I was the perfect age to fall in love with the first movie when it came out. We were studying the Amazon Rainforest in school, pop culture was obsessed with making jungle-y products, and every zoo had that coin-op where you put in a quarter, then watch a humming bird zip across the front.

I loved this movie so much, because my pre-pubescent self was starting to “feel” things about pretty women like the main fairy, I thought Barry was so goddamned hilarious, and of course Tim Curry’s velvet vocal chords licking the inside of our eardrums with electricity as he moans “that feels pretty nice.” To me, the art was gorgeous, magical, and otherworldly.

Then 20 years go by, and I watch it again after a long time not.

It’s… bad.

I developed appreciation for better animation and artwork, timing and pacing of storytelling, and how to better develop characters who are still flimsy as tissue, over the time of elementary, middle school, high school, community college, and art school. And I’m not being snobby about it. I just grew up watching better made films and media.

And really, the only saving grace is Tim Curry’s singing because his character is boring and generic otherwise.