Hundreds of Beavers might be the best live-action Looney Tune never made. An irreverent, inventive and endlessly creative bit of slapstick, director Mike Cheslik’s no-budget indie is one of the funniest films in a long while, and unlike anything being shown in theaters today.
Filmed on a shoestring budget in Wisconsin and the Upper Peninsula, the black-and-white comedy is an homage to Keaton/Chaplin-era slapstick and Road Runner cartoons, spiced with video game-inspired imagery and proudly juvenile humor. It’s just stupid enough to delight all audiences yet thrumming with a visual ingenuity that will likely make it a cult hit among film nerds.
Hundreds of Beavers is the tale of Jean Kayak, a 19th century applejack salesman who gets drunk on his own supply and finds the forest overrun with the titular rodents. Discovering that he can make a good chunk of change – and perhaps win the hand of his sweetheart – Jean becomes a fur trapper, and sets out on a journey to capture as many beaver pelts as he can, while keeping on guard for hungry wolves, mischievous rabbits and numerous other dangers awaiting him in the wintry wild.
Other than a few jaunty ballads about Kayak’s plans and some excited murmurs, the film largely plays dialogue-free. Rylon Brickson Cole Tewes shows impressive physical comedy chops as Kayak, an overconfident overindulger, Wile E. Coyote as a Yooper. He twists and contorts his body and exaggerates his facial features to absurd lengths. It’s a ridiculous and deeply funny performance, and it’s to Tewes’ credit that he never gets lost in the visual feast that Cheslik serves up.
The director uses a variety of tricks to make his living cartoon come to life, taking a DIY approach to filmmaking that lends it a unique personality and astonishing sense of scale. Most of the animals – in addition to the (hundreds of) beavers, there are bunnies and wolves – are played by actors in mascot costumes; their eyes helpfully X out when the animals are killed. Smaller creatures, such as frogs and an unlucky fish, are Muppet-esque puppets. Cheslik combines location filming in the snowy North with greenscreen and animation. As Kayak finds new and more outlandish ways to capture and kill beavers, Cheslik uses giant signs and animated diagrams, coupled with sound effects and maps that feel pulled from a video game.
The result is an energetic and delightfully unique film of singular vision. Kayak’s journey to learn how to trap beavers is often silly and happily childish – there’s a lot of references to scat and toilets made of snow; to attract male rabbits, Kayak builds snowbunnies, complete with breasts – without being overly crass. There’s dark humor that escalates as Kayak builts largely and more complex ways to kill the beavers, and the film’s third act goes so deliriously over the top – set in a giant, log-constructed fortress and featuring what I can only describe as “Beaver Voltron” – that I laughed several times just at the sheer audacity.
It’s very possible that this review creates more confusion than interest, as much of what I’m trying to convey can only be properly appreciated once it’s seen. And that’s the mark of a great movie; Hundreds of Beavers is the type of movie that has to be seen to be believed. And once seen, it’s hard not to imagine audiences running out to tell their friends “you have to watch this.” Every minute feels like a new cult favorite being born.
As Warner Brothers struggles to figure out how to treat its beloved Looney Tunes IP, it’s tempting to think the ideal solution might be to write a check to Cheslik – this is, after all, the closest I’ve seen a film come to capturing that ethos in a long time. But I hope the big studios steer clear. What makes Hundreds of Beavers such a damn delight is that it’s a unique vision with a voice that exists nowhere else in cinema. I’m hoping Cheslik’s able to keep that voice pure for a long time to come.
Hundreds of Beavers is currently on tour in select locations throughout the country and is expected to have a physical release later this year. Find dates online.
