The definitive aspect of Isaiah Saxon’s “The Legend of Ochi” is that it explores how 1980s coming-of-age films evoke a sense of wonder, sometimes danger, and visual distinctiveness. 1989’s Little Monsters made you a tad bit less afraid of things under your bed, and 1984’s “The Neverending Story” showed that other worlds were waiting to be seen on the other side of a book. Even though aliens and monsters are so foreign to humans, the particular crops of what some call “Amblin” films show that there are things we can learn, such as acceptance, and that family doesn’t have to be necessarily from birth.
Those themes are what Saxon draws upon within the large created universe of a fictional island named Carpathia. It’s brimming with rolling countryside, vast oceans untouched by pollution, and creatures that are called ochi. At first glance, they look like if you mixed a hairy brown and blue gremlin with Yoda. They don’t communicate through words, but through melody. (interpreted through subtitles throughout the film.) They live within the woods, and if you take the words of the human communities alongside them, the Ochi are to be feared and hunted. The person who has taken up that mantle is Maxim (played by a delightfully eccentric Willem Dafoe), who trains the local boys to stalk the critters during the night hours. He has a personal gripe against the Ochi – especially when it comes to losing his now ex-wife Dasha (Emily Watson).
Maxim has taken on a young adult orphan named Petro (Finn Wolfhard) as the son he’s always wanted, but he also has a young teenage daughter, Yuri (Helena Zengel). Rather than taking her under his wing, Maxim elects to let Yuri stay on the sidelines. That leaves her to stew about his constant rambling about her mother allegedly abandoning them and choosing the boys as the minds he wants to nurture the most. When Yuri takes it upon herself to go on a solo hunting expedition, she comes across an injured Ochi. Despite the way they meet one another, the one loyal phrase of “I’m not going to hurt you” is enough to bring them together. Yuri takes it upon herself to go on a journey with the Ochi to return it home–much to the dismay of Maxim, who spends the middle chunk of the film tracking her down.
Yuri is a wild child, fit for a long, unknown journey, such as the one that has been bestowed upon her. For Saxon, “The Legend of Ochi” is a canvas of nostalgic art, asking you to be in awe of all its sensory delights. Regarding the story, the film adds its color in broad strokes and doesn’t try to add to what you already see coming. There are hints of a deeper backstory, perhaps revealed in a brief glimpse at Yuri’s love for a death metal band. It just comes down to wanting more and going off the beaten path to find it with a small, practical critter at your side. “The Legend of Ochi” would rather show us everything this wondrous, imaginary place has to offer rather than explain the ecosystem within which it operates. That may prove to be somewhat frustrating, given the desire to learn more.
The Legend of Ochi / Photo Credit: A24
For everything the film doesn’t try to be or instead explain, there are universal truths it shows that don’t go out of style. With words, we often talk past one another, but music is a universal language that unites us. Parents, when we’re younger, begin to come down to our level as we learn more about the world. They have flaws and things we look up to; it doesn’t have to be one or the other. It’s those same complications that propel young kids or adults to go on ventures of self-discovery. You’re taught certain things when you’re younger and then spend a part of your life redefining what things are. As long as these themes resonate throughout generations of people, films like “The Legend of Ochi” will have their place.
