THE STORY – Through unlikely bonds formed during night shifts at a local aquarium, Tova, an elderly widow, learns of a life-changing discovery that may bring her joy and wonder once again.
THE CAST – Sally Field, Lewis Pullman, Alfred Molina, Colm Meaney, Kathy Baker, Beth Grant, Laura Harris, Joan Chen, & Dan Payne
THE TEAM – Olivia Newman (Director)
THE RUNNING TIME – 111 Minutes
A story centered on a talking octopus will inevitably provoke some prejudice. It’s easy to assume a certain whimsy, or even childishness, that’s difficult to look past. Yet, famously, book-to-film adaptations attract a devoted fan base willing to embrace their peculiar charms. Such is the case for “Remarkably Bright Creatures,” Olivia Newman’s Netflix-bound adaptation of the 2022 New York Times bestselling novel by Shelby Van Pelt. An exploration of friendship, grief, and connection through a unique marine framing device worth diving into.
The story starts with Tova (the incomparable Sally Field), a lonely widow in a small Pacific Northwest town who fills her nights cleaning the local aquarium and chatting with the elderly octopus, Marcellus, to keep her company. She knows octopuses are remarkably bright creatures themselves, and finds a therapeutic outlet in her maritime companion. Only we, as the audience, can hear what Marcellus (voiced by Alfred Molina) really thinks of Tova and her human compadres, much of which is spoken with an acerbically astute commentary and distaste for the poorly-designed human species’s stubbornness. When the directionless Cameron (Lewis Pullman) shows up searching for a tether to his past, Tova slowly finds a sense of purpose again by helping her reluctant friend find what he so desperately thinks he needs.
The story unfolds with a slow-burning, subtle allure that yields a satisfying result. Labeling this film as a mystery feels mostly disingenuous, but by the second act, the questions start to linger. Who is Cameron, and why is he here? What does the octopus actually know? Rather than throwing suspense in your face, which would inevitably fall flat, this film’s structure – and finest moments – unfold through intimate character studies, gradually layering in questions about who they really are along the way. There’s personal growth, mistakes, and all the glory in the messiness of being human (or animal) for Tova, Cameron, and Marcellus, each of whom is intriguing in their own right. The story and themes are a bit derivative and expected, but that’s been done a few times for a reason: it’s interesting, and it works.
The casting of Tova and Cameron relies heavily on the chemistry between the two main actors. The enemies-to-friends character development trope only works if the audience believes in the budding connection, in each other’s ability to open up genuinely. Field is a master at building relationships throughout her impressive body of work, and when I read the book a few years ago, I didn’t realize I had always pictured Field as Tova, because it just makes sense. Pullman does a stand-up job of playing a lost young man, quietly desperate to find his place in this world. His performance is serviceable in most of his scenes, but Field brings out the best in him. Their scenes together are engaging and heartwarming, and they’re the film’s best by far.
In the book, Marcellus is given a stronger POV. There are times throughout the film that you forget an octopus is the one telling this story, and it’s the scaled-back version of Marcellus’s intent and impact that lead to the film’s best scenes. Not to say that Molina isn’t influential or compelling – his commanding, velvety, deep voice blends a sophisticated, warm tone that’s perfect for Marcellus and, thankfully, not overused. It also helps that the octopus looks so lifelike. The meticulous precision that VFX supervisor Chris Ritvo took in building Marcellus at times had me second-guessing if they actually filmed a real octopus acting opposite Field (crazy, I know, but he’s that good).
The direction approach by Olivia Newman, her first film since 2022’s “Where the Crawdads Sing,“ is grounded in character and atmosphere, letting the environment carry as much weight as the dialogue. Not overtly stylistic, DP Ashley Connor’s visuals are soft, with warm natural light and vivid pops of color at the aquarium, though at times a bit jarring compared to the comparable dark, moody exterior shots. The production and shots of the beautiful PNW, while filmed in Vancouver, are vibrant and lush, with fog hanging like the toll of grief. There are moments when the direction falls a bit flat, uncinematic, and leans a bit too far into the style of a typical television movie. There are a few lingering shots from Marcellus’ that are too disorienting when viewed from “underwater,“ and assume the audience requires the on-the-nose approach to filming. But the weight Newman places on the characters, the actors who play them, and the environments they’re each surrounded by – different even in the same physical space – creates a beautiful world worth visiting more than once.
The film’s message is less about the remarkably bright creatures themselves, and more about the power of finding healing and solace in community. It’s a forgettable yet instantly re-watchable, feel-good story that tugs on your heartstrings and knows how to do it. Some scenes try a bit too hard to pull at your emotions, veering off into cringe, but generally find their way back to touching. The sappiness tempers the heartwarming emotional core that balances out at the end. But there’s space for both sorrow and joy, so curl up with a cozy blanket and a hot cup of tea, light a candle, and enjoy a little cry and a warm hug.
