Over the Moon

Think of Glen Keane as the man who taught Disney how to move again in the 1980s and 90s. If you’ve ever been mesmerized by Ariel’s hair floating underwater or the feral grace of Tarzan sliding through the trees, you were watching Keane’s pencil at work. When it was announced he’d be directing a CG feature for Netflix—a retelling of the Chinese Moon Goddess myth—the animation community held its collective breath. Released in the deep, dark heart of 2020 when we were all trapped on our couches, Over the Moon arrived as a vibrant, candy-colored explosion of hope that, for some reason, hasn't quite stayed in the cultural conversation as much as it deserves.

I watched this for the first time on my laptop while my neighbor was power-washing his driveway at 10 PM, and honestly, the sheer sonic power of the soundtrack was the only thing that kept me from a noise-complaint-induced meltdown. It’s a film that demands you turn the volume up, not just for the songs, but for the emotional frequency it’s vibrating on.

A Tale of Two Worlds

The adventure begins in a beautifully realized, watercolor-soft town in China. Cathy Ang provides the voice of Fei Fei, a young girl clinging to the memory of her late mother through the legend of Chang’e, the goddess who waits on the moon for her lost lover. When her father (John Cho) introduces a new woman into their lives (Sandra Oh), Fei Fei doesn't just pout; she uses her STEM skills to build a literal rocket to the moon to prove that eternal love is real.

The first thirty minutes are some of the most grounded, heartfelt minutes in modern animation. But once the rocket launches, the film undergoes a radical transformation. We leave the earthy tones of the village for Lunaria, a kingdom that looks like a neon Vegas strip floating in a black void. It’s here we meet Chang’e, voiced by the incomparable Phillipa Soo. If you’re expecting a serene, ancient deity, think again. This is the most high-fashion, K-pop-fever-dream version of a goddess ever committed to pixels. She’s a diva in gowns designed by real-world couture legend Guo Pei, performing stadium anthems that feel more like Lady Gaga than traditional folklore.

The Logic of the Heart

As an adventure, the film follows a classic "quest for the MacGuffin" structure. Fei Fei has to find a "gift" for the goddess to get her photo evidence and head home. Along the way, she’s joined by her energetic future step-brother Chin (Robert G. Chiu) and a glowing, green, space-dog-thing named Gobi, voiced by Ken Jeong. Ken Jeong basically plays a sentient piece of lime-flavored taffy, and while the comic relief can occasionally feel like it’s aimed at the under-five demographic, his character provides a necessary warmth when the movie gets heavy.

And it does get heavy. This is where the era-specific context really matters. The screenplay was written by Audrey Wells (The Hate U Give, Under the Tuscan Sun), who was battling cancer during the writing process. She passed away before the film was released, and you can feel that urgency in the script. It’s a movie about the "Great Wall of Grief"—a literal place in the film—and the messy, painful process of moving forward. In the 2020 landscape of streaming-exclusive releases, Over the Moon stood out by refusing to sugarcoat the reality of loss, even while surrounding it with glowing moon-frogs.

The Keane Touch

Despite being a CG film, Keane’s hand-drawn sensibilities are everywhere. You see it in the character expressions and the way the cloth moves. There’s a specific "stretch and squash" to the animation that feels more human than the hyper-realistic math of some other modern studios. The production design by Gennie Rim and the team at Pearl Studio (who also gave us the underrated Abominable) manages to make Lunaria feel like a place of pure imagination, even if the transition from the "real world" to the "moon world" is jarring enough to give you whiplash.

One of my favorite "did you notice" details involves the traditional paper-cut animation sequence early in the film. It’s a stunning nod to Chinese heritage that bridges the gap between the old myths and Fei Fei’s modern reality. It's also worth noting that this was a massive step forward for representation; it’s an all-Asian cast telling a story rooted in Chinese culture without it feeling like a tourist’s perspective. It feels lived-in and authentic, right down to the shape of the mooncakes.

Over the Moon is a bit of a tonal underdog. It starts as a quiet indie drama, turns into a Saturday morning cartoon, and ends as a heavy-hitting meditation on death. Does it always work? Not perfectly. But the ambition is staggering. It’s a film that dares to be weird, loud, and deeply sad all at once, which is a lot more interesting than being another polished, predictable franchise entry.

If you missed this one during the 2020 blur, it’s time to double-back. It’s a journey that reminds me that sometimes the only way to deal with the earth-shattering changes in our lives is to build something impossible and head for the stars. Grab some snacks, ignore the neighbor's power-washer, and let the neon wash over you.