Crimes of the Future (2022), directed by David Cronenberg, is a provocative and unsettling return to the filmmaker’s signature exploration of the human body as both subject and medium. Set in a bleak, near-future society, the film imagines a world where humanity has adapted to a polluted, artificial environment and physical pain has largely disappeared. In this strange reality, the human body begins to evolve in unexpected ways, forcing society to reconsider what it means to be human, natural, and alive.

The story follows Saul Tenser, a renowned performance artist whose body produces new organs spontaneously. Rather than hiding this condition, Saul and his partner Caprice transform it into a form of public art, staging surgical performances where these organs are removed before an audience. These events are not framed as acts of violence, but as expressions of creativity and identity, blurring the line between art, science, and spectacle. The film uses this premise to challenge viewers’ comfort zones and expectations of artistic expression.

As Saul’s notoriety grows, government agencies take an interest in his mutations, particularly the National Organ Registry, which monitors human evolution. Through these interactions, the film introduces themes of surveillance, control, and fear of change. Society appears fascinated by evolution, yet deeply afraid of losing authority over it. This tension drives much of the narrative, creating an atmosphere of quiet paranoia rather than traditional suspense.

Cronenberg’s world-building is deliberately cold and minimalist. The decaying architecture, dim interiors, and sterile technology reinforce the idea of a civilization slowly drifting away from its biological roots. Dialogue is often subdued and enigmatic, encouraging the audience to reflect rather than react. Instead of clear explanations, the film offers fragments of ideas that gradually form a disturbing philosophical picture.

The performances are restrained but deeply effective. Viggo Mortensen portrays Saul as a man both empowered and imprisoned by his own body, while Léa Seydoux’s Caprice brings emotional control and devotion to their shared work. Kristen Stewart adds an intriguing layer as a conflicted official, caught between professional duty and personal fascination. Together, they ground the film’s abstract concepts in human emotion.

Ultimately, Crimes of the Future is not a film designed to entertain in a conventional sense. It is a meditation on evolution, art, and the uneasy relationship between humanity and its own biology. While challenging and at times uncomfortable, the film lingers in the mind, inviting viewers to question how far adaptation can go before identity itself begins to dissolve.