The Secret of NIMH (1982)
There's a moment in The Secret of NIMH where you catch yourself leaning forward, genuinely unsettled, and then you remember this is supposed to be a Saturday afternoon film for kids. That tension, that slight discomfort at how dark and serious everything feels, is really the whole story of Don Bluth's 1982 debut. It's extraordinary and slightly broken in equal measure, and I can't entirely make up my mind about it, even now.
Let's get the obvious out of the way first: this film is gorgeous. Genuinely, stubbornly, almost aggressively gorgeous. Every frame is packed with hand-drawn detail that demands you slow down and look. The overgrown rosebush where Mrs. Brisby makes her home, all shadowy tangles and creeping organic texture. The rats' underground civilisation, glowing with an eerie, jewel-like light that feels genuinely otherworldly. It's the kind of animation that makes you a bit sad when you think about how much of what we get today is smooth, clean and sterile by comparison. Bluth and his team poured everything into the look of this picture, and it shows in every single shot.
Elizabeth Hartman brings a wonderfully fragile warmth to Mrs. Brisby, and Dom DeLuise is reliably theatrical and funny in support. The voice performances across the board are earnest and committed, giving the story an emotional grounding it badly needs. Because the story itself is asking a lot. There's real darkness here: questions of survival, sacrifice, scientific experimentation, mortality. The weight of it is something I completely understand adults responding to. There's a genuine epic quality to the storytelling that commands respect.
But here's where I start to have my reservations. This is, at least in theory, a children's film. And for younger kids specifically, I think it's a genuinely tough watch. The pacing is deliberate, the stakes are terrifying, and the whole atmosphere is so relentlessly foreboding that it never quite relaxes long enough to let younger viewers find a comfortable foothold. It's caught in a kind of identity crisis, somewhere between a serious fantasy epic and a family matinee, and it never fully commits to either. The lighter, more playful moments feel almost apologetic when they appear, as if the film is briefly remembering its supposed audience before retreating back into gloomy grandeur.
I've thought about how this compares to other non-Disney animation from around that era. I reviewed The Land Before Time, another Bluth production, which I think actually manages that balance of darkness and accessibility a fair bit more successfully. NIMH is the more ambitious film, arguably the more artistically interesting one, but it comes at a cost. The tonal friction is real, and no amount of stunning artwork entirely smooths it over.
What it does achieve, though, is a kind of cult legitimacy that feels completely earned. This isn't a film that stumbled into its reputation. It's dark because it means to be dark. It's dense because Bluth wasn't willing to talk down to his audience, even if that audience occasionally needed a bit more of a hand. There's something genuinely admirable in that stubbornness, even when it works against the film's own accessibility.
Three stars. A visual triumph with a real identity problem at its heart. Worth every minute for what Bluth puts on the screen, but just a touch mismatched in a way that stops it from being the all-time classic it nearly is.
Rating: ★★★ | Year: 1982 | Watched: 2026-07-24
Where to watch
Watch in the UK
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