It’s been over fifteen years since a small Irish studio called Cartoon Saloon basically crashed the Oscars and changed animation forever. Before 2009, if you weren't Disney, Pixar, or DreamWorks, you barely existed in the eyes of the Academy. Then came The Secret of Kells. It was this flat, swirling, wildly colorful masterpiece that looked more like a moving stained-glass window than a traditional cartoon. Honestly, it shouldn't have worked. It was a movie about a bunch of monks in the 9th century trying to finish a book while Vikings threatened to murder everyone. Not exactly Shrek.
But it did work. It worked so well that it launched a "Folklore Trilogy" and turned director Tomm Moore into a household name for animation nerds. People still talk about the visual style, but the real secret of why this movie sticks with you is how it balances genuine historical terror with a sort of cosmic, ancient magic.
The Book of Kells Isn't Just a Prop
You can’t talk about the movie without talking about the real Book of Kells. It’s sitting in Trinity College Dublin right now. It’s an illuminated manuscript of the four Gospels, and it is arguably the most famous piece of medieval art in the world.
The movie treats the book like a holy relic, but for the monks of the Abbey of Kells, it was a defiant act of creation in a world that was literally burning down. The Vikings—or "Northmen" as the movie calls them—weren't just a plot device. They were a constant, looming threat of extinction. The film captures this tension perfectly. On one hand, you have Abbot Cellach, who is obsessed with building a wall to keep the invaders out. On the other, you have young Brendan and the master illuminator Brother Aidan, who believe that the beauty of the book is the only thing that will actually survive the darkness.
It’s a heavy theme for a "kids' movie."
Most animated films from that era were leaning hard into 3D CGI. Everything was about depth, realism, and fur textures. The Secret of Kells went the opposite direction. It leaned into "flat" design. Moore and his team looked at the actual art from the 9th century and thought, What if we made the movie look like the book? This meant no perspective. No shadows in the traditional sense. Just layers of intricate, swirling patterns that feel alive.
Why the Forest of Pangur Bán Matters
One of the most striking parts of the movie is the relationship between Brendan and Aisling. She’s a forest spirit, a "sidhe" from Irish mythology. She isn't a Disney princess. She’s dangerous, ancient, and kinda grumpy.
Her name comes from the aisling—a poetic genre in Irish literature where a poet receives a vision of a woman who represents the land of Ireland. It’s deeply rooted in history. And then there’s the cat, Pangur Bán. If you were a literature student, you might recognize that name. It comes from an 8th-century poem written by a monk about his white cat.
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"I and Pangur Bán my cat, / 'Tis a like task we are at: / Hunting mice is his delight, / Hunting words I sit all night."
The movie pulls these real threads of Irish heritage and weaves them into a story that feels like a fever dream. When Brendan enters the forest to find gall nuts for ink, the art style shifts. The rigid, square lines of the Abbey give way to circles and fluid shapes. It’s a visual representation of the conflict between the structured, fearful world of the church and the chaotic, magical world of nature.
The Brutality of the Viking Raid
Let's be real: the Viking attack in this movie is terrifying.
There are no faces on the Northmen. They are depicted as black, angular shadows with glowing red eyes. They don't have personalities; they are just a force of nature. The scene where they finally breach the walls of Kells is a masterclass in tension. The score by Bruno Coulais, mixed with the traditional Irish sounds of Kíla, becomes discordant and loud.
It’s one of the few animated films that actually portrays the tragedy of the Viking Age. They weren't just "explorers"; they destroyed centers of learning. By showing the destruction of the Abbey, the film raises the stakes for the Book. If the monks die, the knowledge dies. If the Book is lost, a piece of human soul is lost.
I think that's why it resonates so much with adults. We all have "books" we're trying to finish while the metaphorical "Vikings" of the world try to stop us. It's a story about the endurance of art.
Breaking Down the Visual Language
- The Abbey: Harsh lines, squares, greys, and browns. It represents safety but also a sort of prison of fear.
