Tomorrowland is a prime example of a film shaped by the economic pressures of modern moviemaking—where scripts often suffer while visuals are dialed up to compensate. It’s the kind of movie that leaves you wondering, “What did I just witness?” Something feels undeniably off, but it’s hard to pin down exactly what. With its many plot holes, it creates a cognitive dissonance that—if you’re lucky—might fade over time. But if you’re not, it’ll quietly linger in the back of your mind, waiting for the moment you finally stop and try to make sense of it all.
So, let’s try to make sense of it all. But first, let’s blow off some steam and point out some of the most ridiculous plot holes.
Plot holes galore
The Time-Stopping Gun. Athena whips out this amazing gadget in the comic shop—freezes time, saves the day, total showstopper. But then it gets destroyed and… apparently that was the only one in the universe? No backup, no mention, not even a nostalgic callback later, when things got rough.
The rude Kick from the Car. Athena quite literally ejects Casey at Frank’s house and peels off without so much as a “good luck.” Why? Robot retaliation was not just likely—it was expected. Not only does it make zero sense, it was the perfect moment to flex her android superpowers or, I don’t know, maybe whip out that time-stopping or similar tech again?
The Sercret Service worthy danger. What danger do Athena and Casey actually pose to Tomorrowland anyway? Are the Secret Service robots really expecting them to somehow invade and ruin the place with their ideology or so-called “specialness”?
The Teleport with a rest stop. They literally already have a working teleportation machine… but somehow, it can’t get them to Tomorrowland. How hard would it have been to calibrate it to function like the dimension-shifting rocket module? Because no—the only option we had was to detour through a retro rocket under the Eiffel Tower.
The 25-Year-Old Coke in the Fridge. So let me get this straight—no one’s checked whether the teleport receiver at the Eiffel Tower still works for at least 25 years, but when they got there Frank was 100% sure there’s still Coke chilling in the fridge?
The Eiffel Tower rocket. Let me just ask you this—if the whole world was spiraling into fear about the apocalypse, wouldn’t global news of this awesome secret rocket launching from under the Eiffel Tower at least slightly shift the global conversation towards hope? Half of the world would probably react like: “It’s the governments, trying to save us.”
Et cetera. Those head-scratchers are practically everywhere, too much of them to nitpick. So let’s rather shift gears and delve into the story’s core subject—the classic “promised land” trope, and point out why the way they handled it just doesn’t work.
The Promised Land trope
For the “promised land” trope to work on a spiritual or mythic level, it needs one crucial element: the promised land must be presented as a better, more elevated version of the protagonist’s current reality—something aspirational, a vision of growth or transcendence. It’s not just a place, but a state of becoming.
In Tomorrowland, however, that dynamic gets turned upside-down. Instead of embarking on a journey of inner transformation, Casey’s arc feels more like an escape. The narrative frames Tomorrowland as a shining beacon of hope, yet the world she leaves behind—and her own internal beliefs about its future—aren’t truly reconciled. It doesn’t feel like she outgrows her doubt; it feels like she simply flees from it.
So rather than a symbolic ascent into a higher plane, her arrival in Tomorrowland reads more like running away from the uncomfortable truths she still secretly believes. That lack of inner shift weakens the spiritual power of the trope. The promised land becomes a meaningless physical relocation rather than a personal revelation.
So, how would we polish the outline?
Alternative Tomorrowland Outline
In a more emotionally grounded version of Tomorrowland, Casey should still be drawn toward the mysterious city of Tomorrowland. Her journey, full of promise and curiosity, leads her to a seemingly perfect, fully functioning utopia—not one already in decay. However, as she spends more time there, she begins to sense something isn’t right. The gleaming architecture and high-minded ideals don’t align with the emptiness she feels inside. Slowly, she realizes that Tomorrowland isn’t the answer she was looking for—it’s a distraction, an escape.
The heart of the story should be about Casey confronting why she was so eager to believe in dystopian prophecies in the first place. Through the course of the film, she comes to understand that her pessimism is rooted in personal pain—perhaps from a falling out with her family or a sense of failure and alienation in the real world. Tomorrowland, then, becomes a metaphor for avoidance: a place she hoped would fix everything, only to learn that healing has to come from within.
In the end, Casey chooses to return home—not because she’s given up on the future, but because she’s found the courage to face herself. Through reconciliation with her family and a renewed sense of hope, she begins to change—not just inwardly, but in how she sees the world. And through her eyes, we gradually catch glimpses of a brighter future starting to take shape.
Why not make Athena a hybrid?
Nothing leaves a worse taste in our mouths than a love that just can’t be. So why not make Athena a hybrid—part human, part machine? That one change alone would add a layer of tragic beauty to her relationship with Frank.
The story with Frank should then go like this:
Frank found his place in Tomorrowland as a child—brilliant, curious, and full of promise. But over time, he grew disillusioned and was eventually ejected—not for his cynicism, but because of a deeper, unspoken heartbreak. His falling out with Athena—a robot, yes, but one he had come to love—left scars on them both. She saw in his eyes the disappointment, the painful realization that she wasn’t human, and mistook it for hatred. Believing he no longer cared for her, she quietly influenced others to have him removed based on some lies. Frank, in turn, believed Athena and the rest had turned against him.
Now, years later, Frank is married and seemingly settled, but the grumpiness remains—a sign that part of him is still unresolved. With Casey’s arrival and her infectious optimism, something in him begins to thaw. Together, they find a way back to Tomorrowland—Casey seemingly to escape the world, Frank to confront the past. Because of the fallout, they just might find—like the original idea—Tomorrowland in shambles. Kicking out Frank led to a chain reaction and now they have to reconcile first, for the things to settle back in place.
And then, In the place he once called home, Frank finally opens up. He confesses to Athena that he did like her—that he always had. She, in turn, reassures him that despite her programming, her feelings for him were real. But how the hell would a robot know how to love? Athena explains that she’s not just a machine—she’s a hybrid, with fully human-functional systems, programmed to work with biology and evolve emotionally. She may have been built, but her heart grew on its own. In that moment, Frank doesn’t just find redemption. He finds peace.
Something like that for example. Thank you for reading!
Ira
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.