By Jason Osiason

A cinematic paradox: The Legend of Ochi looks and sounds utterly unforgettable, yet somehow feels curiously… forgettable. It’s the kind of film that should completely engulf you in its world—breathtaking artistry, masterful world-building, sensory design that pulls you in—but despite all that, it just doesn’t stick the landing. The craftsmanship is undeniable, but the emotional connection is frustratingly absent. There’s so much to admire that it feels like my head might just explode, and yet by the time the credits roll, I’m left wondering why I don’t feel more.

Set in a stark, windswept world that feels ancient yet untouched by time, the film follows a young girl, Yuri, who is drawn toward the mythical creatures known as the Ochi. Her people fear them, her father forbids her from wandering too far into their territory, but when she discovers a wounded Ochi left behind by its pack, she makes a choice that unravels everything she’s ever been told. What follows is a journey that should feel grand and transformative, but instead, unfolds at a frustrating emotional distance. It’s as if we’re watching this world from behind a glass pane—close enough to admire, but too far to truly connect.

Helena Zengel is strong in the lead role, carrying most of the film in near silence, but the script gives her little to anchor her character’s journey. Willem Dafoe looms large as her hardened father, but their dynamic feels undercooked. Their conflicts should hit harder, their separation should ache, but instead, everything moves forward in a way that feels more composed than truly lived-in. The creatures themselves—brought to life through a blend of puppetry, animation, and CGI—are remarkable, moving with an eerie fluidity that makes them feel both familiar and unknowable. The visual world is stunning, but what’s missing is soul.

The film leans heavily on mood and aesthetic, and to its credit, the atmosphere is overwhelming in the best way. The score swells and hums, Johnny Greenwood-esque in its ability to shape the tone of a moment, and the cinematography is simply unreal—each frame could be hung in a gallery. But no amount of visual mastery can compensate for the lack of emotional depth. The Legend of Ochi feels like it’s searching for something profound, something deeply human, but it never quite finds it.

There’s no denying the sheer artistry of this film. It’s a staggering achievement in world-building, in tone, in execution. But a film like this should make you feel something—not just admire it from a distance. And that’s where Ochi falters. It’s stunning, yes. Immersive, at times. But it never quite makes its way into your heart. [C+]