Kubo and the Two Strings is the animated film that shouldn’t be possible. The scope of its ambition, a sweeping fantasy epic set in feudal Japan, told entirely through stop-motion animation, is staggering. Laika’s fourth feature required innovations in the medium that pushed the technology further than it had ever gone, including the largest stop-motion puppet ever built for a feature film. The result is a visual experience that’s breathtaking in its detail and a story that trusts its audience, including its youngest members, to engage with themes of grief, sacrifice, and the power of memory.
The critical response was extraordinary, with a 97% approval rating and near-universal praise for both the animation and the storytelling. Audiences gave it an “A” CinemaScore, and the film earned Academy Award nominations for Best Animated Feature and Best Visual Effects. Despite this acclaim, the film underperformed commercially, a pattern that has unfortunately defined Laika’s theatrical releases. The quality of the film was never in question. The audience simply didn’t show up in sufficient numbers.
Animation That Defies Belief
The stop-motion work in Kubo is the most technically accomplished in the history of the medium. The battle sequences, the underwater journey, the giant skeleton, and the final confrontation are all achieved through painstaking frame-by-frame animation that gives them a weight and texture that CGI struggles to replicate. The skeleton is a particular marvel, a set piece so enormous and so fluid in its movement that it’s difficult to believe it was photographed one frame at a time.
The story draws from Japanese folklore and mythology with genuine reverence. Kubo’s quest for his father’s magical armor provides the narrative framework, but the film is really about how the stories we tell keep the people we’ve lost alive. This theme is woven through every element of the film, from Kubo’s magical ability to bring origami figures to life through his shamisen music to the ritual of memory that bookends the story.
Travis Knight’s direction in his debut feature shows a confidence that belies his inexperience behind the camera. The pacing is assured, the emotional beats land with precision, and the action sequences are staged with a clarity and excitement that many live-action directors struggle to achieve. Knight understood that the film’s visual ambition needed to serve its emotional story rather than overwhelm it.
The score and the shamisen motif that runs through the film add a musical dimension that deepens the emotional impact. The music becomes a storytelling device in itself, connecting Kubo to his family and his history in ways that dialogue alone couldn’t achieve.
The Weight of Its Own Ambition
The film’s complexity can be challenging for its youngest potential viewers. The themes of death, grief, and sacrifice are handled with sensitivity but not simplification, and children who are expecting a straightforward adventure may struggle with the film’s more melancholy passages. Some parents note that the film is better suited for older children who can engage with its emotional depth.
The pacing in the middle section, while necessary for character development, slows the momentum established by the exciting opening. The interactions between Kubo, Monkey, and Beetle provide warmth and humor, but the journey structure means some stretches feel like transitions between set pieces rather than compelling sequences in their own right.
The ending has divided some viewers. Without revealing specifics, the film’s resolution prioritizes thematic consistency over the kind of triumphant climax that audience expectations demand. The choice is brave and emotionally honest, but some viewers find it unsatisfying compared to the epic scale of what preceded it.
The cultural representation discussion around the film is worth acknowledging. The story is set in feudal Japan and draws from Japanese folklore, but the voice cast is predominantly non-Japanese. This casting choice was debated upon the film’s release and remains a valid conversation about representation in animated storytelling.
When Art Exceeds Its Audience
Kubo and the Two Strings is one of the most critically acclaimed animated films of its decade, and its commercial underperformance is one of the most frustrating disconnects between quality and audience in recent animation history. The film’s box office failure isn’t a reflection of its merit but of the challenges facing original animated properties that don’t come with built-in brand recognition.
The film’s legacy within animation is secure. It pushed stop-motion technology to places that seemed impossible and told a story with an emotional maturity that elevated the entire medium. Its influence on subsequent Laika films and on the broader conversation about what animated storytelling can achieve continues to grow.
Should You Watch Kubo and the Two Strings?
This is essential viewing for anyone who cares about animation, storytelling, or visual artistry. The stop-motion work alone justifies the experience, and the story’s emotional depth gives it a resonance that lingers long after the credits. It’s one of the finest animated films of the 2010s and one of the strongest arguments for stop-motion as a medium capable of epic storytelling.
Skip it only if very young viewers in your household can’t handle themes of loss and sacrifice in their entertainment. For everyone else, this is as good as animated filmmaking gets.
The Verdict on Kubo and the Two Strings
Kubo and the Two Strings is a triumph of animation and storytelling that deserved a much larger audience than it found. Travis Knight and Laika created something genuinely extraordinary: a stop-motion epic with the emotional weight of the best live-action dramas and the visual ambition of the most advanced digital productions. The film’s meditation on memory, stories, and the connections that outlast death gives it a profundity that most animated films don’t attempt. It’s a film about the power of telling stories, and it tells its own beautifully.