Buddy (1997)

Buddy is the kind of eccentric, big-hearted family film you almost don’t see anymore: a lavish 1930s story where the sheer audacity of raising a gorilla like a child becomes a surprisingly tender meditation on love, responsibility, and letting nature be what it is. Caroline Thompson gives the movie a storybook glow—handsome cinematography, a warm period vibe, and a gentle comedic rhythm that lets real animal behavior provide the best punchlines without turning everything into a cartoon. René Russo plays Trudy with buoyant conviction, and with Robbie Coltrane and Alan Cumming grounding the human side, the film’s charm really blooms in the scenes shared with the chimpanzees and Buddy’s growing presence. It’s not for viewers who need tight realism or nonstop laughs, but if you’re open to a whimsical, slightly wistful crowd-pleaser with genuine affection in its bones, Buddy is easy to root for.

Buddy is clearly trying to be a whimsical, old-fashioned family fable about unconditional love, animal wonder, and a free-spirited woman who refuses to live by society’s rules. The problem is the movie can’t decide if it wants to be a charming comedy, a sincere drama, or a cautionary tale about keeping wild animals as “family,” so the tone lurches around and undercuts its own moments. Some of the animal work and period-pageantry have a sweet, storybook appeal, but the writing often leans overly quaint and the effects can feel dated enough to pull you out of the emotion instead of drawing you in. If you’re expecting a genuinely funny adventure or a grounded, thoughtful animal story, this may test your patience; if you’re happy with a gentle, oddball curio carried by Rene Russo’s committed performance, you might find it mildly endearing.