Film · Sound · Stop-motion
A World Worth Believing In
Wildwood finds wonder in the things it refuses to soften.
There are films whose worlds we admire, and films whose worlds seem to surround us. Watching Wildwood at Odeon Luxe West End, the distinction felt unusually clear. Sound occupied the space around the audience with a precision that made the forest feel as though it extended beyond the screen. The experience was immersive in a meaningful sense: a place gradually became convincing enough to inhabit.
That surrounding quality is part of what Dolby Atmos is designed to provide, placing sound around and above the audience. Here, its particular value was the sense of depth it gave an already extraordinary physical creation. The film’s images invited close attention; the sound gave them somewhere to exist. 1
A world with depth
Directed by Travis Knight, Wildwood is an astonishing expression of LAIKA’s ambition. Its stop-motion craftsmanship has understandably dominated the critical conversation. Brian Tallerico’s enthusiastic review celebrates its creativity while acknowledging how much it attempts to contain; Sight and Sound admires the achievement but questions whether familiar fantasy conventions and accumulated mythology allow the storytelling to match the artistry. These are useful reservations, particularly for a film with such an expansive appetite. 2, 3
Yet familiarity was part of its appeal for me. What mattered was the conviction with which those familiar elements had been brought together.
Familiar paths, uncertain ground
Narnia came to mind: the unsettling possibility that another order of existence might sit immediately beside our own. So did the ecological imagination of FernGully and Avatar, the scale of The Lord of the Rings, and something of the severity associated with Game of Thrones. Beneath those connections was the darker fairy-tale sensibility of Pan’s Labyrinth: beauty offering no guarantee of safety.
There were also more personal associations with the 1980s. Something of Stand by Me’s exposed childhood, and Big’s uneasy proximity between childhood and adulthood. Most strongly, I thought of Star Wars, helped along by a small in-joke best left undisclosed. Wildwood suggested one direction that adventure might have taken after The Empire Strikes Back: further into the uncertainty surrounding Luke, where discovering a larger world means discovering how vulnerable you are within it.
Those are associations rather than claims about deliberate influence. Together, they describe the film’s unusual emotional register. Its adventure carries the excitement of entering somewhere extraordinary, alongside the apprehension of having entered somewhere that owes you no protection.
The opening establishes that register with startling assurance. Without revealing its events, it unsettled me in almost the inverse way to Up. Pixar’s famous opening draws us towards tenderness; Wildwood makes the ground feel less secure beneath us. It asks the audience to accept that this story may go somewhere uncomfortable.
Room for darkness
That willingness continues throughout. There is darkness, some surprisingly sharp language, and a seriousness that made “stop-motion for adults” feel like an understandable description of my experience. More precisely, it is animation that gives an adult viewer room to respond fully. Its young characters and fantastical creatures do not require the emotional stakes to be reduced to something easily reassuring.
The restraint is as valuable as the daring. Hints of same-sex relationships registered naturally within the world, without seeming to demand a separate announcement. I appreciated being allowed to notice them. That quietness contributed to the impression of a society extending beyond the immediate needs of the story.
The voices of the forest
The voice casting is similarly persuasive. Peyton Elizabeth Lee and Jacob Tremblay lead an ensemble that includes Carey Mulligan, Mahershala Ali, Angela Bassett and Awkwafina. The range of voices gives this elaborate population character and presence. 2
I did have one hesitation around Awkwafina’s casting as a rat. Alongside the grandeur of some other characters, the association briefly made me conscious of the cultural meanings audiences can bring to animal casting. That is a personal reservation rather than evidence of an intended stereotype, and the performance itself belongs comfortably within an otherwise excellent ensemble. Still, admiration need not require every passing discomfort to be dismissed.
Music that welcomes us in
For a film so visually abundant, the music also left a strong impression. Dario Marianelli’s score had a familiarity I could feel without immediately identifying. His involvement offers a possible connection: he also composed Kubo and the Two Strings and The Boxtrolls. The soundtrack additionally brings in The Decemberists, connecting the adaptation to the musical life of its source novel’s author, Colin Meloy. 4, 5
What stayed with me was the way the music helped the film’s scale feel emotionally accessible. There was something welcoming within the unfamiliarity: an invitation to enter this world even while the story preserved its capacity to disturb.
The hands behind the wonder
The brief glimpse of the production process at the end made an unexpectedly fitting companion to that feeling. It recalled the pleasure of Jackie Chan’s closing behind-the-scenes sequences, where a finished spectacle opens briefly onto the people and effort that made it possible.
With Wildwood, seeing the work did not diminish the enchantment. It deepened my appreciation of what I had just watched. The world had felt alive; now there was a moment to recognise the dedication behind that life.
Perhaps that is what most distinguishes the film. It gathers many of the pleasures expected of a major animated fantasy - spectacle, humour, emotional stakes, an expansive cast and an extraordinary setting - while retaining enough roughness and uncertainty to feel adventurous. Its abundance has been shaped without every unsettling edge being polished away.
“Un-Disney-fied” captures something of the response, although Disney’s own history contains considerable darkness and daring. What I valued here was the freedom from constant reassurance. Wildwood trusts that wonder can survive discomfort, and that an audience can appreciate a beautiful creation without needing it to become entirely safe.
I left astonished by the spectacle, and grateful for the ambition behind it. Its artistry made the impossible tangible. Its willingness to unsettle made that impossible world worth believing in.