Mickey 17, Creativity, and Dismissing the Requisite of Prior Success to Get Weird
Mickey 17 is an unquestionably weird film, and it’s genuinely better for that. Set in a foreign world with bizarrely designed aliens, this film tells a story about the heartless politics of colonialism and the exploitation of workers for capitalistic gain. It’s a creative, thoughtfully constructed story, but it’s difficult to imagine such a film being greenlit without the prior success of Bong Joon-Ho’s previous masterpiece, Parasite. // Image: Warner Bros. Pictures
There’s something special about weirdness. Any piece of art with an ounce of weirdness begets thought and reflection. Why do I think this is weird? What makes something weird versus normal? What exactly informs my perception of something being weird versus not being weird? These may sound like peculiar questions when reading them aloud, but I think they’re natural thoughts that come to us when engaging with any piece of art. The very concept of art is one where we try to reconcile between our perspective and understanding and that which is depicted in the text. Anyone can look at “Starry Night” by Van Gogh and take away different interpretations, all of which may be completely different than whatever was originally intended. However, it’s that conflict between our own interpretation and that of another that makes all art an inherently meaningful, human thing to engage with.
The pieces of art that exhibit this very conflict between interpretations at its best, though, are the ones that get weird. Everyone will have their own examples of weird works of art that force them to look at reality differently. One foundational example for me is the last two episodes of Neon Genesis Evangelion, where all previous conflicts within the series erode into a vague, expressionist, philosophical glimpse of reality that doesn’t necessarily resolve any of what the series builds up to at that point. As a conclusion to a season of anime, it’s anything but conventional. It bizarrely contrasts with the rest of the series and, disregarding the existence of later films and releases within the Evangelion franchise, it’s a baffling way to conclude a story. Put simply…it’s weird. But through that weirdness, my brain needed time to grapple with how to interpret these last two episodes of the series as they relate to the rest of the series. The weirdness of the last two episodes made me think a lot more critically about the show’s themes and concepts to an extent that likely would never have been reached had the show had a conventional conclusion. That journey towards interpretation has been instrumental in informing how I aspire to present and discuss themes in my own creative writing. Evangelion’s weirdness is a paragon of creative expression and begets critical thought on what the viewer is even seeing - making for an experience that is, for better or worse, impossible to forget.
Neon Genesis Evangelion’s conclusion is but one of countless ways for media to get weird. Every artist has their own spins and ideas that they want to present, and every project has its own limitations, be they ones of finance, time, or other resources. Whatever the case, every artist should strive to make something that may be construed as weird to some of its audience. It’s through engaging with “weird” art that people are encouraged and empowered to shift their understanding of the world around them.
The worst thing that any work of art can be is plain. A tragic reality of the modern media landscape, however, is that plainness is financially safe and therefore more viable to larger companies. With greater financial viability comes the financing of creatively tepid, safe projects that are too concerned with turning a profit to be weird.
Over the last two decades, we’ve witnessed the rise of independent creators. Indie film labels like A24, Annapurna Pictures, and NEON have empowered filmmakers to make smaller-budget films that forgo the emergence of movies with inflated budgets and safe storytelling. Likewise, the video game industry has seen indie developers and publishers see some of the greatest commercial and critical success of the 2010s and 2020s with games like Undertale, Stardew Valley, Among Us, and Hollow Knight, among many others. The reason why we’ve seen the rise of independent studios that support creatives is because there is a genuine demand for media that dares to have something to say. There’s a demand for media to be meaningful and to make people think. Specifically over the 2020s, we’ve seen a massive influx of large-scale projects failing to strike a chord with audiences. Once-acclaimed filmmakers like Robert Zemeckis put out movies like Welcome to Marwen and Here - movies that fail to produce the evocative, fun, and often weird ideas that made Zemeckis’ earlier works so memorable and culturally resonant. Massive studios like Take-Two sell off their beloved independent ventures that funded incredible, weird games like Rollerdrome and OlliOlli World because they’re only in the market of making “big hits”.
As the cost of making, well, anything has increased over the years, investors want safer, plainer products that will, in theory, be a more secure return on investment. Put simply, investors are afraid of weirdness because it implies a risk that such weirdness will alienate audiences and thus lead to weaker financial results. This fixation on making plainer, safer, and less risk-taking media for the sake of theoretically ensuring financial profitability only results in plain art that won’t make any kind of impact on the soul of its audience. Creatives need to be trusted to create bravely and unashamedly weird art, but oftentimes, such creatives have to earn the right to do so. I argue that we need to seriously reframe this phenomenon, and the recent example of Mickey 17 makes for a great jumping-off point for this conversation.
