Zoe (2018)

Zoe is special because it treats futuristic love tech not as a gimmick, but as a tender, unnervingly plausible mirror held up to our own longing to be chosen, understood, and safe. Drake Doremus stages the story with a cool, minimalist sheen that slowly warms into something intimate, letting Léa Seydoux and Ewan McGregor do the heavy lifting with performances that feel lived-in, vulnerable, and quietly devastating. It’s a romance with a sci-fi pulse and a faint thriller edge, less about twists than about the ache of what happens when chemistry gets quantified and desire gets engineered. If you want big world-building or hard sci-fi mechanics, this may feel more like an art-house mood piece—but if you’re open to a thoughtful, emotionally charged “what if,” it lingers.

Zoe is aiming for a moody, near-future romance about whether love can be engineered, and it clearly wants you to sit in the discomfort of that question rather than chase big sci-fi thrills. The problem is it often feels like it’s circling its ideas instead of digging into them, with slow pacing, thin dialogue, and a story that can come off more hazy than profound. If you’re expecting a sharp thriller, hard sci-fi worldbuilding, or emotionally punchy romance, this may feel frustratingly undercooked and distant. Still, Léa Seydoux and Ewan McGregor bring a gentle sincerity, and the sleek atmosphere might work for viewers who enjoy dreamy, minimalist relationship dramas more than plot-driven sci-fi.