Bong Joon Ho’s Mickey 17 is a crazy sci-fi ride that’s part bonkers, part genius. Fresh off Parasite (you know, that flick your artsy buddy wouldn’t stop yapping about), Bong’s back with a movie where Robert Pattinson keeps dying and respawning like he’s stuck in a video game with unlimited lives. This ain’t your grandpa’s sci-fi—it’s a dark comedy mash-up with guts, laughs, and enough weirdness to keep you buzzing over beers. So, does it deliver a killer time for a rowdy night out, or does it crash and burn? Let’s dig in, no helmets needed.
The story’s a trip. It’s 2054, Earth’s a dumpster fire, and humans are scrambling to colonize a frozen wasteland called Niflheim. Meet Mickey Barnes (Pattinson), a broke nobody who signs up as an “Expendable”—a job where he gets cloned every time he croaks on a risky mission. He’s like the ultimate crash-test dummy, except he’s got a heartbeat and a goofy voice that sounds like a hungover troll. He’s testing toxic air, dodging freaky alien bugs, and basically being the guinea pig for a spaceship crew run by a Trump-ish dictator, Kenneth Marshall (Mark Ruffalo), with wild hair and a massive ego. Mickey’s pal Timo (Steven Yeun) roped him into this chaos, and there’s a tough security chick, Nasha (Naomi Ackie), who’s got his back—and maybe his heart. The plot’s a wild mix of cloning madness, rebellion, and some creepy critters called “creepers” that look like armadillos from a nightmare. It’s a hoot watching Mickey fumble through this dystopian circus, though it gets a little sloppy when the side stories stack up like empty cans after a party.
Now, the actors—man, Pattinson steals the show. This guy’s ditched the Twilight sparkle for good. He’s playing multiple Mickeys—17’s a clueless everyman with a nasal whine, while 18’s a smug jerk who’d probably swipe your drink. His physical comedy is gold—slipping out of the cloning machine like a slimy fish, botching fights, and nailing the vibe of being totally expendable. It’s like Jim Carrey and Adam Sandler had a kid, and that kid’s lost in space. Ruffalo’s chowing down on the scenery like it’s a burger—his Marshall is a loud, cartoonish tyrant with a cult-leader edge, complete with red-hatted minions. It’s over-the-top, but it’s a blast when he’s around. Ackie’s Nasha brings some heart and grit, though her big speech feels like it’s ripped from a self-help book. Yeun’s reliable as the shady friend, and Toni Collette shows up as Marshall’s sly wife, Ylfa, oozing danger and bad energy. The cast is loaded, and they’re clearly having fun—even if some get stuck with cheesy lines.
Visually, this thing’s a knockout. Cinematographer Darius Khondji gives us a rough, industrial feel—think Blade Runner meets a frozen scrapyard. The ship’s a massive tangle of metal and shadows, while Niflheim’s icy plains are cold and spooky. The cloning scenes are a standout—Mickey sliding out of the printer, all slimy and bare, is gross and funny as hell. The creepers are wild too—ugly-cute little freaks that scurry around like they’re straight out of Starship Troopers. The effects are slick, especially when Pattinson’s scrapping with himself. There’s a slow-mo death where Mickey slams into an airbag, glass flying everywhere, that’ll stick with you like the time you tried to chug a beer and missed your face. It’s big, bold, and doesn’t hold back on the wow factor—just don’t expect it to be clean or quiet.
Sound-wise, Mickey 17 packs a punch. The score’s got this old-school futuristic buzz that cranks the tension, mixed with funky beats that scream Bong’s quirky style. The sound design’s where it really pops—every squish of the cloning goo, every snap of Mickey’s bones, every hiss of those creepers hits you right in the gut. Pattinson’s narration cuts through with that raspy drawl, dropping dark one-liners like he’s riffing at the bar. It’s not gonna rattle your walls, but it’s got enough grit and rhythm to keep you locked in.
So, blast or bust? Mostly, it’s a damn good time. The humor’s dark as tar—watching Mickey croak in absurd ways (vaccine fail, hand sliced off in space) is twisted fun. Bong’s swinging at capitalism, colonization, and power-tripping jerks, and it lands with a grin. The pacing’s a little off—the third act drags like a friend who won’t call it a night—but Pattinson’s wild energy keeps it rolling. It’s not as tight as Parasite, and the satire can feel like it’s screaming in your face, but for a sci-fi romp with attitude, it’s a champ. You’ll laugh, you’ll cringe, and you’ll probably want to rewatch just to catch all the insane details—like that moment Mickey’s reborn and instantly eats it. It’s got swagger, it’s got soul, and it’s weird enough to feel like the best kind of fever dream.
It’s not flawless, though. The story spins out of control sometimes, and the political jabs can be so obvious you’ll groan. Ruffalo’s villain might annoy you if you’re not into the hammy vibe, and the supporting cast doesn’t always get space to shine. But for a night with the boys, cracking beers and howling at Pattinson’s latest death? It’s a winner. Grab some buddies, sneak in a flask, and let Mickey 17 take you on a galactic joyride. You won’t regret it—unless you hate fun, you grumpy buzzkill.