Mickey 17 is a bizarre film that features body recycling, intelligent yet oddly-designed creatures called “Creepers”, and conflict between multiple copies of the same person coexisting - all to illustrate themes of labor exploitation and the empathy to communicate across cultures. This is a creative, ambitious film - one that likely would never have been greenlit without the success of Parasite. We need to become more critical about why weird films like Mickey 17 need to be “earned” in order to be made. // Image: Warner Bros. Pictures
It goes without saying that any work of art is, by its very nature, a product that costs money to produce. Economically speaking, it makes a ton more sense to be safer, less controversial, and conform to conventions for the sake of making something that can appeal to as many people as possible. However, trying to make something for everyone will only ever result in something that appeals to no one. People often critique creative media as being “weird” - but in truth, that very weirdness is often precisely the reason that such media finds an audience.
Twin Peaks, the acclaimed television series by late visionary David Lynch, still finds itself gaining new fans over thirty years after its creation because of how trance-inducing its vibe is. From the dialogue to the setting to the themes explored and the overall style on display, Twin Peaks’ weirdness has kept it in public discourse for decades and will likely continue to be that way for more decades to come. With the plethora of interpretations, theories, and just different takeaways that the series naturally invites its viewers to take, Twin Peaks remains in the minds of everyone that watches it. In turn, this weirdness inspires future generations to make weird projects of their own. Without Twin Peaks, there would be no Gravity Falls or Alan Wake - weird projects that have creatively inspired audiences of their own.
David Lynch’s works are so beloved because the stories he tells are ones that are surreal, or at the very least involve surreal elements. This makes for projects that weren’t necessarily economically safe or viable, but undeniably memorable. Lynch’s surrealism has left a monumental impact on the audiences of his projects. Such ambitious creativity is something that inspires generations - that inspiration conceived by weirdness is far more valuable than any immediate monetary gain.
However, this freedom of ambitious creativity bestowed to creatives by corporations is something that is becoming increasingly rare. The harsh reality is that corporations, especially now, will always value immediate return on investment and profit over producing creative projects that inspire, inform, and captivate audiences. There are a select few that are able to get through this barrier, though - if a creator manages to create something that sees massive financial and/or critical success, they’re suddenly bestowed the privilege of being creatively ambitious and weird. The very weirdness that inspires future generations has now become something that has to be earned. Bong Joon-ho is one such creator that has “earned” his chance to be as weird as he wants with films produced by major film distributors.
Mickey 17, Bong Joon-ho’s follow-up to his 2019 Academy Award-winning masterpiece Parasite, is an unapologetically weird movie. This black comedy uses a science-fiction backdrop to tell a story that depicts and critiques capitalistic exploitation of labor, imperialism, and empathy. More than that, this is a creative film coming from Warner Bros. Pictures - a massive film distributor that’s mostly associated with producing films part of either previously established franchises or licenses. It’s rare for the company to produce a movie as creative, ambitious, and weird as Mickey 17 - but likely, the only reason for them doing so is because of Joon-ho’s previous success, particularly with Parasite. Through that success, Joon-ho got the greenlight to make anything he wanted and, rightfully so, he chose to make something that dares to be a weird concept that illustrates poignant, meaningful themes.
Mickey 17 is far from Joon-ho’s greatest film, but it is nevertheless one that is smartly crafted on stylistic and thematic levels. It’s a film that has a remarkable amount to say, and yet it frames its discussion and commentary around an intriguing, otherworldly setting to highlight aspects of capitalism Joon-ho wants to critique. Yet, telling such a sociopolitical story, even through a science-fiction lens, is one that may be financially risky to a studio like Warner Bros. Pictures. Its politics may alienate a portion of its potential audience. Because of that, the film will likely not bring the return on investment that the studio would usually be more behooved to see (and indeed, that appears to be exactly the case per the film’s opening weekend results).
This all manages to get a pass, though, because Joon-ho has proven himself to be a director that’s capable of making films with great success. His name alone is enough to sell tickets, at least to film enthusiasts familiar with his work. Because of that prior success, he can be as weird as he wants. Even if Mickey 17 ultimately flops at the box office, Joon-ho will certainly continue producing weird projects because his portfolio and prestige has granted him the ability to do so. While I’d be doubtful that he gets as large of a check as the one he got for Mickey 17 ever again, I don’t doubt that other studios will be willing to fund his wacky, creative efforts.
If you replace Joon-ho with an up-and-coming director that doesn’t have a feature length film to their name yet, suddenly this privilege of having weird, creatively ambitious projects be funded by large studios evaporates. A director without massive accolades and success wanting to make a film with creative, bizarre decisions wouldn’t get even half of Mickey 17’s $100 million budget from any film distributor/producer in any universe. This phenomenon is one of the greatest tragedies in the modern media landscape and is something that needs to change as soon as possible. New creators need to be given chances to tell weird stories just as much, if not more than veteran storytellers.
