Alice in Wonderland (2025)

In 2025, visionary director Greta van Wyk reinvents the classic tale of Alice in Wonderland for a new generation, delivering a surreal, emotionally complex journey through a shattered dreamscape. Alice in Wonderland (2025) is not the cheerful tea party you remember—it’s a psychological fantasy wrapped in neon shadows, war-torn kingdoms, and questions of identity in an age of illusion.

The story follows 17-year-old Alice Kingsley (played by Florence Pugh) as she flees a trauma in the real world—her mother’s sudden death and a controlling boarding school—only to tumble through a mysterious mirror into a Wonderland that has decayed into chaos. Far from the whimsical world of the original books, this version is broken, under siege by time itself, and ruled by the corrupted Red Empress, formerly the Queen of Hearts.

This Wonderland is now split between crumbling magic and invasive technology—cities of glass, mechanical card soldiers, and wild forest realms on the brink of erasure. Here, Alice is told she is the “Last Dreamer,” a being who can either restore Wonderland or allow it to vanish forever. Her allies include a sarcastic, chain-smoking Cheshire Cat voiced by Andy Serkis, and a reprogrammed Mad Hatter android (played brilliantly by Rami Malek), glitching between madness and clarity.

The film is a bold visual experience. Van Wyk, known for her work in experimental theatre, brings haunting stage-like compositions into digital landscapes, creating a Wonderland that feels like a decaying subconscious. Cinematographer Bradford Young paints the screen in cold blues, deep reds, and dazzling golds, while composer Hildur Guðnadóttir crafts a score that shimmers with dissonant lullabies and industrial rhythms.

This Alice isn’t passive—she’s determined, rebellious, and emotionally raw. Florence Pugh’s performance grounds the film, balancing vulnerability with rage as she confronts both the Empress and her own reflection. The script explores themes of memory, repression, and the cost of growing up in a world that demands forgetting the imagination.

Some traditionalists may balk at how dark and cerebral this retelling becomes—it’s more Pan’s Labyrinth than Disney. But this shift feels timely, even necessary, for a generation raised on fractured realities and digital dreams.

The film ends with Alice returning to her world... or does she? A final shot shows her waking up in a hospital bed—but the mirror beside her flickers like a screen, whispering: “You left something behind.” The sequel, Through the Broken Glass, could explore whether Wonderland is real, imagined, or something deeper: a psychic realm tied to every Dreamer in the world.