Andrew Glester reviews the film Mercy, directed by Timur Bekmambetov
Picture a room where every photon bouncing off a doorbell camera, every acoustic reflection captured by a passing delivery drone, and every drop of ambient thermal noise is fed directly into a Bayesian inference engine. This is the courtroom depicted in director Timur Bekmambetov’s 2026 film Mercy, which delves deep into the murky boundary between artificial intelligence (AI) and human behaviour.
Set in 2029, the film features Los Angeles police detective Chris Raven, who is also the defendant, played with an increasingly desperate, sweat-soaked intensity by Chris Pratt (Jurassic World, Guardians of the Galaxy). He is starting his trial at a staggering 97.5% probability of guilt.
The judge sitting across from him isn’t a human in robes, but an AI avatar named Judge Maddox, brought to life with icy, terrifying calm by Rebecca Ferguson (Silo, Dune). Raven has precisely 90 minutes to look into the municipal network, cross-reference any telecommunication data recorded by the system, and drive that probability score down below 92%, or a focused acoustic shockwave will end his life by rupturing his internal organs on the spot.
Mercy has not filled critics with delight (it got a score of just 24% on the Rotten Tomatoes “Tomatometer”) but audiences are finding much to enjoy in it (81% on the Rotten Tomatoes “Popcornmeter”). Beneath the reasonably compelling visuals and a home-movie-night-worthy whodunnit lies a fascinating (and possibly accidental) masterclass in the limits of computational physics.
The premise of the “Mercy Capital Court” rests entirely on a classic piece of scientific hubris: the concept of “Laplace’s Demon”. The concept dates back to 1814, when French mathematician Pierre-Simon Laplace postulated that if an intellect knew the exact position and momentum of every atom in the universe, it could calculate the past and future with absolute certainty. Judge Maddox is Hollywood’s latest incarnation of that demon, vacuuming up petabytes of data from the urban landscape under the assumption that total observation inevitably yields objective truth.
As the film unfolds within its high-stress 90-minute limit, reality asserts itself through the unavoidable laws of measurement and noise. The court treats its data streams as pure, classical bits; but the reality is that the physical world generating those feeds is still fundamentally chaotic. A camera feed misses a vital angle because of atmospheric diffraction; a digital packet drops over a high-latency mesh network; and a corrupted timestamp introduces entropy into the dataset.
Ferguson’s AI character acts less like an objective judge and more like the ultimate “black box” algorithm: impenetrable, unyielding and bound by the feedback loops of its own training data. This is not just cinematic exaggeration but mirrors the real-world crisis of predictive risk-assessment tools like COMPAS.
Used across American bail and sentencing hearings, COMPAS was famously exposed for generating disproportionately high risk scores for Black defendants, regardless of actual reoffending rates. It was a stark lesson in how automated systems codify historical bias under the guise of neutral maths. So when Pratt’s character desperately feeds fresh evidence into the system to shift his 97.5% guilt probability, he too is fighting a version of algorithmic bias. This is a feedback loop where an initial prediction, once generated by a closed-source formula, becomes nearly impossible for a human to contest.
The absurdity of the courtroom’s execution chair – where a single computational calculation yields an instantaneous, violent sentence – amplifies the real-world stakes of automated misidentification. In recent years, away from the cinema screen, law-enforcement reliance on automated tools, particularly facial-recognition software, has already led to disastrous false arrests.
With innocent citizens including Robert Williams and Christopher Gatlin being jailed for crimes they didn’t commit due to faulty algorithm matches, we have already seen what happens when police and courts outsource critical human judgement to automated systems with known failure rates. Mercy takes this terrifying precedent to its absolute extreme, demonstrating what happens when we strip away human discretion, constitutional due process, and the right to meaningful cross-examination in favour of algorithmic convenience.
Ultimately, the film succeeds as both a relentless, clock-ticking thriller and a thought-provoking slice of near future paranoia. Bekmambetov’s direction keeps the 2029 world feeling real enough to suspend disbelief, while Ferguson provides a wonderfully nuanced counterweight to Pratt’s frantic energy.
More than anything, the film serves as a stark reminder that no matter how much data we feed an AI, an algorithm cannot understand context, empathy or justice. As AI continues to creep into real-world courtrooms, the film’s message is clear: substituting automated probability for human reason doesn’t remove human bias, it merely automates it.
- 2026 Amazon MGM Studios 1 hr 41 min
