Frequently, comic books are called the modern American myths. They’re tales of gods, monsters and men that serve as parables for our time. While the beats never change, new artists revisit the same basic structure of story – finding new meaning in old ideas. In many ways, Disney’s Big Hero Six feels like proof of this concept. The setting may be original, the characters unfamiliar, and the art style one-of-a-kind, but ultimately, you’re still experiencing a story that has been told before in umpteen different formats, by countless artists. Rather than the similarity dragging Big Hero Six down, it highlights the film’s unique elements – making it a stand-out experience.
Big Hero Six takes place in the fictional city of San Fransokyo, a metropolis that blends iconic American imagery with distinctly Japanese flair. Neon lights paint towering skyscrapers, and the Golden Gate Bridge now boasts the architecture of the Nagasaki archway. This hybrid of culture continues down to the films’ art style, and character design, which often feel like interpretations of classic anime in the modern Disney animation format. Baymax’s design in particular is like an American Totoro, adorable and lumbering. The style of Big Hero Six is the biggest attraction here, and seeing it on the big screen is recommended.
As mentioned, Big Hero Six is a formulaic superhero movie. The story, aside from a few clever twists, is predictable. From the origin rooted in tragedy, to the decision to take action, right down to the same “learning to fly” sequence that has been a genre cliche for decades. The adherence to form is a little odd, especially with one character (Fred, delivered with a show-stealing performance from T.J. Miller) existing entirely to call out different tropes. Big Hero Six never flinches from embracing cliche, and it’s that earnest nature that makes it wonderful.
Without getting into spoiler territory, Big Hero Six deals with some unexpectedly human emotions. Grief is a major theme throughout the story, and it absolutely nails the experience. Hiro’s motivation is honest, and sequences offer outstanding insight into the pain of losing a loved one, and how it warps one’s perception of the world. It’s heavy enough to feel genuine to adults, yet still entirely digestible for kids.
Speaking of young ones, I was particularly impressed with how well Big Hero Six holds up not just as a superhero movie, but as something for a youth audience. The action sequences are outstanding and deliver the visceral thrills you’d want out of any Marvel production. But there’s no violence. It’s even a driving factor of Baymax’s programming that he is incapable of hurting another human being – something which all the heroes stand behind. In contrast to a movie like Man of Steel, where human casualties are brushed off without any regard, Big Hero Six is downright refreshing. The movie also ignores other bad habits of animation. There’s no forced romantic subplot, no irritating pop culture references and the physical comedy derived from Baymax’s form isn’t overplayed. But it’s still got a few hangups of the Disney Animation name. There’s an out-of-place montage sequence, and the written humor is hit-or-miss.
Overall, Big Hero Six is the rare animated movie that I feel I can love, without having to compromise my standards for artistic direction, action and writing. If you’re an addict of superhero movies, it’s a perfect popcorn getaway.