Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets opened in July 2017, directly against Christopher Nolan’s Dunkirk. It earned only $225 million worldwide against a $180 million budget (plus marketing), making it a significant box office bomb. American audiences rejected it, but it performed well in China ($60 million) and France (Besson’s home country).
Why did it fail?
However, on streaming platforms like Netflix and Amazon Prime, Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets has found a second life. Sci-fi fans looking for something that isn’t Star Wars or Star Trek have discovered its unique charm. It is a film that rewards repeat viewings—not for the story, but for the background details. Every frame is packed with aliens, signage, and tech that you missed the first time.
Luc Besson’s 2017 film Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets adapts the long-running French comic series Valérian and Laureline by Pierre Christin and Jean-Claude Mézières into a visually lavish, if narratively uneven, space opera. The film attempts an ambitious synthesis of pulp science-fiction spectacle, pop-cultural pastiche, and a romantic buddy-adventure, while foregrounding questions of colonial exploitation, ecological stewardship, and the limits of cinematic world-building.
Narrative and Themes At its core, Valerian follows two special operatives—Valerian (Dane DeHaan) and Laureline (Cara Delevingne)—who travel to Alpha, a gargantuan orbital metropolis formed by the amalgamation of thousands of alien species and cultures. Their mission is to investigate threats to Alpha’s stability and to locate a missing, sentient species tied to the planet’s deeper secret. The plot functions largely as an episodic detective-adventure, moving from one dazzling set piece to another, and culminating in the revelation of a traumatized, exploited race whose rescue reorients the protagonists’ moral commitments.
Thematically, Besson’s film gestures toward anti-colonial critique. The City of a Thousand Planets—Alpha—is literally constructed from the remnants of conquered worlds, a cosmopolitan utopia built on histories of extraction and displacement. The discovery that a seemingly innocuous trade in rare organisms masks a systemic pattern of captivity and commodification reframes the story as one about recognition and restitution. Valerian and Laureline’s personal arc—moving from complacent agents of a bureaucratic empire to sympathetic rescuers—mirrors an ethical awakening that the film asks its audience to share.
Visual Design and World-Building Where Valerian most fully succeeds is in visual imagination. Besson and his production team create a maximalist mise-en-scène: kaleidoscopic cityscapes, fluid creature design, and painstakingly detailed environments that reward sustained looking. The film’s aesthetics draw on Mézières’s original art while filtering it through contemporary CGI capabilities. Set pieces—such as the shifting marketplaces of Alpha, the luxury of Bubble Town, and the densely populated streets—function as both sensory overload and evidence of serious world-building effort.
However, the emphasis on spectacle also exposes the film’s structural weaknesses. Frequent detours into visual novelty sometimes come at the expense of narrative economy; characters and subplots are introduced with visual flair but underdeveloped in terms of motivation or consequence. This imbalance produces a film that is often thrilling to watch but occasionally thin to think about.
Characterization and Performance Valerian and Laureline are written as a classic odd-couple pairing: Valerian is impulsive and romantically fixated, Laureline is pragmatic and morally grounded. DeHaan’s performance leans into Valerian’s vanity and insecurity, while Delevingne brings a laconic cool to Laureline. Their chemistry has moments of genuine spark, but the screenplay’s heavy reliance on quips and action beats constrains deeper emotional engagement. Secondary characters—comic-relief sidekicks, bureaucratic villains, and tragic natives—are vividly designed but frequently feel like set dressing rather than fully realized agents within the story.
Cultural Impact and Reception Commercially and critically, Valerian divided audiences. Praised by some for its inventiveness and criticized by others for a perceived lack of narrative focus, the film has since been read as both a valiant modern riff on classic sci-fi comics and an example of spectacle exceeding story. Its ambitious attempt to bring European bande dessinée aesthetics to a Hollywood blockbuster register marks it as an interesting cross-cultural experiment, even if it does not always cohere dramatically.
Ethical and Political Readings Beyond surface spectacle, Valerian invites ethical readings tied to environmentalism and reparative justice. The revelation of an exploited species whose suffering powers the city’s exotic commodities functions as a metaphor for industries—both historical and contemporary—that profit from the labor and bodies of the marginalized. The film’s resolution, which centers rescue and restitution rather than conquest, privileges a moral corrective uncommon in action-oriented blockbusters. Valerian And The City Of A Thousand Planets - E...
Limitations and Critiques Key criticisms are structural: an overreliance on visual set pieces, underdeveloped supporting characters, and a screenplay that inconsistently balances humor, romance, and political stakes. Additionally, some viewers and critics questioned the film’s tonality—its playful pastiche sometimes undercutting the seriousness of its ethical concerns. Casting choices and character portrayals also prompted discussion about representation and whether the film’s cosmopolitan vision sufficiently interrogates the power relations it depicts.
