Few films resonated as powerfully during the pandemic as the Spanish-language dystopian thriller The Platform. In that film, inmates, confined to hundreds of concrete cells stacked vertically, await a descending platform laden with food—an experience that paralleled the isolation many felt during global lockdowns. The movie provided an unexpected yet cathartic outlet amid those bleak months. However, revisiting that captivating concept proves to be an error. Within the opening scenes of director Galder Gaztelu-Urrutia’s The Platform 2, it becomes abundantly clear that this sequel is a profound miscalculation.
The world operates on the same grim mechanics as before. Inmates, each locked away for varying reasons, choose their daily meal and bring a personal item for comfort or protection. Monthly, they are shuffled to new levels—upper floors offer abundance, while lower ones bring hunger. Yet, as The Platform 2 introduces us to Perempuan (Milena Smit), who awakens on level 24 beside the burly Zamiatan (Hovik Keuchkerian), the sense of dread begins to feel recycled rather than innovative. While she dines on croquettes, he devours pizza, and the cellmates above and below them strive to enforce a misguided sense of fairness: eat only your selected dish, never consume what belongs to the dead, and only trade with others to sample new foods. This attempt at order, however, is clearly doomed to unravel.
These minor additions to the original plot mechanics hardly invigorate the narrative. In fact, this sequel not only feels like a rehash, but it also dulls the original’s razor-sharp edge. The film becomes needlessly convoluted, taking an excessive amount of time to clarify why Perempuan is even there. The Loyalists—enforcers of the system, led by the blind and ruthless Dagin Babi (Ken Appledorn)—remain an enigmatic, indistinct faction. Beyond their brutal insistence on maintaining order, their motives remain frustratingly opaque. While there are hints of religious undertones—messianic figures, demonic entities, and references to infernal circles—these elements serve more as vague symbols rather than contributing meaningful layers to the world-building.
Because of this narrative disarray, it’s impossible to discern what the film is attempting to say. Is it a critique of supposedly fair systems that still result in oppression? Or perhaps it’s an allegory for COVID lockdowns, suggesting that strict isolation measures infringed on fundamental freedoms? Either way, The Platform 2 struggles to present anything beyond a shallow extension of its predecessor. It reintroduces a character from the first film, rehashes the already-explored metaphors, and makes a clumsy effort to link the two installments via an uninspired post-credits scene. None of these tactics recapture the original’s brilliance.
What this sequel truly needed was deeper character development—Perempuan feels more like an empty shell than a protagonist—and a broader visual palette. While the first film expertly manipulated its confined setting to foster tension and psychological intrigue, this installment overuses close-ups, rendering the sludge-toned environment monotonous and visually exhausting.
The ending, as unsatisfying as the film itself, feels unearned. The Platform 2 emerges as an unnecessary attempt to squeeze the last remnants of creativity from a once-brilliant concept. It would have been wiser to let the original stand alone, untouched and untainted by this disappointing follow-up.
Now streaming on Netflix.
