Hoppers

If you’ve ever looked at a squirrel and wondered if it’s plotting your downfall or just looking for a nut, Pixar’s Hoppers finally gives us the answer—though it’s a lot weirder than a simple "both." Released in the mid-2020s, a period where the animation giant was oscillating wildly between safe sequels and high-concept swings, this one definitely falls into the latter category. It’s a film that asks us to imagine a world where we don’t just observe nature; we infiltrate it via remote-controlled robotic skins.

I caught a re-watch of this recently on a rainy Tuesday, and honestly, I’m still convinced it’s the most misunderstood entry in the modern Pixar canon. I was actually eating a bag of slightly stale cheddar popcorn that turned my fingers a neon orange, which felt oddly appropriate given the vibrant, almost hyper-real color palette Daniel Chong (We Bare Bears) brought to this production. There’s something about the way the light hits the synthetic fur of a robotic beaver that demands a snack that’s equally processed.

The Consciousness Swap

The premise is pure sci-fi whimsy: Scientists have cracked the code on "hopping" a human brain into a lifelike animal machine. Our protagonist, Mabel, voiced with a perfect mix of neurosis and wonder by Piper Curda (May December), isn't a soldier or a spy; she’s just an animal lover who wants to understand the "why" of the wild. It’s a refreshingly low-stakes entry point for a genre that usually insists on the fate of the universe hanging in the balance.

Screenwriter Jesse Andrews (Luca) keeps the dialogue snappy, avoiding the heavy-handed "nature is beautiful" platitudes you’d expect. Instead, we get a hilarious, often frantic look at the bureaucracy of the animal kingdom. It’s basically 'Avatar' for people who find blue aliens too tall and prefer their sci-fi with more rodent musk. The world-building is top-tier; the "hopping" technology feels grounded in that chunky, tactile way early 2000s tech used to, even if the result is a teenage girl's brain steering a beaver through a pond.

A Voice Cast That Earns the Battery Life

The real joy here, and the reason I keep coming back to Hoppers, is the comedic ensemble. Bobby Moynihan (Saturday Night Live) is an absolute riot as King George, a beaver who takes his monarchical duties with a level of gravity that would make King Lear blush. Moynihan’s gift for vocal physical comedy is on full display here; you can practically hear him sweating through the microphone.

Then there’s Jon Hamm (Mad Men) as Mayor Jerry Generazzo. Hamm has spent the last decade proving he’s one of our best character actors trapped in a leading man’s face, and his portrayal of a small-town politician trying to manage "human-animal relations" is a masterclass in smug, oblivious charisma. Watching him square off against Piper Curda's Mabel—well, Mabel-as-a-beaver—is the kind of absurdist theater I live for. Kathy Najimy (Hocus Pocus) also pops up as Dr. Sam, providing the "straight man" energy that keeps the movie from drifting entirely into the ether.

The score by Mark Mothersbaugh (Thor: Ragnarok) deserves a shout-out too. He blends these digital, glitchy synth pulses with organic woodwinds, perfectly mirroring the film's "machine-meets-meat" central conflict. It’s quirky, driving, and never feels like a generic "family movie" backing track.

Why It Stayed in the Burrow

Despite its charms, Hoppers didn't exactly set the world on fire upon its 2026 release. With a budget of $150 million, its $164 million box office take was the kind of "soft" performance that makes studio executives break out in hives. It was a victim of a crowded theatrical landscape and a general audience that seemed, at the time, a bit fatigued by original IPs that didn't have a "2" or a "3" at the end of the title.

There was also a bit of social media noise about the "uncanny valley" of the robot animals. People were used to the expressive, cartoonish faces of Finding Nemo, and seeing these hyper-realistic robotic creatures with human eyes was a bridge too far for some. But for me, that’s exactly what makes it work. It’s meant to be a little weird. It’s meant to feel like a high-tech intrusion into a space where we don't belong. If you aren't at least a little creeped out by a robot beaver with Jon Hamm's political ambitions, you aren't paying attention.

Interestingly, the film was one of the early adopters of an upgraded virtual production workflow at Pixar, allowing Jeremy Lasky to "scout" the digital forest locations in VR before a single frame was rendered. You can feel that sense of space; the forest feels dense and lived-in, not just like a background plate. It’s a shame more people didn't see it on a massive screen, because the scale of the "Insect King" sequence—voiced with delightful weirdness by Dave Franco—is genuinely impressive.

Hoppers is a testament to what happens when Pixar is allowed to be a little bit "out there." It doesn't have the soul-crushing emotional weight of Up or the existential dread of Soul, but it replaces those with a frantic, imaginative energy that is sorely missing from contemporary big-budget animation. It’s a movie about the gap between how we see the world and how the world actually functions, told through the eyes of a girl who just wants to be a beaver for a weekend. It’s quirky, it’s flawed, and it’s well worth a "hop" if you can find it on your preferred streaming service. Just bring some orange-dusted snacks for the full experience.