Robot Dreams is a light-hearted ode to friendship and 80s New York

IIn animation, the simplest things can have the biggest impact: the joyful wag of a dog’s pointy tail, a scene from a day at the beach rendered in jellybean colors, the way a snowflake floating in the sky awakens a sleeping beauty. , the Wizard of Oz style. The beautiful animated film by Spanish director Pablo Berger Robot Dreams—adapted from a comic by Sara Varon—it’s the sum of details like this, and the result is so joyfully and casually poetic that you barely feel prepared for the story’s deeply moving ending. But that ending is what makes Robot Dreams sing. This is a film that feels, in the best way, like the last day of summer: radiant, bittersweet, full of memories in the making.

Robot Dreams, Set in 1980s New York, it begins in a classic East Village apartment where a lonely dog ​​named Dog sinks into his couch watching TV and playing video games. When he turns off the device, he sees his solitary reflection on the screen; It’s too much to bear. Then he sees an ad for a robot he can order by mail. Why not? Minutes later, in ACME style, the mail truck rolls out of the box and Dog gets to work assembling his new robot friend, who, after a few false starts in the setup process, comes to life before his eyes. Robot and Dog go out to explore the streets of New York, a world of pay phones, of subway tokens sold in packs of 10, of little metal boxes that will distribute a newspaper for a few coins. This now-vanished world is your playground, a universe of dirty wonder; although Dog has seen it all before, he experiences it all again through Robot, who is enchanted by every sight and sound.

This half-real, half-nostalgic New York fantasy is populated by anthropomorphized animals: yaks in business suits, gazelles in dresses and lipstick, a bunch of leather-clad punk creatures standing on the corner smoking cigarettes. Somehow, it all makes perfect sense. On the subway, Dog and Robot encounter an octopus beating on a makeshift drum, a panoply of upside-down plastic bathtubs – it hits them with its multiple arms, and although Dog barely notices the sound at first, it begins to dance. when he sees Robot shuffling and swaying to the beat. In Central Park, the two skate and do an improvised dance to the sound of “September” by Earth Wind & Fire. It will become the theme song, reprized throughout the story, in moments that are both exuberant and moving.

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Because Dog and Robot’s urban reverie is short-lived. Disaster strikes after they enjoy a wonderful day at the beach. Water does not mix with metal joints; Robot, after dozing happily in the sun, wakes up and realizes he can’t move and is too heavy for Dog to lift. Dog reluctantly leaves his friend behind, full of determination to return for him. One circumstance after another prevents this, but Dog never forgets Robot, nor does Robot forget Dog. The rest of the film shows how each holds the other steady in their thoughts and dreams. Even though they are separated, they are always together.

There is a lot of sound and vibrant colors in Robot Dreams, but it is completely speechless. Every thought and idea is communicated with a look, a shrug, a smile, an improvised soft shoe – this is not just animation, but a kind of narrative dance. (This isn’t all that surprising if you’ve seen the film Berger is best known for, 2012 Blancanieves, a silent film retelling of Snow White.) There are wonderful set pieces, like a dream sequence in which a field of daisies turns into a troupe of tap dancers – they’re half Silly Symphony, half Busby Berkeley. And at the end of the film, a third character appears: he is a raccoon named Rascal, who works as a janitor and handyman. He becomes part of Robot and Dog’s world, a kind of caretaker of their story; it fills the role we want but can’t.

I know this sounds vague, but even suggesting the ending of Robot Dreams– which was nominated for the 2023 Oscar, but is only now opening in theaters – would be a disservice. In the broadest sense, this is a film about the rarity and mutability of love and companionship, though more specifically, it may be the definitive breakup film, a way of seeing a radiant future beyond the pain of separation. The end of Robot Dreams it’s resplendent and restorative, so happy and sad that it will likely stay with you for days. It’s like a cloak of grace – a blessing you didn’t expect and didn’t know you needed.