George Miller is a madman. I mean that in the best way possible. Most people remember Babe (1995) as this cute, pastoral, Oscar-nominated film about a talking pig who thinks he’s a sheepdog. It was gentle. It was sweet. Then, three years later, Miller dropped Babe in the City, and honestly, it felt like he invited us to a tea party and then spiked the punch with pure adrenaline and existential dread.
It flopped. Hard.
The movie cost around $90 million—a massive sum in 1998—and barely clawed back $18 million domestically during its initial run. Critics didn’t know what to do with it. Parents were horrified. Kids were, frankly, a little traumatized by the sight of a bull terrier nearly drowning while a pink piglet watched in terror. But here’s the thing: time has been incredibly kind to this movie. If you go back and watch it now, you realize it isn't just a "sequel." It’s a masterpiece of production design and a deeply weird meditation on kindness in a cruel world.
The Total Shift in Tone
The first movie was green. It was rolling hills and sunlight. Babe in the City is orange, teal, and charcoal. It’s a literal fever dream. After Farmer Hoggett (played by the legendary James Cromwell) gets injured in a freak well accident, the farm falls into financial ruin. Mrs. Hoggett—who is the real hero of this story, let’s be real—has to take Babe to the city to make some quick cash via a personal appearance.
They end up stranded in a metropolis that doesn't exist on any map. It's a "city of all cities." You see the Eiffel Tower, the Statue of Liberty, and the Sydney Opera House all sharing the same skyline. It's claustrophobic. It’s weirdly beautiful.
Most sequels just repeat the first movie’s beats. Miller did the opposite. He took the innocence of the farm and threw it into a chaotic, Dickensian nightmare filled with captive monkeys, singing mice, and a very depressed orangutan named Thelonius who wears clothes. It's jarring. You expect Charlotte’s Web and you get Metropolis with farm animals.
Why Critics Like Gene Siskel Fought for This Film
While the general public stayed away, the heavy hitters in film criticism were obsessed. The late Gene Siskel famously named it his best film of 1998. Think about that for a second. In a year that gave us Saving Private Ryan and The Thin Red Line, a movie about a talking pig was Siskel's top pick.
He saw what a lot of people missed: the craft.
The animatronics and animal training in Babe in the City are still, to this day, better than most modern CGI. There is a weight to the characters. When the pit bull gets stuck under the bridge, the tension is palpable because you’re looking at a physical creature, not a bunch of pixels rendered in a cubicle. The legendary Roger Ebert also gave it a glowing review, noting that it was more ambitious than the original. It’s a film that respects children enough to show them that the world can be scary, but that "a kind and steady heart" (the movie's recurring mantra) actually matters.
The Dark Underbelly of the "City"
Let’s talk about the hotel. The Flealands Hotel is basically a sanctuary for "illegal" animals. It's run by a family of clowns, and it’s where the movie really finds its soul. This is where we meet the chimps.
The chimps are heartbreaking. They’re performers, tired and cynical. They represent the loss of innocence. When Babe arrives, he’s a "naïve" country bumpkin, and the city animals treat him with the same bitterness that a jaded New Yorker might treat a tourist. But the narrative doesn't stay dark. The beauty of the script—co-written by Miller, Judy Morris, and Mark Lamprell—is that Babe’s relentless politeness eventually breaks down the walls of the city’s most hardened inhabitants.
It’s a story about the power of being unironically nice. In a 90s landscape dominated by "attitude" and "edge," Babe in the City was radically sincere.
The Visual Language of George Miller
You can see the DNA of Mad Max: Fury Road in this movie. Seriously. The way the camera moves, the frantic energy of the chase scenes, and the way Miller uses "visual storytelling" over dialogue is all there.
- The Color Palette: Use of high-contrast lighting to signify danger.
- The Scale: Building massive sets instead of relying on green screens.
- The Pacing: It’s relentless. Once they hit the city, the movie doesn't breathe until the very end.
The scene where the dogs chase Babe through the city streets is filmed like a high-stakes action thriller. It’s chaotic. It’s brilliantly choreographed. It’s George Miller in his element, treating a pig's journey with the same cinematic gravity as a post-apocalyptic car chase.
Real-World Impact and Legacy
The failure of this movie at the box office actually changed the trajectory of Universal Pictures at the time. It was a huge financial blow. But creatively? It’s a benchmark.
Modern filmmakers like Guillermo del Toro have cited it as an influence. It’s a "handmade" movie. Every frame feels like it was labored over by an artist. When you compare it to the "factory-made" feel of many modern family films, the difference is staggering. It doesn't talk down to kids. It assumes they can handle complex emotions like grief, fear, and the feeling of being an outsider.
Also, we have to mention the soundtrack. Nigel Westlake’s score is sweeping and operatic. It elevates the stakes. It makes the "City" feel like a character in its own right—monstrous but capable of wonder.
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Common Misconceptions About the Movie
People often say this movie is "too dark for kids." I think that's a bit of a projection. Kids usually handle the tension fine; it's the parents who get uncomfortable.
Another myth is that it "ruined the franchise." There was no franchise to ruin. The first movie was a lightning-in-a-bottle moment. The second was an auteur taking a massive risk. If anything, Babe in the City ensured that the story ended on a high artistic note rather than just becoming a string of cheap, direct-to-video sequels.
The "scary" scenes—like the dog in the water—are purposeful. They serve the theme. Without the threat of the city, Babe's eventual triumph and his ability to bring the animals together wouldn't mean anything. You need the shadows to appreciate the light.
How to Appreciate It Today
If you haven’t seen it since 1998, or if you skipped it because of the bad word-of-mouth back then, go back to it. Watch it on a decent screen.
Look at the production design. Look at the way the mice act as a Greek chorus, commenting on the action with a mix of humor and tragedy. Notice the costumes on the chimps—they’re not just clothes; they’re symbols of their domesticity and loss of their wild nature.
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It’s a dense movie. You’ll catch things on a third or fourth viewing that you missed the first time. It’s one of the few "family films" that actually rewards deep analysis.
Practical Steps for Your Watchlist:
- Watch the Original First: Remind yourself of the stakes. The contrast makes the sequel's "city" feel even more overwhelming.
- Look for the Miller-isms: If you’re a fan of Mad Max, try to spot the "kinetic" editing style Miller is famous for.
- Check the Credits: Look at the names involved in the creature shop. It’s a masterclass in puppetry and practical effects.
- Listen to the Lyrics: The songs, including the Oscar-nominated "That'll Do" performed by Peter Gabriel, actually move the plot forward. They aren't just filler.
Babe in the City isn't just a movie about a pig. It’s a movie about what happens when innocence meets the machine of the modern world. It’s weird, it’s bold, and it’s one of the most visually stunning films of the 90s. Give it the second chance it deserves.