What if 2001: A Space Odyssey collided with Mad Men, with a sprinkle of space-age optimism and a dash of superpowers? That’s the visual flavour of Fantastic Four: First Steps, Marvel’s bold new take on the superhero family — the result of a visionary collaboration between director Matt Shakman, production designer Kasra Farahani, set decorator Jille Azis and their super talented teams.

As Farahani told us on The Film and Furniture Podcast, this world is a retro-futurist dreamscape — one shaped by a single, brilliant mind: Reed Richards, aka Mr. Fantastic (Pedro Pascal). In this alternate 1960s, Richards’ influence bends the design timeline, creating a world where architecture, furniture and technology evolve in his image. “The inflection point,” says Farahani, “is the birth of Reed Richards.”

In this reimagined world, flying cars are real, Tulip Tables orbit sunken seating areas, Cobra Lamps glow like celestial objects, and Calder-style mobiles float through the air. Drawing inspiration from the curvaceous forms of Oscar Niemeyer, the clean lines of Eero Saarinen, and the sculptural flair of Verner Panton, the film’s design language implies a refined and elegant version of futurism.

Read on — and watch the full video interview on our YouTube channel below — for more insights from our conversation with Kasra Farahani. You can also listen to The Film and Furniture Podcast on Podbean, Spotify, Apple Podcasts, and all your favourite podcast platforms.

The answer lies in architectural layering: a warm wooden cocoon constructed within a sleek glass skyscraper. This secondary internal structure wraps the penthouse in rich wood panelling and sweeping lines. Flagstone floors lead to a sunken conversation pit, soft and womb-like, anchored by a sculptural fireplace whose flue and base echo Saarinen’s Tulip silhouette.

As the lift doors open, the eye is drawn through a dramatic composition of parabolic curves — a motif repeated throughout the apartment. These sweeping forms are more than decorative. They’re a deliberate homage to Saarinen’s TWA Flight Center and Niemeyer’s Brasília — graceful, expressive gestures that suggest motion, vision and possibility.

Throughout the apartment, intimate design touches reinforce the sense of family and domesticity: an orange-toned sci-fi kitchen, Johnny’s playful bedroom with a custom round bed and the cocooning comfort of a blue Saarinen Womb Chair.

Farahani’s world-building approach is cinematic and deeply architectural. “We imagined Reed Richards started influencing the world in the 1950s,” he explains. “So New York before 1950 looks familiar — but everything built after? That’s his vision.”

To visualise this timeline split, Farahani leaned into the refined forms of modernist masters: Oscar Niemeyer, Eero Saarinen, Luigi Colani, and Verner Panton. “Their work represents a refinement of futurism,” he explains. “There’s movement and energy, but also restraint — an elegance in materials and colour.”

Furniture and decor you’ll spot include:

Eero Saarinen’s Tulip Chairs and Tables in the dining area and lounge, clearing the “slum of legs” and offering seamless sculptural simplicity.

A plethora of low Saarinen side tables orbiting the blue, curved sofa in the sunken conversation pit.

Warren Platner chairs glimmering on the balcony, paired with Knoll 1966 outdoor sunloungers, offering glamour and symmetry against the skyline.

The Womb Chair in Johnny’s room — a Saarinen classic — next to a translucent round-topped record player and Audiorama 8000 speakers by Grundig.

Panthella table and floor lamps by Verner Panton, casting a soft, space-age glow — also featured in Johnny’s bedroom.

Elio Martinelli’s Cobra lamps, striking in form and function, appearing in the press conference scene — which was filmed inside the Palacio de Exposiciones y Congresos in Oviedo, Spain, designed by Santiago Calatrava.

Calder-style mobiles, poised above the living area, providing kinetic motion and doubling as lighting — a poetic fusion of form and function.

Parabolic architecture dominates, with vaulted, fluted arches and a high white envelope that nods to the interiors of 2001: A Space Odyssey, Saarinen’s TWA terminal, and Niemeyer’s Brasília cathedral. The lab becomes a cathedral of science — grand, geometric, and deeply symbolic.

White surfaces reflect a NASA-like cleanliness, while acoustic ribs add rhythm and functional structure. The space is divided into three colour-coded zones:

Red: A workshop zone for robotics and electronics.

Yellow: A reflective space filled with rising and falling chalkboards.

Blue: A high-tech mission control with organically blooming tulip-like monitors, echoing Colani’s biomorphic forms.

The film’s vision of futurism extends to its vehicles. The Fantastic Car is a retro-futurist marvel: streamlined, turbine-powered, with chrome fins and bullet tips. “It’s as long as the longest Cadillac ever made,” says Farahani — and its satisfying door-clunk roots it firmly in the tactile world of 1960s automotive design.

Farahani and the production team favoured physical builds over green screens and CGI. Reed’s lab was entirely practical, built without set extensions. Times Square was recreated at two-thirds scale with working marquees. Much of the furniture was either sourced or custom-built — from Johnny’s record player to the modular tech seen throughout.

Even the Calder-inspired mobiles were functional: “They weren’t just set dressing — we integrated lighting into them,” says Farahani. “They’re sculpture and infrastructure.”

This is not nostalgia for nostalgia’s sake. It’s a carefully constructed vision of what the future might have looked like — if shaped by the mind of a supergenius in the mid-20th century. The film’s design is steeped in reverence for the past, but plays entirely in its own futuristic lane.

And at the heart of it all? Furniture. Architecture. Colour. Form. Together, they tell a story about imagination, optimism and the power of visual storytelling.