Mickey 17, known as an "expendable," goes on a dangerous journey to colonize an ice planet.
Adapted from the novel Mickey7 by Edward Ashton, this stars Robert Pattinson as an "expendable" - a disposable crew member on a space mission, selected for dangerous tasks because he can be renewed if his body dies, with his memories largely intact. With one regeneration, though, things go very wrong.
Strap in, fellow cinephiles, because I’ve just returned from the strangest, most head-scratching ride of my life—a trip to an ice planet with a hero who’s as disposable as last week’s takeout container. Yes, I’m talking about Mickey 17, the film adaptation of Edward Ashton’s novel Mickey7, where Robert Pattinson stars as an “expendable” crew member on a mission that’s equal parts high-stakes sci-fi and absurd comedy. And let me tell you, if you thought your 9-to-5 was unpredictable, wait until you see what happens when your body is merely a rental—one regeneration, and suddenly, everything goes haywire.
I walked into this cinematic escapade with a cocktail of anticipation and skepticism, knowing that any film daring enough to mess with the concept of bodily regeneration was bound to be a wild mix of existential musings and pure lunacy. From the moment the opening credits rolled, the movie had me questioning if I was watching an art-house masterpiece or if someone had spiked the popcorn with cosmic LSD. The plot centers on our titular character, Mickey 17, whose existence is defined by his expendability. In a future where your value is measured by how quickly you can be rebooted, Mickey is the guy they send on the most dangerous, thankless missions—colonizing a frigid ice planet that promises to be as hostile as it is mysterious.
The film boasts a cast that reads like a “greatest hits” of modern character actors. Robert Pattinson, with his ever brooding demeanor, gives you that smoldering “I’m doomed yet still handsome” vibe. Steven Yeun, with his signature cool and understated charisma, balances the madness with a grounded performance that reminds you there’s a method to the madness. Then there’s Michael Monroe, who brings a rock-star edge that’s both irreverent and deliciously unpredictable, and Mark Ruffalo, whose everyman charm thoewn out the window embodying a psycho makes you believe even the most bizarre scenarios can be met with a hint of terror. Toni Collette rounds out the ensemble with a performance that’s as comical as the film’s labyrinthine narrative—she’s equal parts mentor, mystery, and mischief.
Now, let’s talk about the plot itself. Mickey 17 takes the classic idea of a disposable hero and cranks it up to eleven. Our hero’s regenerative ability means that death isn’t a terminal event—it’s just a minor inconvenience. Except, as fate would have it, one regeneration goes spectacularly wrong. Picture this: you’re rebooted, memories intact, ready to tackle a dangerous mission, and then the cosmic gears of destiny jam. It’s like the universe hit the “pause” button at the worst possible moment, leaving our hero to grapple with the fallout of an identity crisis that’s as darkly humorous as it is existential. This narrative twist is where the film truly shines—a perfect blend of high-concept sci-fi and self-aware commentary on our own disposability in an increasingly automated, fast-paced society.
Visually, Mickey 17 is an absolute mind bender. The sets are meticulously designed, evoking a sense of cold, isolating beauty that makes you feel as if you’re watching an epic saga unfold in the barren, frozen wilderness of a far-off planet. The production design is so immersive that you almost forget you’re not actually on an interstellar expedition. And then there are the CGI bugs—oh, the CGI bugs. They’re creepy and gross, no doubt about it, but they also have a weirdly endearing quality. Imagine a puppy with fangs: repulsive at first glance, yet somehow capable of melting your heart with a wag of its mechanized tail. These alien critters add an unexpected charm to the film, serving as a perfect metaphor for the duality of life in a universe that’s as beautiful as it is brutal.
But, and there’s always a but, even the most imaginative films aren’t immune to a few misfires. The film’s leader—Ruffalo's character whose wild, out-of-control antics are almost too much to handle—comes off as obnoxious at times. His larger-than-life presence and bombastic rants border on the ridiculous, and when he breaks into song during the credits, I couldn’t help but cringe. I mean, if you’re going to lead an intergalactic mission, maybe save the karaoke for a less critical moment, eh? It’s a scene that leaves you wondering whether the director was paying homage to the absurdity of rock operas or just having a bit too much fun at the expense of the audience’s ears.
Then there are the supporting characters, who, while delivering their lines with gusto, occasionally tip into caricature. Some of them seem so over-the-top that you can’t help but imagine a script meeting where someone suggested, “Hey, let’s dial everything up to eleven!” There are several moments in the film where it feels like the story could have—and should have—ended, but instead, the narrative lingers, padding out scenes with little substance. It’s like watching a roller coaster that, just when you think you’ve reached the peak, stops to take a scenic tour of every snowbank in the area. The pacing suffers from this overabundance of enthusiasm for its own wild ideas, leaving you both amused and exasperated by the sheer audacity of it all.
And, oh boy, let’s not forget the political subtext that sneaks its way into the film like an unwelcome cold draft. There are moments when the satire veers uncomfortably close to what can only be described as Hitler-esk or Trump bashing. Now, I’m all for a film that isn’t afraid to throw a jab or two at the absurdity of modern politics, but when the commentary becomes too heavy-handed, it detracts from the story’s inherent charm. It’s as if the film is so eager to be edgy that it forgets to trust its own narrative, resorting instead to overt, almost cartoonish diatribes that jar with the otherwise nuanced satire.
Despite these missteps, I can’t help but admire the sheer boldness of Mickey 17. This is a film that isn’t afraid to experiment, to take risks, and to push the boundaries of what sci-fi storytelling can be. It’s a cross between Starship Troopers for the mind bug, the maddening, plot-twisting lunacy of Bucaroo Banzi, and the mind-bending madness of Everything Everywhere All at Once. The result is a film that’s as thought-provoking as it is wildly entertaining—a true cinematic gamble that might just pay off in 30 years as a cult classic, or be consigned to the dusty annals of forgotten experiments. And isn’t that uncertainty part of the fun?
I found myself oscillating between bouts of genuine awe and outbursts of sarcastic laughter as the film unfolded. Every twist in the story felt like a deliberate nod to the absurdity of existence—a wink from the universe that, in the end, nothing really makes sense, and that’s perfectly okay. Even when the leader’s singing sends your eardrums into a tailspin or the film lingers on scenes that could have been cut, there’s an undeniable charm to its relentless audacity. It’s as if the film is daring us to embrace its imperfections, to laugh at its overindulgences, and to celebrate the unpredictable nature of art.
As I left the theater, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Mickey 17 was more than just a film—it was an crazy experience, a raucous journey into the heart of creative chaos that left me questioning everything from the nature of identity to the value of a well-timed regeneration. It challenges you to see beauty in the bizarre and to find meaning in a world that often seems determined to terrorize and amuse in equal measure. And while it may not be perfect—far from it—it’s a testament to the power of bold, unconventional storytelling that refuses to play by the rules.
So, is Mickey 17 the cinematic revolution we’ve been waiting for? Perhaps not. It’s messy, it’s rambunctious, and it sometimes feels like it’s trying just a little too hard to be both profound and absurd. But in that very struggle lies its undeniable appeal. For every over-the-top moment and every unnecessary scene, there’s a spark of brilliance that makes you appreciate the risk-taking spirit of the film. It’s the kind of movie that makes you laugh, makes you think, and most importantly, makes you want to come back for more—if only to experience that unique blend of madness and heart again.
6.8/10
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