Shaun the Sheep: The Beast of Mossy Bottom

The inspired team at Aardman Animation Limited returns with the latest in their long-running Shaun the Sheep franchise, a barely feature-length movie called The Beast of Mossy Bottom. Sharing some DNA with the studio’s Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit (2005), it’s another horror-inflected release from the stop-motion animation house about a furry, towering figure roaming the titular farm and the nearby village. With references to zombies, the “Thriller” music video, and werewolves all before the opening titles, it’s evident that directors Steve Cox and Matthew Walker, working from a script by Mark Burton and Giles Pilbrow, sought to play in the horror pumpkin patch. The movie is full of references the kids probably won’t get, but their cinephile parents will. Nevertheless, it’s another of Aardman’s delightful, beautifully crafted visits to this understated world of visual gags and smart storytelling.   

It’s autumn, and everyone on Mossy Bottom Farm is preparing for the season. The Farmer hopes to ask the resident Veterinarian to the annual Halloween Hoedown, but his male pattern baldness has stifled his confidence. Meanwhile, Shaun oversees a secret pumpkin patch, nourished by his fellow sheep. But after an accident leaves his produce smashed, Shaun becomes a Dr. Frankenstein—a crazed scientist working out of a windmill on a hill straight out of James Whale’s original Frankenstein from 1931, determined to accelerate the growth of his pumpkins. Shaun uses a basic science book to formulate a potion, and it works. Except he stores the pink-glowing stuff in the Farmer’s empty bottle of Hair-Grow formula. After the Farmer uses Shaun’s concoction on his scalp, the result at first is just a fuller head of hair and a mustache. Then it becomes serious. Shaun gets an inkling of the problem when his crop continues growing to colossal size. 

Sure enough, the Farmer sprouts matted fur and turns into a kind of Bigfoot, his feet rendered enormous and stompy after he plunges his shaggy tootsies into wet concrete. The dog, Bitzer, attempts to track down the beast, while the Vet wants to return what she believes is Bigfoot to its natural habitat. What others see as a towering monster, we see as a man hilariously struggling with clumpy, overgrown hair, stumbling around and unable to find his bearings. Of course, if any of these characters spoke, they might resolve the misunderstanding in a few seconds. But the dialogue consists of Shaun the Sheep’s usual blend of non-lexical vocalizations and the occasional, intelligible word (I’m pretty sure I heard a “no” at some point, but that’s about it). 

The animation is, unsurprisingly, flawless and wonderfully detailed, with Steve Cox, the production’s Animation and Art Director, giving each environment a tangible reality. Unlike the last entry, 2020’s Farmageddon, which used CGI in some of its sci-fi sequences, The Beast of Mossy Bottom feels rooted in an essentialist claymation approach—except for a brief daydream rendered in two-dimensional, hand-drawn animation. However, much like its predecessor, the movie relies too much on needle-drops, which feel jarring next to the otherwise quiet, dialogue-less proceedings. The movie has a similar relationship with sound to silent film star Charlie Chaplin’s work from the 1930s, before he fully embraced the Talkie format and used only sound effects and pre-recorded voices (see Modern Times, 1936). The lyric-filled songs also feel unnecessary next to Natalie Holt’s score, which serves as a vital element of the experience and underlines every emotion conveyed through the characters’ animated pantomime.  

Some of the best moments in The Beast of Mossy Bottom are the smaller, random asides, whereas the obligatory third-act chase and chaos lose steam—this is during a mere 80-minute runtime, with at least five minutes dedicated to end credits. Even so, it’s worth watching for fans of the series. I liked the amusing look into how Bitzer sees scents as fully formed projections, almost like a transparent, beckoning aroma from a Looney Tunes cartoon. Bitzer also disposes of his own waste in plastic bags dropped in a metal bin, a notion that made me laugh. The sheep are adorable. The humans are oddballs. And anyone familiar with Shaun the Sheep knows there’s no end to the clever, subtle jokes throughout, even if they conjure more smiles than audible chuckles. Overall, in an age when some filmmakers are finding ways of streamlining creativity with AI solutions, it’s a pleasure to watch handmade animation from people willing to devote time and effort to their craft.