Strange Days: The Underrated Sci-Fi Gem That Feels More Relevant Than Ever

Strange Days is a 1995 science fiction film directed by Kathryn Bigelow and written by James Cameron. It falls squarely into the tech-noir sub-genre, a space that truly thrived in the '90s, but unlike its more celebrated counterparts that defined the decade, Strange Days was largely overlooked. And frankly, it deserves to stand shoulder to shoulder with them.

The movie takes place on the last two days of 1999. It depicts a Los Angeles torn by crime and violence, where the ultimate high is to “jack in” by attaching a “squid” to your skull and experience life through the eyes of another human being. Neon-drenched visuals present the chaos of a city on the edge, capturing a world on the brink of chaos, mirroring the societal anxieties of both its time and ours.

The film opens with a nerve-racking, POV-style robbery sequence, shot in one continuous take through the squid tech, that immediately throws us into the disorienting intimacy of playback. These long, unbroken takes are not just technical feats; they’re immersive tools that force the viewer into the action, blurring the lines between observer and participant.

Bigelow leans into handheld, documentary-style shooting, especially in street scenes and riots, giving the film a raw, almost cinéma vérité texture. It feels real because it looks and moves like reality. Combined with Elliot Goldenthal’s pulsing, industrial-infused score, there’s a constant sense of urgency, like the whole city is seconds from combustion. The production design is chaotic but grounded: this isn't a sleek, utopian future; it's gritty, crowded, and overheated. It's Blade Runner with more sweat and more rage.

Lenny Nero, played by Ralph Fiennes, is an ex-cop turned charming ‘playback’ salesman, the Santa Claus of the subconscious, as he calls himself. He deals in and provides people with the highest form of escapism. This is the latest drug, the one everybody wants: “pure and uncut subconscious, straight from the source.” His pitch is enticing, selling not just experience, but feelings—authentic and untampered. What makes this concept so powerful is how it reflects our own growing obsession with immersive technology. Today, we see a similar hunger in virtual reality, AI-generated experiences, and the endless pursuit of hyperrealism in entertainment. The film eerily anticipates the way people would chase unfiltered sensations, not just to escape, but to feel something real in a world that increasingly alienates them.

Iterations of this type of technology has been explored in many other movies, presenting both its potential benefits and its darker implications. On one hand, we see a paralysed man using playback to experience the sensation of running on a beach, feeling the waves wash over his feet. It is a moment of pure euphoria, a glimpse into how technology could enhance human experience in beautiful ways. But on the other end of the spectrum, we see criminals exploiting the same technology for horrific acts. One of the most disturbing sequences in the film involves a playback that allows a murderer to not only relive his crime but force his victim to experience it from his perspective. It is a brutal example of how technology, when placed in the wrong hands, can be exploited in the most abominable ways. 

The film was released just before the turn of the millennium and is set right on the eve of the new century. The fear of Y2K and the uncertainty of the future created a tangible anxiety for those who witnessed this change. I remember it vividly. Even as a child, I could sense the unease. It wasn’t just superstition; it was the rapid technological advancements that added to the tension. Science fiction has always been a mirror reflecting both the fears and hopes humanity holds for the future. It allows us to explore the depths of our consciousness, reality, and existence in a way that seeks meaning, much like religion. We theorise, hypothesise, and concretise our fears through stories that make the unknown more tangible.

The inciting incident of the film revolves around a crucial piece of ‘playback’ footage that captures the police murdering an African American rapper without cause. The devastating truth is that, after nearly thirty years, these horrors persist. This still happens today. Think back to George Floyd. Many were unjustly murdered before him and many after, but what set his case apart was the visibility. The footage of his murder went viral, forcing the world to witness the brutality firsthand. It wasn’t just the fact that it happened in broad daylight, surrounded by people—it was that millions saw it, and suddenly, it couldn’t be ignored.

Similarly, in Strange Days, the playback recording has the power to ignite an uprising, a revolt against systemic injustice. Those in power fear change, which is why the recording sets off a series of murders to keep the truth hidden. The film suggests a hard truth: revolutions don’t come from new information; they come from visibility. What people refuse to see, they cannot change. The very structure of power depends on selective blindness, and technology, whether playback or a smartphone camera, has the ability to break that illusion.

Bigelow doesn’t just present technology as neutral; she forces us to question who is controlling it. The probation of new technology is a recurring theme in sci-fi, from Orwell to Philip K. Dick, an acknowledgment that power structures will always try to suppress that which they cannot control. Strange Days presents a world where the problem is not just the technology itself but the systems that exploit it. It is a warning that remains as relevant today as it was in 1995, if not more.