“Imagining hell is a privilege”
What non-Western science fiction can teach us about real-world inequity
Published 17 January 2025
Ever since the dawn of cinema, audiences have been captivated by visions of outer space – drawn into the thrill of traversing far-off galaxies aboard fantastical spaceships brimming with curious technological devices.
From cyborgs and robots to alien invasions, the genre has consistently imagined humanity at the mercy of machines.
Science fiction has evolved into a Hollywood juggernaut, oscillating between an unspoken faith in technology and an ominous warning of its potential to spiral out of control.
In the last edition of the FEIT Film Festival that ran under the umbrella theme of ‘Science Fiction in World Cinema’, we discovered quieter, more introspective science fiction emerging from the Global South.
These films shift the focus to explore humanity’s relationship with technology in the context of an unequal distribution of power and resources. Rather than portraying technology as evil and unpredictable, they inquire about the human intentions driving these advancements, questioning who benefits and who is left behind in their wake.
The Mexican sci-fi film Sleep Dealer (Alex Rivera, 2008) is set in the border town of Tijuana in the near future. The streets are bustling with emigrants from further south, including the young Memo Cruz, who has recently arrived from Oaxaca.
Like thousands of others, he secures a job as a ‘sleep dealer’. Connected by cables, he remotely operates tools on a construction site in a US city. Working in a large factory hall, under artificial lights, the workers perform various kinds of unskilled jobs. Someone next to Memo picks oranges in Georgia.
The repetitive work strains their eyes and makes them old before their time, with no one to cover their medical bills. As the supervisor cynically remarks when inducting the new employees: “This is the American Dream. We give the United States what they always wanted. All the work without the workers.”
The concerns explored in Sleep Dealer more than a decade ago are brought forward to the current digital age in the prize-winning US–Rwandan co-production Neptune Frost (Anisia Uzeyman and Saul Williams, 2021).
This musical sci-fi picture redefines the meaning of technology through a story of rebellion and insurgence. At the beginning of the film, the camera pans the arid, rocky terrain of a coltan mine, where Matalusa – referencing the US American civil rights leader Martin Luther King – his brother Tekno and others work with pickaxes. Suddenly a guard hits and kills Tekno. This sets off Matalusa’s flight from the mine and inspires a group of fellow workers to join him in the underground where they set out to code a ‘justice algorithm’ in a fight against systemic oppression.
Technical innovation, as Sleep Dealer and Neptune Frost reveal, is entangled with the colonial legacy: socioeconomic inequality, corrupt governments, exploitation of natural resources and environmental neglect.
The films echo the hidden sacrifices of human life that underpin the conveniences of the First World.
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In Sleep Dealer, much of the story unfolds in peripheral places: dimly lit bars, a dry riverbed, and fires in the favela. Similarly, in Neptune Frost, the rebels find refuge in a haven far removed from civilisation, where their black bodies move to the beat of drums and the glow of flickering flames.
For these films, dystopia is not machines that have turned against humanity. Instead, it is embodied in the bodies of migrants with digital network nodes implanted in their wrists or miners with missing limbs. It is the human cost of our AI-driven future.
The films make striking use of obsolete technology, integrating them into their narrative and aesthetic formulas as both symbol and critique.
Outdated devices highlight the growing digital divide between developed and developing countries, while also reflecting the pervasive practice of e-waste dumping in African nations.
In Sleep Dealer, the iris recognition system at the border between the US and Mexico appears rusty and makes a squeaking noise. Similarly, the transfer device Memo uses to wire money to his family is a simple metal box that makes dollar bills slide across a flickering screen after cash is inserted.
In Neptune Frost, electronic waste is a powerful motif, repurposed into a tool that amplifies the voices of the dispossessed.
The name of Matalusa’s murdered brother, Tekno, is a poignant reference to the intersection of technology and death. The communal spaces of the outcast village itself are constructed from discarded computer screens, satellite dishes, and motherboards. Matalusa’s striking black jacket is crafted from old keyboard pads and becomes a creative emblem of resilience.
In this context, the terminology of technology is the lexicon of rebellion: machine learning, power, hacking, algorithms, codes, interfaces and firewalls are reimagined as instruments of defiance.
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With their distinct approaches, these sci-fi productions break away from sterile, minimalist formulas often seen in the mainstream genre.
Neptune Frost captivates audiences with imaginative visuals, poetic dialogues and a soulful soundtrack to deliver an inclusive and empowering message. Meanwhile, Sleep Dealer explores the enduring power of human warmth and solidarity through the developing bond between Memo and Luz, who meet on their journey north.
In this, the films offer a glimmer of hope within the unsettling presents and futures they depict.
Memory from Neptune Frost declares that "imagining hell is a privilege." Image: Neptune Frost, 2021
Outdated devices highlight the growing digital divide between developed and developing countries. Image: Sleep Dealer, 2008 
In Sleep Dealer, the iris recognition system at the border between the US and Mexico is rusty and makes a squeaking noise. Image: Sleep Dealer, 2008
Neptune Frost depicts an outcast village constructed from discarded computer screens, satellite dishes and motherboards. Image: still from Neptune Frost, 2021
Matalusa’s jacket is made from old keyboard pads and becomes a creative emblem of resilience. Image: Neptune Frost, 20211 / 5
In Neptune Frost, a character called Memory, belonging to the collective of outcasts, declares: “Imagining hell is a privilege.” This critique underscores that those distanced from daily suffering can entertain abstract ideas, while others fight for survival.
Sleep Dealer and Neptune Frost disrupt conventional sci-fi narratives to reframe the genre as a confrontation of systemic inequalities. As Memory reminds us, technology is not an autonomous force. There is always someone who drives it – much like a drum that needs a drummer to give it purpose.
Claudia Sandberg is the coordinator of the FEIT Film Festival.