by Tim Gordon
Originally published September 14, 2025
Mamoru Hosoda has long stood apart as one of the most imaginative and emotionally inquisitive voices in contemporary animation, a filmmaker equally comfortable with intimate family dramas and sweeping fantastical worlds. With Scarlet, he once again proves why his work resonates across generations. Blending mythic fantasy, Shakespearean tragedy, and time-bending adventure, Scarlet unfolds as a lush, emotionally charged odyssey that interrogates grief, vengeance, and the fragile hope of imagining a world no longer ruled by war.
The film follows Princess Scarlet, voiced with fierce resolve by Mana Ashida, a young royal raised in the long shadow of her benevolent father, the King, and her emotionally distant mother, the Queen. Hosoda wastes little time establishing the fault lines within this family, subtly suggesting how love withheld can shape the kind of anger that later consumes Scarlet. Her sheltered world collapses when her power-hungry uncle Claudius, voiced with chilling authority by Kōji Yakusho, stages a brutal coup, murders his brother, and seizes the throne. The betrayal cuts deep, not only as a political act but as a deeply personal wound that hardens Scarlet’s heart. Vowing revenge, she prepares to strike back, only to be poisoned before her rage can be unleashed.
Scarlet awakens in the “Otherworld,” a purgatory-like realm where lost souls drift between memory and oblivion. It is here that the film shifts from courtly revenge tale into something more existential. The Otherworld is not merely a place to pass through but a psychological battlefield, filled with distorted visions, spectral adversaries, and the seductive pull of surrender. Scarlet must confront not only her enemies but the possibility that her anger, if left unchecked, may erase her entirely.
Her journey takes an unexpected turn with the arrival of Hijiri, voiced by Masaki Okada, a contemporary nurse who has no memory of his death. Hijiri serves as a grounding presence, his quiet compassion and confusion offering a stark contrast to Scarlet’s consuming fury. Their evolving bond becomes the film’s emotional anchor, a reminder of the tenderness still possible even in spaces defined by loss. Through Hijiri, Scarlet is forced to confront an uncomfortable question: is survival enough if it means carrying hatred forward into the living world?
Visually, Scarlet is a marvel. Hosoda’s animation pulses with color and movement, shifting seamlessly from the ethereal glow of the Otherworld to the grand, war-scarred landscapes of Scarlet’s kingdom. Action sequences are kinetic and ferocious, yet Hosoda is equally attentive to stillness, allowing quiet moments of reflection to breathe. Each frame feels purposeful, layered with symbolic weight without sacrificing narrative momentum.
What ultimately distinguishes Scarlet is its willingness to live in contradiction. It is a rousing fantasy adventure fueled by righteous anger, yet it remains deeply skeptical of revenge as an end goal. Its “Hamlet-esque” framework is complicated by modern reflections on trauma, emotional inheritance, and the cost of endless conflict. Scarlet’s famed “fists of fury” are undeniably thrilling, but the film quietly insists that true power may lie not in conquest, but in the radical act of letting go.
Hosoda has built his career on finding profound humanity within fantastical frameworks (Wolf Children, Mirai, Belle), and Scarlet fits squarely within that lineage. While it may not reach the emotional heights of his very best work, it remains ambitious, visually striking, and emotionally sincere. Scarlet is less a call to arms than a meditation on what we carry forward and what we must release to finally step into peace.
Grade: B+
