Sketch

Sketch, the debut feature film from writer-director Seth Worley, arrives in a cinematic landscape where family films are too often watered down to the point of insignificance, afraid to let young audiences grapple with themes more serious than slapstick gags or cotton candy-coated moral lessons. What sets this film apart is not only its clever blend of comedy, fantasy, and horror, but also its uncompromising decision to tackle grief in an honest, messy, and deeply human way. Drawing inspiration from his short film Darker Colors, Seth Worley takes a concept that could have been exploited to create simple thrills—the idea that a child's drawings come to life—and transforms it into a sincere reflection on how families cope with the loss of a loved one. At its core, Sketch isn't about monsters at all; it's about how children and parents carry their pain, the ways they use to repress it, and how art becomes both an outlet and a mirror of inner chaos. And yet, the film never loses sight of its primary mission: to entertain its audience with strange creatures, flashes of humor, and a pace that never slows down, even when the themes addressed are very sensitive.

The story follows the Wyatt family, still reeling from the death of mother and wife Ally (played in flashbacks by Allie McCulloch). The widowed father, Taylor, played by Tony Hale, is a man in denial: he puts away photos, prepares to sell the family home with the help of his sister Liz, played by D'Arcy Carden, and tries to keep his children Amber (Bianca Belle) and Jack (Kue Lawrence) afloat while drowning in his own denial. The children, meanwhile, embody the two sides of grief. Jack, calm and stoic, tries to play the role of guardian, as if he could carry everyone's burden. Amber, younger and much more unstable, channels her emotions into her drawings, dark and violent sketches that disturb her teachers and baffle her father. When Amber's guidance counselor (played by Nadia Benavides) suggests she continue drawing as a safe outlet, the advice seems sound. But as is often the case in fairy tale logic, what seems safe on paper becomes catastrophic as soon as magic enters the picture.

That magic takes the form of a sparkling pond in the woods, discovered by Jack after a fall that leaves him with a cut on his hand and a broken phone, both of which are mysteriously healed after a dip in the water. Soon after, Amber's notebook accidentally falls into the pond, and her monsters spill out of the pages to invade the real world. These creatures, at once fuzzy and grotesque, hilarious and disturbing, are depicted with an inventiveness that seems true to a child's imagination. They are crude, asymmetrical, sometimes even endearing in their deformity, but undeniably threatening. There are the Eye-ders, spider-like creatures with grotesque eyeball-shaped bodies, and Dave, a monster with bulging eyes who spreads glitter by destroying school buses. One of the most striking creations is Amber's dark double, a distorted version of herself that embodies the anger and guilt she cannot express aloud. These monsters aren't polished Pixar creations; they look handmade, scribbled with chalk, pencil, and marker. This design choice is crucial: it preserves the authenticity of Amber's voice as a childlike artist and anchors the fantastical in something deeply personal.

What elevates Sketch is not just the creatures or the spectacle, but the sincerity of the performances that anchor the chaos. Tony Hale, known for his comedic genius in Arrested Development and Veep, delivers perhaps his most nuanced dramatic performance to date. His character, Taylor, is well-intentioned but broken, a man who thinks silence and denial will protect his children from pain, but only widens the gap between them. His awkwardness and misplaced optimism feel painfully real, especially for those who have seen a parent go through grief without knowing how to handle it. D'Arcy Carden, as his sister Liz, provides a pragmatic counterbalance, pushing Taylor toward the uncomfortable truths he avoids, but she is more than just a narrative tool: her scenes with the children add warmth and wit that deepen the film's emotional texture.

The real revelation, however, lies in the young cast. Bianca Belle is remarkable as Amber, capturing the explosive mix of sadness, rage, and vulnerability that characterizes a grieving child. Her performance never falls into caricature, even as she channels her pain into bizarre and often terrifying art. Kue Lawrence gives a more understated but equally moving performance as Jack, the child who feels he must keep the family together while secretly nurturing his own fantasy of using the powers of the pond to bring his mother back. Their dynamic is the beating heart of the film: the way they argue, protect each other, and ultimately face their demons together feels authentic, something too few family films manage to achieve. Kalon Cox, as Bowman, the school bully who becomes an unexpected ally, brings lightness and charm, transitioning from comic nuisance to reluctant hero in a way that adds both humor and emotion.