Hideo Kojima is no stranger to making bizarre yet compelling creative choices in his games. However, he had nearly thirty years of game dev experience prior to being given complete creative freedom by Sony to make Death Stranding. Would the same privilege be given to junior or even mid-career creators? // Image: PlayStation
Game creator Hideo Kojima makes for an interesting case study in this regard. Kojima is often in the conversation of one of the most creative developers in the medium’s history - and for good reason. From Metal Gear to Policenauts to Death Stranding, he’s been a consistent force in pushing the boundaries of what video games are capable of. Most players of Metal Gear Solid will never forget the innovative fourth-wall breaking of the Psycho Mantis boss fight. Players of Metal Gear Solid 2: Sons of Liberty will never forget the mind-bending plot twists and the depiction of narrative content that are unlike anything seen in video games before or since. Kojima’s video game portfolio is filled to the brim with weirdness, and because of that pedigree, he’s now effectively been given complete financial and creative freedom by some of the games industry’s largest companies - ones that seem less willing to take creative risks now more than ever.
After his falling out with Konami in 2015, Hideo Kojima began working on Death Stranding under a new studio with a publishing deal with Sony Interactive Entertainment. The creator was given complete creative freedom and the result was a predictably weird game that intrigued audiences, even marketing the game as the first title in an entirely new genre - a “strand-type” game. This genre is effectively one focused around asynchronous co-op where players only see certain aspects of other players’ contributions. It’s a bold system that’s creative and dares to innovate in an industry that often chooses to iterate on what has come before in place of pioneering new ways forward. The game didn’t necessarily impress on all fronts, and it certainly didn’t connect with a lot of players, but Death Stranding is a perfect example of how weirdness naturally builds an audience. While there are doubtlessly people that felt too alienated by Death Stranding to enjoy it, there were just as many if not more people that loved the strange narrative and vibe that elevated the game’s themes about connection in a world of unprecedented isolation. The game refuses to conform to typical genre conventions and is truly unlike anything else in PlayStation’s first-party portfolio - or the entire video game market, for that matter. That’s what gives the game its identity and that’s likely what will make it inspire future generations of game developers and storytellers.
Death Stranding is proudly not a game for everyone. Through being confident in its weirdness being strong enough to captivate a particular audience, the game carves its own niche. Unfortunately, the idea of a game carving out its own niche isn’t something that large first party studios like PlayStation are typically interested in entertaining. Looking at PlayStation’s first party output over the last five years, most of the company’s output has been one of two types of games. The first type includes iterative, relatively safe sequels to established IP, such as God of War: Ragnarök, Marvel’s Spider-Man 2, and Ratchet & Clank: Rift Apart. The second type includes titles trying to claim a piece of the elusive live-service pie designed with a mentality that toxically favors money-making-potential over fun-factor. While the former type is harmless as it is simply building upon and expanding an IP even if it has resulted in somewhat safe sequels that don’t completely reinvent the wheel, the latter has left brand damage and giant losses of money for PlayStation thanks to flops like Concord and many unreleased titles like Naughty Dog’s canceled The Last of Us live-service project, among others.
My reason for bringing up these titles is that the AAA side of the games industry seems so interested in pursuing safe projects that don’t pursue creativity, ambition, and weirdness so that they can more easily secure greater sales. In doing this, however, the impact of the games released during this period has diminished substantially. God of War: Ragnarök and Marvel’s Spider-Man 2 are great games, but their lack of risk-taking and weirdness ultimately make them less memorable than their direct predecessors. It’s not all doom-and-gloom, though - some of PlayStation’s first party output still has weirdness to it. Games like Helldivers II and Astro Bot have all found great success because they used their respective weird approaches to their game design, narrative, and style to carve a niche and find success. These games prove that weirdness is essential to making games deeply resonate with audiences.
The response to the trailer for the upcoming Death Stranding 2: On the Beach only confirms this desire for weirdness. This upcoming title only seems to double-down on the weirdness inherent in the first game, and builds upon it with new, otherworldly concepts that people are perplexed but fascinated by. There is no universe where Death Stranding 2: On the Beach is a game that appeals to the entire video game market and sells tens of millions of copies, but the developers at Kojima Productions clearly understand that the game doesn’t need to do that to see success. Kojima is clearly presenting Death Stranding 2: On the Beach as a game that will creatively and intellectually challenge players; as a weird work of art that will likely stick with them long after they put the controller down. And that’s the exact type of experience that we need to see more of in the games landscape - in the entire media landscape, I’d argue.
