Timur Bekmambetov’s latest AI thriller proves that even the most innovative filmmaking techniques have an expiration date.
The “screenlife” format—telling stories entirely through computer screens and digital interfaces—delivered genuine thrills in films like “Unfriended” and “Missing.”
But Mercy, starring Chris Pratt as a detective racing against an AI court system to prove his innocence, suggests the gimmick has run its course.
What begins as a kinetic thriller quickly devolves into a predictable mashup that squanders both its talented cast and timely themes about surveillance and artificial intelligence.
A Promising Premise That Loses Its Way
Set in crime-ridden Los Angeles circa 2029, Mercy introduces audiences to a dystopian judicial system called Mercy Capital Court. This AI-powered program serves as judge, jury, and executioner—a concept with chilling real-world parallels as artificial intelligence increasingly infiltrates our legal systems.
Chris Pratt plays Detective Chris Raven, ironically one of the architects behind this very system. He wakes up hungover and strapped to a chair, accused of brutally stabbing his wife Nicole in their kitchen. Facing him on an oversized screen is Judge Maddox, portrayed by Rebecca Ferguson as an emotionless AI program.
The rules create immediate dramatic tension:
- Raven has access to the city’s “Municipal Cloud”—every camera, cell phone, and database
- An onscreen Guilty Meter displays probability of guilt, currently hovering in the high 90s
- He has exactly 90 minutes to lower that number below 92%
- Failure means instant execution
The real-time format initially generates palpable urgency. But that momentum doesn’t last.
When Talent Gets Trapped
Pratt’s casting presents an immediate problem. His greatest strengths as an actor—particularly his physicality showcased in the “Guardians of the Galaxy” series—remain completely neutralized throughout most of the film.
Strapped to a chair for the majority of runtime, Pratt relies solely on facial expressions and vocal delivery. The result feels strained. Viewers can practically see him working to convey desperation and determination, rather than embodying those emotions naturally.
Rebecca Ferguson fares even worse despite her considerable talent. Reduced to playing a disembodied talking head with robotic vocal patterns, she has virtually nothing to work with. Judge Maddox exists as pure programming—emotionless, algorithmic, inhuman.
The two leads never share physical space, eliminating any possibility for genuine chemistry or dynamic interaction. Their scenes together feel more like video conference calls than cinematic moments.
Visual Overload Cannot Compensate for Narrative Weakness
Director Bekmambetov attempts to compensate for static performances with relentless visual stimulation. The screen explodes with imagery from every conceivable source:
- Police drone footage capturing aerial perspectives
- Private cell phone clips documenting personal moments
- Restaurant security cameras recording public interactions
- Street corner surveillance tracking movement patterns
- Neighbor’s “bird cam” providing unexpected angles
This bombardment of varying footage styles creates visual chaos rather than coherent storytelling. What should feel like innovative use of modern surveillance technology instead becomes exhausting sensory overload.
Supporting characters drift in and out through phone screens and video feeds. Kylie Rogers plays Britt, the teenage daughter forced into extended crying-on-the-phone scenes. Kali Reis appears as LAPD partner Jaq in a role described as making “little sense.” Only Chris Sullivan as AA sponsor Rob brings authentic grounding to his performance.
Squandered Commentary on Privacy and Surveillance
Screenplay writer Marco van Belle raises genuinely disturbing questions about modern privacy erosion. Our contemporary world of social media oversharing, ubiquitous surveillance cameras, citizen journalism via smartphones, and AI assistants like Gemini and ChatGPT creates unprecedented transparency—and vulnerability.
Mercy could have delivered biting commentary on these issues. Instead, those legitimately important themes get “quickly swept aside in favor of drone-fueled chase sequences and plot reveals” that audiences see coming well in advance.
The script telegraphs its twists with all the subtlety of dropping anvils. Breadcrumbs become boulders. What should feel like shocking revelations land as predictable inevitabilities.
The Screenlife Format Reaches Its Breaking Point
Bekmambetov pioneered screenlife storytelling as a producer, helping create genuinely innovative cinema. “Unfriended” (2014) used the format to amplify horror. “Host” (2020) captured pandemic-era isolation perfectly. “Missing” (2023) demonstrated continued potential.
Even television experimented successfully with the 2015 “Modern Family” episode “Connection Lost,” which unfolded entirely through desktop visuals.
But techniques that once felt fresh now risk feeling gimmicky. The pandemic spawned numerous forgettable screenlife projects that diluted the format’s impact. Mercy suggests the approach has reached creative exhaustion.
By the halfway mark of the screen-popping and kinetic but ultimately tiresome and borderline dopey AI thriller “Mercy,” I found myself yearning for a wireless mouse so I could log off.
A Third Act That Abandons All Restraint
Whatever momentum Mercy builds collapses in its final act. The story takes what’s described as a “Breaking Bad” turn that feels wildly arbitrary—motivation and logic abandoned for shock value.
From there, events escalate to “almost laughably over the top” territory. The thriller that began with somewhat grounded premises about AI judiciary systems spirals into absurdity.
Bekmambetov has demonstrated willingness to take creative risks throughout his career. “Night Watch” and “Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter” proved his gunslinger mentality. But ambition without execution yields disappointing results.
When Innovation Becomes Limitation
Mercy serves as cautionary tale about mistaking format for substance. Screenlife storytelling once elevated narratives by adding authenticity and immediacy. Here it constrains performances, limits dramatic possibilities, and substitutes visual frenzy for emotional resonance.
The film’s greatest tragedy lies in its wasted potential. AI-powered judicial systems, erosion of privacy, surveillance state expansion—these topics demand thoughtful exploration. Instead, they become window dressing for a derivative thriller that resembles “The Fugitive” meets “Minority Report” without capturing what made either film compelling.
Pratt and Ferguson deserve better material that utilizes their considerable talents. Audiences deserve smarter engagement with genuinely frightening technological developments reshaping society.
Sometimes the most innovative approach is recognizing when innovation has run its course. Mercy needed the mercy of a different storytelling format—one that prioritized character depth and thematic resonance over technical gimmickry.