"Wendell & Wild": Status Quo Redefined
Return to our regularly scheduled programming? A deviation from it? Join me for a brief break-down of themes in the newly released Netflix original "Wendell & Wild"!
Content warnings:
parental death; general death and murder; fires
allusions to racism, specifically systemic racism towards BIPOC; disucssion of colonisation
mentions of prisons, references to unjust incarceration of people of color
…I swear I’m not doing this ⬇
on purpose. It’s just sort of happening on its own.
As I was watching Wendell & Wild with my beloved fiance on our Halloween night and heard the words “a challenger to the status quo” spoken by one of the characters, Siobhan (sweet, sweet Siobhan), internally I went, “No way. Is this actually going to be the next ‘Character VS Status Quo’ series installation?”
And, well, it’s not - because the narrative of Wendell & Wild proposes an entirely different angle to the juicy Tower symbolism altogether. It simply wouldn’t fit in with the rest - and it’s really fascinating to me just how different the spirit behind it is.
Also, I am not too well-versed in the topic of animation, but cannot in good consciousness progress with this entire thing before giving the movie a big and enthusiastic “WAHOO” for the outstanding stop-motion cinematography.
Just… check this out.
So cool.
If this piqued your curiosity and you want to go enjoy 1h 45m of visual goodness, really wild off-the-wall story and a lot of gritty commentary on the routine crimes of the American state and society against BIPOC, go do that now, because this essay will be dripping with spoilers.
With that out of the way, let us dig in!
Underworld, Surface World
The story line of Wendell and Wild is quite saturated and convoluted, throwing one world-building element at the viewer after another, but at the end, what the movie is about is quite obvious. It’s about destroying what does not serve people and building/restoring things inspired by love, joy and community; and it is about family.
That narrative is built on the parallels between the town of Rust Bank and Hell, or, okay, “the Underworld”. Rust Bank is run down, claimed by Klax Korp, represented by Irmgard and Lane Klaxons who will start fires, murder people, bribe priests - in short, do anything to make sure the town is decrepit and poor and the land is abandoned, and is therefore free to build their dream prison on. Right alongside a Catholic school that will supply the Klaxons with juvenile prisoners, no less.
Klax Korp is being held back by the town council, but still has a choke-hold on the community, using bribes and threats of violence to avoid consequences for their highly illegal and inhumane actions.
At the same time in the Underworld, Wendell and Wild, the only two remaining children of the great demon Buffalo Belzer, are bitter and bored, stuck endlessly working on their father’s balding scalp while harboring great dreams of building their own fair for the danged souls, one that would put their father’s rides to shame.
Down in Hell, the urge to build better things and the family drama are simply and uncomplicatedly conflated. In the surface world, parents are just as much of a prominent and essential force in the (un)changing community and in their children’s lives: sometimes encouraging, sometimes stifling, sometimes tragically absent.
Our protagonist, Kat, mourns the death of her parents who once were an intrinsic part of a different Rust Bank - thriving, colorful, happy and warm. She blames herself for the accident that took their lives and gets pushed into isolation and desperation by her grief, trauma, bullying and lack of guidance.
Marianna, a single Latina mother of a transgender boy, is fighting tooth and nail to have her son respected and her community safe. She struggles to balance her drive to put herself on the line, to protect her child by reforming the corrupt world he lives in, with the need to keep food on the table.
Siobhan (sweet, sweet Siobhan) is lied to by her parents, the Klaxons, and deluded into believing their private prisons would be a place of healing and rebound. She has to learn that their “love” for her is conditional and fully dependent on her readiness to play along, and as soon as she tries to undermine their criminal enterprise, she becomes nothing but another person for them to get rid of.
What’s interesting is that in the Underworld, the conflict is quite simple and straightforward: Belzer is stuck in his ways and unsupportive, as well as overprotective, having lost all of his other children to a demon hunter up on the surface. What he needs is to break out of the status quo of keeping his children under his thumb and keeping the fair the way it’s been for eternity - and once he and his sons reconcile their pretty simple differences, a better life can be built: glorious amusement parks, a happy reunited family, all the works.
When it comes to the human world represented in Rust Bank, however, the conflict is much more complex. People (the rich, self-serving people, to be more specific) are more stubborn than demons, and, ironically, won’t as easily reconnect with their hearts by simply being reminded of the values of family.
And even more so: breaking old things and building new ones isn’t as wonderfully liberating up on the surface, either. Rather, it’s harrowing - because the self-serving people don’t build out of the need to create and self-actualize. They build to line their pockets, at the expense of everything truly valuable and right.
Not “Standard” But “Stalemate”
Status quo in the human world and in Rust Bank specifically is far from a more or less straightforward system of control, set to quench any new, challenging voice, a.k.a. the system we have seen in other narratives so far. Instead of a rigid externally imposed standard, it is a tense stalemate. The marginalized, exploited people are pushing against devastating change, trying to preserve whatever is left of what matters most to them.
They’re fighting to tip the scale, too, to make things better, not just keep them from getting worse: Marianna is desperately trying to find evidence that the fire that took countless lives was, indeed, started by Klax Korp, she is desperate to bring them to justice. But at the end, their chances are slim, and the only thing they can count on is at least keeping their line of defense.
The town council blocks the Klaxons at their meetings year after year, refusing them their prison. It’s not easy, staying in Rust Bank, trying to honor their lost community members by at the very least not letting the people who killed them reach their vile goals - but they struggle, and stand their ground, and for years, this stalemate maintained at the price of tireless, invisible work of the marginalized at least helped them prevent things getting worse.
