Wildwood: The Ivy Around The Heart | Laika Stop-Motion Review

Some movies are made with opening weekend in mind, and others are made by hand, frame by frame, with the patience of someone carving wood knowing they'll finish long after everyone else has gone home. Wildwood is the second kind, and within the first few minutes it asked me a question I didn't expect to find in a theater that smelled like popcorn: what are we living for, if not to bring something extraordinary into this world? To create, to say what we feel and what we think, to help others wake up and understand that every day is a new chance to be a little better than yesterday.

And no, I'm not only talking about the movie's message, although that's part of it. I'm talking about the minds and hands behind it, because Laika's sixth feature, directed by Travis Knight (the same guy behind Kubo) and based on Colin Meloy's novel, feels like a statement of principles from a studio that has been saying the same thing with every release for years: we're not here to make money, we're here to use money to do what human beings have always done best, fantastic worlds full of morals, lessons and, above all, a passion for life.

Laika Isn't Playing To Win

From Coraline and Kubo to The Boxtrolls, Laika has proven that even its weakest film stands above a lot of blockbusters on the market, and not just because of its mastery of stop-motion, but because of that rare ability to tell fantastic stories that feel way too real. A girl who thinks she knows everything and feels like she doesn't fit anywhere, a boy raised by "monsters" who show you that the deepest hole in society can hold more light than the homes of the fortunate... they're tales with creatures, sure, but with the wounds of real people.

Wildwood is no exception. It's the studio's biggest and most ambitious film, and it still keeps that same obsession with the small stuff: the look of a character who hesitates, hands that tremble before a decision, the silence of a forest that isn't empty even if it looks that way. Laika isn't playing to win the box office, it's playing for you to remember it, and that's a bet almost nobody in Hollywood dares to make anymore.

Animation Doesn't Mean Kids

And here I have to repeat something I'm tired of repeating: animation is a medium, not a genre. Wildwood is an animated film, yes, but it's not a story for kids. It's a story for adults, maybe young adults, and the rating makes that clear (it's Laika's first PG-13 feature), so this isn't me exaggerating. Anyone who walks in expecting a sweet adventure with talking animals is in for an unpleasant surprise.

Because what we see here are the horrors of not knowing how to let go, of giving power to those who don't deserve it, of letting your emotions drag you without thinking about the consequences first and, above all, of losing yourself in your own selfishness. It's a tale full of pain, the kind that haunts you right when you lower your guard, and that's exactly why it works so well: it doesn't treat you like someone who needs everything explained with little drawings, it treats you like someone who can look fear and grief in the eye.

A Forest With No Map

Wildwood drops us into a forest of total darkness, and not because it's a creepy forest with branches grabbing at your feet, but because it's covered in uncertainty and resentment toward life itself, a resentment born from everything that has happened there. The thing is, we often don't realize life is so random and so absurd that we can't control it. It throws obstacles at you so big they seem impossible to get past, and when you're in the middle of them you can't see they're tests to grow as a person, to develop empathy, care, love and patience.

The movie talks about how innocence slips away over time, but it also teaches you that losing that innocence doesn't mean losing yourself. On the contrary, it can give you the tools to protect those who deserve a full life, and that's when you realize we're all that person, the one who sometimes needs help, courage and security to keep going. Nobody crosses that forest without scrapes, but nobody crosses it completely alone either, and that idea runs through the story from start to finish.

Letting Go Is Also A Fight

If Wildwood has a heart, it's this: repeating the mistakes of the past is a vicious cycle that no one but us can break, and to break it you first have to know and acknowledge your own history, who you were and what happened to you. Only then can you let go. The movie understands that the hunger for power is nothing more than ego fed by the fear of loss, and it says so without overcomplicated sermons, through characters who cling to what's gone with a strength that gives you chills.

It's also a very direct critique of blind religion, of fascism walking around like it's nothing, of control through fear and of refusing to listen to nature itself. There's an image I can't get out of my head: the ivy slowly covering the heart, the same ivy that one day may turn around and come looking for justice once you're finally defenseless. Losing something that makes us who we are doesn't have to sink us into the void of loneliness, and a lot of the time loss is exactly what forces us to evolve. The pain of loss doesn't go away, but you can learn to let go and to mourn what you love most, because there's no better gift to give death than living fully and helping others make this world a little better.

Life doesn't always give you the closure you want, sometimes there's no "happily ever after" and sometimes the weight of the world lands on your shoulders without mercy, but if you open your mind and your heart there will always be someone willing to support you, guide you and listen to you. The question isn't whether you'll find those people, it's whether you're willing to let them in.

Puppets That Breathe

On the technical side, this is the most polished film Laika has ever made. The animation is so fluid that at times you forget you're watching stop-motion: there's no robotic movement, the expressions feel natural and, together with excellent camera work and lighting, the forest feels alive, as if it were breathing between frames. We're talking about more than two hundred physical puppets and over a hundred handmade sets, and you can feel every one of them on screen.

And at a time when Hollywood budgets keep getting more extravagant, when AI is taking over more ground and human creativity is being pushed aside, it means a lot to see a film made with soul and with calm. It's like watching someone build a cathedral out of toothpicks while everyone outside is 3D-printing houses in bulk, and it reminds you what the human mind and human hands can do when they're given time.

The Dub That Hurt

Wildwood also got caught up in a pretty heated controversy, mostly in Latin America, over a Spanish dub that left a little or a lot to be desired, to the point that someone started a Change.org petition asking for a new one. Honestly, I don't think it's as bad as people make it out to be, but I do agree on one thing: giving the lead role to someone who had never done acting, voice work or even a live performance is questionable at best, and no matter how the producers or the dub director try to justify it, it's not right.

That said, as plenty of voice actors know, that's how the industry works. One movie doesn't take work away from trained professionals, and the people who already cashed the check aren't exactly going to suffer. What I do hope is that someday studios understand there's nothing wrong with wanting a famous name in the cast, but you can't leave a work of this level in the hands of people who aren't prepared for it, especially in a film like this one, where every gesture of the puppets is asking for a voice that can match it.

Big Screen Or Nothing

Right now it's very likely Wildwood ends up being a commercial "flop," like so many of the studio's films, and that's okay, because Laika exists to keep making art, to keep amazing the world with what can be created with love and patience. You see it in the characters, in the craft and also in a script that guides you through a wild forest with a raw story, where the world is cruel, innocence is often taken by force, a hero isn't someone invincible and an avenger isn't someone free of sin. Life is made of small and big encounters that, without us knowing, lead us to a destiny we can't foresee, but we can decide how to act: lock ourselves up in rage, sadness and darkness, or spread our wings and fly for ourselves and for others, even if the demand for a better life sometimes knocks us down, even if it's for a justice we may never see arrive but that we know those who come after us will enjoy.

I could only watch it dubbed because there were no screenings in the original language, and I promise I'll do my best to see it in English, because I'm sure it plays even better. Still, that doesn't change what matters: this is a movie you have to see on a theater screen, for its sets, because it keeps you on the edge of your seat for much of its runtime and, above all, because you feel the characters. They're all human, with choices, fears, traumas, moments of honesty and courage, in a world where an act of love doesn't make you good and an act of desperation doesn't make you bad.

In the end, death, life and everything in between existed before us and will keep existing after us. Our time here is a gift, even when it feels like there's nothing left to live for, and we all have the chance to change course, it just takes the strength to do it. And I only ask Laika for one thing: never stop carving forests like this one, even if the box office doesn't applaud.