In an age where TV is populated with shows trying to survive, there’s something miraculous about Centaurworld. The Netflix animated series seemingly came out of nowhere piled with an incredible voice cast that included Kimiko Glenn, Megan Hilty, and Josh Radnor; telling a story that was (quite efficiently) completed over the course of 18 episodes. It was a kids show that poked fun at fantasy tropes while fusing in catchy songs and an exploration of emotions that only added to its rich texture. It was at times deranged or macabre, finding the cutesy animation bleeding into something gross. Other times it took viewers to the surreal, evocative corners that only animation could really achieve. For a show that embraced the limitless potential of its world, it’s amazing that it avoided the cardinal sin of overstaying one’s welcome.
Like all good fantasy stories, the plot focused on a simple quest. Upon being thrust into an alternate world, Horse (Glenn) must navigate through Centaurworld and return to Rider (Jessie Mueller): her loving owner whom she left in the midst of battle. There’s a lot of reasons to be disoriented, as she’s in a new world surrounded by creatures that she doesn’t know. Everything looks different and, for reasons that are initially disconcerting, everyone is singing upbeat songs that reflect this naïve innocence. Given that Horse is used to the world of combat and more tight-lipped behavior, having such eccentric centaurs overbearingly serenade her sets up a great odd couple dynamic that works on multiple layers.
The most direct form of the disconnect comes in the clashing animation styles. Creator Megan Dong builds the two worlds as opposing sides to the fantasy genre. For Horse, her human world is not unlike Game of Thrones: militant, more natural, and familiar to the viewer. If there’s any mysticism, it’s minimal and presented in grimy textures. Meanwhile, Centaurworld exists in the more bombastic, childlike form that is bright colors and big eyes. Every character has an unnatural quality to their look, whether it’s the color scheme or their rotund bodies that lack metaphysical reasoning. Given that everything feels populated with magic, where talking mole people aren’t above popping up out of the ground, it’s a surreal clash. Given that Dong even slathers on layers of sugary sweetness that would harm diabetics, the energy of Centaurworld is initially disconcerting, where everything feels over the top. Given that Horse’s animation initially remains natural, the disconnect remains perfectly obvious for most of the first season. It isn’t until she accepts her new community that her animation begins to fit in more with her environment.
Over season one, the quest mission is fairly straightforward. It’s a return home journey that Horse takes with her newfound friends while traveling a rainbow road. It’s more of a chance to introduce the supporting cast and show the various ways that their personalities clash. They’re all misfits. Wammawink (Hilty) is a motherly type who wants to see the best in the world. Meanwhile, Ched (Chris Diamantopoulos) is more willing to give in to cynicism. There’s constant in-fighting and conflicts that go beyond solving their mission of the week-style narratives. In some ways, it’s a perfect way to build trust among each other while keeping a playful antagonism at the forefront of the series. Given that these characters are self-aware cartoons, any panic attack is as manic as you’d expect, where any formalities are stripped away in favor of the most insane expressions imaginable.
Centaurworld is a kids’ show that does an incredible job of slowly digging into its emotional core. Early on, the characters are more likely to appear one-dimensional, appearing as your cliché fantasy beings. Even by the halfway mark of season one, there are moments of growth, where disillusionment is broken and these characters get to become more vulnerable. By the midway point of the shortened season two, they’re given even richer backstories that include themes of abandonment and rejection, suggesting that each of them has found some way to cope and move on. With the help of Wammawink, they have formed a new family that, while imperfect, has something comforting inside.
What gives the show an edge is its equally subversive use of music. Along with jaunty melodies composed by Toby Chu, Dong has taken responsibility for crafting the majority of the music that appears in every episode. The best quality is that most of the ensemble numbers aren’t that polished, where the harmonies are still powerful but have this rugged texture that only adds to the discomfort. It isn’t until each performer gets their solo that things become more polished, focused with earnest emotion. Given that there’s still room for more comic songs up until the harrowing finale where supporting characters suggest throwing the bad guys in a hole, the show has an impeccable use of music that balances between more brooding numbers that convey loneliness and creating these small gags that quickly build cult-worthy moments. Nothing outstays its welcome, and it may be Dong’s ultimate brilliance. There is replay value, mixing novelty with heart in a way that shows the two sides of fantasy not only clashing but in some ways blending in a beautiful cacophony.
