Dandelion's Odyssey

TIFF REVIEW: BY EDEN PROSSER

September 5, 2025

3 OUT OF 5 STARS

Imagine a world on the brink of cataclysm. There will be few survivors: none, in fact, larger than a finger. Drifting through space, the last Terran debris will need to seek a novel soil within which to sink. A simple garden weed, however, has always seemed to find a way to propagate—and so, what better to rebuild an ecosystem than the common dandelion? Such a question sets the stage for scientific documentarian Momoko Seto’s narrative debut. Blending a variety of cinematographic techniques—live-action naturalistic landscapes, time-lapse vegetative growth and decomposition, anthropomorphic computer-generated animation—Seto’s resulting feature encapsulates a dreamy vision of seasonal intrigue, guiding viewers through a world that, though visually similar to our own, contains just enough audiovisual magic to captivate nonetheless. Across just 77 minutes, one bears witness to the destruction of one world—and the exploration of another, catalyzed not by the grand, sweeping actions of a predator, but instead, the minutiae of insects, leaves, and infinitesimal floral spores. Embarking on such an odyssey are four titular dandelion seeds—nominally, Dendelion, Baraban, Léonto, and Taraxa—who drift into the upper atmosphere as our Earth runs ablaze, questing across the cosmos in search of a new soil in which to flourish.

From its original French title—the simple, yet effective “Planetes”—one might imagine a topography rife with stylistic abandon: innumerable worlds, borne of imagination alone. Alas, beyond its opening moments, the seeds are relegated to a singular planet: an expansive one, upon which various terrains are certainly explored, but a Terran ecosphere nonetheless. Constellation-fashioned cosmic squid, planetary rings: visual enchantment seeps from the early peregrination; there’s a certain shot, in which the field of view pulls back, revealing the vast tininess of a single dandelion against the vast scope of the cosmos, that simply takes one’s breath away. Alas, such celestial exploration does not linger; the vast majority of the runtime does, as aforementioned, transpire upon a separate Earth-like planet, a locale that, though gorgeous, lacks the imaginative whimsy of such a brief—yet stunning—atmospheric venture.

One almost wishes a touch more time were spent on Earth prior to the odyssey, if only to have a point of juxtaposition with which to contrast the dandelions’ titular adventures. That said, perhaps such desire is unfounded: it may simply be the side effect of a filmmaker who trusts her audience; the consequence of the decision that lived experience is, in fact, backstory enough. Though at times, the sequences of bent-stem-hopping, soft-wind-drifting, do begin to feel more akin to a series of exploratory vignettes—a cadence likened to, say, a music video, as opposed to the prototypical narrative feature—the elegant simplicity of naturalistic splendour, and the nostalgic gleam that’s ultimately cast upon reflections of our Terran home, do elevate the film to one of note.

At times, it feels as though the film may be the present-day answer to Disney’s Fantasia: visual extravagance, ecological foci, a gently sweeping score. That said, while the former revelled in its episodic quality—those aforementioned vignettes, opaquely demarcated—Dandelion’s Odyssey begins to fade into passivity, ambience, as the runtime continues to progress. There is, after all, only so long one can progress the cycle of ‘novel climate, exploration, environmental threat, onto the next.’ It is only the moments of anthropomorphic evocation through which the film delivers its maximal pull: a slight bend of a dandelion’s stalk; a wilt of the petals; an enlivened hop. There’s a childlike sense of wonder, a whimsical innocence, elicited through the skate-like motions in the icy biome; a jolt of genuine humour as one’s pedals spread, tickling the soil, in a clear imitation of a recently-encountered centipede. In flashes, one begins to care about the little spores—so microscopic; so prototypically inanimate—so much so that, as threat ensues—one spore, perpetually losing its petals; another, unable to shake from the back of a moth—genuine concern ensues. It is impressive, truly, how such humanism, such a strong pull on the heartstrings, is elicited through such simplicity; one only wishes such evocation were maintained throughout the narrative’s entirety, rather than fading into the largely-landscape-focused milieu.

For a project lacking any dialogue, the sonic landscape must deliver much of the emotive valence—and for the most part, Dandelion’s Odyssey does, in fact, succeed in that regard. Though the score may oscillate in strength, it is the exquisite sound editing that truly astounds. The click-clack of a bugs’ many legs, the rustle of a petal in the afternoon breeze: each sound soars into existence, positing the audience directly into the soundscape of the spores. Sounds that might typically be lost to background ambience reverberate through the speakers; it is as if one has been brought to dandelion-scale, experiencing the world—and its many voices—as the spores themselves might. The score, on the other hand, is a curiosity all its own. Sweepingly magical in doses, it occasionally furthers the atmosphere of the narrative—before reversing entirely and contrasting, distractingly so. The highs are sweeping: minnows get their own unique villainous theme! A flood motif washes over the listener, sonic opulence crashing over the listener in glorious orchestral power! That said, electric instruments atop low-valence moments juxtapose any semblance of atmospheric relief, eliciting, instead, a sense of awkwardness, unease. In the moments in which the music compliments the scene, genuine emotion is evoked; when it contrasts, however, one instead wonders if, perhaps, the experimentation of the feature might have strayed too far from the tried-and-true.

Still, there is much to be gleaned from the narrative’s existence. Most fascinating, perhaps, is nature’s posit as both ‘threat’ and ‘saviour’: a slug is presented as a great ally, assisting in a lifesaving maneuver to escape noxious spores. A fungus, swiftly growing, provides prime points off which to leap to greener pastures. A centipede, legs clacking, approaches with aggression; rushing water acts as harbinger of both beauty and peril. It seems perhaps a commentary on the awe-inducing neutrality of nature: its capacity for both—or neither—good nor evil; the ways in which the most natural of forms underlie the great circle of life. So, too, does the film perform a deliverance of hope: unbridled optimism, for if the simplest of organisms—the common dandelion petal, little more than a microscopic spore—can traverse a treacherous landscape and, against all odds, persevere, then so, too, must we share such resilience. One almost wonders why the threat of nuclear destruction, the early intergalactic exploration, were necessary to expose such revelations: would committing to a more-grounded exploration not have  exacerbated such a fact? Irregardless, the film succeeds as a reminder of the beauty of our planet—and the way in which even the smallest of creatures, be they flora or fauna, deserve such love and kindness, for they, too, are simply attempting to make their way through the tribulations of the modern landscape. Slugs kiss! Dandelion spores extend their petals, intertwining, as if in a hug! It may, at times, seem as though the planet is on fire—but all it takes is one small spark, one tiny spore, to start anew. If such a hopeful outlook is the result of such a picture, then—vignette-esque atmosphere, lingering ambience aside—Seto’s Odyssey must have found some semblance of home.