The Squirrel is one of those movies that completely won me over in ways I wasn’t expecting. Going in, all I really knew was that there was a squirrel, it wasn’t a horror movie, and I was probably going to like it. Honestly, that was enough to get me interested. What I didn’t expect was to come away feeling so genuinely charmed by this strange little Finnish sci-fi movie.
The world of The Squirrel is immediately fascinating. It takes place in a future where animals have disappeared, cleanliness and safety have become obsessions, and human emotion is treated almost like a problem that needs to be managed. People are constantly disinfecting themselves, technology monitors their behavior, and even something as simple as showing too much emotion can get you into trouble. Everything is controlled, polished, and incredibly sterile.
And yet, there’s something almost tempting about it at first.
Nobody is sick. Everything is clean. Everything is predictable. There’s a certain comfort in knowing that the world has eliminated so many of the things that can hurt you. But the longer you spend inside this society, the more obvious it becomes that something has gone terribly wrong. People barely interact with each other, physical affection is practically nonexistent, and genuine human connection has been replaced by technology and routine. It’s safe, but it’s also incredibly lonely.
That contrast is where the movie really starts to click. The Squirrel isn’t interested in making its dystopia some giant, explosive nightmare. Instead, it takes things that already exist in our world and pushes them just far enough into the future to make them feel uncomfortable. The result is a strangely believable vision of what happens when convenience, cleanliness, technology, and control become more important than actually living.
At the center of all of this is Pasi, a socially awkward engineer who works for a company that creates artificial versions of extinct animals. Then, one day, he encounters something that shouldn’t exist anymore: a real squirrel.
Obviously, he brings it home.
And yes, the squirrel is absolutely adorable.
But the little guy is more than just the movie’s resident cutie. The relationship between Pasi and the squirrel becomes one of the film’s most important ideas. This creature has food, shelter, and everything it technically needs to survive, but that doesn’t mean it’s happy. There’s something surprisingly moving about watching Pasi try to understand what this animal actually needs when the entire world around him has forgotten what genuine connection looks like.
That idea extends naturally to Pasi and Emilia. Their relationship is awkward, sweet, and sometimes hilariously uncomfortable because neither of them really knows how to navigate genuine intimacy. They’ve grown up in a society that has essentially taught them to suppress the very things that make people human, so watching them become curious about each other feels like watching two people discover an entire part of themselves for the first time.
Miro Lopperi and Mimosa Willamo have really lovely chemistry together. Their interactions have this wonderfully awkward quality where you can practically see them trying to figure out what they’re supposed to do with another person. There’s something very endearing about it, especially because the movie never feels like it’s laughing at them for being socially inept. Instead, it understands that they’re products of the world they were raised in.
The movie is also surprisingly funny. It’s not the kind of comedy that has you constantly laughing out loud, but there’s a wonderfully deadpan awkwardness running through it. The AI assistant casually revealing Pasi’s emotional state, Emilia’s reactions to sexuality, and Pasi’s increasingly ridiculous relationship with the squirrel all provide little moments of humor without breaking the strange atmosphere.
Visually, The Squirrel is just as interesting as its world. Everything is incredibly clean and minimalist, with whites, grays, blacks, and muted colors dominating the screen. The futuristic environments feel believable because they aren’t too futuristic. There’s something recognizable underneath all that sterile design, which makes the movie’s commentary about modern life hit a little harder.
My biggest issue is the pacing. The movie moves at a deliberately restrained pace, which fits the world and its characters, but it does occasionally feel like it’s taking a little too long to get somewhere. The direction the story is heading eventually becomes fairly obvious, and by the time the characters finally begin breaking through the emotional restrictions placed on them, the movie is already approaching its conclusion. There are ideas here that could have benefited from a little more room to breathe.
Still, it’s hard not to be charmed by The Squirrel. It’s weird, sweet, funny, quietly heartbreaking, and surprisingly hopeful. Beneath all of its sterile sci-fi imagery is a very simple idea: being alive is about more than simply surviving.
Sometimes you need to get a little messy. Sometimes you need to let yourself feel things. Sometimes you need another person. And sometimes, apparently, you just need a squirrel.
This is exactly the kind of strange little movie that sneaks up on you. I came for the squirrel, and somehow the squirrel got me emotionally invested in the entire damn movie.
Director: Markus Lehmusruusu
Cast: Miro Lopperi, Mimosa Willamo, Hannu-Pekka Björkman
Writer: Markus Lehmusruusu
Producers: Misha Jaari, Mark Lwoff
Composer: Freya Arde
Cinematographer: Max Smeds
Editor: Florian Miosge