Last winter I found myself doing something I haven’t done in years – actually getting excited about going to movie theaters again. Not because I suddenly developed a love for overpriced popcorn and sticky floors, but because 2023 turned out to be one of those rare years when science fiction films remembered they could be more than just excuse-delivery systems for CGI explosions. I mean, don’t get me wrong, there were still plenty of explosions, but some of them actually served a purpose beyond keeping teenage audiences awake.
It started with *M3GAN* back in January, which I almost skipped because, honestly, killer doll movies aren’t usually my thing. But my colleague Sarah insisted it was “actually smart horror,” and she’s got decent taste in these things, so I went. Glad I did. Underneath all the creepy dancing and murderous artificial intelligence, there was a surprisingly thoughtful examination of how we use technology to replace genuine human connection. The film worked because it understood that the real horror wasn’t a robot going rogue – it was a society so disconnected from authentic relationships that we’d rather interact with programmed responses than deal with messy, complicated people.
*Oppenheimer* dominated summer conversations, though calling it science fiction feels like stretching the definition. It’s more historical drama with scientific underpinnings, but Nolan’s handling of theoretical physics discussions reminded me why I fell in love with hard science fiction in the first place. There’s something thrilling about watching characters grapple with concepts that push the boundaries of human understanding. I found myself thinking about Asimov’s Foundation series, how he used scientific principles as the foundation for exploring human nature and societal change. Nolan did something similar here – used atomic physics as a lens for examining guilt, ambition, and the terrible weight of consequences you can’t undo.
The year’s biggest surprise was *The Creator*, which I approached with serious skepticism. Another humans-versus-AI story? Really? But Gareth Edwards pulled off something remarkable – he created artificial beings that felt genuinely alien without sacrificing their emotional core. The production design was extraordinary; those simple LED faces somehow conveyed more personality and depth than most human actors manage with their entire faces. More importantly, the film asked the right questions about consciousness and identity without getting preachy or philosophical in that heavy-handed way that ruins so many science fiction films.
I have to admit, *Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse* completely caught me off guard. I’ve been increasingly tired of superhero films – they’ve become so formulaic, so concerned with setting up the next installment that they forget to tell complete stories. But this one… the animation techniques alone were worth the price of admission. Each universe had its own visual language, its own physics rules that you could actually feel in how characters moved and interacted. There’s this moment where Gwen’s world shifts color palettes based on her emotional state, and I literally sat up straighter in my theater seat because I’d never seen anything quite like it. It reminded me why I originally fell in love with speculative fiction – that sense of limitless possibility, of “wait, you can do that?”
*Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3* turned out to be a surprisingly effective conclusion to that trilogy. Yes, it’s still a Marvel film with all the corporate machinery that entails, but the themes about found family and what defines humanity felt earned rather than focus-grouped. Rocket’s backstory was genuinely disturbing – not gratuitously so, but in a way that forced you to confront uncomfortable questions about how we treat consciousness when it doesn’t look like us. It reminded me of some of Octavia Butler’s work, how she used alien or modified human perspectives to examine our assumptions about personhood and dignity.
I caught *The Flash* hoping for a smart multiverse story and left feeling disappointed despite some genuinely thrilling moments. Michael Keaton’s return as Batman provided real nostalgic pleasure – there’s something about his particular interpretation of the character that feels more grounded than subsequent versions. But the film kept explaining its own rules and then immediately violating them whenever the plot needed a convenient solution. It’s the kind of sloppy writing that drives me crazy because the underlying concepts were solid. The speed force visualization looked stunning in isolated moments, but coherent storytelling matters more than pretty special effects.
*Transformers: Rise of the Beasts* surprised me by actually caring about its robot characters as individuals rather than just elaborate weapons platforms. Setting it in the 1990s gave it a different energy from the Michael Bay films – less concerned with showing off expensive destruction, more interested in character relationships. The practical effects work on the beast modes felt tactile in ways that pure computer graphics often don’t. There’s something to be said for filmmakers who understand that even fantastic elements need to feel physically real.
*Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny* attempted to incorporate time travel without breaking the franchise’s pulp adventure tone. The Antikythera mechanism concept was clever – using ancient technology for temporal manipulation felt more grounded than your typical time machine story. But the execution got wobbly whenever the plot demanded easy answers to complex problems. It reminded me why time travel stories are so difficult to pull off convincingly – the mechanics have to be airtight or the whole thing falls apart.
*Fast X* delivered exactly what it promised: physics laws getting spectacularly violated for two hours straight. Cars in space, electromagnetic devices that work however the plot requires them to, family speeches that somehow make it all feel meaningful. It’s not intellectually ambitious science fiction, but it’s confidently ridiculous science fiction, and there’s value in that approach too. Sometimes you need stories that prioritize fun over plausibility.
Looking back at the year, what struck me most was how many of these films felt less concerned with distant futures and more focused on extrapolating from current anxieties. Artificial intelligence consciousness, corporate control over individual identity, the ethics of genetic manipulation – concepts that felt purely speculative when I was reading Philip K. Dick novels in college now feel like next week’s news headlines. The best films managed to wrestle with these ideas without losing sight of character development and emotional truth.
What impressed me was how several filmmakers found fresh approaches to well-worn science fiction territories. Time travel, AI rebellion, superhero physics – these are familiar concepts, but directors like Edwards and the *Spider-Verse* team discovered new visual languages and emotional cores to explore. The technical achievements were remarkable too – *Spider-Verse* pushed animation into completely new territory, *The Creator* built believable future technology on a relatively modest budget, and even *Oppenheimer’s* practical effects approach to representing atomic reactions felt innovative.
Not everything succeeded, obviously. Some films got so caught up in spectacle they forgot to ground their speculative elements in recognizable human experience. Others had solid conceptual foundations but couldn’t execute them cleanly. But overall, 2023 felt like a year when science fiction cinema remembered its literary roots – that the best speculative fiction starts with “what if” and ends with “what does that mean for how we understand ourselves and our world?”
Kathleen’s a lifelong reader who believes science fiction is literature, full stop. From her book-filled home in Seattle, she writes about thoughtful, character-driven sci-fi that challenges ideas and lingers long after the last page. She’s a champion for under-read authors and timeless storytelling.