It’s nearly 2026 meaning we are one year closer to 2027 and the year Alfonso Cuarón’s Children of Men is actually set in. Looking at what’s happening around us today, it’s genuinely unsettling how much the dystopian thriller got right.
The Refugee Crisis Prediction
The film’s most chilling accuracy is its depiction of refugee treatment and immigration policy. When Children of Men came out in 2006, mass migration was already an issue, but nobody had predicted the Syrian refugee crisis, Gaza, Brexit’s focus on immigration numbers, or the rise of nationalist movements across Europe and America. The film shows Britain as a police state with closed borders, deportation camps at Bexhill, and TV news headlines about “the deportation of illegal immigrants will continue”, imagery that’s become uncomfortably familiar in 2025.
The Fertility Crisis Actually Happening
While the film’s central premise of complete human infertility hasn’t come true, there’s a genuinely disturbing real-world parallel. Research shows sperm counts have dropped almost 60% since 1973, with some studies showing over 50% declines. Environmental epidemiologist Shanna Swan’s research suggests that if current trends continue, sperm counts could reach zero by 2045. The average woman in her twenties today is less fertile than her grandmother was at 35.
Getting London’s Future Right
Cuarón shot the film entirely in London, incorporating real locations like Trafalgar Square, Battersea Power Station, and Fleet Street. The production even digitally added The Shard to the skyline based on early architectural drawings, as it hadn’t been built yet but would exist by 2027. That attention to realistic detail, choosing decay and poverty over flashy sci-fi aesthetics, is part of why the film feels less like speculative fiction and more like a documentary from the near future.
The film presented a future that seemed just slightly overblown in 2006. In 2025, with fertility declining globally, refugee camps expanding across Europe, and nationalist governments implementing harsh immigration policies, we’re not laughing at how far off the predictions were, we’re asking whether Cuarón somehow had access to a crystal ball.
Right, so we’re only about a year away from when Alfonso Cuarón’s Children of Men is actually set, and looking at what’s happening around us today, it’s genuinely unsettling how much the dystopian thriller got right.
Environmental Collapse and Climate Despair
The film presents a world where environmental collapse has contributed to societal breakdown, with scenes of a grey, polluted Britain and news reports about ecological disasters. This wasn’t pure imagination, Cuarón was already examining unsettling changes in biological systems during the early 2000s. Today, with climate anxiety being a real psychological condition and younger generations questioning whether to have children due to environmental concerns, the film’s backdrop of ecological despair resonates powerfully.
The Death of Hope and Rise of Apathy
What really makes the film hit differently now is its portrayal of societal apathy and people simply choosing not to think about the collapse around them. The line “You know… I just don’t think about it” from the film has become increasingly prescient as people cope with multiple crises through deliberate ignorance. The film captured what Cuarón calls the danger of complacency, people were discussing refugees, anti-intellectual movements, and biological crises in 2006, just not in mainstream circles.
Surveillance State and Authoritarian Drift
The film depicts Britain as the last functioning government on Earth, having achieved this through authoritarian control, military checkpoints, mandatory papers, and constant surveillance. In 2006, this felt slightly exaggerated, but after years of expanded surveillance powers, facial recognition technology, and governments using emergency powers to restrict movement, the film’s police state doesn’t feel remotely far-fetched anymore.
Mass Grief and Collective Trauma
Perhaps most powerfully, Children of Men predicted how societies would respond to shared trauma through performative grief and media spectacle. The opening scene shows the world mourning “Baby Diego,” the youngest person on Earth, with the kind of mass public grieving we’ve now seen repeatedly, from terrorist attacks to pandemics to mass shootings. The film understood that in an interconnected world, trauma would become collective, and grief would become a public performance.
The film presented a future that seemed just slightly overblown in 2006. In 2025, with fertility declining globally, refugee camps expanding across Europe, nationalist governments implementing harsh immigration policies, and societies numbed by constant crisis, we’re not laughing at how far off the predictions were, we’re asking whether Cuarón somehow had access to a crystal ball. As the director himself said, anyone surprised by the accuracy wasn’t paying attention, these issues were all visible in 2006, just not in mainstream conversation.
