The Working Dead — Mickey 17
I must begin this review, as I have done on several occasions, with an apology. I saw Mickey 17 over a week ago, and was planning to review it this past Wednesday, after a well-earned brief respite following the Oscar Blitz, where I posted for 51 consecutive days. It was meant to be a short break, but unfortunately, the universe saw fit to throw my family and me for a loop once again. On Wednesday evening, my brother-in-law, who was in the hospital recovering from an infection, suffered a brain hemorrhage and died early Thursday morning. He had long suffered from heart failure, and was hospitalized for an infection around his LVAD, a battery that substituted for his cardiac shortcomings. After a few days in the ER and ICU, the infection itself had cleared, he was lucid, and he joked with my sister and nephew before going to bed Wednesday night. A few short hours later, the hemorrhage occurred, and there was no saving him.
I’ve spent the last several days doing my best to console my sister, who is now a widow at age 41, parenting a six-year-old son who now has no father (and who has experienced a major death four times in the last three years), and who has never lived alone. I’ll be going home in a few days for the funeral, and to aid where I can in helping her adjust to this daunting change in her life, putting my own grief on hold for her sake. This will result in a hiatus similar to the one I took when I lost my mother nearly two years ago. I have two other films to review after this, which I’ll do at some point in a joint post, and I’ll endeavor to do the April edition of TFINYW on time, but I make no promises. Sorry in advance to anyone who may be put off by this.
Anyway, to Mickey 17, which I think my late brother (I never cared much for the “in-law” part; he was an adoptive brother to me well before he was legally) would have enjoyed, as he’s always been a fan of science fiction, dark humor, and satire, elements that director Bong Joon Ho has more than mastered in his storied career of bending genre to his will. A biting, creative, and grimy futuristic look at the sins of the present, this is instantly the best film of the year so far, and a worthy successor to Parasite, though a comparison of the two pictures is largely apples and oranges.
Set 30 years in the future (technically 2054, as the film was originally scheduled to be released a year ago, but was delayed, using the already-concluded SAG-AFTRA Strike as an excuse; I have my own theory), the Earth is dangerously overpopulated, and natural resources are running low. As such, projects are underway to seek out new habitable planets to colonize, similar to the premise of Interstellar. You may ask yourself why humanity is trying to leave its home rather than fixing it, a salient point brought up in criticism of that earlier entry, but Bong is not interested in logic here. In fact, the comedic commentary relies upon an utter disregard for it in favor of batshit absurdity in places.
In this near-dystopia lives Mickey Barnes (Robert Pattinson in a fantastic multi-faceted title performance) and his friend Timo (Steven Yeun). The two are in massive debt to a loan shark (Ian Hanmore) who enjoys extracting payment through elaborate and “artistic” acts of murder. Fearing the worst, the two flee to the headquarters of Kenneth Marshall (Mark Ruffalo), a failed politician, cult leader, and clear stand-in for Donald Trump (I’m guessing David Zaslav and Warner Bros. cancelled the film’s initial release so as not to be accused of “election interference” for daring to mock Orange Hitler; thankfully Bong has more integrity and intellectual honesty), who is leading an expedition to the distant planet of Niflheim (named for the Norse mythological realm of ice; the environment is covered in snow), a “pure, white world” where he would be king. Legions of Marshall’s followers are competing for spots on the spaceship, and the pair succeed through different means. Timo becomes a pilot despite little experience, the result of a shady deal that has consequences in due course.
Mickey, on the other hand, gets in by being the sole applicant to volunteer as an “Expendable.” Through an ethically dubious bit of technology, Mickey is able to have his body and brain scanned and backed up to a server. He is then given dangerous and deadly tasks — everything from medical experimentation to ecological surveys — with the intent that he die in the process, and then be cloned, with his memories uploaded into him so that he can continue as if nothing happened. Those experiences are updated every week and after each death, creating something resembling a continuity of his consciousness despite repeatedly shuffling off the mortal coil. While he is treated like scum by Marshall and his most zealous followers, Mickey finds happiness in the form of Nasha (Naomi Ackie), a member of the security team, and the two begin a semi-illicit affair. Marshall and his wife Ylfa (played excellently by Toni Collette) have “discouraged” sexuality, as it burns calories and might make people hungrier for more food than the pittance rations they get over the course of the four-year journey, though I’m guessing Marshall and Ylfa don’t have sex because she clearly finds him repugnant.
Upon arrival at Niflheim, Mickey is subjected to several first contact-style exercises, testing the atmosphere and ingesting the various bacteria in order for the science team to develop vaccines, resulting in several deaths. On his 17th iteration, he’s part of a survey team that falls through an ice fissure, discovering a species of worm-like burrowing creatures. A member of the group (Ellen Robertson) causes a cave-in, killing herself in the process, and stranding Mickey down below. Timo and the others leave him to presumably be eaten by the animals, but the “creepers” as they’re dubbed, drag him back to the surface. When Mickey returns to the ship, he finds to his shock that Mickey 18 has already been “printed,” presenting both versions of the same man with a very perilous situation. In exchange for being able to use Expendables on his mission, Marshall agreed with the planetary ruling council that in the event of “Multiples,” all copies would be terminated, and the memory backup would be permanently deleted. In essence, if Mickeys 17 and 18 are discovered, they’ll not only both be killed, but there will never be another Mickey to retain knowledge of their existence.
