Smurfs

The year 2025 felt like a perpetual tug-of-war between "original" cinema and the desperate exhumation of 1980s Saturday morning cartoons, and right in the middle of that scrap stood Chris Miller’s Smurfs. It’s a film that arrived with the kind of baggage only a massive pop-star-led reboot can carry, landing in a theatrical landscape where audiences were starting to look at franchise IP with a squint of "really, again?" Yet, there I was, sitting in a half-empty theater on a Tuesday morning while my neighbor was power-washing his driveway—the rhythmic hum of the water actually synced up perfectly with the first big musical number, which was probably the most immersive 4D experience I’ve had all year.

A Diva in the Village

The headline was always Rihanna, and honestly, it should have been. Stepping into the shoes (or lack thereof) of Smurfette, she doesn’t just voice a character; she attempts to dismantle the "token female" trope that has dogged this franchise since Peyo first picked up a pencil. There’s a huskiness and a weary wisdom in her delivery that suggests Smurfette has seen some things. This isn't the high-pitched, bubbly Smurfette of the Katy Perry era. This is a Smurfette who feels like she’s been leading a village of incompetent men for far too long.

What surprised me, though, was the thematic weight given to her arc. The screenplay by Pam Brady—who you might know from her sharper-than-a-razor work on South Park: Bigger, Longer & Uncut—takes the "Who am I?" question and actually lets it breathe. Smurfette isn't just looking for her origin; she’s grappling with the existential dread of being a creation of Gargamel. Rihanna’s performance shines brightest in the quiet moments, especially during the "Real World" transition, where the animation shifts from the soft, rounded edges of the forest to the harsh, neon-lit reality of modern-day Los Angeles.

The Voices in the Blue

The supporting cast is a bit of a mixed bag, which is par for the course in modern animation. James Corden voices "No Name," and while I know the internet has spent the last decade using him as a metaphorical dartboard, he’s... fine here. He plays a Smurf who doesn’t have a defining trait, which is a clever meta-commentary on the franchise’s "one-note character" problem, but James Corden's 'No Name' Smurf is essentially a walking therapy bill.

On the flip side, Nick Offerman as Ken is a stroke of genius. He brings that trademark Ron Swanson deadpan to a tiny blue creature, and the contrast is hilarious. Then there’s the villainous duo. JP Karliak pulls double duty as Gargamel and Razamel, and he leans into a flamboyant, almost Shakespearean theatricality that feels like a nod to the great voice actors of the 80s. He’s not just trying to catch Smurfs; he’s trying to validate his own failing career as a wizard. It’s a performance that understands the assignment: be big, be weird, and be occasionally pathetic. Dan Levy also pops up as Joel, and his nervous energy provides a nice counterpoint to the chaotic "Jaunty," played with typical manic brilliance by Amy Sedaris.

Style over Sub-Smurf

Visually, Chris Miller brings some of that Spider-Verse kineticism, though it's understandably toned down for a younger demographic. The cinematography by Peter Lyons Collister, who previously worked on the Alvin and the Chipmunks and Transformers films, does a surprisingly good job of making the Smurfs feel like they occupy real space once they hit the human world. They don't look like they're floating on top of the footage; they have weight and texture.

However, the film stumbles when it tries to be too many things at once. It wants to be a poignant drama about identity, a slapstick comedy for five-year-olds, and a high-concept Rihanna musical. Turns out, the score—which Rihanna herself produced—is actually the film’s secret weapon. It’s soulful, modern, and lightyears ahead of the generic "pop-infusion" tracks we usually get in these films. But the plot itself? It’s a bit of a retread. The film’s climax relies on a logic so flimsy it makes a wet paper towel look like a structural beam. We’ve seen the "Smurfs in the City" thing before, and while this is the most polished version of that story, it doesn't entirely escape the feeling that we're watching a very expensive commercial for blue plushies.

Ultimately, Smurfs (2025) is a fascinating artifact of its time. It’s a movie made at the intersection of "representation matters" and "we need a hit for the quarterly report." It’s far better than it has any right to be, mostly thanks to Rihanna's genuine commitment and a script that isn't afraid to let its characters feel a little bit sad. It didn't set the box office on fire—$124 million is a "gentle shrug" in studio terms—but as a piece of contemporary animation, it’s a weirdly soulful detour. If you can ignore the slightly predictable ending, there’s a lot of heart under those white hats. Just don't expect it to change the universe, despite what the tagline says.