'Remarkably Bright Creatures' movie review: Tender film about grief

‘Humans, for the most part, are dull and blundering, but occasionally, you can be remarkably bright creatures’. That’s the octopus narrator pronouncing its judgement on us. A cranky but wise mollusc, which believes that a single one of its tentacles might possess more intellect than a human brain.

Netflix’s faithful adaptation of Shelby Van Pelt’s bestselling novel could have easily slid into treacle territory. The book that goes by the same name was quite the sensation precisely because it did not do sentimentality. An all-knowing, sardonic octopus with a particular disdain for humans is the kind of whimsy that is as “cottage-core” as it comes. But the movie (as the book) is saved by the layers it peels off, and the lives it portrays outside the four glass walls of Marcellus, the octupus’ cage. Marcellus is housed in a modest aquarium in an idyllic coastal town in the Pacific Northwest, where everyone knows everyone.

Tova, a 70-year-old widow, cleans the aquarium at night while keeping up a running one-sided conversation with Marcellus (voiced by Alfred Molina). She strikes up an unlikely friendship with 30-something Cameron, who comes to the town searching for his father, whom he has never seen. 

The ending is too neat, admittedly, but what is admirable is the tender way in which the screenplay handles grief, loneliness and lifelong yearning, ably supported by moving performances. One for the hankies.