There is a joyous vivacity that bursts out of every last musical and narrative pore in Vivo, an animated triumph that is fuelled by the wondrous musical talent of Lin Manuel-Miranda, a story that deftly balances the very silly and the immensely heartfelt and an animation style as apt to be intimately touching as it is manically colourful.
It is rare to have a film lime this that manages to tick all the right boxes and keep them lined up in perfect, heart-pleasing harmony but Vivo manages it from the very first scene when an elderly musician Andrés Hernández (Juan de Marcos González) taps his cart and asks his accompanist, a kinkajou named Vivo if he is ready to make some music.
He most definitely is, and as he springs forth to entertain an eager crowd in a plaza in Havana, Cuba, which is reproduced in all its faded but vividly-realised glory, it becomes quickly apparent that here is something truly special.
In one foot-tappingly happy, spirit-stoking opening musical number, we bear witness to not only the rich musicality that percolates through the film like a vital and necessary heartbeat, but the deep and abiding bond that rests between Andrés and his adopted charge, whom he found on the streets and to whom he gave a home, a heart and a place to belong.
This affectingly intimate relationship, which speaks of trust, love and a shared love of the power of music to entertain and sustain, but which also goes much further as a love letter to found families and the unadulterated peace and happiness that comes from being where you really belong, sits at the heart of Vivo, a film which is all about relationships, old and new.
It is one of the older relationships that interrupts the cosy calm of Vivo’s neatly-contained life when Andrés receives a letter from the love of his life, Marta Sandoval (Gloria Estefan), who left Cuba many years earlier to become a famous singer in Miami and well beyond and who wants her old musical partner to join her for one last concert at the famous Mambo Cabana.
Vivo is terrified at first – who is this Sandoval person and why is she coming between him and Andrés and their small but happy two-block world between the apartments of Havana and its magnificently long and atmospheric waterfront?
But then he realises how happy the idea of seeing Marta makes Andrés, made evident not simply by the wistfulness of his friend’s reminiscing but by the existence of a song which the musician composed for his unrequited love but which he never sung for her, afraid to express his true feelings for her lest she not pursue her dream of musical fame and fortune in America.
When events transpire that mean Andrés can never go to Miami to see Marta, Vivo decides to fulfill his dear friend’s dream of having Marta hear his song, hitching a ride back to Key West with Gabi (Ynairaly Simo) and her mother Rosa (Zoe Saldana), Andrés’ grand-niece and niece respectively, his only goal to ensure Marta knows how much she was loved, both in life and in song.
It is as poignant a motivation as you can have in any film of any stripe, and it surges, with nuance, care and richly moving empathy through every last scene in Vivo which thanks to the eponymous character’s earnestness and Gabi’s purple-haired, screw the mainstream extrovert persona, which seems almost irrepressible, always balances beautifully between the frenetically hilarious and the intensely, grab-a-tissue touching.
Given the film’s key demographic, there is, of course, a great deal of very cleverly wrought silliness.
From two lovebird spoonbills (Brian Tyree Henry and Nicole Byer as Dancarino and Valentina) who are brought together in geeky love by Vivo to a trio of manic of girl scouts known as the Sand Dollars (Katie Lowes, Olivia Trujillo, and Lidya Jewett as Becky, Eva and Sarah) who are obsessed with enviromentalism and making a deeply reluctant and avowedly individualistic Gabi one of their own, Vivo is willing to go as silly and over the top as the manic race to get the song to Marta by 8pm that night demands.
There’s even a nasty old green anaconda known as Lutador (Michael Rooker) who’s after a tasty, quiet snack in Vivo but who finds himself bested naturally by the found family that results from a heartwarming combination of wacky spoonbills, over-committed but well-meaning Sand Dollars, a musically gifted and heartfelt young girl mired in grief but eager to live life still and a small, yellow kinkajou whose love and commitment to his old friend is a delight for every last part of your tired and weary soul.
Vivo is an untrammelled delight in every possible way.
Love and sweet dedication burst forth from every note and word, propelling this moving story of going above and beyond to honour those you love far beyond a simple goofy story of a riotous gallop through Key West, the Everglades and Miami to accomplish a vitally important mission that cannot fail.
Embellished by a gift for witty turns of phrase and characters who burst forth in glorious colour, life and expressive Hispanic authenticity, Vivo is ultimately a love letter to found families, to relationships and their importance in sustaining you through every part of your life.
Their absence, both in Vivo and Gabi’s lives, are also addressed with truthfulness and raw honesty, giving the film a muscular emotionalism that ensures that even at its zaniest and most exuberantly silly, it tugs at your heartstrings in ways that feel real and meaningful and never manipulative or contrived.
There are more than a few animated films work that feverishly overtime (and often fruitlessly) to make you feel something, but movies like Vivo (and pretty much anything by Pixar) do it near effortlessly because they prioritise rich humanity, fully-dimensional characterisation and delicate, affecting balance of the serious and the silly, reflecting the fact that life often has both in equal measure and often at the same time.
It recognises too that we need relationships and closeness to others, and that while life’s cruelly sad moments may intervene to rob us of that from time to time, often devastatingly, that healing and hope are possible and keen motivators to get us back to the land of the engaged and the connected where the most marvellous and wonderful things can happen, often when we least expect it.
Possessed of a wondrously selfless heart, a burning need to do the right thing for someone you love, and a manic heartfelt zestfulness that finds expression in Miranda’s superbly alive songs and a screenplay by Kirk DeMicco and Quiara Alegría Hudes that never puts a single toe-tapping foot wrong, Vivo is a balm for the COVID weary soul, a joy for the griefstricken and a beautiful, emotion-infused reminder that life can come back alive when we seek not necessarily happiness for ourselves but for others and that maybe, just maybe, having someone special by our side can be the best thing that ever happened to us.