Zootopia 2

The Serpent in the Metropolis

Sequels to cultural phenomena often arrive burdened by the weight of their own legacy. When *Zootopia* premiered in 2016, it wasn’t just a talking-animal romp; it was a sharp, albeit imperfect, parable about racial profiling and biological determinism that landed right as the real world was grappling with similar fissures. Jared Bush’s *Zootopia 2* (2025) returns to this mammalian metropolis, but rather than simply retreading the predator-versus-prey conflict, it digs deeper—literally and metaphorically—into the bedrock of the city itself. If the first film was about who belongs in Zootopia, this sophisticated follow-up asks a more uncomfortable question: who was erased so that Zootopia could be built?

From a visual standpoint, the film is a suffocatingly beautiful expansion of the directors' world-building. With the studio’s shift to the Presto animation engine (the same tech powering Pixar’s recent output), the textures of this world have gained a tactile, almost hyper-real urgency. This is most evident in the introduction of the Marsh Market, a humid, neon-lit district that feels distinct from the gleaming, sanitized utopia of the city center. It is here we meet Gary De’Snake (voiced with nervous, frantic energy by Ke Huy Quan). The animation of Gary—the sheen of his scales, the way his coils inhabit space differently than the mammals—is a technical marvel, but it serves a narrative function. In a city of fur, the reptile is the ultimate "other," a biological incompatibility that the camera emphasizes in every frame.

At the heart of the film, however, remains the partnership between Judy Hopps (Ginnifer Goodwin) and Nick Wilde (Jason Bateman). The script smartly moves past the "will they/won't they" tension of friendship into the messier territory of professional codependency. The widely discussed "therapy session" scene, where the two are forced to confront their communication breakdown, transcends the typical animated gag. It exposes the friction that arises when two people (or species) assume they know everything about each other. Bateman’s vocal performance, usually dripping with detached irony, is allowed moments of genuine vulnerability here, grounding the slapstick in emotional reality.

But the film’s true ambition lies in its villainy. Unlike the twist-villain of the predecessor, the antagonism here is structural. The introduction of the Lynxley family and the revelation of a hidden reptilian history shifts the thematic focus from individual prejudice to systemic displacement. The film posits that Zootopia’s harmony was purchased at a cost, suggesting that history is often written by the victors—in this case, the warm-blooded. It is a surprisingly mature pivot for a family film, moving the conversation from "getting along" to "reparations and acknowledgement."

Ultimately, *Zootopia 2* manages to avoid the curse of the cash-grab sequel. It doesn't just offer us more of the world; it complicates the world we thought we knew. While it occasionally struggles to balance its heavy sociological subtext with the requirements of a kinetic chase movie, it succeeds where it matters most. It respects its audience enough to suggest that utopia isn't a destination you reach, but a fragile agreement you must constantly, painfully renegotiate.