
2020 · Tomm Moore
For a family night when you want something genuinely beautiful, not just babysitting — or when you're craving an adventure with real heart and a wild streak. Comfort viewing with claws: warm at the center, thrilling at the edges.
Kilkenny, 1650: an English hunter has been brought to Ireland to wipe out the last wolf pack, and his daughter Robyn — an eager apprentice with a crossbow — sneaks into the forbidden forest to prove herself. There she meets Mebh, a wild red-haired girl who can leave her body when she sleeps and run with the wolves. Their friendship pulls Robyn into the hidden world of the Wolfwalkers, setting her loyalties against everything her father has been ordered to destroy.
It moves like a storybook that keeps breaking into a sprint — cozy and funny when the two girls are together, then suddenly breathless when the hunt closes in. The wolf-run sequences are pure sensory joy, and the last stretch will have kids and adults equally on the edge of the couch.
Honor Kneafsey and Eva Whittaker voice the two girls with unforced warmth — Whittaker's Mebh in particular is all giggles, growls, and sudden ferocity — while Sean Bean brings a weary tenderness to the hunter father caught between duty and his daughter.
Every frame argues with itself: the occupied town is drawn in rigid verticals and woodcut crosshatching, all cages and right angles, while the forest breathes in loose, rounded pencil lines with the sketch marks left deliberately visible. When the film drops into wolf-vision — rushing charcoal-and-gold passages built from scent and sound — hand-drawn animation does something no camera could. See it as big as you can, with the folk-inflected score turned up.
The Oscar-nominated closing panel of Tomm Moore's Irish folklore trilogy, it confirmed Cartoon Saloon as the world's standard-bearer for hand-drawn animation in the CG era.
Reception & legacy: how Wolfwalkers was received, argued over, and remembered →
The closing panel of Tomm Moore's Irish folklore triptych — after The Secret of Kells and Song of the Sea — is set in Kilkenny in 1650, where Cartoon Saloon itself keeps its studio: an English hunter's daughter, brought over to help exterminate the last wolves, befriends a wild girl who leaves her body when she sleeps and runs with the pack. Moore and co-director Ross Stewart build the entire film on a graphic opposition. The Cromwellian town is drawn in rigid verticals and woodcut crosshatching, all cages and right angles; the forest breathes in loose, rounded pencil lines with the construction sketches deliberately left visible, as if the wild refused to be finished. When the film shifts into wolf-vision, it drops into rushing charcoal-and-gold sequences rendered from scent and sound — hand-drawn animation doing something no camera could. Beneath the children's-adventure surface runs a pointed colonial allegory about the taming of Ireland, its language, and its women. Oscar-nominated in a pandemic year when it could barely be seen in cinemas, it confirmed Cartoon Saloon as the great keeper of the 2D flame — a studio of national draughtsmanship to set beside Ghibli and Aardman.
Lines of influence