Fantastic Fest 2026
A spotless world where everything is carefully managed might sound appealing until someone realizes how much has been removed to keep it that way. The Squirrel, which I really enjoyed at Fantastic Fest, takes that idea and builds a clever, unusual story around one man and a small animal that refuses to fit the plan. Written and directed by Markus Lehmusruusu, this Finnish film is funny, touching, and full of ideas worth considering. I loved its story, though I suspect I would go nuts living in its supposedly ideal society.
Miro Lopperi plays Pasi, a lonely designer of synthetic pets in a future where nature and animals have disappeared. When he discovers what may be the world’s last living squirrel, he decides to help it, disrupting his carefully regulated life. His encounter with Emilia (Mimosa Willamo), an official responsible for maintaining that orderly society, further complicates matters as feelings begin to interfere with the rules. Saving the squirrel proves harder than keeping it alive, especially when the animal becomes depressed, and Pasi falls in love.
I loved Pasi, and Lopperi gives the film an appealing center. Something immediately engaging about the film is a compassionate man trying to care for a vulnerable creature in a world that leaves little room for either of them to behave naturally. His concern makes the larger premise feel personal. Rather than merely watching an unusual society function, I became invested in someone whose small act of kindness begins to expose its shortcomings.
Willamo works well alongside him, and the supporting cast includes Hannu-Pekka Björkman, Pirjo Heikkilä, Roderick Kabanga, Pirjo Lonka, and Eero Ritala. The ensemble helps make this peculiar future convincing enough for its absurdities to register. Their performances fit comfortably within the film’s controlled world, giving Pasi’s growing attachment to the squirrel and Emilia something to push against. The human relationships matter, even with a small, furry scene-stealer in the picture.
The squirrel matters a great deal. It brings an unpredictable, living presence into an environment designed to eliminate precisely that sort of complication. Pasi can design an artificial pet, but caring for a real animal forces him to confront needs he can’t simply program away. That distinction gives the film both its humor and its emotional pull, turning an apparently modest rescue into a much larger question about what makes life worth living.
The stark white settings and almost impossibly clean surroundings are essential to the effect. Everything looks immaculate, yet that perfection begins to feel suffocating. The visual order makes nature’s absence more noticeable and gives the squirrel’s presence added significance. From my theater seat, I could admire the cleanliness, knowing I would be desperate for something less controlled if I had to call this place home.
Lehmusruusu gives audiences plenty to think about without losing the central story’s appeal. A society organized around well-being sounds sensible, but the film asks what happens when that structure leaves little room for affection, uncertainty, or individual choice. Its humor comes from the difficulty of containing those things once they emerge. I appreciated how a premise about one lonely man and one squirrel could unfold into such an engaging look at human needs.
The subtitles never interfered with my enjoyment. I was too interested in Pasi, the animal, and the increasingly complex situation to mind reading along. The Squirrel was one of my favorite discoveries at this year’s Fantastic Fest: imaginative, thoughtful, and anchored by a lead character I cared about. I would happily spend more time with Pasi, even if I needed an escape route from his utopia.