural light spilling across interiors and fields, rendering the English countryside as something tactile and alive. Every frame seems steeped in earth, wind, and time, reinforcing the film’s grounding in the physical and the elemental.
At the centre of it all is Jessie Buckley, delivering a stunningly embodied performance as Agnes. Her work is raw, intuitive, and deeply moving—she plays grief not as a single rupture but as a living force that reshapes the body and spirit. Paul Mescal brings a quiet intelligence and aching restraint to William, capturing the tension between domestic devotion and creative restlessness, while the incredible, Jacobi Jupe, as the young son, Hamnet, adds genuine emotional resonance, grounding the family dynamic with heart-breaking sincerity.
Hamnet (2025) is ultimately a powerhouse drama about family, grief, and the curative—often painful—power of the creative process. It understands art not as triumph but as transformation, something born from love and loss in equal measure. My one reservation is a personal one: I found myself wanting more of Shakespeare’s journey in London and his struggle toward theatrical success and subsequent writing on the classic, Hamlet. But this absence is deliberate and understandable. The film is weighted toward the emotional interiority of Agnes’s experience, and in centring her perspective—so exquisitely rendered by Buckley—Hamnet (2025) finds its true, devastating strength.
Main Cast: Joaquin Phoenix, Pedro Pascal, Luke Grimes, Deirdre O’Connell, Micheal Ward, Austin Butler and Emma Stone. Cinematography by Darius Khondji
*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***
Ari Aster’s first two horror films, Hereditary (2018) and Midsommar (2019) were rightly critically acclaimed and delivered at the box office too. His third film Beau is Afraid (2023) was a flop when compared and in my view not surprising. The film was arguably, depending on your view, a hilarious, risk-taking arthouse tragi-comedy or a self-indulgent act of egregious career self-sabotage. Safe to say I did not enjoy it, so approached the latest A24-produced film of Aster’s,Eddington (2025), with emotional caution.
Thankfully Aster’s screenplay, characters and all-round production of Eddington (2025), are far more accessible and focused than his third feature. Pedro Pascal and Joaquin Phoenix anchor Eddington (2025) superbly, as Aster delivers a blistering small-town allegory that uses a public health crisis as the spark for something far larger. What begins with Mayor Ted Garcia (Pascal) dutifully following the Governor’s lockdown orders quickly escalates when Sheriff Joe Cross (Phoenix) refuses to comply and runs for Mayor himself. This casts the town and people into a conflict that mirrors America’s own political division.
Phoenix brings his trademark intensity to Sheriff Cross, whose defiance feels equal parts principled and unhinged, while Pascal’s Mayor, revealed to be a corporate puppet, balances him as a leader losing grip on his authority. Thus, Eddington (2025) is a powerful film whose strength lies in the performances and a brave, intelligent screenplay which asks many questions. The main issues I had were under-developed character arcs for Emma Stone’s and Austin Butler’s characters. Further, as in previous films Aster relies heavily on left-field plot turns, which go more for shock, rather than understandable character development. Indeed, the final act Western-style shootout, while incredibly exciting, seems out-of-sync with the thoughtful build-up and drama established in the first hour.
Ultimately, Director Ari Aster resists turning Eddington (2025) into just a COVID-era-morality tale; instead, the film confidently threads together a powerful mix of left and right-wing US politics, toxic masculinity, historical sexual abuse, conspiracy and alternative theories, cultish religious fervour, white saviour virtue-signalling, homegrown terrorism, algorithmic influence of social media, and the creeping threat of corporate greed. Each theme and subplot fold back into the central question: who really controls the narrative in modern America or is it a nation spiraling out of control toward inevitable civil war? The result is a tense, unsettling portrait of a town—and a country—at war with itself.
Gradual but excellent progress has been made on the post-production. Editing and the musical score have been completed so the film should be ready by the end of September 2025 for submission to festivals.
A trailer will be released soon. In the meantime, I commissioned some film and character posters. See above and the slideshow below.
Logline
Banished to the “suicide shift” for breaking spirit call centre regulations, CARMILLA FERRY, now deals with the most tortured of souls moving from this world to the next. After being blasted by her line manager on the phone, Russell, Carmilla is feeling even more isolated and demoralised than usual. After a series of heart-crushing calls, culminating in a particularly stressful shift, Carmilla is then faced with the most heart-wrenching call of all.
