Critical popcorn

At a time when AI-generated content is increasingly raising questions about the future of creativity, Wildwood feels like a powerful argument for the value of human artistry. Ahead of the world premiere at the London Film Festival, director Travis Knight described the film as “a celebration of artistry over algorithms,” and this is a sentiment that is evident in every single frame. The magnum opus of Laika Studios, a whopping16 years in the making, this is a breathtaking fantasy epic and celebration of the painstaking craft of animation. It’s not just one of the greatest animated films of the year; it’s a reminder of what makes the art form so magical in the first place.

Based on the book by Colin Meloy (of The Decemberists) and illustrator Carson Ellis, Wildwood follows Prue McKeel (Peyton Elizabeth Lee) a teenager living in Portland with her hipster parents (Jake Johnson and Maya Erskine) and baby brother Mac. When Mac is abducted by a murder of crows and carried into the foreboding woods overlooking the city, Prue sets off to rescue him, reluctantly accompanied by her awkward schoolmate Curtis (Jacob Tremblay). Their journey takes them through a magical wilderness populated by mythical creatures and into the path of a sinister sorceress (Carey Mulligan) who has plans of her own for Mac.

The story is a magpie’s take on children’s fantasy, borrowing from an eclectic range of influences: The Chronicles of Narnia, The Wind in the Willows, Watership Down, Labyrinth, even Princess Mononoke. Like George Lucas assembling Star Wars from the genres and films he loved, Knight creates something so packed with aesthetic choices that it feels entirely original.

The animation is obviously breathtaking – every once in a while I found myself so immersed in the story that I forgot that the film is all hand-made, every movement carefully considered, and found myself stunned all over again. The lighting, the use of shadows, all contribute to the tangible quality of the film. However, what is even more impressive is the sheer breadth and scale of the world created. The story itself is very traditional and simple, allowing the filmmakers to spend more time exploring the possibilities of the world they have created, and some of the film’s standout sequences are characters simply spending time in this fantasy world, from Prue’s flight atop a giant eagle to her trying to navigate her way around the bustling town hall.

Portland is an inspired choice of location, (not for nothing, where Laika themselves are situated) and Knight has a lot of fun with the Portlandia-esque signage, the artisanal market stalls, and poking fun at the hipster residents. The humour is witty without ever being self-referential or ironic. When Prue needs to escape a security dog (complete with Gestapo-esque leather trenchcoat) the first thing she does is throw a ball to distract him, but there is no winking at the audience over it. There’s no knowing wink to the audience, just a funny moment that emerges naturally from the situation. Likewise, when her hipster parents describe their difficulties conceiving, they reel off a list of holistic remedies before plaintively exclaiming “We even tried Western medicine!” It’s an earnest, charming film that doesn’t need to undermine its own sincerity to get a laugh.

The only issue is that it’s difficult to pinpoint precisely who the film is aimed at. The obvious answer is children, given the fantastical premise and the character design. However, there are intense emotional moments and scenes of violence that mark it out for an older audience, and some gothic imagery that is more suited to Guillermo Del Toro than Walt Disney. There are also a number of cute animal characters, many of whom meet surprisingly grisly ends. It’s not gratuitous violence, and there’s nothing overtly graphic in there, but there;s enough to give you pause about bringing young relatives to see the film with you. The climactic battle that closes the film is particularly violent, with knives thrown, axes swung, and coyotes biting left right and centre. The most disturbing bit, for me anyway, was the arrival of the crows in the battle, grabbing soldiers, lifting them high, high into the air, then simply dropping them. It’s a long film, possibly a little longer than it needs to be, but the animation is so beautiful that you can hardly begrudge the film a superfluous 20 minutes or so.

What is indisputable is the mastery of the filmmaking on display. Every frame is masterfully constructed, every character vividly portrayed. The soundtrack by Dario Marianelli and The Decemberists (of course!) is kinetic and exciting, propelling the story forward and giving the film a real sense of momentum without distracting from the story. Lee and Tremblay are excellent leads, investing their respective characters with so much warmth, humour and pathos that you like them instantly, and Mulligan’s villain has enough of a backstory that you sympathise with her, but there’s a steely resolve to her performance that makes her an erratic, disquieting figure. There is also a surprisingly eclectic supporting cast, including Richard E Grant, Tom Waits, Mahershala Ali, Angela Bassett, Awkwafina and Charlie Day, and aside from Awkwafina, none of them are distracting in the slightest, in fact, many of the cast were a pleasant surprise when the credits rolled.

In Wildwood, the medium really is the message. This is a film whose painstaking craftsmanship is inseparable from its personality and charm, qualities that feel particularly meaningful at a time when AI threatens to make creative work increasingly automated and interchangeable. Wildwood is breathtaking spectacle and a genuinely awe-inspiring film, not simply the year’s best animated film, but quite possibly the best film of the year, full stop. Laika have created a film that is that is unruly, idiosyncratic, and unmistakably alive, as well as a testament to the endurance and beauty of stop motion.

Wildwood is in UK cinemas from 23 October