It’s a cold, stormy January night. Candles are lit. The fairy lights above my living room window are on. I’m curled up on the couch with a cup of tea in my hands. Hilda (2018) is playing on my laptop.
On my screen I see a brave, blue-haired girl on the train to the fictional city of Tofoten, blissfully unaware of all the adventures that await her.
A close friend recommended Hilda to me while I was studying for my MSc degree. My dissertation deadline was looming and I desperately needed to escape into a cosy world free of research notes and APA citations. It ended up being exactly what I needed.
The series follows Hilda, her pet deer-fox Twig and mother Johanna, who move to Trolberg after their cabin in the wilderness is crushed by a giant.1
To Hilda’s delight, the city is not without its magical creatures and mysteries. She slowly adjusts to city life and makes friends with Frida and David. They regularly accompany her on quests to save baby trolls, explore alternate universes and reunite long-lost lovers (who also happen to be giants).
Cartoons have had long history before Hilda. Created by Alex Anderson in the 1950s, Crusader Rabbit was the first-ever animated show released especially for television. The series ran for 195 episodes between 1950-1952.
Gradually, generations of children and adults were regularly exposed to The Flintstones (1960) and The Simpsons (1989), solidifying the place cartoons had in regular network broadcasting globally. The emergence of online streaming services such as Netflix - a conglomerate with money and resources to purchase and produce anything they want - has made it even easier for us to access animated TV shows from various different countries.
All the way from script-writing to sound effect addition, it can take years for teams to produce one season of a show. Famously, Arcane (2021) took over six years to make.
Before Hilda, the only other animated show I had seen and loved was Avatar the Last Airbender (2005). Created by Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko, Avatar revolves around Aang, the last survivor of the Air Nomads. With his friends Katara, Sokka and Toph, Aang is tasked with a daunting quest to save the world from Fire Lord Ozai.
Before Katara finds him in an iceberg, it is narrated that Aang has been missing for a century. Since he disappeared, the Fire Nation has sent the world into a Hundred Year War. The subplot is centred around Zuko, exiled prince and son of the Fire Lord, who journeys with his uncle Iroh to capture the Avatar and restore his honour.
As the ‘Avatar’, Aang is able to manipulate (a practice known as ‘bending’) all four elements - water, earth, fire and air. In the Avatar world, most people can only bend one element or none at all. The ‘Avatar’ is key to world stability, and serves as the link between the physical world and the spirit world.
The show received critical acclaim because of its incredibly nuanced depiction of war, genocide, indoctrination, colonialism and freedom of expression. For an American show that is set in an Asian and Artic-inspired world, it’s also surprisingly unproblematic.
One of my favourite episodes from the series is undoubtedly ‘The Tales of Ba Sing Se’, which serves as one of the most complex looks into joy and grief in the midst of ongoing war.2
Grumpy, angsty Zuko goes on his first date. Uncle Iroh spends the day shopping for flowers, incense and a picnic basket. At the market, he encounters a little boy who is crying, and comforts him by singing a song about a young soldier marching home from war (‘Little Soldier Boy’).
Towards the end of the episode, we discover that Uncle Iroh was buying materials to have a picnic at the outskirts of Ba Sing Se. As he sets a picture on the grass next to a large tree, it becomes clear that he intends to celebrate his son Lu Ten’s birthday, who died in combat years ago. He confesses that he could have done more to help his son, and that he now tries to use his guilt to help those around him who are still alive. The scene ends with Uncle Iroh singing ‘Little Soldier Boy’ to Lu Ten’s picture.
The viewer suddenly understands why Uncle Iroh moulds his life around harmony and peace. Despite being the Fire Lord’s brother, he was not shielded from the pain that war brings to families.
In Avatar, conflict is shown to only benefit tyrants and government bodies, while civilians are left to bear the trauma it causes. Surviving violence comes with its own challenges of having to navigate despair, disability and economic turmoil.
At the end of the episode, Uncle Iroh reaches a new breakthrough in his relationship with Zuko, who starts to consider his uncle as a genuine father figure. As Zuko admits that his date was '“nice”, it is at this critical moment of adolescent exploration and mourning where both him and his uncle can begin to envision a better life outside of the brutal demands of the Fire Lord.3
From the first episode up until the final battle in the last season, Avatar The Last Airbender humanises its characters no matter which waring Nation they belong to. Notably, it also doesn’t shy away from highlighting that some people cannot, and will never, change.4
Similarly, Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts (2020) recently captured my heart.
Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts is set in a post-apocalyptic world where humans live underground, while the ‘surface’ is overrun by giant, mutant animals. Our protagonist Kipo is thirteen and recently separated from her father Lio, after their burrow (home) is attacked by a ‘mega monkey’ (basically a giant, mutated spider monkey).
After being displaced, she befriends Wolf, Benson, Dave and Mandu who agree to help her find the location of the new burrow where her community has evacuated.
Oh, we also quickly learn that Kipo has the DNA of a mutant pink jaguar, and we’re not completely sure why. The ‘villain’ of the show is Scarlemagne, a talking monkey who wants to use his mind-controlling pheromones to build an army and take over the world.
I know, I know, but stay with me.
From the first ten minutes of the pilot episode, it was clear to me that the team behind this had worked hard to make sure this was something that everyone was going to enjoy.5 The soundtrack is fun, the animation style is refreshing, and it gorgeously explores the relationship we have with our planets’ ecosystem.
Kipo is also one of the best teen protagonists I’ve seen in a while. She’s fun, optimistic and never afraid to be vulnerable. She always sees the best in people, even if they can’t always see the best in themselves.
More than that, Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts is a testament to how much animated television has evolved in its portrayal of queer characters. Benson is gay and no one is homophobic. What a concept! The writers do not overly explain his sexuality, there is no trauma involved, nor is his queerness the central focus of his development as a character. He’s happy, he loves listening to his walkman, he likes to cook, and he’s a wonderful friend. He’s allowed to just be.
Nothing has made me happier than the revival of wholesome animated television. But these shows have also been historically categorised as ‘children’s TV’. Dismissing this niche genre of animated TV - which isn’t quite The Simpsons but also not quite Bluey (2021) - as silly and naive fail to acknowledge how intricate the storytelling and world-building actually is.
Child, teenager or adult, we could learn a thing or two from Zuko’s commitment to redeeming himself and standing up to his father. Kipo’s casual queerness is something I hope our society can achieve one day. Hilda’s selflessness towards helping the misunderstood trolls could probably remind us be kinder to all living things around us, no matter how scary they may be.
Whether you’re in Ba Sing Se, Trolberg or here - the world is flawed and complex, but also full of warmth and joy. I for one, love that Hilda, Avatar and Kipo boldly affirm that the whole point of life is simply to take care of each other.
In the giant’s defence, he is very large and was just trying to walk off into the sunset with his one true love.
Other episodes revolving around Ba Sing Se also looks at how collective self-censorship contributes to upholding an authoritarian system. I think it’s safe to say this is where my academic interest in researching Thailand’s dictatorship regimes began.
I fully understand he is a fictional character, but the little South Asian girl in me feels immense disrespect calling him anything other than ‘Uncle Iroh’.
Azula has no redemption arc. I fucking love that. Sometimes people are just insane and evil, man. Bring back real villains.
Listen, the plot twist during the finale of Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts Season 2 is one of the cleverest 30 minutes of storytelling I’ve ever witnessed.