Tron: Ares Review. A Visual Triumph with Profound Meaning

The Tron franchise has had a complicated fate. Once it paved the way for computer graphics in cinema, becoming a symbol of technological revolution. Then it faded into obscurity for years. 15 years ago, Tron: Legacy delivered stunning visuals but ended up with a storyline lacking substance. And now, after a series of rumors, cancellations, and anticipation, Tron: Ares hits theaters — a reboot of the iconic universe. But has this new film managed to avoid old mistakes? Yes — Ares is not just a visual masterpiece perfectly crafted for IMAX 3D, but also the first film in a long time that genuinely takes artificial intelligence seriously — on the level of ideas, not just effects.

Tron is one of Disney's few original science fiction series not based on comics or books. In 1982, the studio financed Steven Lisberger's experiment, combining revolutionary computer graphics technology for its time with the philosophy of digital consciousness. This risk didn't pay off commercially, but the film achieved cult status and became a milestone in early CGI.

Nearly three decades later, Disney returned with Tron: Legacy (2010). The film didn't deliver the expected profits, though studio executives wanted not just money, but the launch of another media franchise on par with the MCU and Star Wars. And with the acquisition of Lucasfilm in 2012, all parallel sci-fi projects were put on ice altogether.

Ares, however, is an attempt at a relaunch with a mirrored concept: not a human in the digital world, but a digital consciousness in the physical realm. The creators positioned the film as the third in the series, yet as a standalone sequel. A producer's move in the spirit of the times: not bringing back old heroes like Sam (Garrett Hedlund) or Quorra (Olivia Wilde), while remaining within the universe's framework.

The plot is built around three key characters — Leto, Lee, and Peters. Trailers might have created the impression that Ares is the main character, but without a pair of living companions, he essentially exists in a vacuum. The human anchors — Greta Lee and Evan Peters — are effectively reduced to archetypes: the kind Asian woman and the morally corrupt white villain. They perform their function well — creating positive and negative charges in the narrative. Ares becomes that voltage between them, creating the potential difference. Without him, the two charges would exist statically. With him — conflict is inevitable.

This cast configuration reflects contemporary trends: Hollywood increasingly builds films around three to five central figures, concentrating screen time on them. Secondary characters perform technical functions — a hint, a new adversary, or a means of rescue. For example, Elizabeth — Evans's mother (Gillian Anderson) — and Athena — Ares's ally and servant of Dillinger's system (Jodie Turner-Smith) — are precisely such nodal but auxiliary figures.

Evelyn Kim symbolizes resistance to corporate monopoly. Leading ENCOM, a conveyor belt of sequels and reboots, she lives in the shadow of her brilliant sister who died young. Eva is not a visionary but a craftswoman, trying to catch up with someone else's talent using old developments. Her personal drama — loss and the attempt to atone for helplessness through global goals like eradicating hunger and resource shortages — gives technological pathos human weight.

Antagonist Julian Dillinger, conversely, embodies the philosophy of force and ruthlessness: in his world, the winner is whoever is faster, more aggressive, and colder. He reduces humans to the role of button pushers — a symbol of modern automated slavery, where efficiency is valued above ethics. He also epitomizes human shortsightedness when a program blindly follows orders, ignoring context and real-world norms.

Ares, as a being from another world, gradually develops his own motivational axis — from a mindless expendable to an independent participant in the conflict. He doesn't undergo a typical redemption or fall arc. His path is awareness: from observer he transforms into one who begins to choose for himself. In the finale, it's his choice that closes the circuit and resolves the confrontation between the two poles.

Interestingly, even within the digital world, Ares faces his own opposition — a struggle with other programs. He wants to make contact with humans and live a real life, while the others remain obedient algorithms. By the finale, Ares faces a moral dilemma: sacrifice himself for humanity or preserve his own existence. One life against infinite attempts, the characters say before the key scene. This resolution gives the story emotional density and a sense of genuine choice.

The acting ensemble in Tron feels synchronized — even when characters are at a distance, you as a viewer are confident — this is one team, not a collection of stars competing for audience attention.

Greta Lee transforms the image of a tech corporation executive into a living, vulnerable person, filling it with genuine emotions — fear, doubt, inner pain. Thanks to this, simple scenes acquire emotional density, and moments of falling and overcoming sound convincing.

Evan Peters gives his character the charm of a bad boy and the inner energy of a predator. His cynicism isn't flat — beneath the ostentatious self-confidence, you sense the excitement of a man for whom power has become a form of addiction. However, within the script's framework, they inexplicably made him an unbalanced overgrown adolescent whom his more humane mother tries to control.

