Robot Dreams review – tender dog-and-robot love story set in old-school New York | Film

There’s sweetness, sadness and charm in this animated tale about the friendship – and possibly more – between a dog and a robot in 1980s New York. It’s a universe entirely populated by anthropomorphised animals; no humans and no dialogue. The director is Pablo Berger, working from a script he cowrote with Sara Varon, adapting her 2007 graphic novel. Their story is laced with comedy, tenderness, loneliness and friendship; in truth, it’s probably a bit too slow for most under-10s. The best thing about it will sail right over pint-sized heads, for sure: the lovingly realised old-school New York, scuzzy and ungentrified, with graffiti and trash, crackling with edge and energy.

In a New York apartment block, Dog spends solitary nights eating ready-meal macaroni for one. (Inside his microwave, thick globs of cheese spit like boiling hot lava; the animation is an absolute delight.) Dog’s lonely days are over when he buys a friendship robot, the Amica 2000. The pair become best pals (though the way they hold hands suggests there might be more to it). Robot’s lust for life is infectious: joyfully watching a busking octopus drumming in the subway; feeling the sand beneath his metal toes at Coney Island. (My favourite image of the movie is a rhino sunbathing in a bikini thong.)

What happens next at the beach explains the title. After paddling in the sea, Robot’s joints rust over; he can’t move. But it’s the final day of the season, and the beach is locked up, off-limits until next spring. So poor Robot lies all winter in the sand, his imagination wandering. And oh what dreams; in one, he pictures himself in The Wizard of Oz, with tap-dancing sunflowers right out of a Busby Berkeley routine. Meanwhile, back in the city, Dog tries his doggone best to liberate Robot from the beach. Then he pines, and then, slowly … well, the question arises, when is it OK for the heart to move on?

This is a sweet, fuzzy movie, possibly a little soft-hearted. Still, I dare anyone to watch the final moments without a lump in the throat.

There’s sweetness, sadness and charm in this animated tale about the friendship – and possibly more – between a dog and a robot in 1980s New York. It’s a universe entirely populated by anthropomorphised animals; no humans and no dialogue. The director is Pablo Berger, working from a script he cowrote with Sara Varon, adapting her 2007 graphic novel. Their story is laced with comedy, tenderness, loneliness and friendship; in truth, it’s probably a bit too slow for most under-10s. The best thing about it will sail right over pint-sized heads, for sure: the lovingly realised old-school New York, scuzzy and ungentrified, with graffiti and trash, crackling with edge and energy.

In a New York apartment block, Dog spends solitary nights eating ready-meal macaroni for one. (Inside his microwave, thick globs of cheese spit like boiling hot lava; the animation is an absolute delight.) Dog’s lonely days are over when he buys a friendship robot, the Amica 2000. The pair become best pals (though the way they hold hands suggests there might be more to it). Robot’s lust for life is infectious: joyfully watching a busking octopus drumming in the subway; feeling the sand beneath his metal toes at Coney Island. (My favourite image of the movie is a rhino sunbathing in a bikini thong.)

What happens next at the beach explains the title. After paddling in the sea, Robot’s joints rust over; he can’t move. But it’s the final day of the season, and the beach is locked up, off-limits until next spring. So poor Robot lies all winter in the sand, his imagination wandering. And oh what dreams; in one, he pictures himself in The Wizard of Oz, with tap-dancing sunflowers right out of a Busby Berkeley routine. Meanwhile, back in the city, Dog tries his doggone best to liberate Robot from the beach. Then he pines, and then, slowly … well, the question arises, when is it OK for the heart to move on?

This is a sweet, fuzzy movie, possibly a little soft-hearted. Still, I dare anyone to watch the final moments without a lump in the throat.