I'll Always Pay for Robot Stories

I don't know if you've ever felt this way, but it seems like the more movies I watch, the more I can only find the pure joy out of a good story in animated films. It's true—just a simple, good story. Perhaps because animated films often cater to children, they humbly focus on the power of storytelling. This power dates back to ancient times when people, anxious about food and nightfall, gathered around campfires to spin comforting tales.

A truly moving story has strangely become something rare today, especially as the market is flooded with films that are overwhelmed by self-awareness and those that lose the essence of storytelling in their pursuit of profit.

The Wild Robot stands out for its refreshing simplicity and emotional depth. More importantly, it's a story about robots. I don't know about you guys, but I will always pay for robot stories—I'm sure that until AI truly gains self-awareness in the real world (which, due to technological or ethical reasons, may never happen), I will never tire of stories about robots that break free from programmed limits to develop self-awareness.

The story revolves around Rozzum 7134, a robot, and her unexpected bond with a gosling named BrightBill. Unlike many robot tales that intertwine human and machine, this one unfolds in a human-free wilderness. But, of course, no story is entirely devoid of human connection—wild animals in the story are anthropomorphized.

The emotional heart of The Wild Robot lies in the mother-son-like relationship that develops between Roz and BrightBill. I was initially cautious—when I heard Roz's voice, soft and gentle, wondering why robots always had to be female, especially with so many gender-neutral AI stories already out there.

Roz struggles with her desire to raise the gosling, exclaiming, "I do not have the programming to be a mother." Another mother animal kindly replies, "No one does. We just make it up." While this dialogue is charming and profound, my feminist instincts kicked in. Why reinforce the stereotype that women must fulfill maternal roles?

I could nitpick further, questioning the ecological message presented—that all animals (all natural enemies on the food chain) would put aside their hostilities to survive a harsh winter together—seems ludicrous.

However, I soon let go of these concerns. I was captivated by the stunning visuals and the smooth narrative flow, along with the adorable animals and their wide, cautious eyes. The artistry in animated films has a way of softening even the hardest of hearts. I surrendered my defenses and let the story envelop me like a cozy blanket, ready to take me anywhere. See, that's the magic of storytelling. A good story can make you forget the dangers and anxieties, just like a primitive person relaxing by a campfire, reveling in peace.

I won't spoil the journey between Roz and BrightBill; anyone familiar with fairy tales can guess the basic arc—misunderstandings, arguments, separation, and reunion. These four keywords summarize everything, yet trust me, you'll still find satisfaction and joy in the tale. No wonder C.S. Lewis, author of the beloved Chronicles of Narnia, said, "But someday you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again."

Oh, and if you decide to watch this film, don't overlook the fox named Fink. The truth is, most people are like BrightBill—sons or daughters—and many are like Roz—mothers or fathers. Yet some are like the fox, holding no special meaning to anyone—having lived alone since birth without parents and never becoming one themselves, but spending their lives pondering the concept of "love."

The fox says, "When you grow up without something, you spend a lot of time thinking about it." —words that might not truly resonate unless you've lived it.