Nothing is subtle in any of these developments, and that’s the point. Bong toed the diplomatic line while marketing the film by saying that Marshall is based on an amalgam of authoritarians and dictators rather than one in particular, but Ruffalo’s performance clearly demonstrates a Trump parody, from the spray tan, to the stuffed up voice that sounds like a mob boss with a sinus infection, to the hand gestures and lip curl that makes him look like he’s constantly smelling shit, to the overt racism, to the God complex and messianic delusions, to the fact that his acolytes all wear tacky red hats. The only two parts of him that aren’t Trump through and through are the “failed politician” aspect, as he somehow returned to power after failing, and Ylfa having outsized influence on him, which is more a reflection of the relationship between Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and his wife Sara. However, everything else, be it the hoarding of resources for himself, the dismissive nature with which he sends Mickey to his repeated destruction (and excoriates him for surviving when a “worthwhile” member of the crew dies), or his basic ignorance of what constitutes an “alien,” is 100% MAGA-t.
Now obviously, this depiction will rub some people the wrong way, but some of the best art is controversial, provocative, and sometimes confrontational. And honestly, given that the vast majority of the world sees Trump — and the U.S. by extension — this way because they don’t have government and media that actively engage in disinformation and propaganda, this portrayal is not only largely accurate as spoofs go, but wholly appropriate. Bong goes to decent lengths to maintain a degree of contextual reason to all that he does here, to the point that the only bits that don’t exactly align are the inclusions of Nasha, a black woman, as a high-ranking member of the crew, a woman named Dorothy (Patsy Ferran) as the #2 scientist, and Asians like Timo and security chief Agent Zeke (Stephen Park) as part of his utopia. My point is, just because a sector of this country’s population chooses to be ignorant to the dangerous laughingstock that is Trump’s leadership, that doesn’t preclude the rest of the world from seeing it, nor does it disqualify the facts.
The production elements are incredibly on point throughout, which is to be expected of Bong’s output. Pattinson’s performance shines the brightest, but the entire cast is superb, especially Ruffalo and Collette relishing in their respective nonsense. The production design is off the charts, giving us a mix of Star Trek-level idealism and slimy mechanical motifs reminiscent of the Alien franchise. The visual effects are also a highlight, with Pattinson’s dual presence looking completely seamless and the creepers being incredibly lifelike. You do feel as though you could reach out and touch them. You can clearly see the progression from Bong’s earlier works like The Host and Okja to now.
And of course, there’s the absolute virtuoso skill he has in blending and shifting between genres from scene to scene, and sometimes even within the same shot. This is a sci-fi movie first and foremost, but depending on the needs of the moment, it’s action, comedy, horror, slapstick farce (the cavalier way Mickey is printed out, falling on the ground like a wet meaty noodle, is never not hilarious), and aspirational drama, interweaving with one another and coming back full circle. Just when you think a plot thread has been left dangling because it was introduced as a bit of cheeky humor, it returns with poignance and is resolved through high suspense. No one does it better.
But the best touch of all is also the most nuanced. Each iteration of Mickey has different character traits, and Pattinson even affects different speaking voices for them to reflect that. This is particularly clear when 17 and 18 interact, as 17 is more meek and passive, while 18 is assertive and even prone to violence. Essentially, each time Mickey is reborn, a different aspect of his personality is heightened, creating a very fun contrast and showing off Pattinson’s immense acting range.
However, it’s also indicative of the real thematic heft of the story, which is how the system breaks us down. The small business that Mickey and Timo start up is silly on its face, and most reasonable people would predict that it wouldn’t work out. But that doesn’t mean they were wrong to have ambition and hope. The entrepreneurial spirit is a frequent talking point on all sides of the political spectrum, and an often key component of the so-called “American Dream.” They put their all into making this venture succeed, and when it didn’t, they were infinitely worse off for it, to the point that they had to hitch their wagon to Marshall in order to survive. Both Mickey and Timo have value as human beings, but it’s desperation rather than merit that ultimately gets them both on the ship.
That’s the true indictment of rapacious capitalism in this social satire. Mickey and Timo are holding on for dear life, at the end of their respective ropes, and that despair makes them willing to accept degrading and life-threatening work just for the chance at a way out. And they’re not the only ones, either. One of Marshall’s more fanatical adherents (Tim Key) goes on TV to beg for a spot on the ship, only to be obliged to a role where he wanders the ship dressed like a pigeon for various PR stunts. Even the most devoted are only rewarded with humiliation and subjugation.
