David Farnor | On 19, Nov 2023

“Are we really doing this again?” asks Roxie (Mae Whitman) as she prepares to face off against Ramona Flowers (Elizabeth Winstead) halfway through Scott Pilgrim Takes Off. Netflix’s anime series, based on the Bryan Lee O’Malley graphic novels, will no doubt prompt a similar reaction from fans of Edgar Wright’s live-action film adaptation – not least because that movie’s entire cast all return to reprise their roles. But any such questions are brushed aside by the end of the first episode, as it becomes clear that this eight-part animation is more remix than remake.

We begin, once again, in Toronto, Canada, where 20-something Scott Pilgrim (Michael Cera) is dating a high-schooler, Knives Chau (Ellen Wong). Advised by everyone else in his band, Sex Bob-Omb – including insecure singer Stephen (Mark Webber) and world-weary drummer Kim (Alison Pill) – to break up with her, he ends up not so much breaking up the inappropriate relationship as falling in L-words with the woman of – or, more accurately, from – his dreams.

That’s Ramona Flowers, a courier who rollerblades through his subsconcious because it gives her a shortcut. But as that connection begins to blossom into a fledgling relationship, Scott’s would-be romantic dreams are thwarted by the arrival of Ramona’s seven evil exes, led by music and media tycoon Gideon Graves (Jason Scwartzman), who must be defeated by Scott, a la Street Fighter.

It’s an inspired concept, because not only does it creatively capture the journey of finding out about, and embracing, a new partner’s romantic history, but it also echoes the immature way in which a 20-something slacker processes and wrestles with the complexities of relationships. As Roxie puts it, “None of these boys know how to talk about their feelings.” Scott Pilgrim Takes Off succeeds because it doesn’t lose that insightful metaphor, right down to the underlying understand that sometimes the biggest nemesis someone has to overcome is themselves.

And yet, at the same time, co-writers Bryan Lee O’Malley and BenDavid Grabinski propel us off in an entirely new direction, taking those themes and ideas and running with them with imagination. They tread similar territory but through a wonderfully fresh lens, as the rebooted format gives every member of the ensemble the opportunity to take centre-stage.

We get more time with the purported villains, who become more rounded than the fun and funny caricatures of Wright’s film, from Chris Evans’ hilariously gruff Hollywood star to Schwartzman’s suprisingly vulnerable Gideon and Brandon Routh’s impeccably conceived vegan psychic, Todd.

Brie Larson remains a joy as Envy Adams, Scott’s now-famous ex, while Alison Pill and Ellen Wong are pitch-perfect as the more grounded counterparts to Ramona’s object of Scott’s affection – and Ramona is given a welcome added agency in both the plot and the overall emotional arc.

It’s no surprise, of course, that Kieran Culkin, who stole the show last time round as Scott’s roommate, Wallace, once again waltzes away with the whole thing – he’s witty, withering, seductive and smart, getting the lion’s share of the best dialogue but also clearly relishing a more nuanced romantic life. But Wallace has strong copmetition from Satya Bhabha’s Matthew Patel, who finds a sudden burst of self-confidence change his trajectory beyond recognition, even to himself.

Scott is no exception to the added character complexity, as he grapples with the reality that lies beyond the initial dream of his ideal partner, and Michael Cera’s childish heroics are still as endearing as they intentionally irritating. But, crucially, all these extra layers don’t come at the expense of the spectacular anime-style fights fans will expect. Produced by animation house Science Saru, each episode comes with a stunning, non-stop string of spectacle, with the inventive action (and the graphic novel-faithful facial expressions) rivalled only by the ingenious way in which this small screen outing openly acknowledges Wright’s big screen incarnation – not to mention, in one jaw-dropping battle, a whole slew of cinema genres.

The result, like the comic books and Wright’s film before it, is as profound as it is playful, finding dimensions of unspoken feelings in every internal and external clash that we witness. “Everybody needs closure,” reflects Roxie. “That’s why they call it closure.” Scott Pilgrim Takes Off knows it, offers it to its much-loved gaggle of young adults, and allows them – like its source material – the opportunity to evolve and mature with time. What a bold and brilliant treat.

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