Compare Ha-Chan, Shake Your Booty! vs The Incomer

The grief-and-recovery core is affecting, but reactions split over whether the increasingly busy plot enriches Haru’s journey or scatters its impact.

The story is broadly seen as a sweet, strange fable about isolation, grief, and connection. Its emotional sincerity wins over many viewers even when the plot follows familiar paths.

The frank treatment of desire, hookups, and non-monogamy is often viewed as mature and unusually nonjudgmental rather than merely provocative.

The recurring sex-toy gag is a clear taste test: it can play as absurdly funny or as another example of the film pushing its cutesy raunch too hard.

Kikuchi often makes Haru’s grief and messy behavior feel believable, but some late choices and surreal turns strain recognizable psychology for certain critics.

The fairy-tale framing gives the story license to bend reality, but some gags and the mechanics of decades-long island survival strain credibility even within that mode.

The film repeatedly swerves away from the safest crowd-pleaser template, though some later turns rely on predictable deception and contrivance.

The route from hostility to connection is often predictable and follows familiar outsider-story beats. The execution, performances, and folklore details are what keep that familiar structure engaging.

The unusual comedy-drama-musical blend can be a cross-cultural delight when its modes click together.

As an adult folk-comedy fable, the film is distinctive and often charming, though its aggressively quaint side can overwhelm viewers resistant to twee humor.

The central emotional path is understandable, but unanswered practical details and Haru’s abrupt choices sometimes make motivations or connective logic feel thin.

A few logistical details around the authorities’ delayed response do not add up cleanly, creating small gaps in an otherwise easy-to-follow setup.

The roughly two-hour experience feels breezy to some, but multiple critics thought the story could benefit from trimming.

At 102 minutes, the film feels overextended to some, with repeated beats and an elongated climax making a tighter cut seem preferable.

The opening competition is singled out as dazzlingly assembled, using its cutting to heighten the rush of dance before the sudden tragedy.

Editing choices are used effectively for comic timing and tension, especially concise cuts and focal-length-driven sequences. The craft is stronger than the screenplay’s repetitive stretches.

Haru is sympathetic and vivid, but several critics found her arc underwritten or abruptly pushed into behavior that feels less nuanced than the early character work.

Isla and the sibling bond receive meaningful emotional layering, but Daniel and especially Sandy can feel underdeveloped in weaker stretches. The character work is strongest when loneliness and changing relationships take precedence over quirks.

The standout street confrontation turns punches into dance with flair, making the film’s most action-driven set piece feel inventive and exuberant.

The late action works best when physical comedy and genuine emotion share the same scene, giving the finale energy without abandoning the film’s eccentric tone.

At its best, the film turns grief, desire, and recovery into something moving and deeply human; at its weakest, whimsical excess can blunt the intended catharsis.

Beneath the silliness, the film often lands as tender and unexpectedly moving, especially around grief, loneliness, and human connection. A few takes find the emotional foundation too light for the darker turns.

Its combination of ballroom dance, magical realism, grief, sexuality, and cross-cultural comedy is widely seen as distinctive, even when some individual ideas feel familiar.

Its eccentric fairy-tale identity feels genuinely singular to some, while others see familiar indie-comedy influences beneath the surface. The premise feels fresher than every thematic or comic beat.

Wladyka earns substantial praise for bold visual ideas, emotional warmth, and confident dance staging, even as some critics fault his handling of the film’s competing tones.

Paxton’s direction is widely admired for visual control, straight-faced handling of absurdity, and gentle fable-like texture. Some see first-feature growing pains and occasional over-stylization.

The film’s life-affirming idea—that grief and joy can coexist and movement can help a person rejoin life—generally lands warmly without becoming purely sentimental.

The film’s strongest message concerns fear of change, inherited stories, self-acceptance, and the need for connection. Even mixed reactions often find that hopeful core worthwhile.

This is the largest fault line: many admire the nimble mix of grief, comedy, romance, and fantasy, while others find the shifts jarring enough to weaken the emotional payoff.