Produced by Zach Cregger, Roy Lee, Miri Yoon, J. D. Lifshitz, Raphael Margules, etc.
Main Cast: Josh Brolin, Julia Garner, Alden Ehrenreich, Austin Abrams, Cary Christopher, Benedict Wong and Amy Madigan.
Cinematography by Larkin Seiple
*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***
Zach Cregger’sBarbarian (2022) was an intriguing feature debut that captivated viewers with a suspenseful, tension-filled first half, expertly building a sense of dread and mystery. The film begins with a seemingly simple premise — a woman arrives at an Airbnb, only to find it double-booked — but what starts as a quiet psychological thriller quickly takes an unexpected turn. As the plot unfolds, the sense of unease grows, drawing viewers deeper into its web of secrets.
However, the second half of the film ventures into increasingly bizarre and chaotic territory, unravelling into a frankly insane series of twists and reveals. While it might initially seem like a more grounded thriller, Barbarian (2022) pushed the boundaries of genre, diving head first into over-the-top absurdity. It’s a thrilling ride that keeps you on the edge of your seat, even if the madness of the final act leaves you both bewildered and entertained. In some ways Cregger’s follow-up Weapons (2025) shares such structural and thematic similarities with his first film, however, it is a much more controlled and impactful mystery. Until the end.
Weapons (2025) immediately hooks viewers with the mystery of the seventeen children going missing in the town of Maybrook. This instantly draws us into a world brimming with tension and unanswered questions. The authorities investigation into their disappearance soon stalls and how the townsfolk react becomes the central thread, gradually unraveling a complex, carefully structured narrative. Thus, Cregger’s postmodern fairy-tale unfolds through the eyes of various interconnected characters, each of whom brings a unique perspective and layer to the plot.
Josh Brolin plays Archer Graff, a father grieving the disappearance of his son Matthew, one of the missing children. His portrayal is poignant, balancing grief with a desperate need for answers, and his journey pushes the narrative forward with a personal stake in the outcome. Next, Julia Garner’s Justine Gandy, a dedicated teacher, adds another emotional dimension. She’s devastated when she discovers that nearly all of her students have vanished without a trace, with the exception of Alex Lilly (played by Cary Christopher), the only child from her class who remains. Justine’s struggle to find out what happened to her students, coupled with her own crumbling personal life and alcoholism, make her a compelling protagonist.
Other characters include Alden Ehrenreich’s Paul Morgan, a troubled police officer with his own set of demons, is a reluctant ally to Justine. Their past relationship adds a layer of tension as they navigate the growing sense of danger and urgency surrounding the missing children. Then, Austin Abrams brings a sense of raw, chaotic energy to James, a homeless drug addict and burglar whose past intersects with the mystery in unexpected ways. Lastly, Benedict Wong plays Marcus Miller, the school principal, who serves as an important figure in Justine’s quest for answers. Though sympathetic to her, Marcus is often caught between his professional responsibilities and the mounting pressure of the situation.
Weapons (2025) masterfully weaves its non-linear narrative with a striking array of tense, spine-chilling moments that keep audiences on edge throughout. As the plot unfolds through intersecting character arcs, the film expertly intersperses surprising scares, thrilling foot chases, and creepy locations, all while pulling you deeper into its twisting mystery. The jumps in time and the interconnected storylines create a sense of disorientation that builds forces viewers to constantly question what’s real and what isn’t.
Each character’s journey is filled with psychological unease and physical danger, leading to some genuinely heart-pounding sequences. Meanwhile, the eerie, claustrophobic settings—ranging from decaying homes to ominous, unfamiliar spaces—serve as perfect backdrops for the increasing horror. These moments contribute to the growing sense that something monstrous is lurking just beneath the surface, waiting to break free. Further, the film also plays with ambiguity, surreal dreams and unreliable narrators, allowing characters’ perspectives to fracture.
However, similar toBarbarian (2022), Weapons (2025) takes a tonal right-turn in the final moments, descending into all-out mania and Savini-style gore. The reveal of the matriarchal menace, who emerges as a central ‘Pied Piper’ type villain, feels somewhat unearned, undermining the narrative choices before. The ending also didn’t quite fully connect with the deeper themes or subtext of the film that were promised in the set-up. Yet, despite such inconsistencies Cregger’s Weapons (2025) has been marketed incredibly well and as has deservedly done great box-office business. Lastly, Creggers is a very talented filmmaker and his second film remains a smartly written and gripping ride filled with tension, scares, and that insane final act.
