Film Name: 猫与桃花源 / Cats and Peachtopia
Recently I watched a program called “Chinese Stories,” featuring war correspondents, wildlife rescuers, and people who narrate movies for the blind. Their stories are extraordinary and seem distant from our lives, yet they are profoundly real—and it is this authenticity that builds genuine emotion.
“Cats and Peachtopia” sets its scene in Chongqing, yet tells the tale of a cat searching for a hazy utopia. The Peach Blossom Spring—what a beautiful image these three characters evoke! An Eastern utopia, an ideal place so many yearn for. The story’s exterior is so grand—featuring beloved pets and magical Chinese aspirations—yet it lacks one crucial element: authenticity.
Little Cat Cloak is an unrealistic character. Compared to Old Cat Blanket—who craves comfort, even avoids reality, yet loves Cloak unconditionally—Cloak feels like a purely functional construct. Though the liveliest, it lacks genuine vitality. Its motivation to search for its mother feels abrupt, as the film never reveals how deeply it craves maternal love. Its ability to build flying machines is utterly implausible, lacking any groundwork to establish it as the Edison of cats. Its constant references to the Peach Blossom Spring feel forced and contrived—how could such a young cat possibly harbor such profound yearnings for that utopia?
The narrative abruptly shifts to a colossal glass factory—a sinister, terrifying space that makes children wail in fear. This factory represents the director’s own nightmare: a conventional industrial space that swallowed his youthful creative genius and courage to challenge norms. Visualizing this nightmare isn’t inherently flawed, but inserting it as an obstacle in the cat’s quest for the Peach Blossom Spring—a realm of maternal love—feels like an unrealistic mashup. The kitten’s search for family and the factory owner’s quest for his original aspirations are as different as chalk and cheese.
The film’s only truly authentic narrative thread might be the bar scene and its group of middle-aged men. Their existence sparks endless reflections on real life, while Jacky Cheung’s vocals infuse this microcosm with profound resonance. Perhaps their best state is simply to remain as they are—sipping liquor, singing songs, guarding their secrets, and savoring their unique blend of sorrow and solace. Why drag these men into that idyllic Peach Blossom Spring? These men, each carrying deep stories, would find no beauty in such a paradise—only ruin. Even their drinks would lose their flavor.
And then there are the raccoons, hired as enforcers yet inexplicably “tired of the job,” alongside three herbivorous mammals that blatantly mimic Zootopia. They clash with both the film’s progression and its core themes.
From the family-friendly tone at the beginning, to the fully adult dialogue in the bar, to the occasional jolts of horror in the glass factory, too many elements crammed together inevitably become a muddled mess. The film’s themes ultimately drift between the family bonds of Blanket and Cloak, the glass factory designer’s professional aspirations, and the platonic camaraderie among the bar singers. But good ideas don’t automatically make a good story when thrown together, because they fail to build a sense of authenticity.
Unrealistic—that’s the overriding impression this film left me with. So when that glass boat traverses the underwater tunnel toward the utopian paradise, I might feel a surge of excitement with the music, but I’m not moved. When the paradise’s beauty finally unfolds before my eyes, I silently murmur “おつかれさまでした” (You’ve worked hard), but what kind of spiritual revelation can such scenery truly offer?
Some might argue that animation is inherently imaginative and unreal. True enough, but such imagination should make us willingly believe the false as true—like the chrysanthemum bridge in “Coco,” connecting families through unbreakable bonds, ultimately grounding us in reality. “Cats and Peachtopia” imagines much and strikes many bold poses, yet it fails to evoke that sense of wanting to believe it’s real.
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