Review: Dandelion's Odyssey is an entrancing, startling original

I was on a run this morning, thinking about animation (as I do), particularly about the reciprocal generosity of the medium. On the side of the filmmakers, there's abundance, a sort of endless reservoir to draw from. Anything is possible in animation in a way that isn't true of live-action, and animation so often really goes for it, swings for the fences, shows us things we never could've imagined or dreamed of. On the other end, we the viewers receive these movies (or shows, or shorts, or whatever else) with a generosity of spirit, an openness, something that goes beyond suspension of disbelief to something deeper, more soul-level, even. If you love animation, there's nothing like it when it comes to something hitting you directly, square in the heart, the immediate wonder. I don't know if this makes sense, but hopefully it rings true for someone.

Anyways, that thought process really had me in the right mindset for Momoko Seto's Dandelion's Odyssey, which is the sort of startlingly original film that leaves your head spinning. Like, a movie can be this. It honestly feels unprecedented. I can't recall anything I've ever watched that felt like this, looked like this, moved like this. It's experimental and strange but also feels weirdly relatable and easy to get into. It's low-key Pikmin-coded, which is of course a good thing. But that comes down more to the diminutive size of our protagonists, and the cute noises they express themselves with, rather than anything happening on a more structural or thematic level.

Dandelion's Odyssey is a pastiche of different media, blending CGI with time-lapse photography, macro-photography, and other techniques (there's a great interview with Seto over at Cartoon Brew that's worth a read). It's a gorgeous movie behold. And so strange. There are all these disparate elements which are layered on top of each other, and even when you can see the lines between them, they all feel like they belong together. It's a truly immersive experience, and I love how you never really know what you're going to see next, or sometimes even what you're seeing right now. There's a sense of awe here that is really special, and rare. Whether it's butterflies with their wings on fire, a sandstorm shaped like a giant bug, or glowing squid flying through the cosmos, there is an endless bounty of startling visuals to behold here. 

It's a film that fuels your curiosity and also incorporates that curiosity into the story, which follows four dandelion seeds on a quest to find fertile soil, so they can plant themselves, grow, and send out more seeds. At the beginning of the film, we see the destruction of the world via nuclear war, which sends our tiny heroes out into space. They land on a strange alien planet, where their quest for fresh ground begins. While they're very focused on their quest, regularly attempting to drill down into various ground types, they also exhibit a sense of wonder at the world unfolding around them. While the seeds don't have particularly distinct personalities from one another (aside from, maybe, the one with only a few petals, who seems frazzled if only by appearance), there's a lovely rapport between them, a sense of support and love, and also a joy at seeing all of the weird and wild flora and fauna they encounter, as it pulses and gyrates and breathes. Cycles of birth, life, death, and rebirth happen before them as they venture forth. They're witnesses to it all, but with how much they see, you almost start to wonder if they're also harbingers of these paradigm shifts. Maybe anything that can beget new life also has the power to change the world, even if just by virtue of being there.

Watching these seeds go on their journey, looking out for each other, making new friends, dodging predators that loom like kaiju over them (a face-off between a moth and mantis feels like a fun twist on Godzilla), I felt like I was watching the apotheosis of anthropomorphism. In animation, we're used to seeing animals and objects, and yeah, even plants, given human aspects. We watch them talk, navigate the world. We get invested and cry over them. But this here feels like it's taken to the final possible stage, watching literal dandelion scenes that don't talk, and getting so invested in their success. I want to call them cute, but like, how are they cute? They are seeds! Maybe it's their noises -- the whooshes and whines, squeaks and squeals that give us a little insight into their mental state. Maybe it's the way they move, especially the way they all embrace after particularly harrowing scenes. Whatever magic recipe it is, I applaud Seto and her team for figuring it out, and executing it so brilliantly.

Along with the seed's noises, Dandelion's Odyssey's entire soundscape is stunning. The sound design furthers the immersion, and pops and crackles with creativity. And Nicolas Becker's score is so fucking awesome. There's a lot of it that's beep-boop smooth, trance-y elegance. A lot of alien techno beats that give a nice sci-fi slant to a film that often feels, genre-wise, very much like a sci-fi film. But other scenes go to New Age-y highs with shimmering strings, and then there's a beautiful balletic piece late in the film that accompanies a sort of dance sequence between two of the seeds. The music is nimble, adaptive, always right. Really, really good stuff.

As the film came to a close, I found myself marveling at how relatable it ends up feeling, despite being such a unique and bizarre little adventure. Don't we all just want to find a soft, safe place to land? A place where we can put down roots, grow, thrive, and leave the world a little more beautiful, a little more full? Finding such a place can require sweat, blood, tears, sacrifice (okay, I guess the seeds only really have the latter to give), but the movie posits that it's worth it. And I tend to agree.

Dandelion's Odyssey is the opening film at this year's Animator Festival in Poland.