We’re already in world where people without a life can experience a second one courtesy of a technologically sophisticated virtual existence.

In director Jonathan Mostow’s nifty sci-fi thriller this de-humanisingly sad concept is taken a step further with people living an exciting life remotely from the safety of their own bedrooms.

Robotic surrogates – proxy servers if you like – can act out the mechanics, from sex to extreme sports, and relay back the sensations to the wired up human instigator lying on a recliner at home.

It all sounds like a utopian breeze…until a surrogate – a cocky fizz-swigging city boy - is taken out by an assassin in a hit which also leaves the human controller with his brains liquefied inside his skull. This ain’t supposed to happen.

Willis’s FBI agent sends out his own surrogate – essentially Bruce smeared with moisturiser and wearing one of Ernie Wise’s syrups – to probe the killing with partner Peters (Mitchell), a cross between Juliet Bravo and Barbie.

They discover the victim is the son of replicant creator Lionel Canter (Cromwell), a billionaire who – disenchanted with the socially alienating direction taken by his old company VSI – has disappeared from public view.

Bruce’s investigation is also short-circuited when he finds the killer’s doomsday weapon has fallen into the hands of  The Dreads, a hippy-style commune who take a dim view of the androids and are led by Ving Rhame’s Bob Marley-esque Prophet.

The twin strengths are the compelling central premise warning of an over-reliance on suspect artificial intelligence and a wry script that mocks a world where technology has advanced far beyond reasonable use.

Willis ably reprises his worn-out cop routine, Mitchell goes through the mechanical motions as a junior version of Robocop with a blonde bob and Rosamund Pike shows she can do good Yank accent as Bruce’s lethargic wife.

A more cerebral thriller than your standard sci-fi fare, Mostow strikes just the right balance between in-your-face action (an impressive car chase where pedestrian surrogates are skittled) and social comment on technology as a lifestyle.

It’s also a gentle dig at those who think Googling could ever replace a good natter down the pub.

Tim Evans