Conclusion Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets is a film of striking contradictions: audacious visual imagination paired with episodic narrative looseness; genuine moral ambitions attenuated by blockbuster conventions. Its greatest achievement is its world-building—the sense that the screen contains a living, multifaceted universe. Even where it falters as a tightly constructed story, it remains a noteworthy attempt to translate comic-book wonder into cinematic spectacle and to ask how a society built from others’ fragments might reckon with its past. For viewers interested in visual invention, planetary-scale set design, and speculative explorations of exploitation and redemption, Valerian offers plenty to admire and debate.
Luc Besson’s Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets (2017) is a polarizing feast for the eyes—a $180 million personal gamble
that stands as the most expensive European and independent film ever made. While it struggled to find a massive audience, its sheer ambition has secured its place as a cult sci-fi artifact. The Grand Vision
The film is a lifelong passion project for Besson, who grew up reading the Valérian and Laureline comics by Pierre Christin and Jean-Claude Mézières. The Setting : Most of the action takes place on , a sprawling space station where thousands of species
from across the universe have converged to share knowledge and culture over centuries. The Mission
: Special operatives Valerian (Dane DeHaan) and Laureline (Cara Delevingne) are tasked with retrieving a "Mül converter"—the last of its kind—and uncovering a dark conspiracy threatening the heart of Alpha. A Visual Triumph : The film features over 2,700 VFX shots
handled by industry titans like Weta Digital and ILM. Its opening sequence, set to David Bowie’s "Space Oddity," is widely cited by as one of the best world-building intros in sci-fi history. Why It’s "Interesting" (and Controversial) Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets (2017) - IMDb
Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets is a 2017 space opera written and directed by Luc Besson, based on the French comic series Valérian and Laureline. The film is celebrated for its stunning visual spectacle and ambitious world-building but received mixed reviews regarding its script and chemistry between the leads. Core Premise & Plot
Set in the 28th century, the story follows Major Valerian and Sergeant Laureline, two special operatives who maintain order in human territories. Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets
The Setting: Much of the action takes place on Alpha, a massive, ever-expanding space station where thousands of species from across the universe live together and share knowledge.
The Mission: The duo is tasked with retrieving a rare creature called a "Mül converter"—a small animal capable of replicating powerful pearls.
The Mystery: During their mission, they uncover a dark secret involving the destruction of the planet Mül and a government cover-up led by Commander Arun Filitt. Valerian must eventually choose between following orders and doing what is morally right for a displaced alien race. Cast & Key Characters
The film features an international cast with several high-profile cameos:
Watch it if: You love The Fifth Element, Guardians of the Galaxy (which borrowed heavily from Valerian), or Ready Player One. You appreciate production design over plot. You can tolerate awkward flirting for two hours in exchange for the most inventive aliens since Mos Eisley Cantina.
Skip it if: You require tight pacing, believable romance, or gritty realism in your space adventures.
Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets remains a testament to the power of a singular vision. Luc Besson wanted to show us a universe where a thousand species live together under one roof, and he succeeded. That it stumbles on the human element is almost ironic—in a city of a thousand planets, the hardest thing to write is a good conversation between two people. But for those willing to look past the cracks, Alpha is waiting. And it is glorious.
Before diving into the plot, one must understand the DNA of the film. Valérian and Laureline (originally Valérian: Spatio-Temporal Agent) was created by Pierre Christin and Jean-Claude Mézières in 1967. For fifty years, this comic series influenced nearly every major sci-fi property that followed. George Lucas has openly admitted that the design of Star Wars—from Princess Leia’s slave outfit to the crowded cantina on Tatooine—borrowed heavily from Mézières' art.
Luc Besson, a lifelong fan, spent nearly a decade trying to bring this universe to the screen. The result is a film that doesn't just adapt a single comic issue but uses the central concept of Alpha—a massive space station that grew over centuries into a "city of a thousand planets"—as a narrative sandbox.
Before Star Wars, before Dune, there was Valérian and Laureline. Created by Pierre Christin and Jean-Claude Mézières in 1967, the comic series ran for over four decades, influencing virtually every sci-fi creator who came after it. George Lucas has openly cited Mézières’s designs—specifically the bustling city-planets and worn-down spaceports—as direct inspirations for the Star Wars universe. However, on streaming platforms like Netflix and Amazon
Luc Besson, a lifelong fan of the comics, spent nearly a decade trying to bring Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets to life. He famously stated that he wrote the script for The Fifth Element (1997) as a "warm-up" for Valerian, designing his earlier hit with similar hyper-stylized aesthetics. However, technology had to catch up. Besson waited until he believed CGI could render the kaleidoscopic universe of the comics faithfully without compromise. The result is a film that cost a staggering $180 million (making it the most expensive independent film ever made at the time) and features nearly 2,700 special effects shots.
