Dog lives in Manhattan and he's tired of being alone. One day he decides to build himself a robot, a companion. Their friendship blossoms, until they become inseparable, to the rhythm of '80s NYC....
“Robot Dreams” is nothing short of marvelous: a bittersweet but spiritually beautiful eulogy to the friendships that helped shape who we are, the ones that got away and the memories they left behind.
Pablo Berger combines vivacity and infectious enthusiasm with such gentle caress, bolstering and demonstrating the longing and yearning for any contact on both a macro and microscale. In only his first animated feature, his direction balances the absurdism on display through humanism, not only in making the feature engaging through the entire runtime but reminding me why I go to the movies in the first place.
Honestly, there’s no taking away from how simplicity lies in-between the lines with its animation. None of it is particularly groundbreaking but the 2D-animation exudes a resonating hand-drawn charm, mimicking the ligne claire graphic with the city's cosmopolitanism showcased to remarkably messy effect more akin to the likes of Bojack Horseman than something like Zootopia. To have a crowded and incessant production and background design compliment such sharp line work and playful character design makes it more than just a persuasive love letter to New York, it actually makes me, as a former New Yorker, want to go back home. A real deep love for the city and its inhabitants are captured in picturesque quality within the confines of a world expanded beyond its limited boundaries.
Evocative sound design? Check. A piano-driven score from Alfonso de Vilallonga that evokes the unpretentious purity of a silent film? Check. An authentic atmosphere that riffs on the culture of the time period without overstepping? Check-a-doodle-doo. And that’s just the beginning. Steadfast camerawork with a firm commitment to poise and playful finesse with polished editing that never cuts away too early or too late goes hand-in-hand with the sublime pacing, the lack of dialogue is able to draw out our attention to focus on the conflict and emotions being communicated and the less I drone on about how perfect Earth, Wind and Fire’s September is to the overarching narrative, the better.
I also completely underestimated how funny this was. With a tone this steadfastly whimsical, it makes sense to keep the comedic bits simple for projects like this and not risk going overboard; jokes are told through visuals like slapstick or character expressions and it just fits the setting well.
Every crevice of this narrative is warm and disarming practically on purpose from a minimalist perspective: it’s the type of project and premise you’d expect to see a short film tackle but the end result is the same: a simple story that doesn’t overstay its welcome and manages to be enjoyable enough for those who love animation and especially visual storytelling. Dog and Robot’s character dynamics both separated and together are broad enough to be interpreted either which way but the roles they play are engineered to perfection: one side speaks to the naive, carefree child of now and the other speaks to an adult’s inner child of then longing for that semblance of innocence and freedom back in times that keep constantly changing. Yes, you can argue a low-stakes plot like this isn’t robust enough to avoid repetition for a full 100 minutes and some of the bits feel like classic cartoon vignettes that just pad out the runtime but it never becomes meandering or disengaging.
Ok, sometimes it is, but intentionally mundane and meandering in many places just like life itself.
I really do refrain from trying to use the word ‘perfect’ because I believe such a phrase doesn’t exist in this world, especially in cinema but this is one time where I have to make an exception: the way this story walks this tightrope between kids and adult audience appeal is close to perfect. It’s extremely precise in its messaging and awareness of the fragility of emotional connections, how destructive the passing of time can be for people stuck in place, the impermanence of happiness and the marks left by those we've lost. It’s made especially reflective of issues hitting close to home as both Dog and Robot are exposed to both the offhand kindnesses and cruelties of the world but respond to it in different ways following their separation.
Sometimes the outcome you wanted just doesn't play out and like reality, you often have to make do on the path you're now on. But through this tender yet devastating ode, it reminds you how looking back can be just as uplifting as moving forward, especially in the way it’s reflected in its ending.
The craziest part about this film is no less than half an hour walking out of the theater, I ran across an old friend of mine, Christian, from high school. First time since 2018 we’ve seen each other; we shook hands, hugged and promised to keep in touch. Not since 2021’s West Side Story did I have an emotional immediate-out-of-theater reaction that made the movie this much more impactful.
I did raise an eyebrow at some people calling this the animated version of Past Lives but honestly, I kinda get it now.