Produced by Danny Boyle, Alex Garland, Andrew Macdonald, Peter Rice & Bernie Bellew
Main Cast: Jodie Comer, Aaron Taylor-Johnson, Jack O’Connell, Alfie Williams, Edvin Ryding and Ralph Fiennes
Cinematography by Anthony Dod Mantle
Edited by Jon Harris
** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS **
We’re foot—slog—slog—slog—sloggin’ over Africa Foot—foot—foot—foot—sloggin’ over Africa — (Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin’ up and down again!) There’s no discharge in the war! — Rudyard Kipling
The opening sequences of28 Days Later (2002), directed by Danny Boyle and written by Alex Garland, are some of the most haunting and iconic introductions in cinema—transcending the horror genre to deliver something mythic, mournful, and terrifyingly real. They are masterclasses in mood-building, world-setting, and emotional manipulation, and redefined what the modern apocalypse could feel like on screen. From the terrifying raging simian attacks to the stunning silence of hollow streets and buildings of London as Jim (Cillian Murphy) awakes to an incredibly changed and empty planet. Here Boyle used guerrilla filmmaking as an artistic weapon with digital video blending with silence and dread, beauty and decay, loneliness and rage creating a grimy realism that no big budget blockbuster could replicate.
The opening sequence of the sequel, 28 Weeks Later (2007), was damned good as well, although what followed was not as formidable as the original. If we’re honest it was more of a high-quality straight-to-video effort, especially when compared to the incredible first film. But what of 28 Years Later (2025), which finds Boyle and Garland re-teaming with a stellar cast including: Jodie Comer, Aaron Taylor-Johnson, Ralph Fiennes and newcomer, Alfie Williams. It opens with yet another impressive opening sequence in 2002, as a family of kids are attacked in their Scottish home. Escaping on frantic foot is young Jimmy who finds his father, the local minister, in his church proclaiming the ‘end of days!’ Move forward twenty-eight years to 2031 and the film joins, interestingly enough, not Jimmy, but a survivor community living in Lindisfarne, a tidal island connected by a fortified causeway.
Focusing on the family unit of twelve-year-old son, Spike (Alfie Williams), and parents, Isla (Jodie Comer) plus father, Jamie (Aaron Taylor-Johnson), 28 Years Later (2025) marks a ferocious and exhilarating return to the infected-ravaged world. It is not simply a continuation, but a full-fledged reimagining that deepens, widens, and accelerates the mythology, style, and thematic power of the series. It is not just a sequel—it’s an evolution, one that pulses with the blood of Romero’s bleak social horror and the serialized depth of The Walking Dead, while forging its own cinematic identity: brutal, urgent, and conceptually masterful.
From its opening moments, 28 Years Laterplunges viewers into a world far beyond what we’ve seen before. Civilization hasn’t recovered—it has, like the zombies, mutated. The virus is no longer an outbreak or an aftermath; it is an ecosystem. What began as a confined crisis in 28 Days Later, and widened into militarized guilt and familial betrayal in 28 Weeks Later, now becomes a reckoning. Thematically, the film touches on generational trauma, hybrid immunity, rites of passage, euthanasia and the evolution of the rage undead. Jamie trains his son in the art zombie-hunting, before the middle act finds Spike attempting to save his unwell mum. At this time he both matures and overcomes several battles with mutated inhumans.
The visual grammar of 28 Years Laterstays true to the DNA of the series: raw, immediate, and grimy. But it’s also evolved. The digital grunge of 28 Days Lateris elevated with modern tools, while still embracing a handheld, documentary-style urgency. Towns and buildings aren’t just abandoned—they’re fossilized in trauma. New scenes are suffused with ash, dust, decay, blood, plasma and rusted iconography, painting a world that’s both rotting and fighting to be reborn. This is a horror film that smells like blood and diesel. It feels dirty. Every camera move, whip pan and smash cut drags you to hell and makes you feel like your life is in danger.
