The mystery of life and the increasingly blurred boundaries of what constitutes life—especially human life—continue to captivate the imagination, inspiring ever new artistic interpretations. It sounds cliché, but that’s just the way it is. The latest, rather ironic, film on the subject is Bong Joon-ho’s much-discussed "Mickey 17." An adaptation of Edward Ashton’s sci-fi novel "Mickey 7," the movie takes on the topic with grandeur, tackling several fundamental themes at once: the aforementioned mystery of life and death, the structure of society and politics, space exploration as the 'final frontier' (a term from the cult sci-fi series "Star Trek"), and the related issue of colonizing newly discovered planets. This, in turn, shapes both the film’s strengths—and, even more so, its weaknesses.

At the center of the story is the very same Mickey mentioned in the title—the protagonist who fits Hollywood’s beloved trope of "the ordinary guy forced to become a hero." Except Mickey is deliberately, almost entirely unheroic, which creates a striking contrast with his job: expendable test subject for scientific research in an interplanetary expedition. In fact, he signs up for the job under pressure, barely understanding what it entails. It’s precisely this human—too human—side of Mickey that makes him likable. Mickey… Or some part of his nature?

Here we arrive at one of the film’s central dilemmas. According to the plot, the protagonist’s consciousness is stored on a server (hello, omnipotent digital technology), while his body is reprinted from waste after each death. Since cloning is forbidden, there can only ever be one Mickey at a time. But then, during a mission, something unexpected happens—Mickey survives and returns to base. The problem? The crew assumed he was dead and had already printed a new version: Mickey-18. So, which Mickey is the real one? Technically, both… though 18 is a copy of 17 (which, as a reminder, is illegal). From a procedural standpoint, 17 no longer exists—he's fallen out of the system and is now an outlawed duplicate. What follows is a brief but intense survival battle between the two Mickeys. A key detail in the film: the two Mickeys are not identical. Each has his own personality, his own behavior, even his own memories and experiences. (Credit here to Robert Pattinson, who effortlessly brings out the contrasting temperaments of Mickey-17 and -18.) When 18 asks why death has suddenly become a problem, 17 replies, "Before, they revived me. Now, they’ll be reviving you." Even more striking—Mickey’s partner, Tasha, tells him that each version had its own quirks, its own individuality. So, which Mickey is the real one? All of them? Or none at all?

However, all these nuances unfold gradually as the story progresses. Until then, Mickey is treated quite literally as expendable. In this strange system of values, the defining criterion for "true" and "complete" humanity is uniqueness—being one of a kind. Mickey loses that uniqueness and is reduced to an "expendable," regarded by everyone (except his partner Tasha) as little more than a living machine. A particularly telling moment is the crew’s loss of empathy toward him. Even when they treat him as a person on a social level, his physical existence is devalued. His body is seen as just another product off an assembly line, and his pain—even his death throes—is simply ignored.

We jumped straight into the film’s existential themes, but in reality, its political dimension sparked even more discussion. The story follows a colony traveling to settle the icy planet Niflheim, led by a political has-been, Hieronymus Marshall—played with flair by Mark Ruffalo. His attempts to establish a dictatorship with a cult-like twist, combined with his peculiar mannerisms, took on a new resonance in today’s U.S. political climate. It didn’t take much for audiences to see a resemblance to Trump. Even Ruffalo himself admitted in an interview that while working on the role, Marshall’s character initially felt exaggerated—only for reality to prove it was actually "underplayed." Director Bong Joon-ho, for his part, claimed at a press conference that Marshall wasn’t based on any current politicians but was instead a composite of past dictators. After all, the film was shot before the "new old" American president fully revealed his true colors. Believe the director or not, history has a way of repeating itself. And just as "Mickey 17" premiered at Berlinale, the infamous Munich conference took place, making certain political realities unmistakably clear. Recent events cast a new light on the film’s themes—and vice versa—once again proving the eerie foresight of art.

What else? The theme of colonialism, which ties into the political aspect. As mentioned earlier, the story revolves around the settlement of a cold planet, named Niflheim by the Earthlings—a fitting choice, given that in Norse mythology, Niflheim is a realm of ice and mist inhabited by frost giants. Another eerie real-world parallel (yes, the Greenland situation comes to mind). The planet turns out to be home to grotesque creatures that the colonists see as a threat but are, of course, intelligent and even benevolent beings. The message is clear: cultural blindness and the dehumanization of indigenous populations by "civilized" colonizers. In terms of artistic and cinematic references, "Avatar" is the most obvious parallel when it comes to space colonization. Though sci-fi fans might point to other, perhaps even more fitting, examples.

So, the film packs in a whole range of global issues—perhaps too many to fit comfortably within a single, already dense narrative. Popular, frequently explored themes like cloning and identity, dictatorship, and colonization create a sense of eclecticism and déjà vu, further amplified by the blockbuster packaging: big-name actors, impressive visual effects, and gripping plot twists. As a result, while the film holds (almost) unwavering interest and offers plenty to think about, you leave the theater feeling that the director of "Parasite" could have gone deeper. Some ideas could have been explored in more detail, while others might have benefited from moments of silence—giving the audience space to breathe and reflect. Perhaps the balance between auteur cinema and mass entertainment wasn’t quite right, which may have contributed to the film’s more modest success compared to its potential. That said, "Mickey 17" remains a solid cinematic contribution to these discussions—or rather, *to* these discussions. And it certainly delivers enjoyment, whether through its unexpected parallels to an increasingly chaotic world, its irony, or its genuine sympathy for humanity. In the end, it offers fresh variations on themes that seemed well-worn. It’s definitely worth watching. Whether it delivers what each viewer expects, however—that’s another question.