Cloning the self in Mickey 17

Bong Joon-ho’s dystopian sci-fi challenges viewers to reconsider what it means to be human in a world where clones are tools, leaders are tyrants, and the future is governed by systems rather than souls.

Since ancient civilizations, humans have fancied foretelling in the form of storytelling. The urge to predict what lies ahead—to gain a sense of control over an uncertain world—is deeply humane. Across cultures and eras, people have turned to oracles, the stars, runes, tarot cards, palmistry, animal entrails, or even coffee grounds in pursuit of glimpses into the unknown.

Today, the same impulse persists; humans still like to imagine the future and tell stories of possibilities beyond our current reality, a tendency that finds its modern expression in speculative fiction. This genre allows us to explore hypothetical futures, grapple with the consequences of technological progress, and reflect on the shifting boundaries of what it means to be human. In an age where artificial intelligence can mimic even the most intricate human creations, it’s natural to wonder about the kind of world we’re building and where it's headed.

Cinema, with its immersive visual storytelling, offers a uniquely powerful medium to explore these questions, and speculative fiction stands out as the genre best equipped to portray the possibilities of the future on screen by merging the lines between reality and imagination. A recent example is Bong Joon-ho’s Mickey 17, a science fiction film that has brought a new perspective into the future of humanity, which is deeply integrated into technology.

The film explores the concept of posthumanism through the use of digitized individuals, like Mickey, who are able to be resurrected after death. This process allows for the creation of multiple versions of the same individual, each with a slightly different memory, as seen in Mickey's case, where he experiences 16 prior deaths and is now version 17. Through this narrative, Mickey, 17, raises profound questions about identity, memory, and the essence of what it means to be human in a world shaped by technocracy.

Set in the year 2050 and adapted from Edward Ashton’s 2022 novel Mickey7¹, the film begins with Mickey Barnes joining a spaceship crew to colonize the ice-planet Niflheim. His motivations are partly personal—he's fleeing a dangerous loan shark—but his journey ultimately leads him into a far more complex existential dilemma. As he becomes entangled in the role of an “Expendable,” someone whose body and mind can be endlessly regenerated for the company’s interest, the story transitions from a space survival narrative into a deep philosophical exploration.

What situates the film within the realm of posthumanism is its exploration of identity and selfhood through the concept of duplication. The narrative prompts us to consider: if there exists a copy of ourselves—physically identical and sharing the same memories up to a certain point—does that copy still constitute "us"? This raises a deeper philosophical question: is personal identity defined primarily by memory? A similar line of inquiry appears in Roman Polanski’s The Tenant, where the protagonist grapples with the notion of bodily integrity and selfhood. If one loses a part of the body—for instance, a tooth—does one cease to be the same person? Or is the tooth merely an appendage, separate from the essence of identity?

Beyond the film’s philosophical inquiries into self and identity, Mickey 17 also offers a critique of technocratic systems that reduce human life to mere utility. Individuals like Mickey are labeled “Expendables,” valued only for their ability to perform dangerous tasks and die repeatedly for the mission. This dehumanizing framework subjects him to cold, clinical experiments where he is treated not as a person but as a disposable tool. His experiences highlight the emotional and ethical cost of a system that prioritizes efficiency over empathy.

The film also critiques the way unfamiliar lifeforms are approached through a colonial lens. The indigenous species of the planet are casually named “creepers,” a term derived solely from their unsettling appearance to human observers. This label reflects a deeper mindset: the tendency to categorize the unknown based on fear or difference rather than understanding. Such naming practices are not merely superficial—they mirror historical patterns of colonial domination where naming becomes a form of control.

This dehumanizing order is embodied by Kenneth Marshall, the head of the colony, played by Mark Ruffalo. Bong Joon-ho has described the character as a symbolic amalgamation of dictators across cultures and time.² In an interview with Deadline, Bong explained that Marshall and his wife were inspired by infamous political couples such as the Ceaușescus of Romania and the Marcoses of the Philippines, pairs whose shared power and presence are authoritarian. Marshall is not simply a political figure; he is the face of a rigid, hierarchical system in which control is maintained not only through policy but through performance, his carefully curated image as both ruler and ideologue. His leadership blends personal vanity with systemic violence, using charisma and fear to reinforce a social structure that privileges conformity over critical thought.

Marshall’s zero-tolerance policy toward the existence of “multiples,” more than one version of the same clone alive at once, exemplifies this oppressive logic. The presence of multiple copies is framed as a violation of both natural and ideological order, even bordering on heresy. Allowing them to coexist would imply that clones possess agency, identity, and the capacity for independent thought, qualities that threaten the system’s foundational belief that they are mere instruments of function. By strictly enforcing singularity and continuity, one dies, the next takes over, and the regime ensures obedience and suppresses any spark of individual autonomy. In doing so, Marshall’s authority does not simply reflect technocracy; it actively sustains and legitimizes it.

Directed by Bong Joon-ho, Mickey 17 weaves together a complex narrative that challenges audiences to reconsider the boundaries of human identity, autonomy, and ethical responsibility in an age of advanced technology. Through its depiction of digitized clones, hierarchical control, and authoritarian governance, the film serves as a vivid exploration of posthumanist concerns—particularly the tension between individuality and replication. At the same time, it offers a sharp critique of technocratic systems that prioritize functionality over empathy, reducing both people and ecosystems to tools or threats.

Kenneth Marshall’s regime embodies this dynamic, where power is upheld by suppressing difference and enforcing conformity. While this article has only touched on the most prominent themes, Mickey 17 clearly stands out as a provocative reflection on the future of humanity and the risks we face when technological advancement outpaces ethical reflection.