28 Years Laterdoesn’t just revive a franchise—it transforms it into a towering trilogy of infection, collapse, and spiritual trauma. It draws from Romero’s cynicism, The Walking Dead‘s moral complexity, and its own raw, kinetic legacy to deliver something uniquely powerful: a horror film that is both visceral and cerebral, intimate and operatic. While there are some script and pacing issues toward the end of the second act, Boyle directs superbly. Plus, the film benefits from some memorable performances, notably Comer, Fiennes and young Alfie Williams. Lastly, it has one of the most startling endings to a film I have seen in a long time. It is frankly nuts. Yet, it ensures 28 Years Later (2025) is a modern horror classic, pulsing with urgency, style, and an almost unbearable truth: that the most terrifying viruses don’t infect the body—they infect the soul. Bring on the sequel!
Produced by Zinzi Coogler, Sev Ohanian, Ryan Coogler
Main cast: Michael B. Jordan, Hailee Steinfeld, Miles Caton, Jack O’Connell, Wunmi Mosaku, Jayme Lawson, Omar Miller, Delroy Lindo, etc.
Cinematography by Autumn Durald Arkapaw
After the bleakly lustful vision of Robert Eggers’ Nosferatu (2024) — a film steeped in shadow, dread, and tragic sensuality — Ryan Coogler offers a wildly different, electrifying take on the vampire mythos: a bold, colourful, and deeply soulful experience that pulses with life even as it drinks from the dead. Where Eggers lingers in gothic majesty, with Sinners (2025), Coogler surges forward with kinetic energy, blending grind-house thrills and emotional depth with From Dusk Till Dawn-style narrative turns.
Coogler’s film is set in the richly textured American South of the 1930s, a world still nursing the scars of the Great War and on the cusp of social upheaval. Into this volatile landscape, he drops the muscular Michael B. Jordan as twin war veterans turned Chicago gangsters, Smoke and Stack — men who carry both physical and spiritual wounds from the trenches — now repurposed as businessman looking to set up a juke joint. These characters feel reminiscent of the working class anti-heroes of Peaky Blinders, their emotional trauma rendered in everything from flickering glances to bursts of brutal, operatic violence. The twins have ghosts of the past and present to battle including relationship issues with Stack’s ex-girlfriend, Mary (Hailee Steinfeld), as well as Smoke’s painful reunion with his wife, Annie (Wunmi Mosaku).
Sinners (2025) plot is muscular and sinewy, establishing the characters impressively before shifting the moody Southern gothic tale into an all-out genre-bender. The film contains a fine ensemble cast knitting a series of substantial supporting characters each with their own personalities, humour and wants. The most striking is Miles Caton as the twins’ cousin, Sammie “Preacher Boy” Moore, a young blues musician with an incredible ability, that proves to be a somewhat dangerous talent. Delroy Lindo also throws in another memorable performance as the ebullient pianist, Delta Slim. With the first night’s festivities in full swing three mysterious strangers appear from the near dark, desiring to be let in. Their leader is charismatic Remmick (Jack O’Connell) and he has more than partying in mind.
Visually, Coogler lets his imagination loose, notably in a memorable cross-generational musical montage that literally burns up the cinema screen. Gone is the shadow-heavy monochrome of Eggers; in its place is a palette of dusk reds, moonlit silvers, and deep bayou greens. The film pulses with colour, sex, motion, and sweat. Blood flows, but it never feels gratuitous — it feels earned, ritualistic, even sacramental. But what ultimately makes Coogler’s film so potent is its soul. Amid the genre thrills and gore, there’s a beating heart full of soul. These vampires are not romanticised, nor merely feared; they are hungry creatures. Coogler gives them back their humanity, and in doing so, reanimates the genre with urgency.
Music is where the film truly soars. Coogler and his production team, attuned to the cultural pulse, curate a soundtrack that fuses Delta blues, Appalachian folk, and early jazz into a feverish, ghostly soundscape. There are scenes where the music alone tells the story: a backwoods funeral scored by a bone-dry slide guitar; a juke joint confrontation where the rhythm of violence matches the stomp of the blues; a haunting lullaby sung by Remmick the migrant vampire that channels generations of sorrow. It is music as memory, as resistance, as raw emotional texture.