But that’s how the world works right now, and why we could be headed for such a disastrous future. The so-called “elites” of the world thrive because there are people who’ve been beaten down enough that they’d open themselves up to such dehumanizing mistreatment. Mickey is just taking that premise to its extreme. Politicians and businessmen rail endlessly about “illegal” immigrants, but they’re all too happy to hire those very same people as day labor rather than pay a fair, living wage to citizens. When confronted with this and other facts, they simply threaten the destruction of the economy if they don’t get even more power and wealth, creating a world where there are no consequences for exploitation and corruption. That Mickey is willing to literally be killed repeatedly to further enshrine that hypocrisy is the heart of what Bong is trying to illustrate. It’s the same class divide he spotlighted in Parasite, but more in keeping with his sci-fi cinematic roots.
Think of how bad things would have to be for you to sign up for Mickey’s lot. There’s a joke that he didn’t read the application thoroughly, so he didn’t entirely understand what he was getting into, but that’s just part of the con. The people running this scheme are relying on ignorance, willing or otherwise, to prop themselves up, and Mickey became the first patsy. But it’s not hard to empathize with his plight. He had a dream, it got shattered, and now he’s so scared and out of options that being a walking corpse is seen as the best (and only) alternative. He’s become the perfect drone, someone who’ll give up his own autonomy for the fake largesse of his corporate overlords. People like Marshall don’t actually want those who are successful. That creates competition, a “free market,” if you will. They want those who have no choice left, who will kiss the ring and never ask why.
That’s a scenario where Mickey is far from alone. I’m going through it right now. I’ve been out of work for months, my industry is changing, and it often feels like I’m being left behind. I’m at the point where I have to seriously consider giving up on my dream career just for the stability of a regular paycheck, even though I’ll likely hate it. We live in a system where work is valued more than happiness, and that work is being constantly devalued from a purely financial standpoint, creating a perpetual slave wage class in permanent debt that has to sacrifice everything they ever wanted just to live. I’m an educated man in my early 40s. I worked my ass off for years to get to Los Angeles so that I could pursue my ambitions. And because some rich assholes want a tax break — not to avoid losing money, mind you, but to avoid gaining slightly less obscene profits — I may lose everything. We were told all our lives that hard work and dedication meant that you could live comfortably, and perhaps even prosper, but it turned out that we were sold a bill of goods. This is where I’m at, and as I watched the film, I couldn’t help but think to myself that a job where I had to die but was guaranteed some form of resurrection to carry on had a certain appeal. No human being should ever have to think that, but that’s the world we live in.
A running “joke,” for want of a better term, has several characters asking Mickey what it’s like to die, and of course he can never give a straight answer. Part of this is because his deaths rarely allow for the preservation of the memory of each version’s final moments, but the major factor is that no matter how many times he goes through it, it’s still terrifying and he hates thinking about it. The question is posed like a casual curiosity about a job function. It’s the equivalent of asking a firefighter what it’s like to slide down the pole and ride the truck, just a somewhat intriguing part of the routine, but it can’t be ignored that this is the extinguishment of a life, even if that life can be restored in some form.
It’s weighed on my mind ever since I saw the movie, and it’s been exacerbated exponentially with my brother’s passing four days ago. He had a morbid streak in him, including an obsession with the work of Edgar Allan Poe (my nephew is even partially named after him), and a love for horror and sci-fi ( Alien and Star Wars were his favorite films). As his health declined, he often felt a severe guilt about his own limitations, and occasionally mused that my sister and nephew would be better off if he died, as he’d no longer be a burden on them. At the same time, though, he was a kind and gentle soul, filled with nothing but love in his heart. He was a great photographer, and had a keen artistic eye. His happiest moments were when he and my sister got married, and when his son was born. All he wanted was the chance to give my sister a good life and to watch his boy grow up, playing with him as much as he could along the way.
Now that’s all gone. His dreams were modest, but they had worth and validity, and he did nothing to deserve the end he got. Once again my family must deal with tragedy, and while the system will be initially tolerant and forgiving to those left behind, it will not hesitate to victimize them if it serves whatever meaningless whims and desires they have in a given moment. Hell, my sister’s employers are only giving her three fucking days of bereavement leave. The shit is that? She has to pick up the pieces and prepare to go on without the partner she’s spent half her life with, and she has no idea what to do. It’s enough to make anyone feel helpless and worthless, and in that state, constantly being used as cannon fodder doesn’t seem so bad, does it? At least you’re still alive, in a manner of speaking.
Rest well, Tim. You deserved so much better.
Grade: A
Join the conversation in the comments below! What film should I review next? How have you been able to cope with a hard loss? Would you ever sign up to be an Expendable? Let me know! And remember, you can follow me on Twitter (fuck “X”) as well as Bluesky, and subscribe to my YouTube channel for even more content, and check out the entire BTRP Media Network at btrpmedia.com!
Originally published at http://actuallypaid.com on March 17, 2025.
