An old Disney short from the 1930s gets yanked out of the vault and given the modern Hollywood treatment in the new Ferdinand. That short itself had been an adaptation of a popular 1936 children’s book penned by Munro Leaf that told the story of a gentle, dreamy bull destined for the fighting ring, but who would much rather sit by a meadow sniffing flowers. In fact, The Story of Ferdinand had been at the centre of some major controversy when it came out; the Spanish Civil War had just begun at the time, and the book was banned in several countries, including Spain, where Francisco Franco loyalists condemned it for promoting pacifist values. Hitler went so far as to actually order existing copies of the book to be burned, and when the Second World War came to an end, The Story of Ferdinand was distributed to several thousand children in Germany for free. 

Pretty hefty history for a kiddie book, wouldn’t you say?

The new film, directed by Carlos Saldanha, the man behind the first few Ice Age films and the Rio series, is a decent enough, if sometimes over-stretched, retelling of that very compact 60-something-page book. Ferdinand—in the tradition of other Blue Sky productions—is really a long-winded morality lesson wrapped in too-twee over-enthusiastic animation, and as such, can frequently feel very predictable. But, for what it’s worth, the lesson is a good and even necessary one for the intended audience, and the film features some great voicework, particularly by John Cena in the lead role. And while it might not breach the realm of animated classics, kids are still bound to enjoy it—particularly those going through a bout of Coco-withdrawal—and there are enough sight gags and references here to keep the accompanying adults from tearing their hair out.

Young Ferdinand doesn’t get along too well with the rest of the calves at Casa del Toro, the bull farm where they all live. The others, you see, enjoy roughhousing in the yard, shoving and jostling each other the way they’ve seen their fathers do, and all—especially the quick-tempered Valiente (Bobby Cannavale)—dream of being one day chosen to face a matador in the grand Plaza de Toros in Madrid. Ferdinand, meanwhile, has no interest in such gory violent games and would much prefer watering and caring for the few flowers that spring up in the yard. Little surprise, then, that he’s constantly bullied and taunted for his gentleness, and his flowers trod upon. Until the day an unexpected tragedy flings open the farm’s doors and Ferdinand finds himself in the outside world.

While on the run, our young hero is met by Nina (Lily Day), a little girl, and her farmer father. They take him in, showing him the sort of kindness and affection he’s never known before, and he has a wonderful few years on their farm, frolicking daily through hillsides patched with beautiful flowers, growing up happy and healthy and huge. But that idyllic existence comes to an abrupt stop with an accident at a local festival, and Ferdinand is sent back to a life he thought he had long put behind him. He needs to now prove that there are other options for a bull like him besides heading off to the ring or the chop-shop, that everyone’s paths are and should be different—all the while hoping that his will eventually lead him back home to Nina. 

There’s a clear and very valid critique of the macho culture that comes through in Ferdinand. It’s a culture best represented by Valiente who tells our hero that he better learn to fight or resign himself to becoming meat—no middle ground essentially—but who we see is himself burdened by the need to constantly prove his physical superiority, rendered paranoid by fear of weakness. Although couched in the more common “be yourself” mantra, the film well depicts the kind of toxic pressures that hypermasculine ideals can impose on young boys and men, and makes a case for nurturing more tolerance and compassion in their place—a worthy message anyhow, but one that feels particularly necessary today.

And in the vein of the many, many other films and stories revolving around anthropomorphic critters, Ferdinand is also geared to trigger an emotional response and general empathy on the part of viewers for our non-human friends. But what makes this particular iteration riskier, and certainly braver, than most is the fact that rather than wild animals, à la Bambi—on the subject of whom it’s arguably far easier to take a moral stance—we’re looking here at animals raised for food and other purposes, a more complex subject altogether. There might be those who think the film’s blunt depiction of the ethical quandries related to animal farming—especially that horrifying slaughterhouse—might prove too much for children to process, but I personally think it’s good for kids to be made aware of these realities as early as possible, to know about where what they eat or wear really comes from, and at what cost.

As for the animation itself, the film is without doubt a leap and a half in terms of scale and visual finesse compared to the 1938 short, particularly the rendering of the gorgeous Spanish hillsides, farmlands, and quaint little town squares. But, at the risk of sounding like a Luddite, I have to admit that the smoother and more ambitious animated films get, the more I miss the rawness of traditional animation. The choreography of action scenes is just one example of how there is such a thing as too-slick: in Ferdinand, as in many of its peers, these sequences are often so long and frantic, the timing so perfect, and clever coincidences occuring with such unbelievable frequency that it just gets to feel flat and numbing.

That isn’t to say there aren’t some great moments scattered throughout—one particular sketch showing Ferdinand navigating a china shop is spot on, for instance, as are all scenes in which a group of hilariously arrogant European horses from a neighbouring farm make an appearance. A large part of the effect is also owed to the voicework: Cena, whose casting here in itself feels like something of an in-joke, is great, as are the other actors voicing his fellow bulls, including Cannavale and David Tennant, with the exception of Kate McKinnon’s over-zealous and frankly annoying performance as a “calming goat” called Lupe, whom I could’ve done without.

To wrap up, Ferdinand is definitely something I’d recommend taking kids to see, but if you’re wondering if it’s worth going for on your lonesome as an adult, you’re better off waiting for it to come out on DVD.