Sinners (2025) is not just a vampire film. It’s a blues opera. A folk horror elegy. A pulpy, poignant, and powerfully visceral story about the things that haunt us, and how we fight to keep our humanity intact. What begins as a slow-burning period drama smolders into a blood-soaked explosion of action and moral reckoning. Coogler even delivers a Klan-blasting and redemptive shoot-out final act set-piece. Lastly, in Coogler’s hands, the vampire becomes more than a monster; it’s a metaphor for trauma, addiction, religion, racism, and survival. Coogler reclaims the myth for a new generation, one shaped by history, crime, grief, music, and spiritual struggle, delivering a genre masterpiece that bites deep and lingers long after the lights come up.
Directed by Bong Joon Ho Screenplay by Bong Joon Ho – Based on Mickey 7 by Edward Ashton
Produced by Dede Gardner, Jeremy Kleiner, Bong Joon Ho and Dooho Choi
Main Cast: Robert Pattinson, Naomi Ackie, Steven Yeun, Toni Collette, Mark Ruffalo, Patsy Ferran, Cameron Britton, Daniel Henshall, Anamaria Vartolomei, etc.
Cinematography by Darius Khondji
Bong Joon Ho’s adaptation ofMickey 7, the 2022 sci-fi novel by Edward Ashton, showcases a compelling convergence of the director’s distinctive thematic interests with the novel’s narrative. Known for his ability to blend genre elements with incisive social commentary, Bong’s version of Mickey 7, now titled Mickey 17 (2025) is a comedic, at-times-crazy and imaginative sci-fi film exploring human resilience, class struggles, scientific malpractice, environmental abuse, genocidal terra-forming, plus the existential impact of technology within the workplace.
Robert Pattinson is the eponymous Mickey, a “disposable” worker sent on perilous missions to terra-form a distant planet, with his life repeatedly put in danger only for him to be replaced if he dies. This directly ties into Bong’s recurring exploration of human resilience in the face of dehumanizing systems, something seen in his earlier films, such as Snowpiercer (2013) and Okja (2017). Bong’s protagonists are often ordinary people facing systems designed to strip away their individuality, and Mickey’s repeated resurrections emphasize the fragility of life within these systems.
Another prominent theme in Bong’s films is the exploration of class and social inequality. In Parasite (2019), he delved into the gap between the wealthy Park family and the impoverished Kim family, using the home as a microcosm of societal hierarchies. In Mickey 17 (2025), the corporate-driven space mission echoes the exploitation seen in these films. Mickey’s status as an expendable worker mirrors the broader economic systems that exploit individuals for labour without regard for their well-being. The fact that Mickey is repeatedly discarded without consequence is an unsettling reflection of how capitalist structures often devalue human life for the sake of profit.
Bong has always critiqued the alienation of labour, especially how working-class individuals are treated as replaceable cogs in the machine. In Mickey 17 (2025), this theme is amplified as Mickey’s life is literally expendable, offering a stark commentary on the commodification of labour within the context of futuristic colonization. The struggle for survival and dignity, against an uncaring corporate entity, will likely resonate with themes Bong has previously explored. Likewise, in Memories of Murder (2003), the search for truth is tied to the characters’ understanding of themselves and their roles in society. Such societal and existential crises fit perfectly with Bong’s broader thematic preoccupation with the fragility of the human experience in the face of overwhelming, often oppressive, external forces. The question remains: is Mickey 17 (2025) any good?
Robert Pattinson, who plays various versions of the titular character Mickey, brings his signature range of brooding intensity and offbeat charisma to the role. His performance is a key part of what makes the film such an intriguing watch. Pattinson excels in portraying Mickey’s emotional journey—a man repeatedly resurrected after dying in increasingly perilous circumstances, struggling with his own identity, and questioning the morality of the system that disposes of him so easily. However, Pattinson’s performance also contributes to the film’s unevenness. While his portrayal is captivating, the character’s arc and motivations can occasionally feel too vague or inconsistent, leading to moments where it’s unclear whether Mickey is supposed to be a tragic figure, a comic relief, or something in between.
