Eliott Skomars

Oh Stuart Little, where do I even begin. My disdain for this film is as vast as the ocean is deep, a tempest of frustration and bewilderment that rages within me whenever its title is uttered. It's not merely the fact that it strays so painfully from E.B. White's charming and understated literary work, nor is it solely because of the uncanny valley into which its titular character, a CGI mouse dressed in human clothing, unceremoniously drags its audience. It's the culmination of these sins against storytelling and the added insult of shallow character development, coupled with a plot that meanders with all the purpose and direction of a leaf in the wind. The movie, in its quest to be whimsically heartwarming, instead feels like a haphazardly stitched tapestry of missed opportunities and misguided attempts at teaching moral lessons. Each scene, rather than pulling me into the narrative, instead pushed me further away, leaving a bitter taste of disappointment. To say I dislike Stuart Little would be an understatement; it's a film that, for me, represents a profound misstep in cinematic adaptation, a bewildering journey through a narrative that loses both its way and the essence of what could have made it truly special. PS, I hate you, Stuart.