Since its debut on Netflix, critics and audiences have measured Altered Carbon against several genre touchstones. Its cyberpunk-noir aesthetic and settings have drawn comparisons to Blade Runner, as has its cynical protagonist and his investigations. Its unsparing use of violence and nudity to portray a world of passion and brutality has also framed it as the network’s Game of Thrones, in the Bay City future of 2384 as opposed to the medieval environments of Westeros and Essos. Regardless of these similarities, both founded and unfounded, Altered Carbon is a visually electrifying achievement–with a few shortcomings that detract from its significant successes.
The story revolves around Takeshi Kovacs (Joel Kinnaman/Will Yun Lee), a rebel soldier–or “Envoy”–who is resurrected by wealthy industrialist Laurens Bancroft (James Purefoy) to solve the latter’s murder. Their ability to cheat death is made possible by the use of “sleeves,” or bodies that can host someone’s digitized consciousness after the expiry of their original form. Despite this key to immortality, Bancroft is curious about his killer’s identity, and Kovacs agrees to the mission after being targeted himself. The presiding officer over the initial Bancroft case, Lt. Kristin Ortega (Martha Higareda), enlivens the proceedings through her mistrust of Kovacs and personal investment in the situation. Other significant characters include a hilarious hotel AI named Poe (Chris Conner), grieving father/murder suspect Vernon Elliot (Ato Essandoh), and Kovacs’ Envoy sister, Reileen Kawahara (Dichen Lachman).
Altered Carbon is based on the first novel in a three-part series by Richard K. Morgan. The 10 episode structure fits this adaptation well, especially since the binge-watching aspect of the streaming service has prompted most original programs to structure themselves like one big movie. It also allows the writers time to explore fascinating philosophical issues surrounding the “cortical stacks” that now house one’s consciousness. How does this technology impact religious convictions about the afterlife? How does it influence cultural traditions, social hierarchies, and personal relationships? These big questions propel the storytelling, even during an inferior second half–largely due to the disappointing revelations about certain characters, their tenuous motivations, and occasional issues with pacing and narrative clarity.
It is also impossible to ignore the accusations of whitewashing surrounding Kovacs’ Caucasian sleeve in the present day, a character attribute from Morgan’s original novel. However, Kinnaman’s casting does not efface the racial identity of a historically Asian character. His appearance–and the sleeve he portrays–just happen to be associated with another race in a world where the mobility of consciousness renders physical determinants much less significant, but certainly not irrelevant. Moreover, flashbacks prominently feature Kovacs in his original body (Will Yun Lee), establishing character motivations and personality traits that organically carry over to his new body. The story also foregrounds the agency of the interior over the exterior in several thought-provoking ways; as Kovacs’ rebel mentor Quellcrist Falconer (Renée Elise Goldsberry) lectures to her team in flashbacks, “This sleeve is a tool. It does not control me. I control it.”
Despite a weaker second half, punctuated by moments of greatness, Altered Carbon is an overall success. Due to its strong world-building, intriguing themes, and perfect genre influences, it signals a huge step forward for Netflix’s ever-expanding slate of high-budgeted original programming, and is especially recommended to fans of hard science fiction.
