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Bel Powley is fabulous in this wonderful dystopian satire

In a strange commune, a daily "vitamin" suppresses emotion – until one member decides to throw away the supply. Turn Me On takes a comedic jab at hyper-utilitarianism, says Simon Ings
San Sebastian Film Festival handout picture: Bel Powley, Nick Robinson in Michael Tyburski's 'Turn Me On'.
Joy (Bel Powley) and William (Nick Robinson) after “discovering” sex
Michael Tyburski/San Sebastian Film Festival


Michael Tyburski
Truant Pictures (On digital platforms from 4 November)

An Eccentric visionary has created a commune centred on a pharmaceutical “vitamin” that suppresses emotion. The cult-like venture promises contentment to its followers, and to ensure it, all memory of their lives before they join is erased.

One member’s cancer treatment requires she miss her vitamin dose for just one day. So here she is, a woman called Joy, played with exquisite precision by Bel Powley, staring into her bathroom mirror, waiting for the affective life to roll over her like a tidal wave.

Nothing. Still nothing. And then a giggle. Not a sinister, hysterical giggle. A genuinely delighted giggle, at finding herself alive.

Joy goes off on a beach holiday with her friends, still within the commune’s property. (At the border, a sign warns of “Unknown Dangers” in the world beyond.) And a drab old time they have of it, too, playing the exciting-sounding VR game WOAH, which turns out to stand for “World Of Average Humans”. Joy’s friend Samantha (Nesta Cooper) explains: “In real life, I’m a wellness engineer. But in the game, I play an assistant wellness engineer.”

Bel finally takes matters in hand and throws away the commune’s supply of vitamin. After all, “it’s just for one day”.

The strange and wonderful thing about Turn Me On, director Michael Tyburski’s second feature (after the excellent The Sound of Silence) is that it is a dystopia built on an essentially comic view of the human condition. Screenwriter Angela Bourassa creates revealing rules for this tyranny. You don’t have to take its vitamin. That is entirely up to you. But heaven help you if you miss a day of work. This hyper-utilitarian cult isn’t robbing its victims of their potential or dignity. The crime here is that it is stealing their fun and friendship. People are meant to goof off, is the message. This is what people are for.

Turn Me On is a worthy addition to an admired genre that includes Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

When Joy and her friends discover sex, things get more fraught. Joy’s apparently uncomplicated and public coupling with her friend Christopher (Justin Min) knocks him for a loop and makes her officially appointed partner William (Nick Robinson) sick.

One by one, as they confront the emotional consequences of their actions, the friends realise why the vitamin might, after all, appeal to people. Joy, meanwhile, is taken aside and told she has what it takes to be an overseer of this place. All she has to do is never see William again, though it is clear the two are falling in love. Will Joy accept this evil bargain?

The superbly sardonic D’Arcy Carden plays the nearest thing the cult has to an authority figure: she is essentially reprising her role in The Good Place, a funnier, lighter vehicle which touches on similar ideas. You could say that Turn Me On is a worthy addition to a small but admired genre that includes The Good Place, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and Severance.

Its target is utilitarianism. The pursuit of the greatest good for the greatest number works well on paper but falls foul, quickly, of the Kantian imperative not to use people as a means to fulfil your ends. There is a reason “for the greater good” is the go-to excuse for tyrants and killers.

What will the cult do to Joy if she refuses to join their upper echelon? It’s bound to be bad.

“Leave me alone,” says a neighbour who came off her vitamin earlier on, “and don’t let them know you’re awake.”

Simon also recommends…


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This lightweight-looking story about an emotionally repressed office worker drives John Hamm to his best performance yet.


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This scattergun satire of 1920s’ utopian thinking takes utilitarianism to comic extremes.

Simon Ings is a novelist and science writer. Follow him on X @simonings

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