‘Stitch Head’ Reminds Us That Cartoons Are for Kids
Steve Hudson’s gothic musical is no genre reinvention — but it remembers what childhood actually feels like
With the recent releases of titles like Hazbin Hotel and Lesbian Space Princess, it’s easy to forget sometimes that cartoons are still mostly made for children. Indeed, the entire American animation industry seems to have forgotten that kids like Halloween, which is how the European musical cartoon feature Stitch Head was able to sneak into wide U.S. release last week. Based on British writer Guy Bass’ 2010s books and produced via French and German studios, Stitch Head features Asa Butterfield as the voice of the title character, a quiet, soft-spoken child reanimated by the Professor (voiced by Rob Brydon). Stitch Head serves as the caretaker for the many monsters the Professor creates, all of whom appear to come into the world screaming about the horror of their existence.
Stitch Head ★★★ (3/5 stars)
Directed by: Steve Hudson
Written by: Steve Hudson
Starring: Asa Butterfield, Joel Fry, Rob Brydon, Alison Steadman
Running time: 89 minutes
There’s a philosophical chasm between adult animation and animations for kids that goes beyond diction and content. But to frame it in the simplest terms possible, where adults try to make sense of the mysteries of the world, children have little concept of what the world even is. Stitch Head firmly orients itself with the latter through Stitch Head’s passive, fearful nature. While the Professor only makes sporadic appearances throughout the film, he looms large in the hearts of Stitch Head and the other monsters because, in addition to being their creator, the Professor almost immediately forgets about whatever monsters he’s already created to get to work on the next one.
The metaphor for absentee parentism isn’t exactly subtle. As with Frankenstein, its clear progenitor, there’s a sort of existential dread that speaks to the experience of an unloved child. This only becomes that much more explicit when Stitch Head reads bedtime stories to the other monsters, perversely comforting them with the belief that they are all fundamentally unloveable and at constant risk of losing everything to an angry mob of villagers. Stitch Head seems less concerned about the possibility that angry villagers will burn the castle down as he is that the villagers might finally, decisively confirm that the monsters don’t deserve to be loved.
While the emotional core of Stitch Head is strong, some stylistic elements do mar the presentation. The 3D animation style is relatively generic, and gives Stitch Head the unfortunate look of a cheap American studio. Only the subtlest of British accents hint at the movie’s European origins. To some extent, these flaws are a deliberate irony. The book publishers and movie producers are aligned with Fulbert Freakfinder (voiced by Seth Usdenov), a carnival showman desperate to get rich through putting on more elaborate shows. It’s a goal he is clearly struggling with until he learns of the monsters in the castle. To the unloveable Stitch Head, Freakfinder promises the love of the crowd.. Of course, popularity isn’t the same thing as love. But try telling that to a lonely child who has long resigned himself to never receiving any recognition from their sole parental figure.
It’s all very schoolyard. As trite as the idea of monsters-who-aren’t-really-monsters may be, in more adult-oriented film, their characterization tends to hinge on the juxtaposition of their behavior and their appearance. In Stitch Head, the monsters don’t really engage in any behavior at all — most of the time, they’re too scared to try. When Creature (voiced by Joel Fry) tries to hype himself up for a rescue mission, he has to rely on simply because as a days-old monster thoughtlessly created in a lab, there just isn’t anything else for him to work with.
How does Stitch Head even know that cliches like angry villagers burning down the castle exist? Well that is…a good question to be entirely honest. And this is another hallmark of the kids’ movie genre. Something that makes sense in child logic won’t necessarily make sense to adults. Stitch Head reads a lot like the kind of adorable scribbles your kid might make, overthinking some random offhand comment you might have made that you barely even remember. It’s easy to see the Professor brushing off Stitch Head’s request for an explanation for why he shouldn’t leave the castle with a half-imagined excuse like this, even if it’s not actually in the text of the film itself.
This does tend to sound like a bit of an excuse, even to me. Likewise, I can’t exactly argue that the various songs in Stitch Head are all that impressive. Sure, the bombastic jingle nature of the tone works in the context of Freakfinder mostly using the songs to make a sales pitch as to how great show business is, a message that we, as the viewer, are obviously intended to interpret ironically. But this rationalization doesn’t work everywhere. Despite Stitch Head being a European film, it still manages to fall into Hollywood tropes and end with the notorious dance party cliché, wrapping up the conflict just a little more tidily than really feels appropriate given the weightier moments of the drama.
These weaknesses don’t completely undermine Stitch Head as a character. In fact, he’s appealing precisely because he doesn’t behave like the typical big-budget animated hero. Stitch Head acts as though he needs a friend more than anything in the world — but he’s too frightened to admit that, even to himself. His loneliness isn’t logical; it’s visceral. No musical number can cure that, as any child knows.
At the same time, the character feels hemmed in by the necessarily loud format of modern children’s animation, a genre that prizes spectacle over silence. The film keeps trying to be a showstopper crowd-pleaser when it should linger on its quieter, more haunting moments. That’s a shame, because when Stitch Head dares to sit still — when it contemplates how terrifying it is simply to be a child — it comes remarkably close to being a true classic.



