It takes a long six years for Bong Joon-ho’s follow-up to his Best Picture-winning Parasite to hit theaters. With Parasite, the South Korean filmmaker delivered his magnum opus—a bleak, whimsical satire on social class and disparity, which has become his signature theme. He has set the bar high for his future works; his only option is to either cleanse the palette or raise the floor. Mickey 17, however, is less of a spiritual follow-up to Parasite and more of an addition to his English-language dystopian social sci-fi films, forming a loose trilogy alongside Snowpiercer (2013) and Okja (2017).
Honestly, I had almost forgotten that before Parasite, Bong alternated between grounded drama and high-concept sci-fi, delivering his penchant for social commentary through sudden tonal shifts—seamlessly jumping between drama, comedy, and thriller elements in one sweep of the camera. His sci-fi works, while exploring themes similar to Parasite, operate on a different plane, often set in exaggerated worlds with explicitly classed societies and caricatured personalities. Snowpiercer unfolds on a perpetually moving train in a frozen world where each car represents a social caste. Meanwhile, Okja envisions a dystopian future dominated by corporate greed and unchecked capitalism, neglecting environmental ethics while using hyper-exaggerated genetic engineering as a major food supply.
Mickey 17 shifts the setting away from Earth to an ice planet with an on-the-nose name, Niflheim, where humanity is attempting to establish one of its first colonies. Bong adapts Edward Ashton’s novel Mickey7, oddly increasing the numerical suffix by ten for a good reason. I suspect this change serves to emphasize the expendability of the titular character, portrayed by Robert Pattinson in one of his most subversive performances. Essentially, it’s an American Dream story set in space, where people from diverse backgrounds struggle to survive in a foreign world—risking their lives in pursuit of a better future.
Live, Die, Repeat
Mickey, alongside his best friend and business colleague, Timo (Steven Yeun), joins a space colonization project led by Kenneth Marshall (Mark Ruffalo), a failed egomaniacal politician, and his wife, Ylfa (Toni Collette). With their business collapsed and a ruthless loan shark threatening their lives, Mickey and Timo see the mission as an opportunity to escape and start fresh. However, Mickey, feeling inadequate due to his lack of useful skills, volunteers as an “Expendable”—a crew member assigned the most dangerous and fatal tasks. His only advantage lies in the colony’s advanced technology: each time he dies, his body is organically reprinted, and his memories are seamlessly transferred, allowing him to continue the mission without interruption. Although ethically controversial, this system is considered beneficial for the mission’s success. Each time he dies, his new body receives a higher number, hence the title.
As in many of Bong’s sci-fi films, Mickey 17 packs a lot into its runtime. Space colonization is just one aspect; world-building is another. The colonists follow strict rules: food is rationed, calorie intake is controlled, and sexual intercourse is prohibited—even though romantic relationships aren’t—under the promise that once they establish the colony, they will populate it with only the “best” genes. Eugenics is subtly hinted at. Mickey, however, is not particularly interested in following the rules, especially after encountering Nasha (Naomie Ackie), the ship’s enforcer, to whom he becomes sexually attracted.
Mickey’s expendable status makes him an object of experimentation for the mission’s R&D department. He is repeatedly sent on near-suicidal tasks: repairing external ship components, testing his physical limits in highly radiated space, and exposing himself to potentially deadly microbes (the crews must have done their homework watching War of the Worlds) to develop vaccines—all leading to his numerous deaths and rebirths. He becomes Mickey 2, then Mickey 3, and before long, we meet the titular Mickey 17.
Mickey 17’s first major mission is a reconnaissance expedition into the frozen planet’s caves alongside special agent Kai Katz (Anamaria Vartolomei). There, they encounter the planet’s native bug-like creatures, which Marshall despises despite their harmless nature. Marshall brands them as “aliens,” while the film subtly suggests that the true aliens are, in fact, the human colonists. Things quickly spiral out of control when two Mickeys exist simultaneously—an illegal and abominable occurrence that demands extermination.
Mickey 18 is the result of the reprint, meant to replace the supposedly deceased Mickey 17. Pattinson plays both versions with a striking contrast—one awkward and goofy, the other precise and ruthless, driven by personal gain and vendetta. Unlike his dual performance in The Batman, his Mickeys resemble the duality found in Jesse Eisenberg’s portrayal in The Double (2013). Pattinson’s weird accent sometimes falters, but he makes 17 a character worth rooting for, while 18’s loathsome energy makes him difficult to connect with. Their contradictory nature—whether in deciding who lives and who dies or negotiating for survival—feels seamless, suspending disbelief effortlessly. One of the film’s boldest, most hilarious moments even involves a complicated love scene featuring multiple Mickeys.
Bong’s signature tonal shifts are at their peak here, and now, they feel more contextual. One moment it’s witty banter, the next it’s life or death. A scene can transition from an intimate moment to an absurdly catastrophic event in a blink. Yet, under his craftsmanship, these transitions feel natural, even when logic suggests otherwise.
Social Class & Weird Dietary Obsessions
In his more dramatic works, Bong addresses social class struggles with subtlety and poignancy. However, his sci-fi films take a different approach—eschewing nuance in favor of hyperbolic world-building and over-the-top social commentary.
A recurring motif in his films is the hierarchical social system. Whether it’s an authoritarian ruler designing class-segregated train cars, a capitalist venture exploiting the poor, or a self-absorbed politician leading a cult-like following, the pattern remains: rigid social structures and an obsession with controlling people’s diet.
Food distribution and consumption consistently reflect power dynamics. In Snowpiercer, the front section enjoys lavish buffets while the tail section subsists on repulsive protein blocks. Okja critiques the illusion of ethical food production, revealing a system that mass-produces cheap meat for profit, benefiting the wealthy who enjoy untainted, high-quality meat. Mickey 17 follows suit—the colonists receive carefully rationed, low-quality food, their calorie intake strictly regulated, while Marshall and Ylfa indulge in gourmet meals. Ylfa even obsesses over perfecting sauce recipes, a luxury unavailable to the lower-class workers. Bong’s commentary is clear: food is more than nourishment—it is a measure of dignity and social hierarchy.
Yet, Mickey 17 isn’t just about food politics. Marshall embodies the film’s central authority figure—a failed politician who seizes power under dubious circumstances. On Earth, the reprint technology is controversial due to its ethical implications and dark history. Marshall, however, sees it as a tool to advance his colonial ambitions, disregarding its moral complexities. He cultivates a cult-like following, complete with propaganda broadcasts and MAGA-style accessories, reinforcing his authoritarian grip. His vision of the colony includes selective reproduction, hinting at eugenics. In one scene, Agent Kai even complains, mentioning that Marshall only sees her “as just a womb.” His influence extends to the media, controlling what colonists consume to maintain his narrative and his craving for narcissism—there’s even a late-night show and a monthly award where the prize is dining with him and Ylfa.
These themes, along with Marshall’s hostility toward the planet’s native inhabitants, create a condensed, dystopian history lesson wrapped in sci-fi spectacle. The film juggles complex themes, existential questions, and an intricate narrative, at times feeling convoluted. Yet, the director’s mastery in staging and direction ensures that even in its most convoluted moments, Mickey 17 remains engaging. It revisits his familiar themes in a way that may seem uneven but ultimately serves as a compelling vehicle for Pattinson’s multifaceted performance. While not a direct Parasite successor, it’s a triumphant return to the idiosyncratic auteurship that defines Bong Joon-ho.
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