Premiering at the Berlinale, Mickey 17 is Bong Joon-ho’s latest foray into science fiction, delving into the ethical and existential dilemmas of cloning in a future where human labor is outsourced to space. The film follows a man who is repeatedly resurrected through cloning to perform perilous tasks, raising profound questions about identity, responsibility, and the unintended consequences of human progress. As the story unfolds, it critiques both the blind faith in technological advancement and the ecological consequences of human intervention, ultimately suggesting that nature’s logic may surpass human reasoning.
Within Bong’s body of work, Mickey 17 continues his exploration of dystopian settings and systemic critique, aligning with Snowpiercer (2013) and Okja (2017) in its engagement with the consequences of human ambition. However, unlike his sharp class commentary in Parasite (2019), this film shifts its focus toward the philosophical paradoxes of science, technology, and ecological survival. Initially framed as a celebration of progress—where cloning is positioned as a tool to extend human survival beyond Earth—the film gradually unravels into something far more cautionary. It is not simply about the triumphs of scientific achievement but about the moral and existential dilemmas that emerge when humanity attempts to outmaneuver its natural limitations.
At its core, the film explores the philosophical tension between human agency and systemic dehumanization. While the opening act presents religious and political opposition to cloning as regressive obstacles to technological progress, the narrative ultimately complicates this perspective. Rather than a simple endorsement of scientific advancement, the film suggests that unchecked systems—whether economic, political, or technological—can strip individuals of their worth. It is not merely ideological constraints that drive humanity to the stars, but also the same exploitative logic that devalues human life in pursuit of efficiency. By juxtaposing cloning with capitalist disposability, the film questions whether technological progress alone can lead to true evolution or merely reinforces existing hierarchies.
Yet, as the narrative unfolds, the very technology that was meant to secure human survival—cloning—becomes a dangerous force in itself, revealing a deeper, more unsettling contradiction. Is progress truly the answer, or does it inevitably bring about the conditions for its own undoing? The film subtly suggests that human reasoning is inherently limited in understanding the full complexity of nature. The natural world, rather than being an enemy to be conquered, holds an inherent logic that human beings often fail to grasp.
This brings the film into dialogue with a long-standing philosophical tradition that questions the nature of human progress. The idea that scientific and technological advancements do not necessarily equate to ethical or existential fulfillment recalls Rousseau’s skepticism of modernity—his argument that progress can just as easily enslave as it can liberate. Mickey 17 reinforces this perspective, showing that while cloning offers humanity an unprecedented means of survival, it also strips away fundamental elements of individual identity, agency, and moral responsibility.
Among the most thought-provoking elements of the film is its exploration of the ethical quandaries of cloning, particularly in terms of identity and accountability. What happens when multiple versions of the same person exist simultaneously? Can a person truly claim to be themselves if their existence is endlessly replicated? More disturbingly, what if one of these clones commits a crime—who, then, is responsible? The film introduces the unsettling possibility that cloning could create a reality in which identical figures exist with different moral inclinations, where some are used for acts of violence while others remain innocent. This raises profound legal and philosophical questions: should punishment be assigned to an individual or to the very concept of cloning itself? If a clone is just an extension of the original, does the original bear any responsibility for the actions of their duplicates?
These dilemmas place Mickey 17 in conversation with broader debates in philosophy and science fiction, particularly regarding identity and free will. The film echoes concerns raised in works like Blade Runner and Never Let Me Go, questioning whether a person remains the same when replicated and whether moral responsibility can be shared among versions of the self. The implications are unsettling: if we are no longer singular entities, what does that mean for accountability, ethics, and even personal identity?
Alongside its philosophical concerns, Mickey 17 does not shy away from contemporary political allegory. The film constructs a clear caricature of Donald Trump—a reactionary leader whose rhetoric and actions embody the resistance to scientific and technological progress. This figure functions as an obvious critique of populist nationalism, where fear of change and a nostalgic attachment to outdated ideologies prevent humanity from embracing its full potential.
However, unlike Bong’s previous works, where political critique is often layered with subtlety, here the message is clear from the outset. The film does not ask the audience to interpret its stance—it simply presents its target in an unmistakably overt fashion.
In the end, Joon-ho has created a film that appears to be both a vision of the future and a warning. However, the film strays infinitely far from subtlety, especially in its political messaging, to the extent that the audience knows the film’s objective from the very beginning, leaving no room for personal interpretation. Instead of engaging the viewer in a deep discussion, its narrative presents everything in an overly explicit and simplified manner.
© 2020-2025. UniversalCinema Mag.