Did I have long stretches of happy grinning while watching Robot Dreams, even on my subsequent rewatches, when I knew what was coming? Yes, I did. An Academy Award nominee for Best Animated Feature earlier this year, this sweet, deceptively simple, dialogue-free story immerses you in pure unalloyed joy. Oh, my face sometimes fell — this is an emotional roller coaster, for sure — but even the poignant bittersweetness that this beautiful movie ultimately leaves you with is affirming and uplifting in a way that far too films achieve.
Yes, this is a movie about an anthropomorphic dog — who lives in a human-free world populated by other anthropomorphic animals — and his robot bestie... in 1980s New York City. We're in an alternate universe where the electronics chain Radio Shack is called Robot Shack and Popular Mechanics magazine runs articles on helping you build a metal buddy.
This is a cartoon, with (again) a deceptively simple animation style of broad strokes of solid colors. But while it is perfectly suitable for children and families — a couple of brief middle fingers, deployed humorously and in jest, are the extent of anything "objectionable" — this is one of those cartoon movies that adults will get so much more out of than kids will.
Because this is a story about loneliness and friendship, about the transience of life and the connections that make life worthwhile. You see, Dog is sad in his loneliness. So he orders an Amica 2000 robot off a late-night TV ad, a sort of build-it-yourself Ikea-esque robot. Suddenly, Dog has a new best friend. Dog and Robot are instant soulmates. Their carbon-silicon platonic romance is beyond delightful. Everyone should experience the effortless pleasure of a friendship like Dog and Robot have.
We do get glimpses of a dark undercurrent in this world of on-demand besties. Robot briefly witnesses another domestic android whose family experience is far less pleasant than its own. Later there comes a certain, well, dehumanization at the hands of others who don't seem to understand that Robot is a feeling, thinking, sentient being.
When Dog and Robot are cruelly separated by inescapable circumstance? This is where the robot (and dog) dreams arise, as their desires to be together again become achingly overwhelming and manifest in fantasias of loss and of reconnection. These dream sequences tickle with their connection to old movies: The Wizard of Oz and the huge song-and-dance productions of Busby Berkeley get overt, oddly touching nods.
Robot Dreams is a wonder of a movie. Spanish director Pablo Berger, working from the graphic novel by Sara Varon, follows on from his gorgeous 2013 film Blancanieves (a silent-movie reimagining of the story of Snow White) with another dialogue-free movie. The hugely expressive animation does all the heavy lifting here; we never lack for any understanding of what is passing between Dog and Robot, or even between them and other passing characters. (Dog's wagging tail says so much!)
And the invocation of late-1980s New York — and especially of the East Village, where Dog lives — is so perfect that it made me weep: I literally lived this; the tenement flat I lived in on St. Mark's Place from 1989 to 1994 was pretty much Dog's apartment! I gasped when I saw it. Huge kudos to animation director Benoît Féroumont and art director José Luis Ágreda for capturing such a particular time and place so beautifully, even in its occasional ugliness.
Obviously not everyone will have such a personal connection to the setting. But for me, the authenticity of time and place helps cement the emotional genuineness. The gentleness of Robot Dreams' nostalgia — this is an NYC that has slipped away 30 years later (A Kim's Video rental VHS! The Twin Towers looming over a foggy lower Manhattan!) — is matched by the pathos of Dog and Robot's friendship, their aching determination to reunite, and the utterly heartbreaking way in which their separation is resolved. Much like the duo's memories of each other, this film is unforgettable. Escape to the colorful world of Robot Dreams.
Robot Dreams
Not Rated
Directed by Pablo Berger
At the Magic Lantern
