Crimes of the Future

For all its nostalgic pleasures and sardonic nods, this remains a footnote to the main body of Cronenberg’s work – a playful step back rather than an evolutionary leap forward.

While one can’t help but feel that more coherent and vastly superior work is being done by the likes of Brandon Cronenberg, it's still great to have Cronenberg senior back, thriving and shocking the masses once more.

In this instance, the most shocking thing is that it’s so muddled and dreary. It’s a gore-fest, true enough, but it’s a gore-fest that is mostly a snooze-fest.

Under the drollery and beyond the innards is a fatalistic vision of environmental collapse and a tart retort to fonder blueprints of the future.

Crimes of the Future feels like a weary summing-up, or a singles compilation from a once-pioneering band.

Brecken and Timlin are such good characters. And Stewart’s febrile delivery makes every scene she’s in feel urgent. Which is satisfying on so many levels.

Extraneous organs, plastic consumption and Giger-esque bio-mechanisms all feature in this wholly unique neo-noir, with plenty to satisfy fans of Cronenberg's early "body horror" work.

Crimes of the Future may be better described as ‘echoes of the past,’ yet it is evocative enough to avoid at any stage being boring.

Diverting without ever feeling essential, Crimes Of The Future is David Cronenberg treading water. It’s competently made and good to look at, but it lacks the weight or the shock factor of his finer work. 


In replicating buzz created around Crash, Crimes of the Future can't escape being compared to it. For all its outrage marketing, Crimes of the Future doesn't live up to its hype.