The greatest component of Centaurworld is its ability to make most episodes stand on their own as journeys into these foreign lands. One week Horse is captured in a prison by the recurring delightful character Comfortable Doug (Flula Borg), another they’re being harangued by the “fans” of Centaurworld in one of the few subplots that feels a bit too on the nose. The world is expansive, managing to feature seaside carnivals that build deep emotional character as Horse is swallowed by a whale, along with a cutesy Roman Empire-esque land of cats where they must perform biathlons to achieve their prize. Everything has a curious bent to it that modernizes fantasy, featuring winking nods to current trends and a soundtrack with enough eccentric nods to contemporary styles. Given that the whole show performs like a penumbra that reflects complicated emotions under the animated behavior, it becomes a satisfying, accessible study of emotions through art as one tries to tear them free of any deflection/fantasy that they have built for themselves.
While trajectory would suggest that season two is where things get darkest, it’s also where the whole show performs a surprising victory lap. While the first few episodes help to reestablish tone, introducing supporting characters that are more present for comic relief, things slowly shift into something curious. Rider becomes more central to the plot as she not only reunites with Horse, but begins to discover some nefarious doings by Centaurworld’s ultimate baddie The Nowhere King (Brian Stokes Mitchell), himself shrouded in mystery and featuring a daunting overabundance of power that everyone must overcome if they want to save the human world and bring order back to the crumbling safety of Centaurworld.
To the writers’ credit, the final episode is a phenomenal conclusion. After building an army and establishing a delightful mix of motifs, the finale becomes an all-out battle. It’s a smorgasbord of animation where both worlds come together to save the day. The violence of the human world is commented on by the Centaurworld characters, more used to peace and understanding. When they finally enter, there’s a mix of light-gore with outright slapstick. Comfortable Doug gets a western ballad and others sing a kitschy song about tossing bad guys in a hole. There is a constant sense of personality in every decision, where every cut feels like the establishment of a new slapstick gag meant to balance out the emotional difficulty of the darkness.
There is more to Horse’s story, but certain details are best experienced for oneself. The 70-minute finale reflects how perfectly Dong has gradually introduced the complicated tone, allowing for the confusing nature of characters like Ched to finally feel natural. They have their own arcs completed through the battle that is satisfying, finding everyone reaching the end of their own journey. Like great fantasy, everything about it is epic, finding a balance of tone along with a story that hinges on a delicate concept that risks being too saccharine or forced. The development of sympathy is astounding, creating enough surprising twists to make the ending both unexpected and a perfect culmination of what came before.
This is first and foremost a celebration of fantasy as a genre, exploring its potential to tell a story with an inventiveness that doesn’t pander to the young audience. While some can complain about the surreal animation or confrontational tone, there is still a heart underneath. The songs may dive into juvenile concepts, but they are as much character building as they are satire. They are this delightful wonder of the child with the complicated developing emotions of an adult. The ability to exist in the grey area is superb. Having a vocal cast that includes several Broadway heavyweights helps to elevate the music from chintzy TV-Y instinct into something resembling the first hits a child is likely to belt out. It’s an encouraging look into the self that will hopefully inspire the viewers in the same ways that She-Ra and the Princesses of Power or The Owl House will.
Also, there is a recurring gag in season two where Dong’s character Glendale because a cult leader in the vein of Steve Jobs that is fairly comical. Her advice? “Breathe in a bag. Inhale. Exhale. My name is Glendale.” It’s an exaggeration, but it feels like what’s necessary for the final stretch of episodes. Given that Dong is also showrunner, there is some fun in reading this as a gag of her ultimate control over the series writ large.
Centaurworld is incredible for how it manages to do so much in the span of only 18 episodes. While it may at times be meandering, there is a concreteness that makes the journey feel more satisfying. Yes, there’s always the wish that it could’ve lasted longer and that the journey could’ve taken many more wild turns. In fact, there’s nothing to suggest that the series could return. However, after how season two has ended, it would ultimately feel disingenuous (especially given the final very satisfying title card). There is a conclusion that feels pat, able to allow the viewer to make up their own future adventures. It definitely would be exciting, but this feels like a creative project done to make the pandemic less boring. It feels like there’s a finite amount of story this time around, and for as sad as it is that a great show is coming to an end, it did so in its own satisfying way. Still, who’s to say that Centaurworld’s version of “The Silmarillion” doesn’t appear one day?
In a year where musicals made a significant appearance in pop culture, it’s a delight to know that one of the best surprises was right there on Netflix. With a great voice cast having a fun time, they created a show that was so full of small memorable moments and enough delightful original songs to fill up a playlist. What could’ve just existed as a surreal novelty ended up going for something more impressive, and as a result made for a rewarding experience? Even at its darkest, there’s universal accessibility to those willing to embrace its manic tone and welcoming heart, reflecting how difficult life can sometimes be. I look forward to whatever Megan Dong does next, and I hope it’s as entertaining as this. She achieved something special and more impressively did it her way in such a succinct fashion. Bravo.
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