Laika’s newest feature, Wildwood, finally emerges after a decade-and-a-half of development, positioning itself as the studio’s most ambitious undertaking yet. Adapted from Colin Meloy’s 2011 novel, the film follows teenage Prue McKeel as she plunges into an enchanted forest to rescue her kidnapped brother. While the premise reads like a classic portal-fantasy, the movie is saturated with unmistakable nods to Portland’s quirky culture, from artisanal vendors to unicyclists in Darth-Vader helmets. This backdrop serves as both a love letter to the city and a subtle satire of the liberal-leaning subculture that nurtured Laika’s own roots.
Production and visual craftsmanship
The technical heartbeat of Wildwood beats with an unprecedented level of handcrafted detail. Over 233 hand-sculpted puppets and 132 practical sets were built, each animated frame by a team of 49 artists who logged countless hours of stop-motion work. Laika partnered with New Zealand’s Wētā FX to weave digital environments into the tactile world, resulting in ivy-laden vistas and a murmuration of hundreds of clay-crows that feels almost organic. An innovative internal breathing mechanism was installed on the puppets, allowing chests to rise and fall in real time—an extra touch that underscores the studio’s dedication to realism despite the fantastical setting.
Plot, characters, and narrative texture
Prue (voiced by Peyton Elizabeth Lee) rebels against her well-meaning but overly cautious parents by taking her infant brother, Mac, on a bike ride. A sudden swarm of crows snatches the child, dragging him into the “Impassable Wilderness,” a forest teeming with talking animals, mystic elders, and militaristic coyotes. Prue is quickly joined by classmate Curtis (Jacob Tremblay), whose nerdy curiosity provides a counterbalance to her impulsive bravery.
The forest factions echo familiar fantasy archetypes: Carey Mulligan’s Dowager Governess resembles a White Witch, commanding an army of uniformed coyotes; Mahershala Ali leads a band of displaced Indigenous-inspired outlaws; and the avian kingdom, headed by Angela Bassett’s regal eagle General, battles for aerial supremacy. Human officials in the capital town—portrayed by Jemaine Clement and Marc Evan Jackson—parody bureaucratic inertia, offering little help to the desperate duo. The ensemble is rich, yet the sheer volume of factions makes it challenging for the story to grant each group sufficient weight.
Themes and cultural commentary
Beyond the surface adventure, Wildwood subtly mirrors contemporary liberal infighting. The forest’s splintered groups—hippie-like mystics, self-servicing bureaucrats, and marginalized rebels—reflect the fragmented discourse often found in progressive circles. Prue’s frustration with adult authority figures who prioritize personal quirks over collective responsibility parallels a generational yearning for decisive leadership. The film also nods to Portland’s “crunchy-quirky” identity, teasing the city’s artisanal obsessions while celebrating its creative spirit.
However, the allegorical layers sometimes feel under-explored. The narrative hints at systemic neglect of Indigenous peoples and the perils of performative activism, but these threads are largely left to the background as the plot races from one set piece to the next. The result is a tapestry woven with striking visuals but occasional thematic gaps.
Strengths, weaknesses, and rating
Visually, Wildwood is an undeniable triumph. The autumn-toned forest, the meticulous puppet work, and the seamless blend of practical and digital effects create an immersive world that rewards repeated viewings. Voice performances—particularly Mulligan’s chilling yet regal Governess and the witty rat Septima (Awkwafina)—add depth to the sprawling cast.
Conversely, the film’s runtime of 2 hours 12 minutes feels stretched for an animated feature. With a story adapted from a 550-page novel, the screenplay occasionally resorts to “just go with it” moments, sacrificing character development for spectacle. Violent confrontations, including bloody battles led by the coyotes, push the material into PG-13 territory, limiting its appeal to younger audiences.
Overall, Wildwood stands as a bold, if uneven, addition to Laika’s catalog. It dazzles with craftsmanship and ambition, yet its crowded narrative and tentative political subtext prevent it from achieving the cohesive resonance of earlier studio hits.