Stylistically, Seth Worley borrows from the DNA of Amblin classics such as E.T. and The Goonies, as well as the emotional clarity of Pixar films like Inside Out, but the film never feels like a hollow homage. Instead, it updates these models for a generation of children growing up in a world more open to conversations about mental health. The monsters are thrilling and scary enough to captivate young viewers, but they are also embodied metaphors, illustrations of repressed emotions that need to be acknowledged. In a particularly moving sequence, Jack considers using the pond to resurrect his mother's ashes, but his father stops him, desperately begging him not to give in to denial. It's a moment that crystallizes the film's thesis: grief cannot be erased, only lived through, and pretending otherwise is as destructive as unleashing monsters upon the world.

The film's technical expertise is also worthy of praise. Director of photography Megan Stacey gives the Tennessee setting a timeless, lived-in feel, while production designer MADISON BRAUN and costume designer Sidney Young subtly distinguish the colorful, chaotic world of the children from the adults' discreet attempts to return to normal life. Composer Cody Fry contributes a score that oscillates between playful and haunting, referencing Alan Silvestri's iconic scores while creating its own identity. And while the visual effects sometimes reveal the limitations of the budget, the creativity behind them, combining digital animation with tactile textures such as chalk and glitter, gives them a more distinctive character than many big-budget productions.

It would be dishonest not to acknowledge the shadow cast by the film's distributor, Angel Studios, a company whose reputation often precedes its films. Known for its heavy-handed religious messages and controversial marketing tactics, the studio's involvement has made some critics wary. Yet Seth Worley's film stands apart from this baggage. There is no sermon or coded ideological discourse here, just the sincere story of a family trying to rebuild itself. The only discordant note comes at the very end, when the credits give way to an advertisement for an AI-based app that encourages children to create their own monsters. It's a cynical move that contrasts with the film's sincere defense of art as a deeply personal and human outlet. The irony is hard to miss: a film that celebrates creativity ends with an advertisement for a technology that undermines it.

And yet, the film itself endures beyond its commercial packaging. Watching Sketch is a reminder of the rare magic that happens when children's entertainment respects its audience enough to challenge it. The film is scary without being traumatic, funny without being frivolous, and sincere without being mawkish. For parents, it offers a tool for talking with their children about grief and emotional honesty; for children, it presents an imaginative adventure where their feelings are taken seriously. This balance is no small feat, and it suggests that Seth Worley has a promising future as a filmmaker who isn't afraid to mix genres and tones in the service of truth.

Sketch works both as a monster movie and an emotional journey, but its real achievement lies in how it normalizes conversations about pain, loss, and healing. The monsters may explode in clouds of chalk dust and glitter, but what they leave behind is the film's true gift: the understanding that grief is not something to be buried or ignored, but something to be externalized, confronted, and shared. In this sense, Sketch follows in the footsteps of films such as A Monster Calls and Return to Oz, stories that aren't afraid to mix darkness and wonder, and to show young viewers that fear and sadness can coexist with resilience and love. It's not perfect, but it's bold, sincere, and more necessary than many films with bigger budgets or louder marketing campaigns. Sometimes the most powerful creations come from a child's notebook, and sometimes the best family films are those that remind us that art is not just escapism, but also survival.

Sketch
Written and directed by Seth Worley
Produced by Steve Taylor, Tony Hale, Dusty Brown, Shun Lee Fong
Starring Tony Hale, D'Arcy Carden, Bianca Belle, Kue Lawrence, Kalon Cox
Cinematography: Megan Stacey
Edited by Seth Worley
Music by Cody Fry
Production company: Morphan Time
Distributed by Angel Studios (United States)
Release dates: September 7, 2024 (TIFF), August 6, 2025 (United States)
Running time: 92 minutes

Seen on August 30, 2025 (VOD)

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