
2017 · Lee Unkrich
For when you need a good cry disguised as a family adventure — a comfort watch about grief and remembrance that leaves you wanting to call your grandmother. Bring tissues, genuinely.
Miguel, a boy from a Mexican shoemaking family that banned music generations ago, dreams of playing guitar like his idol, the legendary Ernesto de la Cruz. On Día de los Muertos — the one night the border between worlds is thin — he finds himself in the Land of the Dead, a glowing metropolis of stacked towers, where with a charming trickster named Héctor he must untangle his family's oldest secret to get home.
Dazzling and big-hearted, it moves like an adventure but lands like a memory — the kind of film that has the whole room laughing for an hour and quietly weeping by the end. Its emotional payoff is famous for a reason.
Built on years of research trips into Mexican tradition, the Land of the Dead is one of animation's great environments — a vertiginous neon city reached across a bridge of marigold petals that rewards the biggest, brightest screen available. The papel picado prologue is a master class in compressed storytelling, and the Oscar-winning song 'Remember Me' does real narrative work rather than just decorating the film.
A landmark of cultural specificity in mainstream animation — cast with Latino actors in its principal roles and treating Día de los Muertos with real seriousness — and one of Pixar's most beloved late-era triumphs.
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Pixar's plunge into Mexico's Día de los Muertos, directed by Toy Story 3's Lee Unkrich with co-director Adrian Molina, and built on years of research trips that show in every frame: a Land of the Dead imagined as a vertiginous, glowing metropolis of stacked colonial towers, reached across a bridge of marigold petals. Miguel, a boy from a shoemaking family that has banned music for generations, crosses over on the one night the border between worlds is thin, and the film becomes a detective story about memory itself — who gets remembered, who does the remembering, and what is owed to the dead. The prologue, narrated over animated papel picado banners, is a small master class in compressed storytelling. Cast entirely with Latino actors in its principal roles and anchored by the Oscar-winning song 'Remember Me,' it treats its cosmology with a seriousness rare in family animation: death here is not the end but forgetting is. In Mexico it became, for a time, the highest-grossing film in the country's history.
Lines of influence