Coraline at 15: Animation’s Limitless Possibilities

Coraline Remains a Compelling Argument for Animation’s Limitless Possibilities

Once upon a time, an animated film came along that was so audaciously weird and genuinely disturbing that it’s a miracle it was ever made at all. Coraline, a 2009 masterpiece from The Nightmare Before Christmas director Henry Selick pushed boundaries of what both children’s stories and animated movies were supposed to be and do. A horror story for kids that was unafraid to be dark and refused to talk down to its audience or blunt its sharper edges for their benefit, Coraline took genuine risks with its filmmaking style and storytelling tone.

Now, as studios (looking at you, Disney) release endless sequels and bizarre photo-realistic versions of previous animated hits instead of telling new stories, films like Coraline burn even brighter as examples of the limitless possibility of what animation could—and should—be. Though there have been rumors of a live-action take on Coraline in development off-and-on for several years, it’s hard to argue that anything could seriously improve upon the joyful creativity of the original.

Celebrating its 15th anniversary this August with a return to theaters, the stop-motion animation adaptation of Neil Gaiman’s novella of the same name is genuinely astounding. From its lush colors to its beautifully disturbing monsters and uncomfortably dark themes, it’s a movie that was like nothing else that was made at the time—or that has been made since. A coming-of-age story about loneliness, family, love and gratitude, its striking blend of whimsy and horror is both genuinely scary and deeply heartfelt.

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Coraline follows Coraline Jones (voiced by Dakota Fanning), a precocious, often rude 11-year-old whose family has moved to a big, empty house in the rainy Pacific Northwest. Her parents (voiced by Teri Hatcher and John Hodgman) are both writers who aren’t particularly available or hands-on. As a result, she’s often left to her own devices with little to entertain her but an assortment of charmingly odd neighbors. This all changes when Coraline discovers a mysterious hidden door that transforms into a portal to a magical alternate reality.

The Other World is dazzling, super-saturated and vibrant in all the ways Coraline’s everyday existence is gray and drab. Full of flowers, endless sweet treats, and neighbors who want to do nothing but entertain her, everything about this place seems perfect. Here, Coraline’s parents are warm and attentive: Her Other Mother makes elaborate meals of all her favorite foods, while her Other Father tends a lush, glowing garden that’s pruned into the shape of her face. They listen to her, validate her complaints and solicit her opinions, even sitting with her until she falls asleep each night in a beautifully appointed bedroom.

Sure, everyone in the Other World sports a disturbing pair of buttons for eyes, and they all seem to be inexplicably nervous around the Other Mother, but it’s a small concern for Coraline in the face of a life that finally puts her needs and desires at the center. But as anyone who has ever read a fairy tale already knows, nothing that seems to be perfect ever truly is, and the shimmering beauty of the Other World hides corruption and darkness at its heart.

The lessons of Coraline are straightforward and universal: Trust your instincts. Don’t be fooled by appearances. Appreciate your family. Be yourself. And always listen to a cat that decides to talk to you. While the film may technically be a children’s story—and full of the requisite adventure, whimsy and transgressive rule-breaking fun—it’s equally impactful for adult viewers, many of whom probably know a little something about difficult children and disillusionment with the lives they’re currently living. But as its tween protagonist slowly understands that her life already had everything she needed in it, she not only finds the strength to save her parents, but to become the best, bravest version of herself in the process. And isn’t that what growing up is really all about?

Perhaps most importantly, Coraline is a film that purposefully uses the unique advantages of its animated format to add depth and meaning to the larger story it’s telling. The stop-motion style is incredibly meticulous and painstakingly rendered, giving both the mundane (Coraline’s blue boots) and the fantastical (the Other Mother’s delicately needle-like fingers), the feeling of a truly lived-in reality. It’s so well done there are moments you will likely completely forget that what you’re actually watching is a bunch of handmade dolls repeatedly posed in a series of separated photographs strung together at 24 frames a second. (Fun fact: Coraline spent two years in pre-production and shot for 83 weeks.)

The film’s attention to detail leaps off the screen, from the depressing, rainy dullness of present-day Oregon to the lovely, creeping horror of the Other World, where vivid snapdragons have all too real teeth and abuse is covered by a smile literally painted on. Coraline features over a half-dozen uniquely realized characters, each of whom is again reimagined in a darker, more sinister form in the story’s parallel world. And it’s one of the few movies, even today, that uses 3-D technology as something more than a gimmicky reason to inflate ticket prices. Coraline was the first stop-motion film to be shot in 3-D and the format genuinely enhances the final product, adding increased depth and immersion to the film’s world(s) in a way that makes the entire experience richer and more realistic. It’s a movie that absolutely should be seen in 3-D, and as someone who generally hates 3-D anything, this is the highest praise I can offer.

Unafraid to be both scary and sincere, Coraline is a love letter to animation as an art form and one of the best modern fairy tales ever made. Is it perfect? No. (I could write an entire other essay about why the irritating character of Wyborn, who was created for the film, doesn’t need to exist.) But, it’s pretty darn close. And isn’t that really the message here, after all? Normal life is perfect, even when it isn’t. And it’s in these imperfections that we find everything that matters, from love to art. Or sometimes, if you’re lucky, both.

Lacy Baugher Milas is the Books Editor at Paste Magazine, but loves nerding out about all sorts of pop culture. You can find her on Twitter @LacyMB

Coraline Remains a Compelling Argument for Animation’s Limitless Possibilities