Sacrifice Isn't Just An Eco-Thriller — It's Better
Chris Evans and Anya Taylor-Joy tackle artifice and ego in Romain Gavras’ sci-fi satire.
Performative activism has always, always been a thing, but there’s something to be said for how much easier it feels now with the advent of social media. I’m not afraid to admit that I feel good reposting mutual aid requests from those who need the support, and making my political sentiments known on my Instagram story. I also acknowledge that it’s not enough, and am less eager to admit that I don’t always do everything I can to truly make a difference.
Of course, I’m not the only one: so many of us — too many of us — are far more comfortable sharing a black square on our Instagram feeds, or a hashtag on X, than affirming those beliefs IRL. It’s the nature of our reality, blurred by the lens of social media and defined by screen time. But what happens when the tragedies overseas reach our shores, and we’re called to act — for real, this time? How many of us have the guts to get off the couch and put our bodies, not just our social media clout, on the line for a cause we actually believe in?
Most of us may live our lives never getting a true chance to make good on our intentions, but Mike Tyler — the reluctant star of Romain Gavras’ Sacrifice, played by Chris Evans — is one of the lucky few who gets a real, inescapable opportunity to change the world. That is, admittedly, because he’s practically held at gunpoint to do it, and that’s just one of the bonkers choices Gavras makes in his English-language debut. Sacrifice, like so many class-conscious thrillers of its ilk, is both timely and hysterical, but it’s also more earnest than any “eat the rich” story that’s premiered of late. In fact, it’s not even really an “eat the rich” story. It functions best when it skewers the performances we all hide behind, chiefly through Evans’ fearlessly meta turn. Not only does it give us the actor’s best work in years, it also might break the slump of the subgenre once and for all.
The similarities between Mike and Evans aren’t hard to spot. We first meet Mike in the back of a limo, fretting over a potential bald spot in his jet-black hair, one that his dutiful agent, Oliver (Sam Richardson), insists can be remedied by another trip to Turkey. Though he’s never claimed to have taken a similar trip, Evans’ own hairline has been looking fuller of late, making this the first of many meta jokes told at his own expense. Then there’s Mike’s claim to fame: like Evans, he’s an actor best known for schlocky popcorn flicks, but where the latter’s star rose in Marvel’s Cinematic Multiverse and miscellaneous comic book adaptations, Mike became a household name chewing the scenery in a 300-esque gladiator franchise. His fame turned to infamy, however, after the demise of his father, which justifiably triggered a very public, very viral meltdown.
Mike has since turned to empty activism to rehabilitate his image. His limo is delivering him to an environmental summit in Volakas — a stately, cavernous marble quarry on a Greek island, near an active volcano — before he realizes that rolling up in a gas-guzzling steed probably isn’t the best look and decides to walk the final few steps… “for the earth.” So focused is he on his mission that he misses the memo on his true purpose here: he’s not the white knight leading the charge into a green new future, but the court jester primed for further humiliation by his billionaire host, Ben Bracken (a Jeff Bezos-ified Vincent Cassel).
Sacrifice works best when skewering the masks we all wear in our daily lives.
With Earth’s fossil fuels all but depleted, Bracken plans to “MAKE EARTH COOL AGAIN” by mining for energy in a different spot: the ocean. His loyal band of followers dutifully offer the applause he’s so clearly seeking, but they clap even harder for the concert that follows — featuring Charli XCX dressed up as Mother Earth — leaving Mike, of all people, to call out their hypocrisy. Our hero’s latest outburst is suitably cringeworthy: there’s probably more that Mike can do besides storming the stage to tell everyone to “do better,” followed by a literal mic drop. Fortunately, a true opportunity to change the world isn’t far behind.
As Mike hides in the bathroom checking his social media statistics (they’re not good), Bracken’s summit is derailed in earnest — this time by a local cult of volcano-worshipping warriors. Led by Joan (a fierce and funny Anya Taylor-Joy), the group has crashed Bracken’s party to actually save the world. According to their homegrown prophecy, that aforementioned volcano is poised to blow in just a few days, and will trigger an extinction-level event unless three chosen figures — the “King,” the “True Love,” and the “Hero” — are sacrificed to its fiery maw. When Mike rejoins the fray, he’s selected as the final piece of this puzzle; though he initially resists his fate (who wouldn’t?), an intense connection with Joan eventually forces him to reckon with his true role in the universe.
Sacrifice has already garnered plenty of comparisons to other “eat the rich” satires of the 2020s, from Triangle of Sadness and The Square — both the work of Ruben Östlund — to The Menu. But Gavras is looking in other directions: Sacrifice is less about hypocrisy of the one percent than it is about the masks we all wear, and what it takes for us to abandon performance in favor of true vulnerability.
After two heavy, incendiary thrillers, Sacrifice is Gavras’ “fun one,” following an incidental trend we’ve seen from a handful of “serious” directors this year. The uprising he orchestrates is part folk horror, part fairytale, and succeeds best when picking at the personas of its biggest stars. Taylor-Joy’s Joan feels like an amalgam of her fiercest roles, from her witchy woman in The Northman to her unstoppable revolutionary in Furiosa. The childlike hubris of her performance in Emma. is on full display here, too, crafting a new heroine that oscillates between self-righteous sainthood, fearless intensity, and brilliantly bratty comedic relief.
Joan leads Evans’ Mike through a heady odyssey of self-discovery, informed by hilarious, bizarre dream sequences and a fair bit of bloodshed. Evans has always been a great, grossly underrated performer, and Sacrifice gives him the kind of dramaturgical meal he’s long needed after his departure from Marvel. As Mike, he pokes fun at his own on-screen identity while excavating for something deeper, adding layers upon layers to Gavras’ critique of performance. It might demand a suspension of disbelief in other areas — especially where its extinction event is concerned — but a little silliness is a small price to pay for the true reckoning bubbling under the surface.
