Robin Robin takes a tired stereotype and breathes life back into it in this charming childrens tale
As much as there are some formulae within the realm of children’s films and television that do work well—they wouldn’t be repeated if they didn’t, after all—there is one that I’m well and truly sick of. Pieces of media containing a young protagonist adopted into a family will centre the plot around their desire to find their biological relations, or worse, their return to them over their adopted family. It’s irritating and tiring—the concept seems so irreverent of the concept of chosen families, and the favouring of blood as a stronger bond than time, care and memories is unrealistic, to say the least.
That is precisely why Robin Robin is a breath of fresh air—or perhaps the first note of birdsong on a winter morning.
The story begins in a storm, when a robin’s egg is knocked out of its unattended nest and rolls into a rubbish tip. This event is not dwelt on for a long time—it is merely Robin’s origin, not her defining point. The egg is found and rescued by a family of mice, led by a single father (soothingly voiced by Adeel Akhtar), and Robin (Bronte Carmichael) grows up alongside the mouse children. She is instantaneously loved and accepted.
The rest of the story following this revolves around Robin and her family’s attempts at ‘sneaking’—breaking into the houses of human beings without being noticed and taking away some crumbs for dinner. Robin fails miserably at an attempt to sneak an entire sandwich and feels inadequate for lacking her sibling’s sneaking abilities—she is, after all, a songbird. She’s supposed to draw attention to herself. What follows this is a sparkling, painstakingly-constructed adventure to sneak a star from the top of a Christmas tree so that Robin can wish for some crumbs—or, as she later decides, for the chance to be a ‘real’ mouse.
What sticks out, though, is that although Robin feels like she has trouble fitting in with her poor sneaking skills, she isn’t the one who at any point first decides that she isn’t a member of the family or doesn’t belong. This concept is presented and is a source of conflict—but vitally, she doesn’t come up with it herself. She takes it from things said by the Cat (voiced, and purred, by Gillian Anderson) and even Richard E. Grant’s Magpie, despite the fact he doesn’t intend it cruelly and is supposed to be her friend. There is no concept that she has always felt a deep-rooted isolation of any kind as a result of being adopted—and thus the film does not press the idea that you should feel that way.
It is made abundantly clear that Robin does belong, and her family is her real family—we as the audience know that. Robin is the only one who needs to be reassured of it for herself—and the scene in which she’s told this is a lovely one that concludes with her knowing that she may not be a mouse, but she is part of the mouse family. There’s no quest to find some hypothetical ‘first’ or ‘original’ family, no questions about where she might find other robins—she’s happy where she is, and everyone else is happy she’s there.
Source: Netflix
Overall, this film was so heartfelt. It is possible to stray into the realm of being too twee, especially with kids’ Christmas films; films from an animal’s perspective often end up using a few too many silly words as placeholder names for things. The only such thing in Robin Robin is calling humans ‘who-mans’—but in moderation so that even this is felt as endearing.
The stop-motion technique utilised by the film gives it a cosy and welcoming appearance, and every movement is smooth and fluid. One of the most delightful things about it is the songs—all composed by The Bookshop Band, they are jaunty and fun, and well-matched to the voice-actors singing them. I was equally delighted that child voice actors were selected for the younger characters—Bronte Carmichael, of Christopher Robin and the long-awaited Laura Marlin Mysteries, brings a quiet-but-plucky approach to the role of Robin.
Robin Robin can be found on Netflix and is only half an hour long—the perfect short family watch. It is given just enough time to unfold – an attempt to make it feature-length would likely have weakened the whole thing. Half an hour gives the film time to stretch its wings, without being so short as to only leave us with crumbs.
In fact, one might say that the only problem Robin Robin has is that it might be best to make sure your children know that they shouldn’t do any ‘sneaking’ of their own.
Words by Casey Langton
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