Luc Besson’s The Fifth Element (1997) is often celebrated as a fun, irreverent sci-fi classic. Bold colours, wacky characters, space priests, and a world teetering on the edge of collapse. But underneath the glittering surface is a film that doesn’t challenge power. It reinforces it. Its supposed weirdness masks a deeply conventional structure: elite saviours, cartoon villains, helpless masses, and a universe that has already decided who gets to rule and who gets to beg for salvation.
This isn’t a vision of freedom. It is cultural anaesthetic.
Escapism as a Cage
The film gives the impression of critique. The world is polluted, overpopulated, and mired in bureaucracy. But that dystopia is dressed up in such absurdist flair that it becomes entertaining, even comforting. The future may be broken, but it is never threatening because it is so colourful, so exaggerated, so far removed from our material lives.
This is how culture pacifies. It shows us a grotesque version of reality so we can laugh at it rather than question it. The cops are brutal but funny. The government is clueless but lovable. Dystopia is framed as quirky, a distraction rather than a warning.
The Fantasy of Individual Salvation
Korben Dallas, played by Bruce Willis, is sold as a “man of the people,” an ex-soldier turned cabbie. But everything about him screams elite fantasy. He doesn’t fight with anyone. He fights for everyone. Alone. No comrades, no collective struggle. He is a chosen one.
Then there is Leeloo, the so-called “perfect being.” Manufactured in a lab, spoken about like a weapon, dressed like a lingerie model. She is a literal object, talked about, pursued, and “protected” by men. Her transformation isn’t political or conscious. It is emotional and romantic. She is powerful only once she learns to love a man. That is her awakening.
This is what passes for empowerment. A woman who exists to be saved so she can then save the world. No rebellion. No refusal. Just submission in exchange for significance.
Class, Race, and the Invisible Order
There is no meaningful working class in The Fifth Element. The poor are background noise: criminals, beggars, or irritants. There are no unions, no movements, no ordinary people taking charge of their future. The only people with agency are exceptional: soldiers, priests, scientists, billionaires, aliens, or freaks.
The film borrows aesthetics from all over the world: Black flamboyance, Asian street food, alien tribalism. But all of it is there for decoration. Culture becomes costume. Ruby Rhod, played by Chris Tucker, is outrageous, hilarious, and completely marginalised. A joke, not a threat. The world may be “diverse,” but the saviours are still white.
And the villain? Zorg, played by Gary Oldman, is a capitalist arms dealer. But his villainy is treated as a personal failing. He is not the product of a class. His defeat doesn’t change anything. It is theatre.
War, State Power, and the Fog of Evil
The biggest enemy in The Fifth Element is a giant ball of evil in space. There is no origin, no political root, no historical cause. Just an abstract “darkness” that must be defeated by a handful of experts and military personnel. The people don’t rise up. They are not even asked to. The state is clumsy, paternal, oddly charming, and still runs the show.
This is how stories bury power. By turning evil into something metaphysical, they erase the real sources of suffering: exploitation, inequality, colonialism, war. Instead of confronting the systems that shape our world, we are told the danger comes from somewhere else. Something unknowable. Something only the elites can handle.
A Shiny Reboot of the Same Old Lies
The Fifth Element entertains, but it is a nostalgia trip for the world as it is. It dresses up oppression in neon and latex, sells us patriarchy as destiny, and drowns real questions in camp humour and spectacle. It doesn’t liberate, it doesn’t ask for progress or new ideas. It sedates.
The message is clear:
Let the chosen few handle things.
Don’t worry about class, race, or power. That’s too messy.
Just believe in finding the one, trust the system, and enjoy the ride.
We reject that. We believe culture should challenge power, not flatter it. Stories should stir action, not obedience. The future isn’t something to be saved by elites. It is something to be built by all of us, together.
The Red Gum 