There’s something inherently magical – and undeniably tragic – about a puppet. Fragile, hand-crafted, defiantly tangible in a world that grows more pixelated by the day. I grew up during the golden era of 3D animation, but it wasn’t sleek CGI that stole my breath – it was the awkward beauty of stop-motion. I still remember watching The Nightmare Before Christmas behind-the-scenes feature on VHS tape: the sets, the meticulously built puppets, the painstaking labor that goes into every frame. The patience. The obsession. I couldn’t believe how far some humans would go just to build a story you could – almost – touch.Les Bêtes is one of those stories. Not just to be seen, but felt – in the gut, in the bones.This dark fantasy short, is the fever-dream of director and stop-motion veteran Michael Granberry. Les Bêtes lives somewhere between a lost tale from Ladislas Starevich and a Grimm fable left out in the rain. It begins with a delicate dance, worthy of Hermína Týrlová, and ends in a banquet of indulgence, cruelty, and decay. The plot – such as it is – unfolds like a whispered legend: a mysterious rabbit bearing a ring of magical keys summons a grotesque parade of creatures to entertain a king and his court – an audience whose appetite is matched only by its apathy.The king and his court wait to be entertained.But Les Bêtes is more than a story – it’s an act of archaeology. Granberry built the film during the pandemic, unearthing nearly two decades’ worth of puppets made for other projects – then shelved, forgotten, or never filmed at all. Of the nearly 250 puppets resurrected, some were deteriorating. Some were never animated, not even once. So he gave them a stage. A spotlight. One final dance before the rot.And what a dance it is.The animation is proudly old-school – practical effects, visible textures, minimal compositing. In some shots, you can even see the rigs. But rather than feeling like a flaw, it’s a joy. Granberry doesn’t chase the polish of CGI; instead, he embraces the type of stop-motion that’s proud of looking monstrous. The kind that isn’t afraid to show its stitches and looks handmade – because it is. He leans into the seams, lets the cracks carry meaning, and Lito Velasco’s score – part lullaby, part requiem – ties it all together with gothic grace.Les Bêtes isn’t a moral tale, nor a message-driven film. It’s a procession of lost things, a ritual of memory, a farewell to creatures who may never have had a purpose – but were made nonetheless. Who still linger in the dark, unfinished, overlooked. Or perhaps just waiting for someone – anyone – to glance their way again.Maybe to smile.Maybe to bite.