- The Forest: Spirals, greens, infinite detail. It represents the "Old World" and the source of inspiration.
- Crom Cruach: The ancient deity Brendan has to face. He's depicted as a giant, geometric serpent. It’s a complete departure from the rest of the film’s art, looking almost digital and alien.
Moore has often said that the design of Crom Cruach was inspired by the fact that the early Christians in Ireland didn't just replace the old pagan gods; they incorporated them. The struggle between Brendan and the serpent is the struggle to turn darkness into light—or in this case, to turn a monster's eye into a magnifying lens (the Eye of Colm Cille) to finish the book.
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The Legacy of Cartoon Saloon
Before The Secret of Kells, Ireland didn't really have an animation industry that the world cared about. This movie changed that. It proved that you could make a "hand-drawn" film in the 21st century and still be relevant.
It led to Song of the Sea and Wolfwalkers. If you watch those movies, you can see the DNA of Kells everywhere. The way they use symmetry, the way they use color to tell you how a character feels—it all started here. They call it the "Irish Folklore Trilogy," and while the later movies might have more polished storytelling, Kells has a raw, experimental energy that the others don't.
It feels like a secret.
Whenever I show this movie to someone who has only seen Pixar films, their first reaction is usually "What is happening?" followed quickly by "This is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." It requires a different way of looking. You have to stop looking for "realism" and start looking for "meaning."
The Real Secret
So, what is the "secret" actually?
In the film, the secret is the "Book of Iona" (which becomes the Book of Kells). But on a deeper level, the secret is that art is a form of survival. The Abbot thinks walls keep people alive. Brendan knows that stories keep people human.
When the Vikings eventually burn the Abbey, the walls don't save anyone. But the Book survives. It gets carried away, finished in the woods, and passed down through generations. It becomes a beacon.
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That is the actual history of the real Book of Kells, too. It survived Viking raids, theft, and being buried in the ground. It’s a miracle it exists. The movie is a love letter to that miracle.
Actionable Insights for Animation Fans
If you want to truly appreciate the depth of this film, there are a few things you should actually do. Don't just watch it once and move on.
- Look at the Folio 292r: After watching, go online and look at a high-resolution scan of the real Book of Kells, specifically the "Incipit of Matthew." You will see the exact patterns—the "carpet pages"—that the animators used for the background art.
- Listen to the Soundtrack separately: Bruno Coulais is a genius. The track "Aisling's Song" is performed by a young girl named Christen Mooney, and it’s haunting. It uses a specific type of vocalization that feels ancient.
- Watch the "making of" featurettes: Most people skip these, but for Kells, it's vital. You get to see how they used traditional pen and ink and then layered it digitally. It wasn't just "drawn on a computer."
- Compare the "Eye" scene: When Brendan faces Crom Cruach, pay attention to the frame rate. It changes. It becomes more strobe-like. This was an intentional choice to make the monster feel like it didn't belong in the 2D world of the monks.
The Secret of Kells isn't just a movie for kids. It's a reminder that even when things are falling apart, creating something beautiful is a radical, necessary act. If you're tired of the same old CGI formula, this is the antidote. It’s short, it’s intense, and it will stay in your head for years.
Honestly, it’s just a vibe. A very, very old, very beautiful vibe.
The film stands as a testament to the idea that culture is what we carry with us when everything else is lost. Whether you're interested in the history of the 9th century, the technical aspects of 2D animation, or just a good story about a kid and a forest spirit, it delivers. It doesn't over-explain itself. It just exists, much like the manuscript that inspired it, as a piece of art that refuses to be forgotten.
Make sure you watch it on the biggest screen possible. The level of detail in the "gall nut" sequence alone is enough to justify the price of a high-def rental. You’ll see things in the corners of the frames that you missed the first time—little hidden animals, tiny knots of ivy, and symbols that hint at a much larger world than the one we see on screen. It’s a movie that rewards your attention.