Here we are, a return to my journey to watch the Top Four of my Letterboxd friends lists. This is a bit of a cheat; even though it does fall next in line on Nick Langdon’s row of praise, it’s not new to me. This is a third watch, though I’ve never actually reviewed it. This Top Four hooliganry makes for a perfect excuse to do just that.
Hundreds of Beavers is a bracing slap of icy lake water to my face. A glorious, improbable, black-and-white paean to slapstick, it’s a film that feels both ancient and utterly new. It’s Buster Keaton wrestling not just with inanimate objects but with a horde of beavers clad in those unnervingly blank-faced mascot costumes. It’s unfolding not in dusty vaudeville halls, but in the biting, snowy wilderness of the American Midwest. It is the strange, beautiful landscape of Hundreds of Beavers.
Director Mike Cheslik, with co-writer and star Ryland Brickson Cole Tews, has crafted a film that operates on uncut id. It’s the primal ooze of creativity and a testament to the sheer joy of making something sensationally weird. The plot, such as it is, follows Jean Kayak (Tews), a hapless applejack salesman thrust into the unforgiving wilderness. He must learn to survive, to become a trapper, to conquer… well… all of the beavers. And also some sociopathic raccoons, a pack of wolves, and a persnickety trader.
But plot is merely the scaffolding upon which Cheslik and Tews hang a dizzying array of visual gags. The film is a masterclass in physical comedy, a symphony of pratfalls, chases, and escalating absurdity. Tews, with his super-elastic limbs and face, is a revelation. He channels the spirit of Chaplin and Keaton, while adding a distinctly modern and manic energy. The beavers, meanwhile, are a force of nature, a furry, chaotic collective that embodies both menace and hilarity.
The film’s aesthetic is as striking as its humor. Shot in crisp black and white, it evokes the silent era while embracing a distinctly DIY aesthetic. The special effects, created entirely in After Effects as I understand it, are deliberately lo-fi, adding to the film’s ramshackle charm. This isn’t slick Hollywood polish; it’s the rough-hewn beauty of a hand-carved wooden toy. And like a well-crafted toy, Hundreds of Beavers is designed for pure, unadulterated play.
Yes, the film’s 108-minute runtime probably should have been trimmed. Yes, some gags land harder than others. But these are minor quibbles in the face of such joyful filmmaking. Hundreds of Beavers is a film that reminds me what fun it is to make movies, to experiment, to laugh and showcase unbridled silliness. It’s a film that dares to be ridiculous, to be utterly, gloriously itself. In a world that often feels too serious, too predictable, Hundreds of Beavers is a much-needed dose of joyful chaos. It’s a film that will leave you grinning, gasping, and perhaps even wondering if you, too, should don a beaver costume and run amok in the snow. Sign me up for a sequel.