He’s not actually an octopus. Well, scientifically he is, but in the world of Finding Dory, Hank is a "septopus" because he lost a tentacle somewhere along the way. That’s the first thing you notice about Hank from the Dory movie. He’s damaged. He’s cranky. Honestly, he’s probably the most relatable character Pixar has ever sketched out because he just wants to be left alone in a glass box in Cleveland.
People often forget how much of a gamble Hank was for the studio. Usually, sidekicks are there to be cute or sell plushies. Hank? He’s a cynical escape artist who treats a wide-eyed regal blue tang like a nuisance he has to tolerate to get his hands—or suckers—on a transit tag. It works because it’s a classic "odd couple" dynamic, but the layer of craftsmanship underneath that grumpy exterior is what actually makes him a landmark in animation history.
📖 Related: Why Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas Still Matters
The Impossible Engineering of a Septopus
When Andrew Stanton and the team at Pixar started conceptualizing Hank from the Dory movie, they hit a wall almost immediately. An octopus has no bones. It’s essentially a bag of muscle that can squeeze through a hole the size of its beak. In the world of 3D animation, that’s a nightmare. Most characters have a "rig"—a digital skeleton that tells the software how the skin should move. How do you rig something that is constantly changing shape, stretching, and camouflaging?
It took years. Seriously.
The technical directors had to invent entirely new ways to simulate flesh. They couldn't just use the old tricks from Finding Nemo. If you look closely at Hank’s skin, you’ll see thousands of tiny bumps called papillae. In real life, mimic octopuses use these to change their texture to match rocks or coral. Pixar’s software, Presto, had to be pushed to its absolute limit to make sure that when Hank touched a surface, his skin didn't just clip through it but reacted to it. It’s one of those things you don't consciously notice while watching Dory try to find her parents, but your brain picks up on the realism. It makes the stakes feel higher.
Why We Root for a Grumpy Misanthrope
Why do we love him? It’s Ed O'Neill's voice, partly. There’s a certain gravelly exhaustion in his delivery that screams "I’ve seen too much." But it’s also the motivation. Hank isn't a villain. He’s just someone who has been hurt by the ocean and thinks the only way to be safe is to be isolated.
Most of us have felt that.
The dynamic between Dory’s toxic positivity (which we later learn is a coping mechanism for her short-term memory loss) and Hank’s hardened realism creates the emotional spine of the film. He starts the movie wanting a ticket to the Cleveland aquarium so he can live in a controlled environment without the unpredictability of the wild. By the end, he’s driving a truck into the ocean. That's a massive character arc for a guy who spent the first act hiding in a sink.
The writers were very careful not to make him "too nice" too quickly. If he had turned into a softie in the second scene, the movie would have felt cheap. Instead, his loyalty is earned through shared trauma. He sees Dory’s vulnerability and, despite himself, feels a protective instinct. It’s the "Grumpy Guy adopts a chaotic child" trope, and it hits every single time.
The Secret Physics of Camouflage
The camouflage scenes are where the animators really showed off. There’s a specific moment in the Marine Life Institute where Hank from the Dory movie blends into a wall covered in children's stickers. It’s a visual gag, but the math behind it is staggering.
- They had to map the lighting of the room.
- They had to calculate how light reflects off the specific texture of the stickers.
- They had to animate the transition of pigment within Hank’s "cells" (chromatophores).
According to behind-the-scenes data from Pixar’s "The Art of Finding Dory," the character of Hank took twice as long to develop as Dory herself did for the original film. Each tentacle had to be animated independently, often requiring multiple animators to work on a single shot just to ensure the movement looked fluid and cephalopod-like rather than rubbery.
👉 See also: Why Everyone Is Searching for Get Em Glo Lyrics and the Story Behind the High-Octane Anthem
Realism vs. Cartoons
If you look at a real mimic octopus (Thaumoctopus mimicus), they are hauntingly intelligent. They can impersonate lionfish, sea snakes, and flatfish. Pixar took this biological reality and turned it into a superpower. But they stayed grounded. Hank can’t turn into a car or a person; he can only look like what he’s touching. This limitation is what makes his escape sequences so tense. When he’s hanging from the ceiling disguised as a pipe, you’re holding your breath because you know he’s one slip away from being spotted by a toddler with sticky hands.
A Legacy Beyond the Marine Life Institute
It’s been a while since the movie came out, but Hank’s influence on the industry persists. He set a new standard for "secondary" characters. He isn't just there to facilitate Dory’s journey; he has a valid philosophy that is challenged and changed.
The "Cleveland" dream is a metaphor for the comfort zone. We all have a "Cleveland." It’s that place where nothing can hurt us because nothing ever happens. Hank’s realization that a life without risk is a life without connection is the real lesson of the film. It’s not just "just keep swimming." It’s "it’s okay to let people in, even if the water is murky."
Where Hank Stands in the Pixar Pantheon
Is he as iconic as Woody or Buzz? Maybe not to the general public. But among animation nerds and people who appreciate complex character writing, he’s top tier. He represents the bridge between the early 2000s era of "fun" Pixar and the modern era of "existential" Pixar.
- He’s physically complex (7 tentacles, thousands of suckers).
- He’s emotionally layered (trauma-informed isolationism).
- He’s functionally essential (without him, Dory never leaves the first tank).
What You Can Learn from Hank’s Design
If you’re a creator, an artist, or just a fan of storytelling, there’s a lot to take away from how this character was built.
First, constraints breed creativity. Because Hank was missing a limb, the animators had to find ways for him to move that felt balanced yet slightly off-kilter. This "flaw" gave him more personality than a perfect eight-armed octopus ever would have had.
Second, the "Why" matters more than the "How." All the fancy camouflage tech in the world wouldn't matter if we didn't care about why he was hiding. He’s hiding because he’s scared. Once you establish that vulnerability, the audience is on his side forever.
To truly appreciate the depth of Hank from the Dory movie, try these steps next time you watch:
- Watch his movement specifically: Look at how his "elbows" (if you can call them that) move when he’s walking on land. It’s a mix of a cat and a tripod.
- Listen for the subtext: Pay attention to the moments where Ed O'Neill's voice cracks. It usually happens when Dory mentions family or home.
- Notice the texture shifts: When he moves from a metal surface to a tiled surface, watch his skin for three seconds. The subtle change in "reflectivity" is a masterclass in digital texturing.
The character is a reminder that even the most prickly individuals usually have a reason for their thorns. Or, in this case, their suckers. He’s a triumph of both engineering and empathy, proving that sometimes the best characters are the ones who start out wanting absolutely nothing to do with the plot.
If you're interested in the technical side of Pixar, looking into their Renderman software updates post-2016 will show you exactly how Hank changed the way water and skin are rendered in every movie that followed, from Toy Story 4 to Lightyear. He wasn't just a septopus; he was a catalyst for a whole new era of digital realism.