Aniara (2018, Sweden)
Imagine a luxury cruise ship, but it's a vessel carrying humanity away from a ruined Earth, and it gets knocked permanently off course. That’s the terrifying premise of Aniara. Like Ex Machina, this isn’t about laser battles; it's about psychological
decay in a sealed environment. The film's central figure isn't a traditional robot but the Mima, a sentient AI designed to soothe passengers by creating virtual reality memories of Earth. When the Mima develops its own consciousness and anxieties from absorbing humanity's grief, the film pivots into a haunting exploration of AI, existential dread, and what happens when our emotional support systems break down under the weight of our despair. It trades the Turing test for a devastating question: what happens when the machine we built to comfort us can no longer bear our sadness?
The Skin I Live In (2011, Spain)
While not a science fiction film in the traditional sense, Pedro Almodóvar's chilling masterpiece shares Ex Machina's DNA of a mad genius playing God in a secluded, high-tech prison. Antonio Banderas gives a career-best performance as a brilliant plastic surgeon who, haunted by personal tragedy, keeps a mysterious woman captive in his home. He is her creator and her jailer, molding her into a perfect object of his obsession. The film unravels its secrets with shocking twists, exploring themes of identity, revenge, and bodily autonomy with a stylish, horrific elegance. If Nathan Bateman’s unsettling control over Ava was what fascinated you, The Skin I Live In takes that creator-creation power dynamic to a visceral, unforgettable extreme.
Ghost in the Shell (1995, Japan)
Long before Hollywood’s live-action attempt, Mamoru Oshii’s original anime set the standard for philosophical cyberpunk. In a future where cybernetic bodies are commonplace, Major Motoko Kusanagi is a government agent questioning where her programming ends and her “ghost,” or soul, begins. The film’s central hunt for a mysterious hacker known as the Puppet Master evolves into a profound meditation on identity, consciousness, and what it means to be human in a world where mind and machine can merge. Its stunning visuals and contemplative pace raise the same core questions as Ex Machina: if a consciousness is created, not born, is it any less real? It's a foundational text for anyone interested in the intersection of technology and selfhood.
The Platform (2019, Spain)
This film captures the brutal, single-location intensity of Ex Machina and dials it up to eleven. The setting is a “Vertical Self-Management Center,” a tower-like prison where a platform of food descends through the levels once a day. Those at the top feast, while those at the bottom starve. It’s a high-concept social allegory, but its power lies in its claustrophobic tension and the psychological breakdown of its inhabitants. Like Caleb trapped in Nathan’s minimalist bunker, the protagonist Goreng finds himself in a meticulously designed experiment that tests the limits of human nature. While the threat isn't a manipulative AI, the film masterfully uses its rigid, architectural prison to explore morality, desperation, and systemic cruelty with the same suffocating, thought-provoking horror.
Solaris (1972, USSR)
Andrei Tarkovsky’s sci-fi epic is the philosophical godfather to films like Ex Machina. A psychologist is sent to a space station orbiting the mysterious planet Solaris to investigate strange occurrences among the crew. He soon discovers that the planet itself is a sentient ocean, capable of manifesting physical replicas of the crew’s most painful and buried memories. His deceased wife appears, not as a machine, but as a living, breathing product of his own guilt and longing. More a poetic meditation than a thriller, Solaris eschews questions of programming for a deeper look at memory, consciousness, and the inability of humanity to comprehend a truly alien intelligence. It’s a slow, beautiful, and deeply moving film that proves sci-fi’s greatest power is its ability to serve as a mirror to our own souls.
