I thought I knew what to expect when I walked into the movie theater last week. Based on the black-and-white preview images I could find online, I was anticipating a vintage throwback to the silent-era comedies of the 1920s. And with a name like Hundreds of Beavers, I was sure the film’s absurdity would not disappoint. But what I got by the time I walked out was something so much more captivating and humorous than I could have ever imagined.
Produced independently with a shoestring budget of just $150,000, Hundreds of Beavers is about as obscure as movies get. It was co-written by director, Mike Cheslik with lead actor, Ryland Brickson and Cole Tews, two Midwest-based friends whose previous work includes a handful of other low-budget comedies over the past decade.
Getting to watch the film wasn’t easy. It was too niche to be shown at the local Regal or AMC; in the entire LA area, there were only a handful of theaters that dared to play it. Having been intrigued about the movie for weeks beforehand, I was luckily able to catch a last-minute special screening and see for myself if my high expectations would be met.
As the lights dimmed in the theater and the film began, it became quickly apparent that Hundreds of Beavers was like nothing I had watched before. Instead of opening with a production studio logo like in a normal movie, I was thrust into the action with a crudely animated sequence that instantly transported me into the wacky, slapstick world of the film.
Set to cheery music, the surreal opening establishes the narrative setup: after hapless protagonist Jean Kayak’s successful applejack enterprise is destroyed by a gang of local beavers, he is left destitute in the sparse winter wilderness of 19th-century Wisconsin.
Throughout the film, we follow his increasingly inventive efforts to survive and thrive by exacting revenge on the nearby beaver empire in order to win the hand of marriage from the local merchant’s daughter.
What instantly caught my eye was the film’s dazzlingly singular visual style. In spite of its low budget, the black-and-white composite of on-location footage, computer-generated 2D backdrops, and slew of human-sized costumed animals made the movie feel less like a silent throwback and more like a live-action Looney Tunes cartoon (complete with aptly exaggerated sound design throughout).
The effects weren’t perfect by any means, but the raw creativity at play created a truly unique world that let me forgive any of its unrealistic details. Put together, the film manages to transcend any single genre; combining the slapstick humor of yesterday with the raunchy sensibilities of modern dramadies.
What struck me most about the movie was how much it resembles a video game. As we follow Kayak adapting to his circumstances through Rube Goldberg-esque trial-and-error (which clues the audience into the absurd yet logical rules of the film’s world), his skills in becoming the frontier’s greatest fur trapper take him on a classic hero’s journey that mirrors that of single-player adventure games.
Meeting with the local merchant, Kayak spends his currency to purchase new beaver-hunting resources and equipment the same way one would upgrade their stats in any modern RPG or survival game. And as he acclimates himself to the environment of interesting locales, his scrawled-out map gives the audience a sense of the area’s geography just like a player would navigate an “open world” game.
What this means for the audience is that, through every ridiculous animal-hunting scheme and romantic gesture with the merchant’s daughter, Kayak’s story never loses its sense of forward momentum. Even without dialogue, his motivations of vengeful survival and “getting the girl” stay clear and easily understandable by the audience, making every scene feel like a productive step towards his ultimate goals.
Does the film work perfectly? Of course not. The final few minutes crank the already expressionistic absurdity to 11 in a way that doesn’t perfectly capitalize on what was set up before. While the rest of the film takes its time to establish consistency as the story unfolds, the finale does away with the fine line between bizarreness and cohesiveness in order to tie every loose end into an all-too-frantic bow.
Being a survivalist man vs. nature story, its themes regarding environmentalism also seemed contradictory: while the beaver army is framed as a villainous force that decimates much of the local forest, Kayak’s beaver-killing spree isn’t exactly the most eco-friendly plight either. While it wasn’t difficult to ignore such moral issues while watching, there was always a lingering feeling that the movie played around with these ideas instead of effectively using them.
But there’s something about the movie’s raw ambition that left me energized once the credits rolled. Cheslik’s ability to create a transporative feral fantasy on such a minuscule budget is remarkable, and left me in awe of what is possible when less is more.
To say Hundreds of Beavers is a hidden gem is an understatement. While it ends its theatrical run soon, it’s now available for rent on Amazon, Youtube, and more. If you have under two hours free to watch a bonkers comedic escapade like no other, I highly recommend finding a way to watch it – I, for one, had a dam good time.
Rating: 8/10
