Robot Dreams movie review: sighs of the machines

Science-fiction author Philip K. Dick once asked Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? (That’s the title of his novel that was adapted for the big screen as Blade Runner.) Robot Dreams, Academy Award nominee for Best Animated Feature at the most recent Oscars, isn’t heavy or disquieting like the surrealistic, philosophical Dick’s Jungian visions–

No, wait, scratch that. Robot Dreams absolutely is a mind frak. It’s just that that mind frak is wrapped up in a sweet, (deceptively) simple story that immerses you in pure unalloyed joy. I couldn’t stop my long stretches of happy grinning while watching Robot Dreams, even on my subsequent rewatches, when I knew what was coming. Though my face sometimes fell — this is, oh my, an emotional roller coaster — even the poignant bittersweetness that this beautiful movie ultimately leaves you with is affirming and uplifting in a way that far too films achieve.

Yes, this is a movie about an anthropomorphic dog — who lives in a human-free world populated by anthropomorphic animals — and his robot bestie. In 1980s New York City. (We’re in an alternate universe where the electronics chain Radio Shack is called Robot Shack and Popular Mechanics magazine runs articles on helping you build a metal buddy. Oh, and obviously AI is a mature consumer technology.) This is a cartoon, with (again) a deceptively simple animation style of broad strokes of solid colors. But while it is perfectly suitable for children and families — a couple of brief middle fingers, deployed humorously and in jest, are the extent of anything “objectionable” — this is one of those cartoon movies that adults will get so much more out of than kids will.

Because this is a story about loneliness and friendship, about the transience of life and the connections that make living worthwhile. You see, Dog is friendless and alone, and sad with it. So he orders an Amica 2000 robot off a late-night-TV ad, a sort of build-it-yourself Ikea-esque robot, and now Dog has a new best friend. Dog and Robot are instant soul mates. Their carbon-silicon platonic romance is beyond delightful. Yes, we get glimpses of a dark undercurrent in this world of on-demand besties: Robot briefly witnesses another domestic android whose family experience is far less pleasant than its own, and later there comes a certain, well, dehumanization at the hands of others who don’t seem to understand that Robot is a feeling, thinking, sentient being. But, no, mostly, truly: Such fun! Everyone should experience the effortless pleasure of a friendship like Dog and Robot have. (It makes those darknesses lurking around the edge of one’s reality easier to navigate, for one…)

And when Dog and Robot are cruelly separated by inescapable circumstance? This is where robot — and dog — dreams arise, as their desires to be together again become achingly overwhelming and manifest in fantasias of loss and of reconnection, that tickle with their connection to old movies: The Wizard of Oz and the huge song-and-dance productions of Busby Berkeley get overt, oddly touching nods. (There are also multiple charming usages of Earth, Wind & Fire’s song “September,” in non-dream scenes; it’s “their” song and comes with pleasant memories for them.)

Robot Dreams is a wonder of movie. Spanish director Pablo Berger, working from the graphic novel by Sara Varon, follows on from his gorgeous 2013 film Blancanieves, a silent-movie reimagining of the story of Snow White, with another dialogue-free movie: the hugely expressive animation does all the heavy lifting here; we never lack for any understanding of what is passing between Dog and Robot, or even between them and other passing characters. (Dog’s wagging tail says so much!) And its invocation of late-1980s New York — and especially of the East Village, where Dog lives — is so perfect that it made me weep: I literally lived this; the tenement flat I lived in on Saint Mark’s Place from 1989 to 1994 was very similar to Dog’s apartment! I gasped to see that. (Huge kudos to animation director Benoît Féroumont [The Triplets of Belleville] and art director José Luis Ágreda for capturing such a particular time and place so beautifully, even in its occasional ugliness.)

Obviously not everyone will have such a personal connection to the setting. But for me, the authenticity of time and place helps cement the emotional genuineness. The gentleness of Robot Dreams’ nostalgia — this is an NYC that has slipped away 30 years later (a Kim’s Video rental VHS! the Twin Towers looming over a foggy lower Manhattan!) — is matched by the pathos of Dog and Robot’s friendship, of how strongly they are determined to reunite, and the utter heartbreaking way in which their separation is resolved. Much like the duo’s memories of each other that keep them going during their separation, this film is unforgettable.

more films like this:
• Robot & Frank [Prime US | Prime UK | Apple TV]
• After Yang [Prime US | Apple TV US | Sky UK]