Earwig and the Witch

The first time the iconic blue Totoro silhouette flashed across the screen before Earwig and the Witch, I felt a genuine surge of protective anxiety. It was 2021, we were all still reeling from the pandemic’s strange lethargy, and here was Studio Ghibli—the high temple of hand-drawn artistry—releasing its first fully 3D CG feature. I watched this on my laptop while my neighbor was loudly pressure-washing their driveway, and honestly, the aggressive hum of the water felt like a fitting soundtrack for the mechanical soul of the movie I was about to witness.

For decades, Ghibli has been our collective escape into lush, watercolor dreams. When Goro Miyazaki (son of the legendary Hayao) announced he was ditching the pencils for pixels, the internet didn't just worry; it mourned. Looking at the finished product now, a few years removed from the initial social media firestorm, the film feels less like a betrayal and more like a confusing, half-finished experiment that accidentally ended up on HBO Max.

Plastic Potions and Stiff Spells

The most immediate hurdle is, obviously, the visuals. There is no getting around the fact that Earwig and the Witch often looks like a PlayStation 2 cutscene that someone accidentally polished with olive oil. The character models have a strange, waxy sheen, and the environments lack the "lived-in" clutter that usually makes Ghibli films feel like you could reach out and touch the dusty bookshelves.

However, if you can squint past the stiff hair and the repetitive textures, there is a weirdly compelling domestic drama buried in the basement. Our protagonist, Earwig (Kokoro Hirasawa), is not your typical wide-eyed Ghibli heroine. She’s a manipulative, clever orphan who has "managed" her orphanage into providing her every whim. When she’s adopted by the foul-tempered witch Bella Yaga (Shinobu Terajima) and the towering, Lovecraftian Mandrake (Etsushi Toyokawa), she doesn't cower. She gets to work.

The "drama" here isn't an epic quest to save the world; it’s a power struggle over who has to clean the worms out of the potion workshop. Shinobu Terajima brings a fantastic, rasping exhaustion to Bella Yaga. You can practically smell the sulfur and stale tea on her. The way Earwig attempts to "tame" these monsters through sheer psychological warfare is genuinely funny, providing a refreshing break from the "chosen one" tropes that saturate contemporary family films.

The Streaming Era’s Unfinished Business

Released during the height of the "direct-to-streaming" pivot, Earwig suffers from a pacing issue that suggests it was designed for a different medium entirely. It feels like the first three episodes of a television series stitched together, rather than a cohesive cinematic arc. Just as the lore starts to get interesting—hinting at a psychedelic rock band backstory involving Earwig’s mother (Sherina Munaf) and the Mandrake—the credits roll.

It’s an abrupt ending that leaves you staring at your reflection in the screen, wondering if you accidentally hit the "stop" button. In the era of franchise saturation, we are used to "to be continued" hooks, but this feels different. It feels like the budget simply ran out. This lack of a third act is likely why the film has largely vanished from the cultural conversation, earning a paltry box office and becoming a "forgotten curiosity" despite the massive brand name attached to it.

The behind-the-scenes context is almost more dramatic than the film itself. Goro Miyazaki has spent his career in the colossal shadow of his father, and this 3D pivot was clearly an attempt to carve out his own identity away from the "Ghibli style." It’s a brave move, but a clunky one. Reports from the production suggest that while Hayao Miyazaki gave his blessing, the internal shift in workflow at the studio was monumental. Transitioning a team of master illustrators to digital rigs is like asking a symphony orchestra to suddenly become an EDM collective; the rhythm is going to be off for a while.

A Witchy Whimper

What works, despite the technical awkwardness, is the spirit of the source material. Diana Wynne Jones (who also wrote Howl’s Moving Castle) specializes in characters who are slightly prickly and deeply human. Earwig is a brat, and I kind of love her for it. In an age where contemporary animated characters are often polished into being perfect role models, Earwig’s desire to control everyone around her is a hoot.

I wanted more of the Mandrake, though. Etsushi Toyokawa voices him with a simmering, quiet menace that suggests he could level a city if his breakfast was cold, yet he’s mostly relegated to being a background gag about not being disturbed. The moments where the film leans into 70s-style prog-rock aesthetics are the only times it feels truly alive, capturing a vibe that is part Scooby-Doo and part British folk-horror.

Ultimately, Earwig and the Witch is a victim of its own timing and its own technology. It’s a film that asks us to accept a new Ghibli before the studio was entirely ready to show it to us. It doesn't have the heart-aching beauty of The Tale of the Princess Kaguya, nor the whimsical precision of Spirited Away. It’s a messy, loud, plastic little movie about a girl who refuses to be a victim, and while it isn't a "classic" by any stretch of the imagination, it’s a fascinating look at a legendary studio hitting a massive, digital speed bump.

If you’re a Ghibli completist, you’ve probably already seen this and spent an hour complaining about the hair textures. If you haven't, it’s worth a look simply as a historical footnote—a "what-if" from a time when the world’s most famous animation house tried to reinvent itself during a global crisis. Just don't expect it to cast the same spell as the hand-drawn masterpieces that came before it. It’s a minor key melody in a discography of hits.