‘Sketch’ review: crayons, grief, and the monsters that plague us

Wearing its heart on its sleeve, and offering a tender, intentional message about grief without ever becoming preachy, Seth Worley’s Sketch is a rare gem that hits the ever-elusive sweet spot between allegory and fantasy. In a cinematic landscape crowded with more than enough “too clever for their own good” metaphors, Sketch shines by keeping things simple and sincere. Worley trusts his audience to understand that healing begins with confronting the things we’re most afraid to admit, no matter how old we are.

At the heart of the story is 10-year-old Amber (portrayed with refreshing sincerity by Bianca Belle), a young girl quietly mourning the loss of her mother. Rather than lashing out, Amber retreats into herself, pouring her grief and imagination into a secret sketchbook filled with strange creatures — some playful, others haunting. But when her drawings accidentally find their way into the real world, her inner demons begin to run amok.

The brilliance of Sketch lies in its balance. It’s inventive and playful, never shying away from silly monster antics. But it’s also deeply emotional. Amber’s creations aren’t just random horrors; they represent sadness, rage, guilt, and the inner chaos that comes with losing a parent. At the heart of the story is a sharp truth: the scariest monsters are often the ones we draw from within.

The result is a well-crafted film that feels deeply personal. Maybe it’s the childlike logic that drives the plot, or the beautifully messy relationship between Amber and her older brother Jack (Kue Lawrence), or the way their grieving dad (Tony Hale, in arguably his best role to date) tries so hard to keep his family together. The film doesn’t sensationalize grief — it simply allows it to exist. And in doing so, it shows how families dealing with immense trauma can come back from the brink and slowly stitch themselves back together.

Visually, Sketch is a treat. The monsters retain their hand-drawn charm even in full CGI motion, and there is an unmistakable joy in how the film brings Amber’s imagination to life (think The Babadook if it were made by the creators of Jumanji and Harold and the Purple Crayon). And yet, despite all the colour and chaos, the emotional core never fades.

In the end, what makes the journey so special is that this film doesn’t pretend to have all the answers. It doesn’t promise that grief disappears, or that sadness can be erased. Instead, it reminds us that facing the parts of ourselves we fear the most is how we begin to heal. That, sometimes, drawing our demons out into the open is the first step towards defeating them.