Hilda: Why Is It So Needed Right Now?
For Netflix’s animated hit Hilda, a lot of the appeal is about mainly exploring the title character. Hilda the character is the charismatic lead that drew people into her vibrant world. Her energy, her excitability, and her outside-the-box thinking were what kept viewers coming back for more. In a world as chaotic as this one right now, that is so, so needed.
But seriously, what else besides escapism makes Hilda so required right now? Because plenty of people once said the same thing about La La Land, yet people only remember how it lost to Moonlight for Best Picture. Here’s the thing: the former isn’t saddled down by a tone-deaf approach to a great music genre. Plus, it manages to pull off the high-wire act of being narratively simple and intellectually complex at the time.
The main reason, it seems, is that the show subverts expectations in lateral ways. Hold on, let me explain: take the episode revolving around the Great Raven. A celebrated mythical figure in Trolberg, its citizens have a holiday revolving around its arrival and seemingly miraculous abilities. In the minds of the viewers, the myth is meant to invoke Norse mythology in general and the two ravens of Odin in particular. Naturally, Hilda quickly finds the creature amnesiac and abused by kids with rocks.
This initially takes a backseat in the plot in favor of Hilda trying to fit in the fabric of Trolberg. But once the Great Raven regains his memories, it is revealed that how humans perceive him is completely misinformed. In actuality, he’s a Thunderbird (maybe the pseudo-Pittsburgh accent was a slight giveaway) that happened to fly over the city during the same day as their harvest festival. When he was a no-show the next year, people became afraid of how it was a bad omen. He saw this, felt bad, and made an effort to show up ever since. The cultural cornerstone of a city has its origins in an ancient feedback loop.
In addition, Hilda makes time to freshen up the idea that the supernatural stuff isn’t inherently malevolent. Or rather, it argues that fearing the unknown is too much of a knee-jerk response. The most prominent example of this is the trolls. Throughout the first season, most of the characters treat their presence as an immediate Code Red. They are the reason Trolberg has high walls as a defense. But when we see them, we see them as inarticulate but rational creatures. One is in pain from Hilda tying a bell around its nose; another is a mother looking for her baby. The only unreasonable damage a troll causes onscreen is from destroying a monument to a troll slayer.
Also when it comes to the humans onscreen, it acknowledges key demographic changes and makes it more than just window dressing. Despite what your uncle at Thanksgiving dinner will say, places like Trolberg have much more credibility in representing the real world. This rings especially true for the people Hilda gets to know personally. Frida is more than the token black friend, David has a dry sense of humor and a great singing voice, and the Librarian is a wonderfully enigmatic figure. Not to mention, there is a hijab-wearing Muslim girl who’s a prominent Sparrow Scout. When she speaks near the end, she doesn’t sound like a stereotypical immigrant — she just sounds Northern English. (Americans, think either Wayne Rooney or the Gallagher brothers from Oasis.)
Because, say what you will about the hobo gnomes or librarians with pseudo-Swedish accents — but at least it’s not a small town full of pretty white people. After all, the latter is only “fantasy” in the pejorative sense. And what makes Hilda necessary is that for most viewers, it truly expands their cultural horizons. It shows that urban fantasy doesn’t have to be relentlessly grimdark. And more importantly, it shows what the future of children’s entertainment could and will look like.
