The Adam Project

I found myself watching The Adam Project on a rainy Tuesday night while trying to balance a very precarious bowl of over-salted popcorn on the arm of my sofa. At one point, my cat decided that my lap was the optimal landing pad for a high-altitude jump from the bookshelf, sending a cloud of kernels into the air like a low-budget confetti cannon. Honestly? That frantic, slightly messy, yet weirdly endearing burst of energy was the perfect preamble for what I was about to see on screen.

Released during that strange, post-pandemic middle ground where we were all still a bit allergic to the outside world, The Adam Project is the ultimate "Netflix Original" success story. It’s a film that knows exactly what its job is: to make you feel like it’s 1985 again, even if the de-aging tech looks firmly rooted in the 2020s. Ryan Reynolds plays the most Ryan Reynolds version of Ryan Reynolds we’ve seen yet, and while that might sound like a warning to some, director Shawn Levy (Free Guy, Stranger Things) manages to ground the snark in a surprising amount of genuine, tear-jerking sentiment.

A Therapy Session with Lasers

The premise is pure Amblin-era gold. Big Adam (Ryan Reynolds), a pilot from a dystopian 2050, steals a time-jet and accidentally crash-lands in 2022. There, he encounters his 12-year-old self (Walker Scobell), a pint-sized motor-mouth who is dealing with the recent loss of their father and a penchant for getting his teeth kicked in by school bullies.

The chemistry here is what saves the film from being just another CGI-heavy slog. Walker Scobell is a revelation; the kid clearly studied Reynolds’ speech patterns so intensely that you’d swear they shared the same DNA. He captures that specific brand of defensive sarcasm that kids use when they’re hurting, making the "Past meets Future" gimmick feel less like a plot device and more like a very expensive therapy session. When the two Adams trade insults, it doesn’t feel like a scripted bit; it feels like the internal monologue of a man who desperately wishes he could tell his younger self to just shut up and be nice to his mother (Jennifer Garner, channeling pure warmth).

The Digital Ghost in the Machine

Being a product of the current "Streaming Era," the film leans heavily on its digital toolkit. We’ve got sleek, chrome-finished spaceships, "mag-cyl" weapons that are definitely not lightsabers (but totally are), and the inevitable de-aging of Catherine Keener.

Let’s talk about that de-aging for a second. Catherine Keener plays the villain, Maya Sorian, and we see both her present-day self and her younger, 2018-era counterpart. While the technology has come a long way since the rubbery faces of early MCU outings, there's still a lingering "Uncanny Valley" vibe here. The younger version of Keener looks like a high-end video game character who hasn't quite finished rendering, which is a bit distracting during the film’s more dramatic confrontations. It’s a classic example of contemporary cinema’s obsession with "The Volume" and digital trickery—it’s impressive, sure, but it occasionally pulls you out of the story’s emotional orbit.

That said, the action is choreographed with a lightness of touch that reminded me of the Indiana Jones or Back to the Future vibes. It’s not trying to be "gritty" or "grounded." It’s a movie where a futuristic fighter pilot punches people in the face while a kid watches in awe. It’s fun. It’s breezy. It’s exactly what you want when you’re killing time before the world starts feeling heavy again.

The Stuff You Didn't Notice

One of the coolest things about the production is how much of a "family affair" it felt like behind the scenes. Apparently, the script had been floating around Hollywood for over a decade—it was originally titled Our Name is Adam and had Tom Cruise attached back in 2012. I’m glad it waited. The 2022 version benefits immensely from the Mark Ruffalo and Jennifer Garner reunion. For those of us who grew up on 13 Going on 30, seeing them back together as the Reed parents felt like a warm hug from the early 2000s.

Interestingly, Walker Scobell was such a massive Deadpool fan that he could recite the entire R-rated movie by heart on set, which probably explains why he can deliver a "Reynolds-ism" with such terrifying accuracy. The film was also shot almost entirely in Vancouver, Ryan Reynolds’ hometown, and you can sense that comfort level in the performance. It feels like a movie made by people who actually like each other, which isn't always a given in the world of $116 million streaming blockbusters.

The movie also handles the science of time travel with a refreshing "don't worry about it" attitude. It establishes its own logic—fixed time, multi-verse ripples, whatever—and sticks to it just enough to keep the plot moving toward the real goal: a game of catch between a father and his sons.

Ultimately, The Adam Project succeeds because it isn't trying to build a 20-movie cinematic universe. It’s a self-contained, high-concept adventure that uses its sci-fi trappings to explore the relationship between grief and memory. While the CGI villainy is a bit thin and the digital de-aging is a touch creepy, the heart of the film—the "two Adams" and their geeky, grieving dad—beats loud and clear. It’s a testament to the fact that even in an era of franchise fatigue, a well-told story about a kid and his future self can still land a solid punch to the gut. If you’ve got two hours to spare and a bowl of popcorn (cat-free, ideally), you could do a whole lot worse than this.

***

The Adam Project is one of those rare modern films that feels like it was found in a time capsule from the era of Spielberg and Zemeckis, then polished with a very modern, very sarcastic coat of paint. It doesn't redefine the genre, but it reminds us why we liked it in the first place. Whether you're here for the "lightsaber" fights or the Mark Ruffalo dad-hugs, it's a journey worth taking. Just don't think too hard about the physics—your younger self wouldn't want you to be that boring.