Missing Link

In the spring of 2019, I was mostly preoccupied with the looming cultural shadow of the final Avengers movie. Like everyone else, I was bracing for the end of an era, which meant I almost missed the arrival of a hairy, eight-foot-tall Sasquatch in a bowler hat. Missing Link arrived in theaters with a whisper and left with a whimper, becoming one of the most expensive box office "bombs" in recent history. It’s a genuine crime, because while the rest of the world was staring at green-screened superheroes, LAIKA was busy hand-crafting a vibrant, globetrotting adventure that feels more alive than almost anything else from the last decade.

I watched this on a Tuesday night while nursing a mild cold, and the sheer saturation of the colors felt like a shot of Vitamin C directly into my retinas. It’s a film that demands to be seen, not just for the story, but for the staggering amount of human effort visible in every frame.

A Masterclass in Tangible Wonder

At the heart of this journey is Sir Lionel Frost, voiced with a delightful, self-absorbed swagger by Hugh Jackman (The Greatest Showman, Logan). Lionel is a man desperate for the approval of a "club" of stuffy, imperialist explorers led by the delightfully odious Lord Piggot-Dunceby (played with maximum posh-menace by Stephen Fry). To prove his worth, Lionel travels to the Pacific Northwest to find the legendary "missing link." What he finds instead is Zach Galifianakis (The Hangover, Between Two Ferns) as Mr. Link—a lonely, literal-minded creature who can speak, read, and write, and who just wants to find his cousins, the Yetis, in the Himalayas.

The dynamic between the two is comedy gold. Zach Galifianakis plays Link (who eventually chooses the name "Susan") with a gentle, naïve sincerity that perfectly undercuts Hugh Jackman’s frantic vanity. They are soon joined by Adelina Fortnight, voiced by Zoe Saldaña (Avatar, Guardians of the Galaxy), a woman who is far more competent than either of them and has zero patience for Lionel’s ego. Seeing Zoe Saldaña play a character who actually gets to express a full range of wit and frustration—rather than being buried under alien prosthetics—is a breath of fresh air.

The Last Stand of Practical Artistry

If you’ve seen Coraline or Kubo and the Two Strings, you know LAIKA’s pedigree. But Missing Link feels different; it’s brighter, more expansive, and technically more ambitious. LAIKA is basically the last line of defense against the soulless, plastic-looking CGI slurry that has colonized our local multiplexes. Every set, from the fog-drenched streets of London to the neon-green forests of Washington and the crystalline heights of the Himalayas, was built by hand.

There is a sequence on a storm-tossed ship that is so visually inventive I had to rewind it twice. The camera tracks through a shifting, tilting hallway as the characters navigate the rocking vessel, a feat of engineering that seems impossible for stop-motion. Turns out, the production used over 110,000 unique 3D-printed faces to give the characters their expressive range. In an era where "virtual production" often means actors standing in a giant LED bucket (the "Volume"), there’s something deeply moving about seeing real light hit a real, miniature puppet.

The film also benefits from a sharp, snappy screenplay by director Chris Butler. It’s an adventure film that’s quietly subversive. It critiques the very idea of "discovery" and "gentlemanly clubs," poking fun at the toxic elitism of the Victorian era. It’s a movie about finding your "tribe" only to realize that your tribe isn't necessarily the people who look like you, but the people who actually like you.

Why Did Nobody See This?

It’s the $100 million question. Released amidst the franchise fatigue of 2019, Missing Link was crushed by the Disney machinery. It’s a film that lacks "IP"—it isn't a sequel, a remake, or based on a theme park ride. In today’s cinematic climate, that’s a dangerous gamble. It also doesn’t help that stop-motion is often unfairly pigeonholed as "just for kids," even though the craft here is sophisticated enough to make any adult cinephile drool.

I think the film’s failure at the box office says more about us than the movie. We’ve become accustomed to the smooth, friction-less perfection of digital animation. Missing Link has texture. You can almost feel the fabric of Lionel’s checkered suit and the coarse fur on Susan’s back. It’s a movie with "thumbprints" on it, and in a world of AI-generated content and algorithm-driven blockbusters, those thumbprints are precious.

If you missed this one during its brief theatrical window—and statistically, you probably did—it is time to rectify that. It’s a joyous, funny, and visually breathtaking 94 minutes that proves adventure doesn’t have to be loud and explosive to be epic. It just needs a bit of heart and a Sasquatch who looks great in a suit.

Missing Link is the rare modern film that feels like a handcrafted heirloom. It’s a vibrant rebuttal to the idea that animation has to be "perfect" to be beautiful. By the time the credits roll, you won’t just be impressed by the technology; you’ll be genuinely charmed by the most unlikely trio of explorers to ever walk the earth.