“Crimes of the Future” (2022) is David Cronenberg’s most recent film starring Viggo Mortensen as Saul Tenser, one member of a performance art couple, who uses his medical condition, “Accelerated Evolution Syndrome,” in his work with his partner, Caprice (Lea Seydoux), a former trauma surgeon, tattooing and taking out new organs that his body grows. Cronenberg combines his body horror roots with his more meditative and theoretical entries.
“Crimes of the Future” tries to address a lot of topics but does it in such a dispassionate way that it felt more like an intellectual exercise than a film that will evoke strong feelings in viewers. The characters natter on about the definition of art, a practice which I am sad to say is unrealistic in most circles (see sports). A detective dismisses Tenser’s work because he could do it—a familiar complaint heard when anyone encounters abstract art that they do not understand and want to ridicule. Bureaucrats, critics and/or viewers or curators, view it similar to enthusiast outsiders who try to consume it objectively, but feel compulsively attracted to boundary pushing artists and the emotion that the work elicits. Then the artists, a mix of patients and doctors, are competing for eyes, concerned about whether their work will evaporate or land with a healthy dose of navel gazing. They take existing pain and make it beautiful, but also engage in acts that should inflict pain though feel nothing so push boundaries to register their existence and express themselves. Lack of pain explains the flat affect. Creation becomes a question of authenticity and integrity or a gimmick to get attention with no definitive way to delineate high from low art. Regular people exist but fall into a few onscreen categories: those repulsed by any deviation from humanity, others who embrace transhumanism and people who fall somewhere in between, accepting the inevitability of evolution, but not keen to accept its implications on their existence. Sluggish bloodsucking and cutting replaces making out, drugs and alcohol. The only class is creativity—it feels liked a bored rich people film. Cronenberg is a victim of his success.
“Crimes of the Future” feels as if Cronenberg is addressing his place in the cinematic world, especially as the father of body horror who may become obsolete after inspiring other directors to take the genre and run with it. Either I am a broken individual or Cronenberg’s idea of pushing the envelope and revealing the messiness of human existence feels comparatively tame. There is a been there, done that quality to his latest repulsive creation; however apparently, he still has it because people were fleeing the theater in its opening scenes in the film’s world premiere at Cannes. Maybe they have not seen a lot of Cronenberg films. He pushes the envelope with showing people being cut with scalpels and enjoying it to the extent that they willingly scar their face to enhance their idea of beauty. This practice is not new. Scarification has existed and is a traditional practice rooted in paying pain for the price of beauty and belonging, but Cronenberg lives in a cultural vacuum outside of that tradition believing that he has found something new, a Canadian colonizer. This world is one without pain for most. Cronenberg may also be less cutting edge than Gene Roddenberry or Picasso because women’s bare breasts remain untouched and retain their traditional aesthetic.
Almost as an afterthought, “Crimes of the Future” tries to impose a structure on the story. Because of the gore, people may mistake this film as horror, but it is closer to sci fi noir with undercover agents, murders, and assassinations. Even though there is a bureaucracy, there are no legal consequences-no arrests, handcuffs though there may have been a single prison scene or a murderer in a prison laundry. The government sees evolution as rebellion and tries to hide that it is occurring and regulate it. The government’s role is not really well thought out because if evolution is rebellion then why do they allow new growths after registration instead of requiring removal or a huge backlash? Is that the main difference between Canada and the US? Instead the government is more concerned with funding and PR, which sounds like the most realistic part of the film. The cover up felt like an afterthought and did not really work with the overshadowing theme of “surgery is the new sex.” The cover up does not seem thought out, just a need for a couple of murders to jazz up the philosophical musings though the last one did make the most sense. If Cronenberg became a comic book director, the government would not exterminate the X-Men. They would just make them dull and people would become disinterested in their powers.
“Crimes of the Future” may be the closest that Cronenberg gets to Ridley Scott levels of existential crisis, but at least he seems joyful at the prospect of being obsolete. Tenser goes from a journey of rebelling against his body’s rebellion to accepting it, but since either prospect has death as a final product, it is just a matter of speed. Tenser’s relief at taking that final step is huge. There is moving, biological furniture that moves with its owner-feels like an H.R. Giger inspired design. The chair feels like a highchair for a fussy adult that dwarfs the user. If Cronenberg is trying to say anything, it is to take the leap because the chair and Tenser can finally be still once he accepts his condition and stops trying to control or eliminate it. Embrace oblivion.
“Crimes of the Future” got close to examining gender roles, but it went nowhere. There is a question of who the real artist is: Tenser or Caprice. Caprice uses technology as a paintbrush and operates on Tenser, but Tenser is seen as the real artist. He has the orifices, and Caprice flails a bit trying to find her voice and how to open up. Old sex is obsolete so men get to have synthetic, wound vaginas and (hidden, biological) penises rendering women obsolete except as eye candy, fawning fans or caretakers. The tension in their professional and personal relationship is alluded to, but not exhaustively explored. It was a missed opportunity, but Cronenberg’s mind screamed, “Titties!” and could not go further. When Seydoux is reduced to spoken word while Tenser lurks in the shadows during an autopsy, it is hard to see the link with their old work other than it moves the plot forward, not their relationship. At the very least, why not break up?
I did not hate “Crimes of the Future,” but liking it seems excessive. Mortensen’s performance and physicality were the most visually arresting and riveting parts of the film. It felt as if Mortensen was doing an impression of Rutger Hauer as Roy Batty in “Blade Runner” (1982) with a healthy mix of Nosferatu with Tenser’s oversized slim sleeves, crouching in corners, always in black, lurking in the shadows, sometimes masked, usually hooded. While I was not invested in his well-being, I was engrossed in the composition, his relationship to space.
“Crimes of the Future” lacks the energy that Cronenberg’s best films have. When people lose it in this film, they seem mechanical, not in a frenzy. They are lethargic and tedious. Cronenberg’s latest is only literally messy, not in spirit. His spiritual children like Julia Ducournau and Panos Cosmatos will have to carry his mantle.
