Skip to main content

Sweet Tooth, season 1 review: An epic adventure with animal magnetism

When comic book creator Jeff Lemire’s Sweet Tooth first hit shelves in 2009, the remarkable series about a boy-deer hybrid’s journey across post-apocalyptic rural America earned heaps of praise from critics and casual readers alike, with some describing it as “Mad Max meets Bambi.”

At the time, that seemed like a weird, wonderfully apt way to describe the series, and more than a decade later, it holds just as true — and just as oversimplified — for the Netflix adaptation of Lemire’s comic, which manages to powerfully convey both the heart and the horror of its titular character’s saga.

Recommended Videos

Developed by Jim Mickle (Hap and LeonardStake Land) from Lemire’s series, Sweet Tooth unfolds after the outbreak of a catastrophic virus has broken the world as we know it. As if that wasn’t enough to contend with, the outbreak coincides with the emergence of half-human, half-animal babies as the new normal for births in what remains of civilization.

Image used with permission by copyright holder

The series casts young actor Christian Convery as Gus, an innocent hybrid deer-boy whose encounter with a mysterious loner initiates a journey that will bring them both from one end of the country to the other, experiencing the best and worst of this new, desperate world. Along the way, they find themselves pursued by enemies with sinister agendas, and discover allies where they least expect to find them.

Sweet Tooth is a story that was always destined to succeed or fail on the strength of its eponymous lead character, whose affinity for sugary treats not only earns Gus his nickname, but has a habit of getting him into trouble, too. Convery is exceptional in the role, and strikes the perfect balance of innocent naivety and a certainty of his convictions far beyond his years.

It’s difficult not to cheer for Gus, whose infectious optimism offers a ray of light in even the darkest moments of his journey with Jeppard, his massive traveling partner portrayed by Nonso Anozie.

Image used with permission by copyright holder

Anozie and Convery have a chemistry that makes their unlikely partnership not only make sense, but feel increasingly sincere as they find themselves relying on each other more frequently in a world gone mad.

Across the series’ first, eight-episode season, Anozie’s performance offers the Game of Thrones and RocknRolla actor plenty of opportunities to show his range, and he manages to wring an impressive amount of emotion from Jeppard’s arc. His character casts a quietly large shadow, but Anozie imbues Jeppard with a depth that makes him almost as fascinating to watch as Gus on their journey.

Gus and other hybrids play a prominent role in the first season, and Netflix clearly invested in making their not-quite-human appearance as plausible as possible. Fuzzy ears, antlers, bushy tails, and wings all move with a natural twitch from one character to the next, but their animal features rarely hide their humanity — a theme the series hammers home as it depicts one “real” human after another acting decidedly inhuman when it comes to hybrid children.

Image used with permission by copyright holder

Sadly, Sweet Tooth is at its weakest when the show drifts away from Gus and Jeppard, whose journey is one of several parallel stories that play out across much of the first season.

Award-winning actor Adeel Akhtar (Murdered By My Father, Utopia) portrays a doctor forced to choose between his morality and the search for a cure, while Dania Ramirez (Once Upon a Time, Entourage) plays a woman who finally finds her calling in life as a protector of hybrids. Despite fine performances from both actors, their characters’ arcs never quite generate the same level of emotional investment as Gus’ adventure. Their stories feel secondary to Gus and Jeppard’s quest at best, and at worst, feel all-too-similar to countless other post-apocalyptic tales exploring the depths humanity is capable of sinking to in a lawless world.

Still, even with its shaky secondary arcs, Sweet Tooth is an entertaining — and at times, heart-wrenching — series that expertly balances the lightness and wonder of its titular lead with the darkness around him, as well as both the tremendous beauty and terrifying ugliness of the world in which that saga unfolds. More than just “Mad Max meets Bambi,” Sweet Tooth is a lesson in what it really means to be human, taught by an adorable child who can’t help seeing the good in everyone.

Season 1 of Sweet Tooth is available now on Netflix.

Rick Marshall
A veteran journalist with more than two decades of experience covering local and national news, arts and entertainment, and…
Vesper review: an imaginative sci-fi adventure
Raffiella Chapman walks through a dystopian swamp alongside a flying drone in Vesper.

Vesper does a lot with a little. Despite being made on an obviously lower budget than most other modern sci-fi movies, the new film from directors Kristina Buozyte and Bruno Samper takes place in a futuristic, post-apocalyptic world that feels more well-realized, vivid, and imaginative than any of Hollywood’s current cinematic universes do. While its premise doesn’t do much to sell Vesper as a unique entry into the dystopian sci-fi genre, either, it doesn’t take long for its fictional alternate reality to emerge as a striking new vision of the future.

The film's opening shot throws viewers headfirst into a swampy, gray world that seems, at first, to be perpetually covered in fog. It's an image that makes Vesper’s connections to other industrialized sci-fi films like Stalker undeniably, palpably clear. However, once Vesper escapes the foggy wasteland of its opening scene, it begins to flesh out its futuristic reality with rich shades of greens and colorful plants that breathe and reach out toward any living thing that comes close to them. While watching the film does, therefore, often feel like you’re being led on a tour through an industrial hellscape, it also feels, at times, like a trip down the rabbit hole and straight into Wonderland.

Read more
Entergalactic review: a simple but charming animated romance
Three dudes cheer on a rooftop in Entergalactic.

Entergalactic isn’t like most other animated movies that you’ll see this year — or any year, for that matter. The film, which was created by Scott Mescudi a.k.a. Kid Cudi and executive producer Kenya Barris, was originally intended to be a TV series. Now, it’s set to serve as a 92-minute companion to Cudi’s new album of the same name. That means Entergalactic not only attempts to tell its own story, one that could have easily passed as the plot of a Netflix original rom-com, but it does so while also featuring several sequences that are set to specific Cudi tracks.

Beyond the film’s musical elements, Entergalactic is also far more adult than viewers might expect it to be. The film features several explicit sex scenes and is as preoccupied with the sexual politics of modern-day relationships as it is in, say, street art or hip-hop. While Entergalactic doesn’t totally succeed in blending all of its disparate elements together, the film’s vibrantly colorful aesthetic and infectiously romantic mood make it a surprisingly sweet, imaginative tour through a fairytale version of New York City.

Read more
The Woman King review: a thrilling period epic
Viola Davis holds a torch in The Woman King.

The Woman King opens purposefully and violently. The film’s first sequence, which brings to life a brutal battle from its sudden beginning all the way to its somber end, is a master class in visual storytelling. Not only does it allow director Gina Prince-Bythewood to, once again, prove her worth as a capable action filmmaker, but it also introduces The Woman King’s central all-female army, sets up the film’s core conflict, and introduces nearly every important character that you’ll need to know for the two hours that follow it. The fact that The Woman King does all of this within the span of a few short minutes just makes its opening sequence all the more impressive.

The level of impressive craftsmanship in The Woman King’s memorably violent prologue is present throughout the entirety of its 135-minute runtime. For that reason, the film often feels like a throwback to an era that seems to reside farther in the past than it actually does, one when it was common for all the major Hollywood studios to regularly put out historical epics that were, if nothing else, reliably well-made and dramatically engaging.

Read more