The Grandest Joke of the 21st Century: A SF Film for the Future’s Amusement
Let’s be honest — the idea of a film locked in a vault until 2115 sounds less like avant‑garde art and more like the fever dream of a marketing executive who just discovered time capsules.
A film so secret that no one alive today will ever see it?
Bravo, Louis XIII Cognac* — you’ve invented the cinematic equivalent of shouting into a black hole and calling it “legacy.”
In this era of fleeting viral sensations, a cognac brand—Louis XIII, no less—decides to commission a short SF film so exclusive, so elite, that it will not be released for a full century.
The tagline? “The Movie You Will Never See.”
A bold claim, and one that, for 99.999% of the human population, will remain tragically accurate.
Ah, the year 2115!
A time when, if humanity hasn’t yet extinguished itself in a blaze of AI-induced existential dread or climate-fueled madness, the great-great-grandchildren of today’s elite will gather in some opulent, climate-controlled bunker to witness the unveiling of “100 Years”— the cinematic equivalent of a time capsule buried by a drunk uncle at a family picnic.
This is not just a film; it is a monument to corporate vanity, a testament to the human capacity for self-congratulation, and, above all, a masterclass in the art of the long con.
At the helm of this cinematic folly is Robert Rodriguez, a director known for his love of explosions, stylized violence, and, apparently, the occasional marketing gimmick.
The star?
John Malkovich, a man whose face could launch a thousand existential crises, and whose involvement in this project only adds to its air of pretentious absurdity.
Rounding out the cast are Shuya Chang and Marko Zaror, whose descendants may or may not be alive to witness their ancestors’ 15 minutes of locked-away fame.
The premise, such as it is, is tied to the aging process of Louis XIII cognac—a drink so refined, so exclusive, that it requires a century to reach its full potential.
The film, too, must age like fine brandy, hidden away in a high-tech vault behind bulletproof glass, as if it were the nuclear launch codes or the last surviving copy of “The Room”.
The vault, we are told, will open automatically on November 18, 2115, the day of the film’s premiere.
One thousand metal invitation tickets—because paper, presumably, would not survive the ravages of time—have been distributed to VIPs and their descendants, ensuring that the event remains as exclusive as a yacht party on Mars.
Let us set the scene: the year is 2015.
The world is still reeling from the revelation that “The Dress” is, in fact, both blue and black (or gold and white, depending on your retinal betrayal).
Remember 2015 ?
The world, in its infinite wisdom, was still recovering from the great existential crisis of 2015: the revelation that The Dress—yes, that dress (the Tumblr picture) —was, in fact, both blue and black, or gold and white, depending on whether your retinas were betraying you or simply having a laugh at your expense.
A global phenomenon so profound, so earth-shattering, that it managed to divide humanity more effectively than politics, religion, or even the correct way to hang a roll of toilet paper.
And yet, amidst this collective descent into chromatic madness, the good people at Louis XIII Cognac saw fit to lock away a film for a century, as if to say,
“Yes, we too can contribute to the annals of human folly—just wait a hundred years for the punchline.”
Picture it: a future archaeologist in a radiation suit, brushing dust off a titanium safe, muttering,
“What the fuck is a John Malkovich?”
while the last surviving AI historian tries to stream the trailer from a fossilized YouTube server.
Humanity may be extinct, the oceans may have boiled, but somewhere in Cognac, France, a vault will heroically open itself — to reveal a short film about… well, nobody knows.
Maybe it’s about the apocalypse. Maybe it is the apocalypse.
The absurdity is delicious.
A film that ages like fine liquor, except liquor actually gets better with time.
Films, on the other hand, rot faster than memes.
By 2115, cinema might be a neural implant that lets you feel the plot twist directly in your amygdala.
Who’s going to care about a 2015 short shot on digital cameras when the audience watches dreams in 16K holographic synesthesia?
And yet, there’s something poetic in the madness.
Rodriguez and Malkovich, two artists sealing their creation away like a message in a bottle tossed into the temporal ocean.
Maybe they knew that art isn’t about being seen — it’s about being imagined.
Or maybe they just wanted free cognac.
So here’s to “100 YEARS”, the film you’ll never see, the vault you’ll never open, the hype you’ll never escape.
In the meantime, the plebeians of 2015 were thrown a few scraps: three teaser trailers, each offering a different vision of the future.
There is “Future“, a neon-drenched, cyberpunk fever dream that looks like it was designed by someone who watched Blade Runner once and then drank an entire bottle of energy drink.
There is “Retro“, a steampunk fantasy that imagines 2115 as a world where top hats and brass goggles have made a triumphant return.
And then there is “Nature“, a post-apocalyptic wasteland where Mother Earth has reclaimed the cities, and the only survivors are likely the cockroaches and the descendants of the 1% who can afford underground bunkers.
These teasers, of course, reveal nothing of the actual plot.
The film’s contents are a secret so closely guarded that even the actors are bound by nondisclosure agreements.
One can only imagine the sheer agony of John Malkovich, a man who has spent his career delivering monologues about the futility of existence, being forced to keep his mouth shut about a project that may well be the ultimate testament to futility itself.
And what, pray tell, will the audience of 2115 make of this relic?
Will they marvel at the prescience of its vision, or will they laugh at the quaint naivety of its predictions?
Will they be moved by its emotional depth, or will they yawn at its dated special effects?
History suggests the latter.
After all, most films—even the good ones—age about as well as a banana left in the sun.
The ones that endure are those that capture something timeless about the human condition: love, loss, the struggle for meaning in a chaotic universe.
“100 Years”, by contrast, seems to be a celebration of nothing so much as its own exclusivity.
In the year 2115, when historians sift through the ashes of our civilization, they’ll find this cinematic relic and whisper,
“Ah yes, the humans — they really thought they’d last a century.”
And somewhere, John Malkovich will still be smirking.
Consider, for a moment, the Future Library project, another century-spanning artistic endeavor. In this case, authors are invited to submit manuscripts that will remain unread until 2114.
The difference?
The Future Library is a gift to the future, a leap of faith in the enduring power of literature.
“100 Years”, on the other hand, is a gift to Louis XIII’s marketing department, a stunt designed to sell cognac by associating it with the kind of mystique usually reserved for religious relics or lost treasures.
And let us not forget the Wu-Tang Clan’s “Once Upon a Time in Shaolin”, the one-of-a-kind album sold to a single buyer for millions of dollars. At least that had the decency to be a complete work of art, albeit one that most of us will never hear.
“100 Years” is not even that.
It is a promise, a tease, a century-long advertisement for a product that may or may not still exist when the film finally sees the light of day.
So here’s to “100 Years”—the film you’ll never see, the marketing ploy that outlived its creators, and the ultimate punchline in a joke that no one will be around to laugh at.
May it gather dust in its vault, a monument to the hubris of an age that believed its own hype.
And if, by some miracle, humanity does survive long enough to witness its premiere, may the audience of 2115 raise a glass of 100-year-old cognac and toast to the absurdity of it all.
Cheers, you beautiful, gullible fools! 😊
* P.S.: The SF film was produced by the French company Rémy Martin to promote Louis XIII, their cognac that takes 100 years to create, and locked in a safe for a century.