The visual effects in Mickey 17(2025)are nothing short of stunning. Bong Joon Ho, along with his team, creates a visually immersive universe, blending futuristic technology, the planet landscapes of Niflheim, quirky alien creatures and mind-bending visuals to evoke a sense of awe. The digital photo-copying resurrection process that Mickey undergoes is a feat of visual storytelling, with the film using cutting-edge effects to show Mickey’s multiple deaths and resurrections in creative and striking ways. The film’s alien planet, with its strange, luminous terrain and exotic creatures, also adds a surreal and fantastical quality to the narrative. Indeed, the theme of environmental and indigenous protection is vital, but does eventually clash with that of the existential worker.
Where Mickey 17 (2025)truly shines—and stumbles—is in its wacky, unpredictable storytelling. Bong Joon Ho has always been a director unafraid to blend genres and tones, and here he creates a narrative that swings wildly between dark comedy, sci-fi absurdity, and existential dread. One moment, you’re laughing at Mickey’s off-kilter interactions with his fellow colonists, and the next, the film veers into dark, serious territory as Mickey grapples with his own mortality and the ethical dilemmas of his existence. Moreover, the film’s narrative structure itself is erratic. There are moments where the plot careers off course, lost in the chaos of its high-concept premise.
As Robert Pattinson’s charismatic, multi-faceted performance anchors the film, the performances of Mark Ruffalo and Toni Collette—as the grotesque antagonists—topple the tone too far into bad theatre. Finally, Bong Joon Ho’s trademark brilliance is evident throughout, but Mickey 17 (2025)ultimately suffers from the very risk-taking that makes it unique. It’s a thrilling, uneven ride that fascinates, frustrates, makes one laugh and leaves you with a lot to think about—once the space dust has settled. Perhaps I should have had what Bong Joon Ho and his production team were drinking before I watched it. If so, I should certainly of made it a double!
Produced by James Wan, Dave Caplan, Brian Kavanaugh-Jones, Chris Ferguson, etc. Main Cast: Theo James, Tatiana Maslany, Christian Convery, Colin O’Brien, Rohan Campbell, Sarah Levy, Adam Scott and Elijah Wood.
Cinematography by Nico Aguilar
Following the financial success of his 2024 psychological thriller Longlegs (2024), Osgood Perkins has recently embarked on adapting Stephen King’s short story, The Monkey, into a feature film. While I didn’t quite connect with it Longlegs (2024) it had many impressed with its strange, atmospheric tension as well as Nic Cage’s crazy look and performance. The Monkey (2025), differs in tone though as it this adaptation with a blends horror and dark comedy, allowing Perkins to showcase his versatility as a filmmaker.
The narrative of The Monkey (2025) centres on twin brothers, portrayed by Theo James, who encounter a cursed toy monkey linked to a series of gruesome deaths. Perkins expands upon King’s original short story, infusing it with themes of family, fatherhood, reconciliation and a litany of grisly sudden deaths. Having found the simian death totem as teenagers, Hal and Bill Shelburn find their lives and those around them impacted in the most bloody explosive of ways. Indeed, there is much thought and planning given to these Saw and Final Destinationfranchise influenced on-screen set-pieces. In fact, the exquisite surprise and laugh-out-loud hilarity which occur throughout somewhat overpowers any emotional connection with the thinly-written protagonists.
The film’s gore and relentless pace are undeniably its strongest assets — the kills are extreme, inventive, and staged with a gleeful disregard for realism, echoing the chaotic energy of ’80s horror comedies. Each death sequence feels like a miniature horror short, packed with practical effects and over-the-top carnage. Perkins crafts these moments with a twisted sense of humour, making the film feel like a sketch-show carousel of nightmarish vignettes, each more outrageous than the last.
However, despite the visceral fun, The Monkey (2025) struggles to leave a lasting impression. Unlike the original Saw (2004) by James Wan and Leigh Whannell — a film that balanced its brutal horror with sharp social commentary and tightly woven mythology — Perkins’ adaptation lacks a deeper foundation. The cursed toy monkey serves as a simple harbinger of death, but the film never establishes consistent rules for how the curse operates or why it escalates the way it does. Without clear internal logic or meaningful subtext, the horror loses weight, and the emotional stakes fizzle.
While The Monkey (2025) succeeds as a frenetic, blood-soaked thrill ride, it ultimately feels ephemeral. The film’s surface-level scares and comedic flair make for an entertaining watch, but the absence of narrative substance or thematic resonance leaves it as little more than a fleeting novelty — a film you enjoy in the moment, but rarely think about after the credits roll.
The Cinema Fix presents 