My own spin on reincarnation and the simulation universe, The Boy Who Played Chequers, a novella, came out this week—and to celebrate, I’m taking a metaphorical leap from the thirteenth floor. By that, I mean I’m revisiting The Thirteenth Floor, the 1999 science fiction film written and directed by Josef Rusnak.
Often overshadowed by The Matrix and Fight Club, which were released the same year, The Thirteenth Floor quietly turned a modest $2 million profit on a $16 million budget. It’s a film with ambitious ideas, even if its execution doesn’t always hit the mark.
Set in 1999 Los Angeles, the story follows Hannon Fuller, the head of a powerful tech firm that has created a virtual reality simulation of 1937 Los Angeles. This simulated world is populated by sentient AI, unaware that they’re part of a program. When Fuller is mysteriously murdered after returning from the simulation, suspicion falls on his employee, leading to a noir-tinged murder mystery layered with sci-fi elements.
The casting and structure reflect some of Hollywood’s familiar patterns—particularly the tendency of assigning law enforcement roles to characters from marginalized groups, often as a shorthand for diversity. While this choice can feel a little formulaic here, the film still manages to pose some intriguing philosophical questions about identity, reality, and the blurry line between human and machine consciousness.
That said, The Thirteenth Floor doesn’t quite hold up as a profound exploration of simulation theory. Compared to The Matrix’s more robust philosophical underpinnings, this film plays more like a time-travel thriller with a digital twist. It’s not a bad film—but it’s also not the definitive statement on metaphysical consciousness migration. Had it been made for television, it might have felt more at home.
And when you consider that Fight Club—a now-iconic film—actually underperformed at the box office, it raises the question: where exactly was the audience in 1999? Sure, Kubrick had his share of box office stumbles, but it’s curious that The Thirteenth Floor recouped its budget while Fight Club initially floundered.
The answer, in part, is distribution. At the end of the day, a film’s reach often has more to do with marketing and placement than with its artistic merit. Quality is important—but access is everything.
Films like the Fight Club create a world that has yet to unfold. Readers and moviegoers are attracted to stories that reinforce what they already know, exposing tripwires and deadness, but not calling on them to imagine a very different sub-culture with alien like values.