Crimes of the Future (2022)

Crimes of the Future feels like David Cronenberg returning to his purest, strangest gift: turning the human body into a haunted house and asking you to walk through it with your eyes open. It’s a sleek, diseased little sci-fi noir where art, sex, and technology blur into one unsettling language, carried by Viggo Mortensen’s quietly tormented presence and Léa Seydoux’s fearless, intimate intensity. The film’s imagery is grotesque but strangely elegant, the kind that lingers not because it’s loud, but because it’s precise—and because it’s aiming at big questions about what we’re becoming and what we’ll call “normal” when evolution stops asking permission. Fair warning: it’s not for the squeamish or anyone wanting a tidy thriller, but if you’re curious about provocative cinema that dares you to think while it disturbs you, this one is a must.

Crimes of the Future is Cronenberg trying to turn body horror into a chilly art-world satire about evolution, desire, and bureaucracy—ambitious, weird, and intentionally uncomfortable. The problem is that the film often feels more like a gallery installation than a story: lots of provocative ideas and clinical dialogue, but thin momentum, emotional distance, and a plot that can seem opaque or undercooked unless you’re happy to fill in the blanks yourself. If you want a tense sci-fi thriller with clear stakes and payoffs, this will likely feel slow, repetitive, and oddly inert despite the grotesque imagery. But if you’re a Cronenberg devotee or you enjoy cerebral, unsettling “vibes-first” cinema with strong performances and striking production design, it’s a fascinating (if not always satisfying) sit.