The film walks a difficult line between whimsy, tenderness, and darker folklore. At its best the balance feels controlled; at its weakest, violence and sincere trauma arrive too abruptly beside the twee comedy.

The hopeful final movement lands beautifully for several critics, but others find the climax predictable or a key romantic plot resolution abrupt and underwhelming.

The ending generally restores the film’s emotional footing, with self-acceptance and earned change landing well. A few reactions note a slight late decline before the final payoff.

The film’s bawdy banter, awkward decisions, and surreal gags often work very well, though a few critics feel the comedy sometimes weakens the grief or falls flat.

Comedy is the film’s most polarizing trait. Many find the deadpan, physical, culture-clash absurdity hilarious, while others call the jokes repetitive, juvenile, or overly quirky.

Bright colors, elegant compositions, sweeping movement, and wide dance framing earn frequent praise, though one critic felt the camera sometimes falls out of step with the choreography.

The Scottish setting is photographed with striking natural beauty, from verdant landscapes and cold coastlines to intimate natural-light interiors. Even negative takes regularly single out the imagery.

Haru’s sister-and-cousin support system brings warmth, comedy, and relaxed chemistry, although one critic wanted the sister relationship developed more fully.

The unlikely bond between Daniel and the siblings is handled with genuine affection, making companionship and chosen connection feel central rather than incidental.

The script can be economical, sensitive, and modern, especially in early character work, but contrivances and underdeveloped supporting relationships keep it from fully cohering.

The screenplay earns praise for emotional grounding, character affection, and oddball consistency, but repetition and underdeveloped characters expose weaknesses in the longer format.

Grief, renewal, desire, and cultural identity can feel thoughtful and mature, but detractors find some themes simplified or flattened by the film’s whimsical approach.

Themes of loneliness, inherited fear, belonging, grief, and change give the comedy real substance. Some takes find those ideas underexplored or too surface-level, but the emotional intent is consistently clear.

The attraction and tenderness can be persuasive, but the Fedir storyline is less satisfying when jealousy, lies, and familiar romantic complications take over.

The romance is divisive: Isla’s tentative awakening can be touching and funny, but the love-triangle mechanics are also called thin and unconvincing.

The Japanese, Mexican, and broader Latin influences are woven together with unusual specificity and warmth; the multicultural setting is repeatedly treated as one of the film’s richest strengths.

The film’s Scottish identity comes through in its locations, folklore, talent, and satire of local bureaucracy. Its cultural specificity helps ground an otherwise fanciful story.

The movie can move with a lively cadence, but recurring chapter cards and an overlong feel are recurring drag points for some critics.

Momentum is uneven: several responses flag repetition, overlong detours, or a loss of steam after the first hour. Others find the comic action brisk enough to keep the film moving.

Haru’s connections with Luis and Fedir carry convincing warmth and attraction, with the central performers selling both intimacy and romantic tension.

The central trio’s rapport is one of the film’s safest strengths, with lively banter and convincing warmth. The romantic pairing is less consistently persuasive than the broader group dynamic.

The multilingual exchanges in Japanese, Spanish, and English efficiently establish intimacy and a lived-in cross-cultural relationship.

The siblings’ verbal sparring is sharp and absurd while remaining emotionally sincere, helping the strange behavior feel internally believable.

The grief drama has genuine feeling, but some dramatic beats do not fully click when broad comedy and increasingly chaotic plotting take over.

The darker dramatic material can feel mismatched with the lighter comedy, particularly when supporting subplots push the film toward a more extreme register.

Bold makeup is part of the film’s vibrant, characterful presentation and works in concert with the costumes and production design.

The creature makeup and prosthetics give the Fin Man a memorable, menacing seal-like appearance and are singled out as impressive craft work.

Its warm, crowd-pleasing energy makes it easy to recommend for viewers receptive to eccentric dance dramedies, though its quirks will not suit everyone.

Its eccentricity is the dividing line: some see broad, crowd-pleasing charm, while others find the twee, overt weirdness alienating. Viewers already fond of offbeat indie comedy are the clearest fit.

