We should all be more like Hilda.
Luke Pearson’s much-loved animation bids fond farewell in a nonchalantly profound lingering hug of a finale.
Written by Maisy Nichols.
If Hilda is a show that personifies those endless childhood summers, then Season Three is the last August. We’re coming to the end of Hilda’s road, and Luke Pearson never lets you forget it. Change is the beating heart of this season’s narrative, following the eponymous blue-haired adventurer and friends as they explore the storybook town of Tofoten, a sleepy cluster of rolling hills and looming pines.
Holidaying with her maybe-a-witch-but-probably-not Great Aunt Astrid, Hilda digs into her murky family history and investigates local myths of fairies, only to discover that the two may collide in the most peculiar of ways. Hilda draws effectively on the not-knowing of childhood, where every nugget of knowledge is a prize won from a world that functions in ways beyond our comprehension.
Visually, it is breath taking business as usual; every frame is varnished generously with personality and polish, half surreal Monet landscapes, half serene video-game loading screen. Grimes’ opening theme is the bedrock of a tottering mountain of scene-stealing scores, with a gentle, celestial synth placing a steady hand on our backs as we follow Hilda through lo-fi Narnia.
Bella Ramsay’s (The Last of Us, Game of Thrones) relentlessly empathetic portrayal of Hilda is an essential anchor of the show’s connection to its devoted viewers, driving home a subtle insecurity beyond the character’s unending optimism. The development of Hilda’s relationship with her mother, Joanna, touches on the indestructible strength of a mother’s love so subtly that you won’t even realise it’s a gut punch until the tears are already rolling.
Eyes don’t get any dryer for the supporting cast’s stories, either. Liberated from their occasionally repetitive narrative roles in previous seasons, David (Oliver Nelson) and Frida (Ameerah Falzon) represent some of Hilda’s subtler meditations on the power of children’s unwavering loyalty. Falzon and Nelson expertly undercut cocky childish banter with moments of shy tenderness, reminiscing on the endearing simplicity of childhood friendships.
Season Three is equipped to twist heartstrings so effectively because, unlike the first two instalments, it features a more serialised narrative. Events don’t play out in episodic bubbles anymore, with the consequences of Hilda’s actions oscillating throughout her story; in short, Hilda is growing up, and so is the show.
The veil of hazy childhood interactions is beginning to fall with the yellowing leaves, as Hilda’s wide-eyed perspective is prompted to gently mature. There’s a poignant parallel, for example, between Hilda’s acceptance of change in Season Two’s “The Deerfox” and Season Three’s “The Fairy Isle”. In the former, Hilda resents change, lamenting that “The mountain is gone, our house is gone and now Twig is gone too”. But by her final adventure, Hilda gives up the chance to live in a literally unchanging magic world, having come to accept that temporality is what makes life exciting.
And that’s what Hilda is truly all about. To take change’s hand like a new friend, to laugh through the growing pains. For a children’s show, this irresistibly charming series has a fair few lessons for any adults that may also stumble across it. I’m not recommending, but prescribing, that you let Hilda wander onto your TV screens as the bleak midwinter approaches. It’s a sincerely entertaining antidote to the prevailing belief that growing up means forgetting that magic makes the world go round.
Hilda Season 3 is streaming now on Netflix.
