It bombed. Critics called it shallow. Audiences yawned at the leads. Memes were made about the chemistry (or lack thereof) between Dane DeHaan and Cara Delevingne.
Besson, a lifelong comic book nerd (he grew up on the French comic Valérian and Laureline by Christin and Mézières), understands that sci-fi works best when the technology serves the idea , not the explosion. The famous "VR suit" scene, where Valerian walks through a desert while wearing a massive mechanical suit that mimics his every move? That is lifted directly from the comics, and it remains one of the most tactile, believable pieces of future-tech ever put to film. Let’s address the elephant in the room: Dane DeHaan and Cara Delevingne.
Valerian gave us that. It gave us a city where every corner hides a new species, a new language, a new mistake. It gave us a universe that feels lived in —not by heroes, but by billions of weirdos just trying to get by. If you skipped Valerian because of the bad reviews, do yourself a favor. Stream it on the biggest screen you can find. Turn off your expectations for snappy dialogue or romantic chemistry. Turn on your sense of wonder.
Critics were brutal. "Valerian has no charisma." "Laureline looks bored." And to a certain extent, they aren't wrong. DeHaan plays Valerian as a cocky, baby-faced rogue, but he lacks the roguish charm of a Bruce Willis or a Chris Pratt. He feels like a trust fund kid who bought a spaceship. Delevingne fares better, bringing a grounded frustration to Laureline, but the script forces her to fall for a man who sexually harasses her in the first ten minutes.
In the summer of 2017, something strange happened at the multiplex. Luc Besson, the visionary French director behind The Fifth Element and Leon: The Professional , dropped over $200 million on a passion project nearly forty years in the making. The result was Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets .
Played by Rihanna in a extended cameo, Bubble is a shapeshifting alien performer who helps the heroes escape. In ten minutes of screen time, Rihanna goes through a dozen costume changes—a flapper, a maid, a nurse, a burlesque dancer, a military officer. Her death scene is heartbreaking not because of the plot, but because she represents the soul of Alpha: adaptable, beautiful, and ultimately disposable to the empire.
This is not subtle. It is Avatar meets The Crying Game . The Pearls are refugees. Their home is gone. They live in the hidden, neglected underbelly of Alpha—a literal "no man's land" of radiation and shadows.