Seth Worley’s "Sketch" is the kind of film that sneaks up on you. You sit down expecting a quirky family adventure, and what you get instead is something far richer: a story about grief, imagination, and the fragile ways families try to hold themselves together after loss. It’s magical, yes, but not in the glossy sense. Its magic comes from honesty—the kind that trusts both children and adults to handle big feelings without softening them into something tidy.
Watching it with my seven-year-old was a reminder of why family films matter when they’re done right. We laughed together, jumped at the scarier moments, and sat quietly through the ones that struck a nerve. What impressed me most is how balanced it feels. The comedy lands without undercutting the drama, the darker edges add tension without overwhelming the heart, and somehow the horror elements slide in naturally, amplifying the story rather than clashing with it. That tonal balance is rare, and it’s what makes Sketch stand apart.
The characters are beautifully drawn. They don’t move neatly from one emotional beat to the next; they stumble, contradict themselves, and say the wrong things. That’s why they feel real. The children in particular are outstanding—not polished movie versions of kids, but messy, funny, stubborn, and vulnerable all at once. They’ll test your patience one minute and break your heart the next, which is exactly how children navigating grief really are. Their growth is gradual, uneven, but deeply rewarding to watch.
Tony Hale, meanwhile, brings warmth and authenticity to his role. It’s not a showy performance, and that’s its strength. He grounds the film, giving us a parent who is hurting but still trying, fumbling his way through as best he can. It’s sensitive, occasionally funny, and always believable.
The imaginative flourishes are what lift the film into something special. The creatures—equal parts playful and unsettling—aren’t just visual tricks; they’re extensions of the children’s emotions, literal embodiments of feelings too big to express any other way. They make the story feel alive, full of the contradictions of childhood, where imagination can be both a source of comfort and of fear.
What struck me most is how hopeful it feels, even in its darkest moments. The film doesn’t deny the reality of loss or pretend that pain disappears, but it does show that laughter, love, and imagination can grow out of it. That message feels both gentle and truthful, never forced, never oversold.
"Sketch" is, without question, my favourite family film in years. It’s inventive, funny, moving, and brave enough to be complicated. It doesn’t reduce childhood to clichés, and it doesn’t treat its audience as fragile. It simply tells a story that is real, magical, and deeply human. Watching it with my boy made me grateful a film like this exists—a film that can entertain, scare, and heal, all in one breath.
9/10
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