TURNING RED. The Realm of Magical Cinema

Math tests with straight A-pluses. A pack of friends for fun and gossiping. On their headphones, 4 TOWN hits play nonstop: a pop boy band, a satirical counterpart to One Direction. In Turning Red, thirteen-year-old Mei Lee increasingly starts looking at boys not as victims of her pranks, but as potential soulmates. On one hand, surging hormones, boundless energy, and trouble concentrating. On the other, a constantly disciplining, overprotective mother. The girl lives with her parents in Toronto and helps them run a very particular temple, a tourist attraction.

Not dedicated to any abstract deities, but to her ancestors and a family history that stretches back centuries. In this way, the creators offer a particular lens and interpretive framework. There will be magic, but the focus is on human dilemmas. There will be sorcery, but what concerns us is the human condition.

The accumulation of responsibilities, excitement, and emotional and physical stimuli works wonders. In moments of heightened tension or uncontrollable stress, Mei Lee transforms into a red panda. This transformation is only superficially a vehicle for slapstick jokes and comedy of errors. For the director of Turning Red, Domee Shi, it is merely a means to an end. Her full attention is on a coming-of-age story (at every stage of life), on seeking understanding between parent and child, on learning to control anger, and on finding peace. Like Inside Out or Coco, Pixar’s animation has therapeutic qualities, rooted in confronting fears, shame, and repressed memories of past misdeeds.

At the center of the film is, of course, the frazzled Mei, but the creators weave around her a web of dependencies, relationships, and psychologically complex characters. Most prominently, there is Ming—Mei’s mother—who beneath apparent spiritual calm, pedantry, and strictness hides many unhealed wounds. These resurface when the matriarch of the family, Wu, announces an unexpected and rather unwelcome visit. Thick-skinned and categorical, the grandmother seems to have a firmly shaped worldview and clear opinions on how to run a household and raise a child. Yet she, too, has weak spots, hidden grief, and unspoken self-reproach.

The film’s candy-colored opening, bright palette, and numerous fantastical elements often push Turning Red into the realm of magical cinema, fond of metaphors and allegories. At the same time, Pixar’s film firmly grounds itself, exploring smaller everyday desires and common fears, family misunderstandings, and communication troubles. Escalating misfortune, mental and physical obstacles—from trivial, innocent lies, through questioning family rituals, to coming to terms with an extraordinary bodily transformation—are woven by Domee Shi into a thorough story about acceptance and inner renewal.

Grandmother Wu had to remain silent all her life; Ming, too, felt better suppressing everything within herself. Only her child has the courage to start shouting and demanding change—for the sake of every generation.

Pixar has sometimes been more visually spectacular, more focused on environmental details and the creation of parallel worlds. Compared to Soul or Toy Story 3, Turning Red may seem more modest, yet it boasts a first-rate screenplay, brilliantly jumping between parable and concrete reality. Domee Shi seems to believe that everyone has a panda inside them, a second hidden identity, or a sensitive side they are embarrassed by. It emerges in extreme, boundary-pushing moments—and perhaps it’s good that it coexists with our calm “self.”

Because sadness, anger, and frustration must exist within us too. It’s natural, healthy, and organic. It sounds banal, but Pixar has once again proven it is a master at transforming obvious, black-and-white truths into a colorful, sophisticated composition.