How serious are fairy tales? In his latest release, The Legend of Ochi, director and screenwriter Isaiah Saxon answers with a charming shrug.
The Legend of Ochi takes place on the lush, mountainous island of Carpathia, where reclusive, intelligent creatures known as Ochi are hunted by humans who loathe them. The film’s sweeping landscapes, foggy forests, and anachronistic costumes and props all fall solidly within the genre of fantasy. The plot is no exception: when Yuri (a wide-eyed, tenacious Helena Zengel) finds a young, injured Ochi, she becomes determined to eschew all rules and bring him home. Over the following 95 minutes, rule-breaking, path-blazing, self-discovery, and all of the other typical elements of a coming-of-age story ensue.
However, that’s not to say that first-time feature film director Isaiah Saxon doesn’t have tricks up his sleeve. The Legend of Ochi surprises the audience with its captivatingly nostalgic 1980s aesthetic. Its alluring, toyish, mystical effects are the result of an intensive production process—little to no CGI was used. The Ochi are operated by a team of puppeteers and hundreds of miniature matte paintings serve as backdrops for the set. These handmade effects are striking, but the film’s uncanny visuals seem to have caused a number of users on X to question whether artificial intelligence was used in the making of the film. Saxon has said explicitly that no AI and little CGI was used.
However, the nostalgic design choices, like the rest of the film, are confusing. Time and place become abstract concepts as a mélange of disparate elements—guns and spears, horses and cars, down jackets and vintage soldier gear, and multiple languages—flickers through the film. In theory, these ambiguities would further the feeling of mystery and fantasy, but in practice they leave the viewer uncertain of the film’s genre.
The script is especially confusing. Its tone is that of both a drama and a satire, at the expense of both. Moments of comedy and absurdity are scattered inconsistently through the film and oftentimes disrupt deeper, emotional scenes. A hilarious grocery store called Kurkamart, absurdly minimalist and topped with a massive chicken, undermines the tension of the high-stakes chase scene that happens inside. What might have been a tear-jerking moment of reconciliation between Yuri and her father is sabotaged by an admittedly funny joke about having passed off a gas-station knife as an ancestral relic.
The film’s disregard for genre does work in some places. A brutish Willem Dafoe, playing Yuri’s father Maxim, does his best with the script, committing hard to everything and pulling it all off—his ridiculous Spartan armor included. Musician David Longstreth nails the soundtrack’s shifts from playful to dramatic, suffusing the film with fantasy and wonder.
The Legend of Ochi has charm. Yuri’s moments of discovery and recklessness, accented by tight shots and the Ochi puppetry, are genuinely youthful and curious. The ending, though clichéd, did leave a smile on my face.
Despite hiccups in finding its identity, The Legend of Ochi is enchanting. It is a rare A24 film for children. Saxon’s vision is proof that a $10 million budget—especially small given the film’s high-profile actors—can work wonders when it forces principled artists to get creative. If only The Legend of Ochi’s wonder were consistent.