There’s something about this I take with issue with, though: is Death Stranding 2: On the Beach only allowed to be as weird as it is because it has Hideo Kojima at the helm? Would PlayStation give any other developer or studio the same level of creative freedom? There’s no denying that Hideo Kojima has been a consistently creative force in the games industry for decades and will continue to be so, but someone with his resume shouldn’t be the only type of developer allowed to be weird with a large project like this. Hideo Kojima has doubtlessly earned his ability to be as weird as he wants given his accomplishments with his extensive portfolio of games - I’m not denying that -, but I think it’s inherently problematic for a developer having to “earn their right” to be weird. The very concept is anti-art and anti-creative.
I would love to see more games like Death Stranding 2: On the Beach coming from developers that don’t yet have 30+ year-long resumes. A lot of junior to mid-level developers either get sent to the free-to-play mobile game mines where there’s only so much room to get creative or, if given a chance to play a major role in a game’s development, get met with severe budget and creative constraints by larger companies. It’s for that reason that a lot of developers and audiences perceive going indie as the only way to create weird games that cater to specific audiences - and there’s truth to this perception. Unless you have a long, expansive resume and portfolio like Hideo Kojima - and there’s ultimately a tiny number of developers that can say that they do -, then you’re doomed to only two options: contribute to projects in the AAA or AA space that have limited opportunities for creativity, or go indie to pursue creativity at the cost of having limited finances to work with.
There’s an issue here, and I think acknowledging it as an issue is going to be the first step towards healthier media industries. While I’m happy to see developers like Hideo Kojima still making massive creative swings, developers shouldn’t have to “earn” their ability to do so after numerous decades. More developers, regardless of seniority or industry-wide pedigree, should be empowered to pour as much of their creative spirit into a game as possible. Simply put, we need more Hideo Kojima’s in the world, but much of the industry is currently designed in such a way where creatives will only be given the opportunity to be as creative as a Hideo Kojima if they’ve proven themselves through years and years of work and after multiple games shipped. The time to reframe this is now - through allowing more creatives to make weird media, we’ll naturally go towards a new era of creative expression in games. We deserve to be in an era where the next generation of David Lynch’s and Hideo Kojima’s will be able to make their voices heard instead having to be suppressed through years of grunt work in order to prove themselves.
Parasite is, itself, a weird film because it creates a bizarre, chaotic situation to smartly dissect class relations in a way that appeals to audiences across cultures. Its weirdness is what led to the film’s success. Other creators need to be given the same chance to be weird for there to be more hits like Parasite. / Image: NEON
Let’s take a step back and quickly ask ourselves: what is weird? What makes something weird to us? The answer is one that’s going to be different for every single person given their preferences, background, life experience, and perception of the world around them. For me, weirdness is simply something that defies convention; something that isn’t afraid to boldly venture against traditional ideas and concepts. The most essential part of my personal definition of weirdness is the creative spirit inherent to defying conventions and tradition. The willingness to challenge typical ideas is what makes media weird to me - it’s also what often turns a piece of media that I enjoy into one that I’m much more interested in thinking about long after I’m finished engaging with it.
Neon Genesis Evangelion’s willingness to defy conventions of what one would expect of a typical finale to an anime series is what makes it so weird, memorable, and creative. Mickey 17’s choice to have body recycling represent the unethical lengths that capitalism may be willing to go towards is what makes the movie interesting to talk and think about. Even Parasite, a more seemingly grounded story told by Bong Joon-ho, is still delightfully weird because of the chaotic structure of its conflict between the poor and the rich that leads to its bombastic reveals, fantastic tension, and explosive finale.
Stories that take creative risks and unconventional means to explore ideas are the exact types of narratives that inspired me to pursue writing. Stories choosing to be weird is the precise reason why I created this blog in the first place. Weirdness is a vital component to storytelling - one that fuels human creativity in a way that nothing else can. It is for that reason that the conversation around weirdness in media needs to shift. Instead of being something that’s shunned by general audiences, it needs to be something that is more loudly and openly embraced by any fan of storytelling. We need to verbalize the demand for and desire to see more creators be given the chance to create weird art. If we resume the current relationship between audiences and weirdness, then exceptionally ambitious creatives will only become an even rarer commodity than they already are. The only ones that will be afforded the privilege to get weird will be the ones that have already gotten to tell stories longer than some creatives have even been alive. And that will surely spell doom for all creative media.
The time for having conversations about this is now. Let’s propel ourselves past the era of creative spirits having to prove themselves after who-knows-how-long to get to tell ambitious, weird stories. Through making weirdness the norm, we can shape all creative industries towards a greater future - one where creativity and ambition can flourish and one where normality is recognized as the boring form of creative expression that it is.
Thank you very much for reading! What are your thoughts on how storytellers are held back from getting weird with their stories until after they already see great success? Is this an issue in today’s modern landscape of media, or is this the wrong discussion to be having? As always, join the conversation and let me know what you think in the comments or on Bluesky @DerekExMachina.com.
