The animated features Hop and Rio have a few things in common, aside from their one-word titles. An animal plays the lead role in each (‘E.B’ the rabbit in Hop and ‘Blu’ the parrot in Rio), and both films kick off with a prologue sequence featuring the animal as an adorably fluffy baby, then flash forward to the present when the animal is confronted with grown-up duties. Rio and Hop also share a familiar narrative device: the need to resolve the conflict between individual desire and social responsibility. In Hop, E.B. loves to play the drums, and would like to make it his career, but family tradition stands in the way: he is the Easter Bunny’s only heir, and his father is ready to retire. In Rio, Blu’s job is also related to family: as the last male of his kind, he is responsible for the survival of his species, and must make the trip to Rio to meet, and procreate with, the last female. Having been trafficked to America as a baby, and rescued by his owner Linda, Blu has enjoyed a cushy life as a pet, so domesticated that he never learned to fly. It is only Blu’s adventures in Brazil that will call upon all of his instincts.
In spite of these superficial similarities, Hop and Rio couldn’t be more different in terms of their message, aesthetic and creativity. To begin with message, Hop is shamelessly reactionary, while Rio subtly showcases social responsibility. You don’t have to be on the lookout for a political angle in order to perceive the elitist ideology in Hop: the film itself highlights this dimension early on. As a toddler, E.B. accompanies his father on a tour of the factory where the Easter treats are manufactured. The factory foreman is Carlos, a large, heavy-browed chick with a Mexican accent. Although Hollywood films are characteristically alert to the comic potential of a foreign accent, casting this chick as a Mexican is in spectacularly bad taste, given the animal’s job and his role as villain. The presence of Carlos as a factory worker reflects America’s reliance on Mexicans for cheap labour, while his threatening nature translates a fear that these low-wage earners will one day rise up and demand their fair share of the nation’s wealth.
It is Carlos who points to the social inequality in the film, muttering jealously about E.B.’s ‘life of privilege’ while he forms his plot to usurp the young bunny’s hereditary role. Carlos’s understandable ambition is portrayed first as ridiculous, but later becomes sinister and grotesque. Initially, Carlos dons fake rabbit ears and bounces about ostentatiously in an attempt to convince the Easter Bunny that he would make a good successor. Later, when he gains possession of the Easter Bunny’s magic sceptre, he doubles in size and grows long ears and buck teeth, a nightmarish hybrid of chick and bunny who plans to deliver worms and birdseed instead of chocolate treats. In the end, the film doubly re-asserts the status quo: not only is Carlos foiled in his ambitions, but the role of Easter Bunny is ultimately shared by a human of similarly privileged background to E.B., rather than a long-serving employee like Carlos. Whatever happened to the America that shunned inherited privilege in favour of working your way up from nothing? In Hop, those of privileged background can be whatever they want (Easter Bunny and drummer); for members of the underclass like Carlos, however, it is unnatural to aspire to jobs you just aren’t born for.
There is less to say about Rio’s moral message, because it is better integrated. There ary sympathetic characters of both American and Brazilian background. Although the villains are Brazilian, their behaviour is at least explained. The bird traffickers are opportunistic because they are poor, and their parrot helper is cruel because he is unhappy. The film’s rational approach to understanding bad behaviour is similar to that of Michel Ocelot’s Kirikou et la sorcière (Kirikou and the Sorceress, 1998), where the young hero insists not only on defeating the villain, but on finding out why she acts the way she does. Rio’s anti-trafficking message, meanwhile, is conveyed economically by its opening sequence. The birds’ joyful jungle chorus is brutally interrupted by an ambush: the exotic parrots, including baby Blu, are stuffed into cages and rapidly shipped across the globe. Blu suddenly finds himself in a stark, snowy landscape that couldn’t be more different from his hot, vibrantly coloured homeland.
In terms of aesthetic, Rio and Hop both present adorable baby versions of their stars, Rio in particular showcasing how well animators have now succeeded in capturing the previously elusive texture of soft natural materials like feathers. It’s a shame that the humans in Rio couldn’t have been given a similar softness: their faces seem too plastic, which makes them far more difficult to sympathise with than the film’s more lifelike fluffy animals. Hop begins with charming visuals: aside from its cute characters and spectacular setting, there is a witty title sequence that summarises the Easter Bunny lineage by replacing humans with rabbits in a series of famous paintings (such as Fragonard’s The Swing and David’s Napoleon Crossing the Alps). After a couple of all-animated sequences, though, the rest of the film combines animation and live action. There is an unpleasant clash between the rabbits’ softness and the sharpness of the live actors and real surroundings. The effect is rendered still uglier by shameless overacting of the film’s live-action cast, which can’t be justified by the fact that the film is aimed at children.
Finally, Rio and Hop differ greatly in terms of the creativity they inject into their familiar storyline. Whether in snowy America or sultry Brazil, Rio revelled in the details that made each location distinctive. A lot of predictable narrative developments can be forgiven when there is enough variety on a smaller level. Hop’s opening series of family portraits made for a promising beginning, and choosing Easter Island as E.B.’s home was a surprising yet fitting choice. Faced with the task of portraying the Easter Bunny’s world, the film’s creators were given a fantastic creative opportunity: in contrast with Santa Claus, outside his one big night of the year there is little pre-established information about the Easter Bunny’s day-to-day life, work and home. The apparently inspired choice of Easter Island turns out to be just the first of several lazy parallels with the Santa story. Like Santa, the Easter Bunny presides over a factory where pint-sized underlings do all the work. Rather than the traditional basket, the Easter bunny drives a sleigh (albeit egg-shaped), pulled by chicks, who are spurred on with an almost identical refrain to the one Santa uses for his reindeer. The creators of this film were out to capitalise on Easter, not to offer an engaging new take on it. Rio‘s story is standard, but its message is timely, and its content fresh.
