There’s something almost subversive about a feature-length indie animation like Boys Go To Jupiter even existing. In a year filled with towering CG spectacles, legacy studio sequels, and animation that's often pushed through IP-fueled pipelines, Julian Glander’s lo-fi, lovingly bizarre coming-of-age story feels like a message in a bottle - written in deep multi-colored ink, sent from a dilapidated Floridian strip mall, and dropped into a vat of Sunny D. And it absolutely rules.

Originally premiering at the 2024 Tribeca Film Festival, Boys Go To Jupiter has taken the long route to release, hitting dozens of festivals worldwide before finally reaching wider audiences. It’s the kind of singular, handmade work that wears its strange little heart on its sleeve - or, more accurately, on a faded t-shirt from a now-defunct juice brand. Animated entirely in Blender after years of production, the film is a testament to the kind of deeply personal, community-supported projects that feel increasingly rare in modern animation. And thankfully, the final result is one of the year’s most charming, melancholy, and sneakily resonant stories - about capitalism, self-worth, and the crushing weirdness of being a teenager in suburban Florida.

We open on a Dionne Warwick quote - “Weeks turn into years, how quick they pass, and all the stars that never were, are parking cars and pumping gas” - immediately signaling the type of wistful, cosmic Americana that Glander is playing with. From there, it’s winter break in the Sunshine State, and the humid air feels thick with post-holiday inertia. Our hero (of sorts) is Billy 5000 (Jack Corbett), a 16-year-old dropout who’s part time delivery driver, part time beach bum, and full-time member of the Mr. Moolah (Demi Adejuyigbe) grindset cult. His goal: make $5,000 on the Grubster app before New Year’s Eve. Why? Because, as Billy says, “I get to be my own boss. I get mad tips. It’s tight.”

Voiced with effortless dry humor by NPR’s Jack Corbett, Billy is a spiritual cousin to Napoleon Dynamite or Ghost World’s Enid - a teen drifting through post-Christmas malaise with equal parts awkwardness and surprising depth. Billy’s journey quickly veers off-course when one of his deliveries leads him to Rozebud (Miya Folick), a former math class crush and the heiress to a massive orange juice empire. Soon after, a strange alien named Donut (think: if a rubber duck and a tamagotchi had a child) ends up in his delivery backpack. Cue government conspiracies, juice company secrets, and the kind of fantastical detours that only a film like this could deliver with such breezy sincerity.

The title Boys Go To Jupiter is an obvious nod to the old schoolyard chant (“to get more stupider”), but it also speaks to the film’s layered view of adolescence - silly and sincere, dumb and profound, all at once. Billy’s race against time to earn his money becomes a kind of spiritual hustle: a daily grind through a technicolor Florida full of religious neighbors warning about hellfire, hot dog vendors waxing poetic, and old ladies mistaking golf balls for chicken eggs. It’s a parade of oddballs that never overstays its welcome, largely thanks to Glander’s impeccable comedic timing and a stacked voice cast that includes Janeane Garofalo as the menacing (and possibly part-dolphin) CEO Dr. Dolphin, Joe Pera as a lonely minigolf attendant, Grace Kuhlenschmidt as the shirtless, chaotic Freckles, and Elsie Fisher as Beatbox, a beatboxing prodigy with impeccable deadpan delivery.

The film’s aesthetic is a perfect match for its offbeat tone: low-poly character models, flat textures, and pastel lighting that makes everything feel like a vaporwave daydream. But there’s intentionality in the design - this isn’t bargain bin animation, it’s a thoughtful and self-aware style that leans into its simplicity to focus more on atmosphere, expression, and world-building. It feels both like a relic and like something completely new, equal parts ART SQOOL and The Florida Project.

What’s most impressive, though, is how much Boys Go To Jupiter manages to say beneath the layers of lo-fi comedy. Billy may talk like a slacker, but he’s constantly sleep-deprived, burned out, and living under the crushing weight of economic desperation. His nickname, “Billy 5000,” comes from his reputation as a human calculator - a subtle acknowledgement to his hidden intelligence that’s been buried under capitalism’s demand for constant hustle. He tunes in every day to an AI influencer called Mr. Moolah, whose self-help platitudes feel ripped from any number of real-world grindset YouTube channels. “Sleep is for rich people,” Billy tells his friends, bleary-eyed and running on fumes. Same, Billy. Same.

The musical numbers, which Glander describes as “fuzzy shoegaze bedroom pop,” give the film another layer of emotion and introspection. Far from feeling like detours, these dreamy interludes tap directly into Billy’s thoughts and the film’s themes of confusion, yearning, and the tension between joy and obligation. Miya Folick’s “Winter Citrus” is the standout - a semi-Christmas ballad that floats over a key emotional scene with quiet heartbreak. Glander reportedly loved it so much, he used it twice. It’s hard to blame him.

Throughout the film, the contrast between Billy and Rozebud becomes a quietly effective exploration of class and identity. While she plays at rejecting her privileged upbringing by embracing slacker culture, Billy is stuck in it by necessity. He needs money to survive, to escape, to build something. She just needs a new aesthetic. But their chemistry is sweet, sincere, and often hilarious - particularly when Rozebud asks Billy if he’s into “freak jazz.” “I don’t know,” he shrugs. “If you were into freak jazz, you would know,” she deadpans, as freak jazz begins to play in the background. That’s peak comedy.

Glander, a self-taught animator whose work spans video games (ART SQOOL), comics, illustration, and short films, has made something that feels like the culmination of all those disciplines. There’s a bit of everything here - comedic timing honed through illustration, worldbuilding from game design, storytelling shorthand from comics - but it’s all filtered through his unique voice and vision. You can feel how personal this film is, from the lovingly rendered digital swamps of Florida to the specific flavor of existential dread that only a 16-year-old running food deliveries on a hoverboard can feel.

If there’s one flaw, it’s in the film’s pacing. Some stretches sag a bit, especially in the middle, where the plot becomes more about vibes than forward momentum. But even in its slower moments, Boys Go To Jupiter remains visually and emotionally engaging, thanks to its eccentric world and rock-solid tone. And by the time the film reaches its heartfelt finale, it’s hard not to feel that same warm, wistful glow that fuels the best coming-of-age stories.

With Boys Go To Jupiter, Julian Glander hasn’t just made one of the year’s best animated films -  he’s created something that feels like an extremely modern cult classic. Equal parts weird, wise, funny, and sweet, it’s a pastel-colored postcard from the suburbs of the soul. In the spirit of Miranda July, Glander blends absurdist comedy, lo-fi beauty, and deeply human questions about value, work, and self-worth - then adds a cute alien for good measure. It’s a strange ride, but one that’s well worth taking.

'Boys Go to Jupiter' opens in select theaters August 8th before a wider release August 15th.