Mercy Review: A Screenlife Thriller That Misses the Mark

Timur Bekmambetov’s latest film, Mercy, plunges audiences into a near-future Los Angeles where the justice system has been fully automated. The screenlife thriller, which opened in IMAX and 3D theaters on January 23, presents a rapid-fire narrative where an accused man must prove his innocence to an AI judge within 90 minutes or be put to death.

The film stars Chris Pratt as Detective Chris Raven, who wakes up strapped to a lethal chair. His judge is the imposing AI entity Judge Maddox, portrayed by Rebecca Ferguson. The premise is a ticking clock of survival, but the execution often feels as buggy as the technology it depicts.

The film opens with a unique narrative device: a “previously on” montage that explains the film’s own premise. This edited sequence details how the crime-ridden, poverty-stricken Los Angeles of 2029 adopted AI-driven capital punishment. Ironically, this exposition is being shown to the accused killer himself, Detective Raven, who is intimately familiar with the system—he pioneered the “Mercy” project.

Raven is granted access to a communal cloud containing the digital and GPS data of everyone in Los Angeles. He must sift through texts, doorbell videos, and other digital sources to prove his innocence. As evidence is presented, iOS windows pop up around Raven’s head like 3D holograms, creating a visual interface for the legal battle.

The case against Raven seems watertight: he arrived home, fought with his wife Nicole, and left, only for their daughter to find Nicole stabbed minutes later. The only problem is that Raven has no memory of the events, an intriguing mystery that is quickly handwaved aside as the story shifts gears at breakneck speed.

As the on-screen clock counts down, the narrative introduces a multitude of supporting characters via FaceTime calls, including Raven’s police partner, Jacqueline “Jaq” Dialo, and his AA sponsor, Rob Nelson. The mystery is unraveled practically backwards, with clues explained or exposed the moment they are discovered. Raven uses Jaq as a proxy to revisit the crime scene, viewing the world through her body cam, drones, and digital renderings of real spaces.

This rapid succession of perspectives creates a visual clutter that can be physically demanding. The film switches focus haphazardly, moving from tech conspiracy to domestic drama to a mixture of drugs-and-terrorism thriller. The sheer flurry of images and pop-up windows flying at the viewer makes it difficult to invest in the narrative.

These visual elements are often not on the same plane of focus, forcing the eyes to adjust faster than the brain can process information. This effect becomes even more pronounced and headache-inducing when watching in 3D.

It’s often hilariously slapdash despite its conceptual prowess, and a prime example of great ideas being squished together and squandered.

Perhaps the most striking aspect of Mercy is its thematic approach to technology. The setting involves an omniscient state apparatus that uses bare-bones facts to make snap judgments before sending people to their deaths. However, this instant access to all facets of people’s lives is not framed as a dilemma or a source of hesitation.

The film’s neutral approach to all-encompassing surveillance is the foundation of its mystery setting. Yet, paired with the movie’s eventual pro-AI bent—despite depicting AI as a fascistic entity—it creates a strange viewing experience. The narrative seems to sell a concept that is hard not to be perturbed by.

Director Timur Bekmambetov is a veteran of the screenlife genre, having produced films like the Unfriended series, Searching, and R#J. He understands the challenge of telling a story within the confines of a computer screen. In Mercy, however, he pushes the concept past its limits until it breaks, becoming uninteresting in the process.

While the digital evidence is presented through Raven’s eyes, the camera frequently focuses on aggressive close-ups of Pratt. The film reveals his character to be an unpleasant, borderline irredeemable husband and policeman, making his innocence difficult to root for. In contrast, Ferguson’s shadowy AI magistrate comes off as surprisingly more human.

There is little emotional challenge or cognitive dissonance in wanting Raven to break free; the film’s approach to morality is dispiritingly flat. Pratt often fails to imbue the character with realistic emotions or the showiness that might make the thriller operatic. The result is a protagonist whose fate feels less like a high-stakes legal battle and more like a technical demonstration.

The screenlife genre has evolved from early webcam experiments to more polished examples. Mercy attempts to build on this legacy but ultimately squanders its conceptual prowess. The film’s potential is lost in a chaotic execution that prioritizes visual gimmicks over a coherent narrative.

Mercy is a film of high concepts and low execution. It attempts to merge the screenlife genre with a high-stakes legal thriller but gets bogged down by a cluttered visual style and a narrative that moves too fast to resonate. The film’s exploration of AI justice is intriguing but ultimately feels underdeveloped.

For audiences, the experience may depend heavily on the viewing format. While the IMAX presentation offers an immersive scale, the 3D version exacerbates the film’s visual chaos, making it a physically taxing experience. The film serves as a prime example of how great ideas can be squandered when not given the breathing room to develop.

Ultimately, Mercy may be best remembered for its ambitious attempt to push the boundaries of the screenlife genre, even if it stumbles in the execution. It is a cautionary tale about the limits of digital storytelling and the importance of narrative clarity over visual complexity.