Written by Sofia Mongillo Bermejo

Wildwood is a testament to the beauty of things made with care. Directed by Travis Knight (Kubo and the Two Strings), LAIKA's latest stop-motion feature adapts Colin Meloy and Carson Ellis's novel into a journey into a peculiar world hidden just beyond Portland, Oregon.

That same sense of care extends beyond the film's craftsmanship and into the story itself, where the relationships among humans, animals, and nature lend its woodland world an emotional warmth.

The story follows Prue McKeel,

a young girl whose baby brother is abducted by a murder of crows and carried into the Impassable Wilderness, the mysterious forest beyond Portland. Joined by her classmate Curtis, Prue ventures into this unfamiliar territory in search of her brother, discovering a hidden world inhabited by talking animals, strange creatures, and communities with conflicts of their own. What begins as a desperate rescue mission soon becomes a journey that challenges Prue's understanding of the world around her and her place within it.

After sixteen years of development and production,

Wildwood’s labor can be felt in every corner of its world. Stop-motion animation is an inherently meticulous process, requiring each movement to be constructed frame by frame, yet the result feels almost impossibly alive.

Its characters possess a physicality reminiscent of Toy Story,

reminding me of the childlike feeling that they might spring to life when the animators turn around. The figures themselves are remarkably detailed, from the subtle genetic eye bags Prue and her parents carry to the feathered wings on the birds that you swear you could reach out and touch. Beyond the sheer technical achievement, what makes Wildwood so special is how that painstaking work makes its world feel genuinely lived in.

This is particularly apparent in the film's treatment of animals.

Each species we encounter possesses its own personality, with some playing into the familiar stereotypes associated with certain species and others completely subverting any expectations. The birds, in particular, are among the film's most visually stunning creations and are crucial to the story overall.

With their meticulously handcrafted designs and distinct personalities making them far more than decorative additions to an already elaborate fantasy world. Several are integral to the story itself, and the care given to their individual appearances and movements makes them feel like characters with lives and histories of their own.

Animal lovers will find this to be one of the film's most affecting qualities.

There is something deeply moving about a story that asks us to consider the lives of creatures we so often take for granted, encouraging us to look beyond our assumptions and recognize the personalities, complexities, and value of other living things. The film's fantasy becomes a means of imagining a world in which humans and animals might better understand one another, and where our differences need not prevent us from coexisting. It is a sentiment that feels especially meaningful in a story so clearly invested in the peculiarities that make each of us unique.

Wildwood establishes its emotional foundation in the relationships that give Prue a reason to fight for her family before venturing into the unknown. Her journey is as much about discovering who she is as it is about rescuing her brother, forcing her to confront her fears, trust others, and recognize that strength can take forms she never expected. Beneath the grand adventure lies a story about the need to find our people, and the ways love can push us to do things we never believed ourselves capable of.

And the forest itself becomes an extension of these ideas, a dreamlike place full of wonder, danger, and communities struggling to coexist.

Its elaborate world-building

gives physical form to the film's ideas about love, fear, and difference, transforming abstract concepts into a place we can explore alongside Prue. The result is a setting that feels simultaneously enchanting and nightmarish, a place where the beauty of the unfamiliar is inseparable from the danger it presents. For those familiar with Portland, the film offers another layer of delight through its recognizable locations, local references, and niche jokes that make its fantastical world feel rooted in a real, lived-in place. These details never need to announce themselves too loudly; their presence is simply another reminder of the affection with which this world has been assembled.

Coraline lovers

know the film set a high bar for LAIKA's particular brand of dark fantasy, making its strange, otherworldly setting feel as threatening as it was enchanting. Wildwood shares much of that DNA, with its occult undertones, eccentric characters, and hidden world existing just beyond the boundaries of ordinary life. Attentive viewers will also find small nods to Coraline scattered throughout, including a warning note and a familiar-looking small door.

The music

is another essential part of what makes this story feel so transportive. Dario Marianelli's original score lends the film an additional sense of scale and enchantment, helping bridge the intimacy of Prue's personal journey with the vastness of the world she enters. The film's musical identity also feels especially fitting given its origins: Meloy, who wrote the original novel, is the frontman of The Decemberists, whose new song "The Better Part of Bravery" closes the film. The connection between the story and its musical roots gives the adaptation an added sense of continuity, as though this world has found another way to express itself beyond the page and the screen.

The accompanying Wildwood Sessions collection, featuring artists including Still Woozy, Portugal. The Man, and Aminé, extends that connection to the Pacific Northwest music scene, making the film feel like a celebration of the creative community from which it emerged.

By the time the film ended,

I was overwhelmed with emotion. I cried, not simply because of the story's individual moments, but because of the cumulative effect of everything Wildwood had spent its runtime building: the relationships, the creatures, the tiny details, and the sense that every corner of this world had been given the time and attention it deserved. It is a film that makes you feel the labor of its creation without ever reducing itself to a technical showcase. Its craft is inseparable from its heart, and its imagination is inseparable from its compassion.

Wildwood

is undeniably one of the most original films of the year, and another reminder of what makes LAIKA such a singular force in animation. Its world is strange and beautiful, its characters are full of personality, and its affection for the living things that inhabit it is palpable. I may have wanted it to venture further into the darkness lurking at the edges of its forest, but I left the film with a far greater appreciation for the light at its center. In a world that often overlooks the things that make us different, Wildwood finds beauty in paying attention.