Lack of change in the case of Rust Bank is not a result of comfortable stagnation: it is the only remaining chance to make sure the horrible, destructive development started and pushed by Klax Korp does not claim whatever is left of the community. The status quo is the only available alternative to the devastating momentum of corporate greed, bigotry and rotten and corrupt judicial system.
So when Wendell and Wild show up and start swinging the scale left and right like a seesaw, that breaks the status quo in ways that can turn out to be beautifully liberating - or, just as easily, hopelessly disheartening. And because they are driven by vision, and up on the surface, vision is a costly thing, the easiest choice for them is to be bribed by Klax Korp and ensure that the broken stalemate will end in victory for greed and exploitation.
In the human world, if there is a possibility of change, a shift in balance, it seems that the rich and powerful will always have a way to harness that and use it for their goals - because a wider status quo is at play, one that dictates that without money, your vision or values mean nothing. Most of the time, the best thing marginalized people get to hope for is things staying just the way they are - which bars them from any hope of victory or improvement.
At the end, the only thing that can push against the gaining momentum of thoughtless destruction is direct, radical action, fight started and inspired by those parents that truly care for their children and are ready to stand in front of demolition equipment to secure a worthwhile future for them.
Tower, Reversed
Our main character, Kat, was given a gift of future vision. Once Klaxons force the town council vote and finally get the permission to build their prison, Kat sees the future in which Klax Korp’s tractors level whatever is left of Rust Bank, knocking down the water tower, drowning the town.
As Kat and her partners in direct action make their final stand, break Klax Korp’s equipment, make their reanimated goons scatter, the future changes. The vision rewinds; the toppled tower rises back up; the tractors drive out of view, leaving Rust Bank alone. The crumbling is reversed - and devastating change is prevented, so that natural healing and restoration may finally begin.
Wendell & Wild calls attention to a truth that is crucial to understand when discussing status quo and rigid standard:
Whenever faulty, artificial, unsustainable structures are getting built, it is never in a vacuum, on an empty plain.
It’s being mounted on top of something good and natural; it’s destroying what came before it.
The natural instinct for those of us finding the rigid structure suffocating is to see it crumble, to find catharsis in the destruction. But true healing lies in restoration, reclamation, rebuilding, the world rising back up, allowing itself to go back to its true ways. Positive transformative change can be a return to the past, not a rejection or out-growing of it - and oftentimes, it should be.
That sentiment must ring especially true to the colonized land of Americas, yearning to rise back to their Indigenous sovereignty, flourishing and freedom. That’s what Raúl’s mural represents: going back to the roots, reclaiming Indigenous power and freeing the land from people seeking to exploit and devastate it.
That’s an important thing to remember as we call for abolition of everything that oppresses us: past the abolition, what is necessary are growth and recovery. We must put our energy to building, restoring the natural world and the natural communal bond, letting a truer world flourish again after countless centuries of its suppression.
Family: Lost and Found
The familial theme is never irrelevant through the story: the movement of liberation and restoration is one of keeping legacy alive, and keeping future generations protected and thriving. But, once again, when familial hurt comes into play, it is much easier resolved in the hellish Underworld, between literal demons.
It only takes Belzer one look at the mural to reconsider his entire relationship with his children - something that is a bit funny to watch, with how quickened the pacing is, but that itself does sort of offer an interesting contrast to the Klaxons, to whom their own child joining the protest line isn’t enough of a wake-up call.
Family - the broadest, purest concept of it - brings together a greater demon and a demon hunter, not necessarily reconciling their differences, but creating a point of solidarity and grounds to relate to each other, reconnect with their values and make sure individuals, generations and familial relationships are not hurt in their squabble. But to Siobhan’s parents, the well-being and safety of their child matter less than their own ambition - and that is the main thing that separates them from the rest of the cast, leaving them no chance to have the same absurdly rapid change of heart. The meaning of family, community and making sure the younger generation inherits a better future is lost on people overcome with self-serving greed. That is what makes them dangerous: the Klaxons will gladly ensure the world burns in their wake, as long as they can enjoy it while they’re still alive.
Wendell and Wild curiously combines an absurd and comical demonic summoning plot line with gritty social and political commentary that does not nurse a hope that the powerful and ruthless of the world can be reached through appealing to their humanity. It is only the fantastical Underworld plot that can be resolved easily - the human world will have to struggle more, push harder to ensure the future does not get buried under the rubble.
As a personal note, I will say that I am a deep believer into shared humanity as the ultimate tool of the world’s healing. At the same time, it would be a mistake not to recognize the urgency of preserving whatever is left of our world at the moment, and the essential work done by people on the front line of resistance, sparking direct action, unafraid of a protest transgressing the boundaries of strictly “non-violent”. When the rich and the state commit violent atrocities against the oppressed population, counter-violence is simply a question of self-preservation, and protecting one’s children and home.
Ultimately, it seems to me that Wendell & Wild is an ode to resistance, a recognition of the persistent and inglorious work of at least keeping the destructive forces at bay, a celebration of emboldened fight against it - and a reminder of what the true purpose of that fight is. The heart of it lies not in the liberated destruction: instead, it is a struggle for a chance to return home, let the home return to its people, rise in its past natural glory, and be warm, safe, connected and communal, once again.
Thank you for sticking around! Next essay is probably We Know The Devil time. Probably. I am sort of ungovernable these days, and I wish the same to you.
Have a lovely day, friends, and take care!