Kimi Is a Heart-Pounding, Half-Baked Covid-Era Thriller

Some of our most timely cultural anxieties are mined from and mirrored in Kimi, the latest crime thriller directed by Steven Soderbergh. Not only does the film focus heavily on the insidious side of the tech industry and its panopticonic nature, but it candidly addresses the reality of the pandemic and the apprehension inherent in “returning to normal.” Written by seasoned screenwriter David Koepp, it packs a punch in all the right places—but falls just short of saying something truly salient about the topics it tackles. However, Zoë Kravitz playing an endearingly awkward agoraphobe is always entertaining to watch, and often elevates the film in spots where it otherwise might flounder.

Angela (Kravitz) lives a seemingly idyllic work-from-home lifestyle. Her enormous Seattle apartment is well-decorated and pristine, she adheres to a workout regimen on gym-grade personal equipment, and is issued a plethora of flashy gadgets due to her tech industry job. Akin to a Facebook moderator (which she actually alludes to having been employed as in the past), Angela listens in on audio streams captured by an Alexa-like personal assistant named Kimi, particularly those which have been reported as having unsuccessfully processed user requests—such as not recognizing the title of a Taylor Swift song or crude, prepubescent taunts. Though Angela seems to have it relatively made, this lifestyle is one she forges out of necessity as opposed to leisure: A longtime agoraphobe, she’s pretty much restricted to a life entirely conducted from within her apartment, the only tangible human interaction in her day to day life stemming from one-note FaceTime calls and people-watching through her enormous loft windows. When Angela stumbles upon what sounds like a violent crime being committed during one of her routine streams, she reaches out to her employer immediately to report the audio. Dismayed at the company’s relative lack of concern—and realizing that there’s only so much she can do from the protective comfort of her abode—Angela decides to investigate the issue solo, which involves trekking around Seattle despite her intense aversion to being in public. Unfortunately for Angela, her prying makes her an unwitting target for a conspiracy much larger than she could have imagined.

While the nature of the scandal that Angela uncovers provides gripping twists and thrills, what really gives Kimi its edge is the way it handles the presence of the pandemic—Angela makes off-handed remarks about Covid during virtual therapy sessions and video calls with her mother, and always makes sure to grab her reusable mask before even attempting to venture outdoors. The Covid theme doesn’t define Kimi, but effectively evokes the relevance of our increased reliance on technology and the way that the pandemic has accelerated this dependence. It also reflects the realities of the surveillance state we have grown eerily comfortable in, even when accounting for the constant threat of data breaches and the looming suspicion that we are constantly being monitored and listened to. Yet for a film that pieces together two incisive and interrelated facets of our current lived experiences, it is apparently uninterested in following through with this connection. The tech sector is depicted as deeply corrupt and deeply inhospitable to actually aiding human life; the pressures of overcoming the pandemic and seamlessly returning to normalcy are presented as rational reasons to worry. But by the film’s conclusion, these thoughts are simply ditched in favor of neatly wrapping up Kimi with a neat little narrative bow, making its ending feel abrupt and aimless.