Release Date: US Theatrical — February 13, 2026
Runtime: 134 minutes (2h 14m)
Rated: R – pervasive language, violence, and brief sexual content
Production Companies: Constantin Film, Blind Wink Productions, 3 Arts Entertainment
Producers: Gore Verbinski, Robert Kulzer, Erwin Stoff, Oly Obst, Denise Chamian
Cinematography: James Whitaker
Editing: Craig Wood
Music/Composer: Geoff Zanelli
Good Luck, Have Fun, Don’t Die (2026)
Director: Gore Verbinski
Writer: Matthew Robinson
Cast: Sam Rockwell, Haley Lu Richardson, Michael Peña, Zazie Beetz, Asim Chaudhry, Juno Temple, Tom Taylor, Georgia Goodman
What a refreshing take on artificial intelligence after witnessing the absolute travesties and insanity that was the AI slop paraded around in this year’s Super Bowl ads. Gore Verbinski returns to live-action narrative after nearly a decade not just with a film that is satirical and darkly relevant, but one that operates as a warning to a not-so-distant future. He drapes his story in a technological world that appears hyperbolic on the surface, yet when placed side-by-side with our own reality, it is not far-fetched at all. As ludicrous and fun as it can get, it remains disturbingly, almost uncomfortably relevant.
Opening at the famous Norm’s in Los Angeles, Sam Rockwell makes his entrance as a man from the future, time-traveling in an effort to save humanity from what becomes destructive AI. Rockwell, of course, understands the tonal balancing act required here. He sustains an absurdist edge for much of the runtime — a levity that makes the harsher truths more digestible — yet pivots almost instantly when shock, distress, and urgency are required. His demeanor remains heightened, but never hollow. There is purpose beneath the eccentricity.
Similar to Zach Cregger’s recent Weapons, Verbinski structures the film through vignettes that gradually reveal their connective tissue. Each segment builds context for the larger mission our time-traveling protagonist is orchestrating alongside his rag-tag team of misfits.
That team includes Ingrid (Haley Lu Richardson), a melancholy damsel in a princess dress; Susan (Juno Temple), a meek young woman who compulsively picks at her ear; Mark (Michael Peña) and Janet (Zazie Beetz), a couple navigating visible relationship fractures; Scott (Asim Chaudhry), an Uber driver caught in the margins; and Marie (Georgia Goodman), a woman devoted to her slice of Norm’s diner pie. They initially feel arbitrary — strangers sharing a booth — yet Verbinski slowly reveals them as representative fragments of a fractured society.
Norm’s itself is more than a backdrop. It’s culturally familiar to Angelenos, but more importantly, it functions as a cross-section of disconnected lives. Through Rockwell’s recruitment of these characters, Verbinski plays with the idea of arbitrary choice while simultaneously suggesting unlikely unity for the greater good. Each individual reflects a different societal harm — some obvious, some subtle — and even if those harms don’t affect you directly, the film makes clear the trickle effect from one community into the rest of society, and into its future.
Once the pieces are assembled, this man from the future and his unlikely coalition venture toward the creator of AI, intent on taking preventative measures before dystopia fully calcifies.
The individual stories leading up to that confrontation explore pointed themes, beginning with technology’s influence on youth. Verbinski depicts high schoolers rendered almost zombified by screens, crafting a narrative reality that feels eerily accurate. It’s familiar terrain, yes, but deployed with sharper urgency and woven directly into the broader moral architecture of the film.
He also tackles the volatile subject of gun violence, zeroing in on the United States and, more specifically, school shootings. From this emerges a layered foundation: technological alienation intertwined with physical violence. What is truly eroding the minds — and even the bodies — of our youth? That is the question Verbinski poses. Where does the real villain reside? Is AI the problem? Is technology itself the disease? Or is it human neglect, commodification, and indifference that allow these tools to metastasize?
There are undeniable echoes of Black Mirror in its thematic ambition, but that comparison should not be mistaken for a lack of originality. Verbinski has a rhythm entirely his own. He paces each vignette deliberately, letting them breathe before revealing their connective threads. He doesn’t isolate one issue — he stacks them. He demonstrates how they converge, overlap, and become inextricably linked. The camera moves with urgency in moments of chaos, steadies itself in tension, and lingers awkwardly in the film’s darkest comedic beats. The tonal modulation feels intentional, never indulgent.
Beyond youth and violence, Verbinski explores augmented realities, AI commodification, the monetization of grief, government involvement, capitalism’s insatiable appetite, instant gratification, tech addiction, and societal disengagement. The world he constructs is essentially our own — only slightly tilted.
In its “real” reality, danger feels tangible: homeless men wielding knives, hired assailants sent to silence dissent. It is unstable, yes, but grounded. In contrast, the film’s artificial or augmented spaces are rendered alluring — hyper-vibrant, slick, visually seductive. The digital imagery is meta in its presentation, distinguishable enough from reality to feel hollow beneath its gloss. The question lingers: how satisfied would someone truly be surrendering their physical existence for a curated, conjured alternative where desire is instantly fulfilled? And what does that surrender cost?
As mentioned, this is ultimately a dark comedy, and Verbinski succeeds in that register. The shifting perspectives make it ripe for rewatching, and the hijinks — however absurd — never feel meaningless. The stakes are nothing short of humanity’s trajectory. Even when Verbinski eases off the accelerator to inject optimism or levity, he presses just as hard in the opposite direction, reminding us this spectacle carries a warning.
The title itself draws from gaming culture: “GLHF” — good luck, have fun. It’s a phrase of sportsmanship, of camaraderie before battle. Adding “Don’t Die” twists it into something uneasy, almost fatalistic. It becomes both ironic and literal. A cheerful send-off before entering a battlefield — except the battlefield is technological evolution. Is AI the end of humanity? Or more subtly, is it the erosion of our soul, our presence, our connection?
Good Luck, Have Fun, Don’t Die is a refreshingly human meditation on ever-evolving technology and artificial intelligence. The central group becomes a microcosm of what many are already experiencing at the hands of digital culture — alienation, commodification, overstimulation, disconnection. Verbinski layers absurdity and reality-shifting spectacle to make these ideas palatable, even entertaining, yet the underlying warning remains clear: dystopia will not arrive by accident. It will arrive by our own excessive will.
What ultimately sets this film apart isn’t just its subject matter, but the way it tells its story — emotionally, rhythmically, with a distinctly human pulse. Not manufactured. Not algorithmic. The message is evident, but it never feels preachy. Verbinski delivers it naturally — charmingly, humorously, cleverly — without sacrificing its bite.
It is a cautionary tale made optimistic. A warning wrapped in absurdity. And at its core, it stands in opposition to the very thing it critiques: artificial intelligence versus human connection. Verbinski’s film may question the future of humanity, but it is undeniably made with a human heart.