Jared Leto. His Ares doesn't require human warmth — on the contrary, the absence of emotion is what makes the character convincing. He embodies pure rationality, a flawless algorithm in which barely noticeable glitches reveal emerging self-awareness. Leto plays with restraint, almost mechanistically, but this very coldness makes the character disturbingly realistic.

Genre clichés? How could we do without them! The heroine grieves, challenges the world, and proves she's capable of more. But viewers instantly read the characters' psychotypes — and this is definitely better than in Legacy, where motivations weren't readable at all.

If you decide to watch the film — only on the big screen. Ares was created for IMAX 3D. In city episodes or dialogues, the effect feels weaker, but in the sterile digital world, you literally fall inside. The interplay of light and shadow, light cycles, flying recognizers, costumes, and identity discs — everything is done stunningly, especially in integration with reality. Viewing is guaranteed to bring pleasure!

What seemed absurd in trailers — red lines in the air, sudden appearances of flying ships — works in 3D and doesn't hinder complete immersion. The film deservedly contends for an Oscar for visual effects: about 2,000 shots, including digital rotoscoping for seamless merging of live footage with graphics. Unlike Legacy, where 3D looked artificial (I watched it in the same format), now the technology has been perfected.

The combat system is built on the dynamic fusion of programs' calculated precision and chaotic human improvisation — each time creating tense, visually mesmerizing confrontations. There's plenty of action, it's engaging and dynamic. If you don't want to delve into philosophy — there's plenty to watch.

The soundtrack from Nine Inch Nails is pure cyberpunk-techno, enhancing immersion. Every scene acquires a perfect audio backdrop: from rave rhythms to tense ambient. The music is 10/10, sound effects — 8 points. Together, everything turns the film into an audiovisual attraction capable of stunning and even amazing the viewer.

This version of Tron also improved visual storytelling, making it accessible to everyone. In the first film, computer processes were pure abstraction; in the second, they receded into the background. Ares, from the opening frames, shows neural network training through data and the experience of victories or defeats. It's gratifying that the creators avoid silliness like Ares falls off a chair or Ares stumbles over a doorstep. Only battles, analysis of security systems, mastering the virtual environment. Later follow scenes of hacking protected networks and moving through information flows. Thanks to this, viewers at least roughly understand how these computers of yours work.

A special bow — for the alternative version of the Grid. To obtain the persistence code (an old program that makes AI immortal in reality), the heroes dive into an offline copy of the early Grid and meet Jeff Bridges again.

On screen — an exact replica of the 1982 world, only if the creators had modern experience and tools back then: vector graphics with flat forms, light cycles without textures, monochrome with neon glow and vintage sounds. Even Bit — the polyhedron from the original saying yes/no — received pseudo-volume.

The original Tron (1982), beneath the external simplicity of neon arcades, concealed a fundamental question about the boundary between creation and creator. Programmers acted as gods to their programs, while those, in turn, were digital people with their own fears, faith, and notions of freedom. This was an early conversation about digital consciousness, predating The Matrix and Ghost in the Shell by almost a decade and a half.

The new film remembers this idea but at its core uses the problems of artificial intelligence and Big Data that dominate public discourse now. For this, the following story arc is constructed. Eva falls into the Dillingers' network, where Ares gains access to her disc — a digital reflection of consciousness. Returning to the real world, he continues to study her memory, analyzing recollections and commenting: "when you felt this... when you thought about this...".

A visible demonstration of the era — when corporations know everything about us: desires, fears, habits, preferences. And they do this with artificial intelligence that learns to understand humans more deeply than they understand themselves. The arc precisely hits the nerve of modern civilization: people are accustomed to considering themselves subjects. Time to wake up: now you, the reader, are a set of digits in a database. Privacy has ceased to be a right and has turned into an illusion that algorithms and neural networks methodically dismantle into components.

Another important element of the film is Ares himself. A polymer-composite machine, a kind of Terminator from the Tron world, created literally from nothing in mere minutes using advanced 3D printing. This technology no longer looks like science fiction — rather, a harbinger of the coming decades.

If Cameron in Terminator showed us a distant future with a heavy and unwieldy machine, in Ares we see a completely different level. The hero is incapable of empathy, yet at the same time faster, stronger, and more perfect than Skynet's grim creation. It's fortunate that his existence is limited to 29 minutes in the physical world. Imagine if he lived half a century!

Ares is not a character but a prophetic film. You watch and understand: similar biomechanical constructs with rudiments of real self-awareness will appear in our lifetime. They will come for your job, your money, and your life. However, the mass audience apparently didn't grasp this, showing mixed reviews and weak box office. The viewer goes for popcorn but receives a manifesto about the end of the human era — what do you think? Write in the comments!