Review: HUNDREDS OF BEAVERS

Hundreds of Beavers, directed by Mike Cheslik, is one of the most memorable movies I've seen in a long time. It owes a lot to the slapstick of the past, but still feels modern. Set in the 1800s, it tells the story of Jean Kayak (played by Ryland Brickson Cole Tews, who co-wrote the film with Cheslik), a man who must learn to survive and thrive in the woods during a cold, harsh winter. Much of the film focuses on his career as a fur trapper, trying (with increasing levels of success) to kill wolves, beavers, and other animals--all of which are portrayed by humans in mascot costumes. The film, although live-action, has the energy of an animated short, and the (relative) lack of dialogue recalls the works of the silent screen comedians. Nevertheless, it's very much its own thing with its own style. And it's the funniest comedy film I've seen in ages.

A lot of pastiches try to copy the classics without doing anything of their own. You can't accuse Hundreds of Beavers of that. Many of the gags have their roots in the works of masters such as Buster Keaton and Chuck Jones, but the jokes themselves never feel stolen. An early gag sees a near-frozen Kayak trying to keep himself warm by his campfire, only to be thwarted by a chilly wind that reacts to his movements. This scene, harsh yet hilarious, would've fit perfectly into a Tex Avery picture.

As cartoon-like as this movie can get, though, its characters are clearly mortal. This is important. We understand that none of Wile E. Coyote's injuries will ever kill him, but then we're only asked to stick around for seven minutes. Kayak is regularly subjected to all sorts of pratfalls--some painful, some exhausting, and some scary. For a few, Cheslik makes use of what Stan Laurel used to call "white magic," but pretty much everyone since has just called cartoon gags. And yet there's no doubt that these characters are mortal--Kayak is more like Charlie Chaplin than Roger Rabbit in every regard except one: he's still in Toon Town. In theory, some of his injuries--especially those involving a long fall--probably should've been fatal, but we never see Kayak mangled or flattened. We worry about his safety because we never really doubt that, were his injuries to ever cross from Three Stooges territory into full-on Tom and Jerry territory, the result would resemble something out of Final Destination. Kayak is a man of blood and bone--not ink and paper.

What makes the film stand out most of all is the visual style. As I've mentioned before, most of the animals are portrayed by humans in mascot costumes. The fish are also hand-puppets, and the insects are animated. The film is filled with the sort of over-the-top disasters that had once been Buster Keaton's bread and butter, but created using special effects that look only slightly less believable than the beavers. Falling trees and rolling snowballs were clearly moved by video editing software rather than gravity. But who cares? The gags are so clever, the visuals so stylish, and the story so outlandish that the artificiality of it all becomes an aesthetic.

One of the most satisfying parts of the movie is watching Kayak's growth. This is where the movie departs from it's much-noted Looney Tunes influence; Kayak changes from a clumsy Elmer Fudd-style sad sack to a clever and capable Harold Lloyd-like protagonist. Many slapstick films--even genuinely good ones--feature static characters who survive on persistence rather than growth. That's not the case here--the Kayak that ends this movie is a more competent man than the one who opens it.

If I do have a caveat with this film, it's that Kayak is not a particularly heroic character. Much of this story revolves around him slaughtering anthropomorphized animals for food and profit, and his character growth is represented by his increasing kill count. This is handled the same way the Looney Tunes handled these situations: by telling us that these animals, which clearly have human-level intelligence, should just be treated and hunted as any other animal. Yet Kayak sometimes feels less like the Coyote and more like the Joker. This is not a deal-breaker by any means, but it is something that needs to be acknowledged.

Despite this, I probably laughed with more frequency and intensity at Hundreds of Beavers than at anything I've watched in a long time. This is a cult movie whose cartoon energy is matched by its creativity. You can tell that real passion and care went into creating an experience that recalls the past without echoing it. Slapstick movies tend to be the ones I rewatch the most, and I can see Hundreds of Beavers joining them in the coming years.