From the moment a more advanced civilization from Mars arrives, the film lays out a world where television dominates daily life and the state wields broadcasts as a tool of control. The Martians arrive promising friendship, yet the place they visit feels like a police state, saturated with spectacle and surveillance where the screens shape reality.
The story centers on Iron Idem, Roman Wilhelmi, a popular news presenter for a program called Iron Idem's Independent News. His stories are carefully curated by his boss, and the lineup shifting toward sensationalism becomes explicit once the aliens land. The balance of power tilts, and the televised message sways in favor of the Martians. In a brutal turn, Idem wakes one morning to find police officers and aliens ransacking his apartment and kidnapping his wife in a body bag. He is forced to cooperate with the state apparatus, which now collaborates with the bloodthirsty visitors to push a blood-donation agenda.
Thrown out of his flat, Idem is exposed to a populace dulled and bent by repression, watching as the regime tightens its grip on everyday life. Yet a spark of defiance surfaces when he delivers a pointed critique during a TV Super Show—a concert staged as a farewell to the Martians. It’s a moment of public rebellion, even as the machine of propaganda continues to churn around him.
Later, at an outdoor market, a local Water Supply Worker, Janusz Gajos, recognizes Idem from his televised speech and bluntly reminds him that he “failed to pull it off.” The worker quips about what more a government could offer—a line that highlights the hollow promises of the regime: everything under a single pillar, a healthy climate, beer available. In a symbolic act, Idem removes his wig and hands it to the worker’s child, telling the boy that tomorrow he will take Idem’s place. It’s a quiet gesture that underscores the personal cost of public conformity.
As Idem tries to navigate the new danger, the same old man who previously set his TV-studio plan in motion confides that he intends to blow up the local TV station. He has explosives and access, and he urges Idem to help, painting a picture of resistance. Suspicions rise that this is a setup, and soon Idem is pulled into a car by figures who appear to be government agents, forced to witness the old man’s destruction. The officials assure Idem that the man will become a martyr, memorialized in statue form, but Idem remains unsettled and uncomforted by this violence and manipulation.
When the Martians depart, the media landscape shifts decisively. Earth’s outlets begin to recount the visit as an invasion, and Idem is cast as the quintessential collaborator. On trial, he agrees to prolong his sensational TV persona if he can glimpse his wife one last time. His former employer consents, and the promised moment is delivered with a cruel twist: his wife is brought dead in the same bag used to kidnap her. The execution follows, with Idem bound to a pole and a TV screen foregrounding the event for public consumption. Yet the miracle of cinema intervenes: as the firing squad fires, it is only the Idem on the screen who collapses; the Idem in the room remains alive, conscious, and somehow freed. He breaks his bonds, steps from the studio, and walks into a world washed in light and mist, leaving behind the theater of power and entering a larger, uncertain reality.
This story, anchored by Iron Idem’s ascent and fall, is a piercing meditation on media, state control, and the fragile line between truth and performance. It asks what people are willing to give up in exchange for safety, spectacle, and a voice in a world where everything—even tragedy—can be broadcast.
