Fixed

There is a specific, frantic energy to the "one last night" movie—that subgenre where a group of friends faces a looming expiration date on their freedom. Usually, it’s a wedding, a graduation, or a move across the country. In Genndy Tartakovsky’s Fixed, the stakes are a bit more... localized. Our protagonist, a wide-eyed, good-natured pooch named Bull, has twenty-four hours before a trip to the vet results in the permanent removal of his "trouble nuggets."

I watched this while my own terrier, Buster, sat on the rug chewing a squeaky toy, occasionally glancing up at the screen with what I can only describe as a look of profound betrayal. It’s hard to stay objective when your own dog is essentially the target of a horror movie premise, but that’s the tightrope Fixed walks. It’s a raunchy, R-rated comedy that feels like a lost relic from the early 2000s, yet it arrived in 2025 carrying the weight of an industry that doesn’t quite know what to do with "adult" animation that isn't a cynical family sitcom.

A Rescue Mission for Adult Animation

To understand Fixed, you have to understand the weird, Limbo-like state of modern animation. For a while, it looked like this movie might never actually see the light of day. Despite being helmed by Tartakovsky—the genius behind Samurai Jack and the kinetic Hotel Transylvania series—the film became a bit of a political football between studios. In an era where streaming giants are frequently "vaulting" finished projects for tax breaks (looking at you, Coyote vs. Acme), Fixed felt like a survivor.

It’s a 2D-animated feature in a world dominated by 3D pixels, and that alone makes it a minor miracle. The hand-drawn aesthetic gives it a warmth and a "squash-and-stretch" elasticity that CGI often struggles to replicate. Genndy Tartakovsky has always been a master of timing, and here he uses that skill to weaponize every gag. Whether it’s a quick reaction shot or a chaotic chase through a suburban backyard, the film moves with a rhythmic precision that proves Tartakovsky’s storyboarding is basically the animated equivalent of a perfectly tuned drum kit.

The Fellowship of the Fur

The voice cast is doing some heavy lifting here. Adam Devine voices Bull with the kind of earnest, "golden retriever energy" he’s built a career on, making the dog’s impending "fixing" feel genuinely tragic in a goofy way. But the real joy is the ensemble of "the boys." You’ve got Idris Elba voicing Rocco, a tough-talking boxer who tries to maintain a facade of cool while clearly being the most neurotic of the bunch. Hearing the guy who played Stringer Bell argue about the logistics of a dog-run "bachelor party" is a cognitive dissonance I didn't know I needed.

Then there’s Fred Armisen as Fetch and Bobby Moynihan as Lucky, rounding out a group that feels like a canine version of the Superbad crew. The chemistry is infectious, and you can tell these actors were encouraged to riff. The script, co-written by Jon Vitti (a veteran of The Simpsons during its golden era), is dense with rapid-fire wordplay and observational humor about the secret lives of pets. It’s essentially The Hangover with more fur and significantly more sniffing.

The film doesn’t shy away from the R-rating. There are jokes about anatomy, bodily fluids, and "the act" itself that might make the squeamish recoil, but it never feels mean-spirited. It’s crude, yes, but it’s anchored by a genuine sweetness about friendship and the fear of change.

Posing, Pacing, and Primal Instincts

What makes the humor work mechanically is the "posing." In a lot of contemporary animation, characters move constantly, a sort of digital jitteriness that can be exhausting. Tartakovsky understands the power of a "held" pose. He lets a joke land, lets the characters react with a specific, hilarious facial expression, and then explodes into the next sequence. It’s a masterclass in comedic structure.

One of the standout sequences involves a botched attempt at a "romantic encounter" that plays out like a high-stakes heist movie. The score by Tyler Bates, which usually leans into epic action (John Wick), treats the dogs’ mission with a hilarious level of gravity. The contrast between the epic music and the fact that these are just four idiots trying to navigate a cat-filled alleyway is one of the film's most consistent delights.

The trivia-heads among you might find it interesting that this film was actually in development in various forms for years, originally envisioned as a much darker project before settling into this "buddy comedy" groove. You can see remnants of that darker edge in the way the "humans" are portrayed—mostly as looming, god-like figures who control the dogs' destinies with a terrifying nonchalance.

Fixed is a loud, vulgar, and surprisingly heartfelt celebration of the medium of 2D animation. It doesn't rewrite the rules of the road-trip comedy, but it executes those rules with such visual flair and vocal commitment that it’s impossible not to get swept up in the absurdity. It’s a reminder that animation isn't a genre for kids—it's a tool for storytelling that can be just as filthy, funny, and human as any live-action romp. If you can handle the persistent "ball" jokes, you'll find a movie that has more soul than most of the franchise-bloated blockbusters currently clogging up the multiplex. Just maybe don't watch it with your dog in the room if you value their trust.