In 2017, visionary French director Luc Besson (known for The Fifth Element and Lucy) delivered what might be the most expensive independent film ever made: Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets. Based on the seminal French comic series Valérian and Laureline by Pierre Christin and Jean-Claude Mézières, the film is less a conventional blockbuster and more a $200 million love letter to the sci-fi medium itself.
The title is slightly misleading yet perfectly poetic. The "City of a Thousand Planets" is not a static metropolis but a living, growing space station known as Alpha. Originally a 21st-century international space station, Alpha expands over centuries as alien races are invited—or find their way—aboard. By the 28th century, Alpha is a massive, unwieldy conglomeration of billions of beings from thousands of species, all living in biodomes representing their distinct environments.
Besson’s genius in Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets is how he introduces Alpha. The opening sequence, set to David Bowie’s Space Oddity, shows the station growing from a small module to a massive organism through a montage of diplomatic handshakes and dockings. There are no words of exposition; it is pure visual storytelling. We see a pearl-diving alien race (the Pearls of Mul) visit humanity, and we watch as the station accretes species like a coral reef. By the time the title card appears, the audience understands exactly what Alpha is: a fragile miracle of multicultural coexistence on the brink of collapse.
Luc Besson’s Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets (2017) is a cinematic paradox: a film of breathtaking imagination and frustrating execution. Based on the French comic series Valérian and Laureline by Pierre Christin and Jean-Claude Mézières—a work that directly inspired Star Wars—the film arrived with a legacy of influential source material and a $180 million budget. While it delivers an unparalleled sensory feast of world-building and visual effects, it ultimately stumbles over its lead characters and dialogue. This essay argues that Valerian is best understood as a landmark of production design and conceptual art, yet a cautionary tale about the irreplaceable need for emotional authenticity and charismatic casting in science fiction.
The film’s indisputable triumph is its visualization of Alpha, the “City of a Thousand Planets.” Besson and his design team translate Mézières’ retro-futuristic line art into a vibrant, sprawling metropolis where thousands of species coexist. The opening sequence, a montage set to David Bowie’s “Space Oddity,” masterfully shows the International Space Station expanding over centuries as alien races dock and integrate. This sequence, devoid of dialogue, represents the film at its purest: a hopeful, elegant depiction of peaceful cosmic evolution. Later set pieces, such as the multidimensional market on planet Kyrian—where characters must don special glasses to navigate shifting realities—demonstrate Besson’s peerless ability to stage action within a fully three-dimensional, constantly surprising environment. Every frame is dense with alien life, holographic advertisements, and architectural wonders, rewarding repeated viewings for detail-oriented fans of speculative design.
However, the narrative structure, while serviceable, is merely a skeleton to hang these visual marvels. The plot follows Valerian (Dane DeHaan) and Laureline (Cara Delevingne), special operatives who uncover a hidden genocide against the peaceful Pearls of Mul, a humanoid species whose habitat was destroyed by human negligence. This eco-political message—a critique of militarism and colonial hubris—is timely and mature. Yet, the urgency of this plot is constantly undermined by the film’s tonal inconsistency. Besson treats the story with the earnest, swashbuckling pace of a 1980s adventure serial, complete with quippy one-liners and a jarring, unnecessary detour to a tropical beach resort for a shape-shifting subplot. The film never decides whether it wants to be a grave indictment of imperial violence or a light-hearted romp, leaving the audience emotionally adrift.
The central failure, however, lies in the casting and characterization of its heroes. Valerian is written as a cocky, womanizing rogue, but DeHaan’s performance lacks the roguish charm of a young Harrison Ford or Bruce Willis. Instead, his delivery comes across as petulant and uncharismatic, making his relentless pursuit of Laureline feel less like romantic tension and more like workplace harassment. Conversely, Delevingne’s Laureline is competent, sharp, and consistently right, but she is forced to play a reactive role, perpetually annoyed by a partner the script insists is heroic. The pair share no romantic chemistry; their bickering feels sibling-like rather than passionate. This disconnect is fatal, as the film’s emotional core—Valerian’s attempt to prove his love by earning her respect—rests entirely on an unconvincing dynamic. In a genre where audiences connect through characters, Valerian offers two beautiful, expensive mannequins.
Ultimately, Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets stands as a fascinating artifact of 21st-century blockbuster filmmaking. It demonstrates how advanced visual effects can realize any conceivable world, yet proves that spectacle without soul is hollow. The film’s creative triumph is Alpha itself—a hopeful, diverse, living city that deserves to be explored in a more grounded story. Its failure is its human (and humanoid) drama. For fans of production design and alien ecology, the film is an essential reference. For those seeking a compelling sci-fi adventure, it serves as a shimmering, hollow reminder that even the most beautiful city feels empty when you don’t care about the people walking through it.