The early portrait of contemporary Tokyo, ballroom culture, multilingual relationships, and home life creates a vivid social world that carries through the film.

The island feels like its own peculiar ecosystem, built from folklore, rituals, geography, and visual contrast with the mainland. That specificity is central to the film’s distinctive identity.

Bold color, magical-realist imagery, playful chapter graphics, and expressive fantasy sequences give the film a confident personality, even when some flourishes are judged excessive.

Natural color, rugged scenery, animation, and carefully composed interiors create a vivid storybook look without making the island feel glossy or artificial.

The spangly ballroom looks, vivid wardrobe, and culturally inflected party attire contribute strongly to the film’s playful, expressive visual identity.

The handmade bird ritual costumes are a standout craft element, giving the siblings’ folklore a memorable physical identity.

Haru’s cozy, record-filled home and the broader colorful design create an inviting world that several critics wanted to step inside.

The island cottage is a particularly strong piece of production design, feeling lived-in and organically tied to the siblings’ isolated life.

The supporting ensemble is frequently lively and appealing, with especially strong comic notices for YOU and warm praise for the actors around Kikuchi, though one critic found them comparatively thin.

The supporting cast is described as strong, adding sharp energy around the central trio without becoming the main attraction.

The ensemble is generally a strength, with the cast keeping the film lively and emotionally accessible even when the material turns messy.

The ensemble is a major strength: the three leads repeatedly make the oddball material feel committed, funny, and emotionally grounded. Even more skeptical takes tend to praise the cast.

The blend of Japanese, Latin, and Western pop—and playful familiar-song arrangements—adds energy, cultural texture, and several memorable musical moments.

The brooding, unnerving soundtrack is an important part of the film’s sensory identity, adding a darker current beneath the comedy.

Rinko Kikuchi is the clearest consensus strength, praised for quiet charisma, comic precision, emotional range, and the ability to ground the film’s wildest turns.

Gleeson’s lead comic work is a highlight, with his committed awkwardness and willingness to join the islanders’ rituals making Daniel especially watchable.

Most responses find it charming, funny, lively, and crowd-pleasing, with dance and visual invention carrying the experience even for critics who question the story.

Most responses find the film easy to enjoy, watchable, and warmly entertaining, with a handful of detractors who never connect with its style. Its strongest entertainment value comes from the cast and oddball comedy.

The hand-drawn animation is consistently praised for turning the island’s folklore into a storybook world. Several responses wanted even more of it.

The fantasy dances and street-fight number are frequent highlights for their energy and storytelling, though a minority found some dancing technically loose or visually underwhelming.

The father’s inherited rules give the siblings’ isolation emotional weight, but the parental trauma beneath those rules is not explored as deeply as it could be.

The practical-effects work is praised as a tactile part of the film’s handmade folklore aesthetic.

Scare beats work best as brief pressure points before the comedy releases the tension, letting the film flirt with folk horror without becoming a full horror experience.

The score is highly taste-dependent. Its folk-inflected, quirky textures can deepen the island atmosphere, but the plucky strings and horns sometimes feel overly insistent.

The practical and creature effects fit the film’s handmade folktale aesthetic and are praised as a strong craft element.

Suspense works in bursts, especially cliffside danger and early confrontations, and often pairs well with comedy. The bureaucratic threat itself is less consistently urgent.

Violence is mostly stylized and comic, but the sudden third-act escalation can feel disjointed from the warmer tone rather than satisfyingly intense.

One viewer found the movie substantially more somber than its trailer suggested, making the promotional tone feel somewhat misleading.

One critic worried the film’s pleasures may fade quickly despite its immediate crowd-pleasing impact, leaving long-term staying power uncertain.

The film is explicitly recommended as worth seeing, with its humor and feel-good quality supporting a positive sense of ticket value.

Natural wind, birds, and crashing water are captured vividly, giving the island an elemental presence that often works better than the busier musical cues.