Tribeca Review: Mars is Fun and Biting

More than ten years after the irreverent minds behind The Whitest Kids U’ Know first joked about making a cartoon space opera, their long-gestating passion project, Mars, has finally landed—and the touchdown is a direct hit. Imagine a cinematic smoothie blended from James Cameron-sized spectacle, a dash of Roald Dahl whimsy, and a none-too-subtle roast of a certain tech tycoon’s ego; then lace it with the troupe’s signature anything-goes absurdity. That’s roughly the flavor on offer, and it tastes gloriously unhinged.

Our unlikely hero is Kyle, a perfectly respectable dentist whose life path seems pre-paved: cushy job at his fiancée’s dad’s practice, imminent wedding, eventual inheritance. Comfort, however, does not equal contentment. Kyle’s itch for something bigger turns into a full-blown rash after a boozy night leads him to upload a sarcastic audition tape for billionaire Elron Branson’s civilian voyage to the Red Planet. Months later, a freak accident knocks one lottery winner out of the lineup, Kyle’s name pops up as the replacement, and—mid-vows, no less—he bolts the chapel for the launchpad. What looks like a cosmic do-over soon devolves into a psychedelic nightmare powered by malfunctioning tech, cabin fever, and the escalating nuttiness of Branson’s hand-picked crew.

Animation proves the perfect sandbox for WKUK’s unfiltered imaginations. Within the first reel, limbs fly, clothes drop, and substances flow with gleeful abandon—set free by the knowledge that drawn blood doesn’t bump up a budget. Sure, a handful of shock-for-shock’s-sake gags slip through, but the broader aim is a razor-sharp lampooning of mega-wealthy adventurism. When real-world headlines keep treating deep-sea submersibles and space tourism like extreme hobbies for the one-percent, Mars answers with a cackling “yeah, and here’s why that’s terrifying.”

Beneath the bedlam, the film sneaks in genuine heart: Kyle must travel 140 million miles to grasp empathy and confront the root of his own discontent, while Branson’s blank-check bravado highlights how money can fund progress yet never purchase humanity. If there’s a nit to pick, it’s that the script occasionally forgets it’s riding a gleaming sci-fi premise and opts for another class satire riff instead—leaving a few wonderfully weird possibilities unexplored.

Even so, once the boosters ignite, Mars rarely lets up. It’s a raucous, foul-mouthed rocket ride that stakes a claim as one of the most riotously entertaining animated trips beyond Earth—Lightyear, take notes. Should this indeed be WKUK’s swan song, they’re blasting off on a dazzling, delirious high.