'Wildwood' review: Laika outdoes itself with an extraordinary stop-motion epic
Courtesy of Fathom/Lakia
Sixteen years in the making, with some 142,000 puppets and an astonishing amount of handcrafted scenery and foliage, Laika’s “Wildwood” is an extraordinary feat of human ingenuity. It’s a breathtaking achievement in animation, one whose familiar narrative beats occasionally betray its ambitions, but whose sheer craftsmanship and attention to detail make those shortcomings relatively easy to forgive. At a time when so much blockbuster filmmaking feels increasingly artificial, “Wildwood” is a staggering reminder of what human hands and imagination can accomplish. It is among the finest achievements in stop-motion animation, and I suspect it will be quite some time before anything comes close to matching its scale.
The Portland-based animation studio has truly outdone itself, and its continued existence might be the rare form of nepotism I can enthusiastically get behind. Co-founded by Nike founder Phil Knight, whose son Travis Knight directs this latest venture, Laika has never been much of a commercial powerhouse. Its films have routinely struggled to recoup their considerable budgets, and without the financial backing of the Knight family, an undertaking as expensive and labor-intensive as “Wildwood” would almost certainly be enough to sink the studio. On that front, we should be grateful. Adapted from the children’s novel by Colin Meloy, frontman of the indie rock band The Decemberists, the film borrows liberally from the likes of “The Chronicles of Narnia” and even Laika’s own “Coraline,” but the extraordinary execution gives this otherwise conventional fantasy adventure an identity all its own.
In fact, the climactic battle might be the single greatest stop-motion sequence ever committed to film. There’s a ferocity to the action that recalls the sprawling warfare of “The Lord of the Rings” or “Game of Thrones,” complete with clashing armies, bloodshed, anguished screams, and a startling sense of physical brutality. You can practically feel the weight of every blow as soldiers collide, tumble, and claw their way across the battlefield. The choreography is so elaborate, the environments so richly textured, that it’s nearly impossible to absorb everything on a first viewing. More impressively, the sequence possesses a physicality that many live-action blockbusters struggle to replicate, including Knight’s own “Masters of the Universe” from earlier this summer. There’s a tangible quality to the violence, as though every scrape, collision, and movement carries the weight of the painstaking work required to bring it to life. Laika has long been at the forefront of stop-motion animation, but the scope and magnitude of what it accomplishes here feel like a genuine leap forward. It sounds like hyperbole to suggest you’ve never seen anything quite like it, but in this case, it’s true.
Knight is hardly a stranger to such ambitious undertakings, having previously helmed “Kubo and the Two Strings,” which famously featured one of the largest stop-motion puppets ever constructed. Yet “Wildwood” surpasses even that film in terms of scale, with a darker sensibility that occasionally pushes the boundaries of what audiences might expect from a family-oriented animated feature. Its PG-13 rating is certainly warranted, particularly once the violence escalates in the final act. This isn’t necessarily a film for the youngest moviegoers, though I would argue that animation aimed at older children and adults is something we could use considerably more of, especially when the material refuses to soften its edges simply because of the medium.
The story follows 12-year-old Prue (voiced by Peyton Elizabeth Lee), whose infant brother Mac is abducted by murder crows while the siblings are visiting a playground in Portland, Oregon. Before the abduction, Knight treats us to a leisurely excursion through the city, an affectionate introduction that doubles as a showcase for Lakia’s lovingly rendered interpretation of its hometown. The storefronts, streets, and surrounding greenery are so meticulously constructed that even the most ordinary locations become objects of fascination. When Mac is whisked away into the mysterious wilderness beyond the city, Prue ventures after him, reluctantly accompanied by her nerdy schoolmate Curtis (Jacob Tremblay). Their pursuit leads them into Wildwood, a sprawling magical realm populated by talking animals, rival factions, and inhabitants who aren’t particularly welcoming to outsiders.
The political and social divisions within this enchanted forest are surprisingly elaborate, with much of the conflict revolving around the Dowager Governess (Carey Mulligan), a former ruler consumed by grief over the death of her young son. Having been ousted from power, she turns to the dark arts and assembles an army of coyotes to reclaim her kingdom, with Prue’s kidnapped brother serving as a crucial piece of her plan. Mulligan lends the character a wounded menace, making her more than a conventional fantasy villain, even if the film’s exploration of grief and corruption doesn’t always extend much beyond the familiar contours of the genre.
Prue, naturally, has no intention of surrendering her brother without a fight. Her journey takes her through the competing territories of Wildwood, from the animal inhabitants of South Wood to the mystical tree-worshipping seers, whose spiritual connection to the forest occasionally recalls the more familiar imagery of “Pocahontas.” There’s a considerable amount of mythology to unpack, and while the film does an admirable job establishing the rules and history of its world, the sheer volume of exposition can sometimes weigh down the adventure. The various factions, prophecies, and political allegiances don’t always feel as distinctive as the astonishing
environments they inhabit, and Prue’s journey follows a fairly predictable path toward uniting a divided kingdom against a common enemy. For all its visual imagination, the storytelling rarely manages to be quite as surprising.
But what ultimately elevates “Wildwood” beyond those limitations is how much personality Laika manages to inject into every corner of the frame. The grand set pieces are undeniably thrilling, yet some of the most affecting moments are also the smallest. An eye twitches. A character hesitates before revealing something painful. A subtle shift in posture communicates an emotion that dialogue alone could never fully express. These are the details that transform elaborate puppets into living, breathing personalities, and the animators demonstrate an almost uncanny understanding of human behavior. The craftsmanship isn’t merely ornamental. It informs how we connect with these characters, giving their emotions a sincerity that survives even the most familiar stretches of the screenplay.
In many ways, “Wildwood” feels like the perfect antidote to an entertainment industry increasingly preoccupied with shortcuts, digital replication, and the notion that human creativity can somehow be automated out of existence. There’s nothing inherently wrong with computer-generated imagery, of course, but watching a film this lovingly assembled makes you appreciate the artistry that can get lost when spectacle becomes indistinguishable from everything else on the market. Every leaf, every strand of fur, every intricately staged movement is a testament to the patience and imagination of the artists responsible. That dedication gives “Wildwood” something far more valuable than technical perfection: a genuine sense of wonder.
For all its familiar fantasy conventions, “Wildwood” is a monumental accomplishment, one that deserves to be experienced on the biggest screen possible. Laika has once again demonstrated why its continued existence is so vital to the animation landscape. Here’s hoping the industry takes the right lessons from it.
Grade: A-
WILDWOOD opens in theaters Friday, October 23.
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