Ahead of its Cannes premiere, rumours of untold horrors were swirling around David Cronenberg’s latest – fuelled in part by the Canadian maven himself, who claimed its investigation of the inner recesses of the human body would have audiences flocking for the exits in its opening minutes.
In truth, while they were a few absconders, Crimes of the Future – named after his 1970 film but otherwise unconnected – turns out to be a fairly mild entry to the weirdcore end of his canon. It recalls early ’90s Cronenberg: Naked Lunch in its embrace of tactile design, and Crash in its gesturing towards some (very) alternative forms of sexual gratification. But it sets out to provoke thought, rather than extreme reactions. You can put the sick bag down.
Metamorphosis and evolution have always been Cronenberg preoccupations and they’re at the heart of Crimes of the Future
Review
Crimes of the Future
David Cronenberg returns with an oddly mild-mannered glandular fever dream set in a dystopian future
Written by Phil de Semlyen
Global film editor
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