Still Relevant? A Four-Year Check on The Platform 2

Released on October 4, 2024, Galder Gaztelu-Urrutia's The Platform 2 returns to the grim, dystopian setting that resonated so powerfully with audiences during the height of the COVID lockdowns. The original film, released in 2019, became a dark reflection of our society's struggles with resource scarcity, and it quickly gained traction on Netflix. Now, four years later, we must ask: does the sequel maintain that same level of relevance and impact?

At its core, The Platform 2 picks up where its predecessor left off, exploring the same chilling premise of individuals trapped in a vertical prison where food is distributed in a tiered manner. While the first film's allegory of class division and resource inequality struck a deep chord amid pandemic-induced scarcity, the sequel, while effective, largely recycles the same thematic ground. The characters become embroiled in escalating violence, driven by differing philosophies on survival—those who want to maintain an organized system of distribution versus those who adopt a "look out for number one" mentality.

In many ways, The Platform 2 serves as a mirror reflecting our societal choices in a time of crisis. The film amplifies the conflict between altruism and self-interest, dramatizing the tribalism that can arise when resources are limited. This tension is depicted through increasingly brutal confrontations, showcasing how desperation can lead to moral decay. The metaphor is clear: when push comes to shove, will we help each other, or will we fight for our own survival?

Despite its reliance on familiar tropes, the film does offer a more personalized narrative arc. Characters are fleshed out with emotional backstories, making their struggles more relatable and poignant. However, one can't help but feel that it misses the opportunity to expand on the rich thematic soil laid by the first film. Instead of delving deeper into the socio-political commentary, it often resorts to mere rehashing, leaving the audience yearning for a more innovative exploration of its concepts.

The film's cinematography remains striking, utilizing stark contrasts and claustrophobic framing to convey the oppressive atmosphere of the prison. Gaztelu-Urrutia effectively uses visual metaphors—the descent of the food platform serves not only as a physical barrier but also as a commentary on societal hierarchies. Each character's position in the platform hierarchy is symbolic of their place in the social order, illustrating the fragility of humanity when faced with extreme conditions.

Yet, as we revisit this world after four years, one wonders if the film still resonates in a post-pandemic context. The urgent themes of resource allocation and social disparity were once acutely felt during the lockdowns. Now, in a world grappling with different challenges, The Platform 2 risks feeling less urgent, more like an echo of its predecessor rather than a fresh discourse on contemporary issues.

The Platform 2 successfully reignites the conversation around class disparity and survival instincts, but it does so with a sense of déjà vu. While its personal touches and visual storytelling are commendable, the film ultimately doesn't stray far from the path laid by the original. It reminds us of our choices during times of crisis, yet it leaves the audience pondering whether new perspectives could have enriched the narrative. As we look back on the impact of the original film, The Platform 2 serves as a reflection—an unsettling reminder of the human condition that, while familiar, may not hit quite as hard as it once did.