Black Mirror season 7, the latest installment of Charlie Brooker’s iconic anthology series, returned to Netflix on April 10, 2025, continuing its tradition of exploring the dark, uncanny consequences of technological advancement. Since its debut in 2011, Black Mirror has become a cultural phenomenon, delving into the psychological and ethical complexities of life in the digital age. With episodes that explore everything from social media scoring systems to sentient digital clones, the show has earned a reputation for being chillingly prescient.
As someone who’s been an avid fan of Black Mirror for years, I thought I had seen it all: dark, dystopian futures, chilling technological warnings, and twists that leave you questioning humanity. But then came Eulogy, the fifth episode of Black Mirror season 7, and it broke me in a way I wasn’t expecting.
I honestly don’t know what to do with myself. You know that moment when the credits roll, but you're still sitting there, slack-jawed, staring at the screen like you're hoping it might offer an emotional recovery guide? Yeah, that was me. Still is me. It’s a departure from the usual sci-fi nightmare and instead explores something that feels achingly real: the pain of lost love and missed opportunities, all through the lens of a futuristic technology that makes the past feel eerily tangible.
Eulogy in Black Mirror season 7 doesn’t shock with a plot twist. It stings with recognition. It reflects. It mourns. And by the end, it leaves you hollowed out in the best and worst way possible.
Black Mirror season 7’s most emotional detour

Unlike the more chaotic or dystopian entries in the Black Mirror season 7 catalog, Eulogy is rooted in something heartbreakingly human: grief. The episode stars Paul Giamatti as Phillip, a lonely man who receives word that Carol, a woman he once loved deeply, has passed away. Before attending her funeral, he is invited by a tech company called Eulogy to contribute to a virtual memorial by uploading memories into a futuristic AI system. The setup feels almost gentle at first.
A memory kit is sent to him via drone, and with a small chip connected to his temple, Phillip begins revisiting old photographs, and old wounds. Phillip walks through old photographs, literally, and relives moments from their time together: a rooftop gathering, music-filled apartment parties and intimate glimpses into their shared creative life. But what starts as a bittersweet stroll through nostalgia soon turns into a slow emotional autopsy of a broken relationship.
As Phillip navigates the reconstructed memories, we learn that his recollections are clouded by guilt and regret. He had betrayed Carol, lost her, and never made peace with it. What’s worse, the AI avatar, revealed to be based on Carol’s daughter shows him the truth. Carol didn’t just leave him, she tried to reconnect. She had been pregnant, she had written to him, and he had never read her letter. What he assumed was abandonment had actually been an attempt at reconciliation. But he missed it. Entirely.
The final moments of Eulogy are a punch to the gut. As Phillip attends Carol’s VR memorial, a sense of catharsis washes over him, but it’s not the closure he expected. Instead of finding peace, he’s confronted with the devastating realization that he’s spent nearly three decades of his life wallowing in anger over a misunderstanding. It’s a moment of self-awareness that is both heartbreaking and redemptive in its own way.
The episode doesn’t offer a neat resolution; instead, it’s a meditation on the way we carry our grief and regrets. Even though the technology allowed Phillip to see the truth, it couldn’t undo the years of emotional baggage he carried with him. Watching Carol’s daughter play the cello in her memory, Phillip finally sees her face, but it’s a fleeting glimpse. It’s as though the past is forever just out of reach, and we’re left to wonder if we can ever truly make peace with it.
A memory-driven narrative that lingers long after

Eulogy is unlike anything Black Mirror has done in years. Instead of dramatizing the perils of tech, it uses innovation as a reflective surface. One that forces Phillip to confront the person he used to be. The AI isn’t malicious. It’s just a vessel. A silent witness. It reconstructs Phillip’s past with accuracy and clarity, but it cannot offer forgiveness.
Eulogy trades paranoia for poignancy. The horror here isn’t external; it’s the internal ache of realizing that you misunderstood someone’s silence. That you misread the end of a story. That you let bitterness replace love and only decades later does the full picture come into focus. The episode feels deeply personal not just for Phillip, but for anyone who’s ever lived with unresolved grief.
Paul Giamatti delivers one of the most nuanced performances the show has seen. His monologues feel like confessions. His silences speak louder than any dialogue. And Patsy Ferran, as the AI guide, brings gentle persistence that slowly but effectively breaks down Phillip’s defences in Black Mirror season 7.
Like its previous seasons, Black Mirror season 7 has also been about exploring the darker sides of technology, but Eulogy flips that on its head. In this episode, technology isn't a villain; it’s a tool for exploring the complex layers of human memory and emotion. Watching Phillip’s painful journey through his own recollections was like stepping into a time machine that doesn't just show you the past but forces you to relive it, for better or worse.
Eulogy doesn’t scream like other Black Mirror season 7 episodes. It doesn’t shock. It just… aches. It makes you reflect. And it dares to ask: if technology can’t give you the truth, but it can give you peace, would you still choose it? Black Mirror season 7 may have brought many surprises, but this quiet, emotionally resonant masterpiece is the one I’ll be thinking about for a long, long time.
Also read: I watched 1923 season 2 for Harrison Ford, but it was Cara Dutton who stole every scene.