Robot Dreams (2023): Mark Kermode’s animated scifi move review (video).
Picture it: New York City, 1984. No internet, no smartphones, and most definitely no dating apps. So, what does a lonely Dog do? Naturally, he orders himself a Robot friend—because, honestly, who doesn’t need a loyal automaton to roam the streets of Manhattan with? This is the premise of Robot Dreams, Pablo Berger’s latest animated gem, based on the 2007 comic by Sara Varon. It’s a story that has it all: love, loss, the crushing inevitability of rust, and yes, no dialogue whatsoever. That’s right—this is pure, unadulterated pantomime, with more feels than a Pixar tearjerker. Let’s join Mark Kermode to see what he thinks of this whimsical animated science fiction film.
The film opens with Dog assembling his shiny new pal from a flatpack kit (take that, IKEA), and the two become inseparable over the summer, gallivanting around the city to the smooth sounds of “September.” But here’s where it gets real: a trip to the beach leaves Robot rusting away like an old garden chair, and the tragedy unfolds. Unable to rescue his metallic mate because of a pesky beach closure, Dog goes on with his life, but the guilt never fades. Meanwhile, Robot, abandoned and dreaming of escape (while rabbits literally steal parts of him), gets chucked into a junkyard and dismembered. Grim? A bit. Beautiful? Absolutely.
By now, you might be wondering: is this a kids’ movie? Well, sort of. Robot Dreams dances the line between whimsical animation and existential dread, delivering a bittersweet tale that will leave children giggling at the antics and adults quietly sobbing into their popcorn. If Pixar films get you misty-eyed, this one might wreck you.
Having premiered at Cannes and swept through award season like a hot knife through butter, it’s no surprise that Robot Dreams has garnered critical acclaim, including the Annie Awards and a nomination for Best Animated Feature at the Oscars. A heartwarming-yet-devastating reminder that friendship may not last forever, but memories—and rusty beach robots—just might. Bring tissues. And maybe some WD-40.
