The original “Zootopia” was a minor miracle. Here was a Disney animated film that took themes of race and prejudice and managed to make a sensitive-to-all-sides tale, anthropomorphize it and, as a bonus, sneak in a Department of Motor Vehicles sloth gag that the DMV is still wincing from.

A sequel coming almost a decade later, “Zootopia 2” isn’t as good. It’s a more timid and tame movie that leans largely on the (still winning) duo of Judy Hopps (Ginnifer Goodwin) and the small-time hustler fox Nick Wilde ( Jason Bateman ). Both are now out-to-prove-themselves rookies on the police force, nicknamed “the fuzz.”

Nobody would call the original “Zootopia” an especially biting satire. But, still, the sequel is a little toothless — not just Nick’s move from con man to cop but throughout the metropolis. Nick’s baby-posing partner in crime, the fennec fox Finnick (Tommy Lister Jr., who died in 2020), is only briefly seen. Missing entirely is anyone like Tommy Chong’s nudist stoner yak. A hint of gentrification, you might say, has swept over Zootopia.

So “Zootopia 2,” directed by Jared Bush and Byron Howard (both veterans from the first film), is, like many long-in-coming sequels, a slightly watered down version of what came before. But the central relationship of Judy and Nick, a team-up with some echoes of “48 Hours,” remains a compelling one, and the primary reason that “Zootopia 2” will be plenty satisfying to families seeking more cartoony lions and tigers and bears (oh my) this November. It looks great, it’s mildly funny and animal cities are fun.

That’s particularly because of Bateman’s fox. For an actor with a long list of credits, it might sound odd to say, but Nick Wilde is Bateman’s best movie role. A sly, sarcastic but secretly sweet canine in a loose tie is so squarely in Bateman’s wheelhouse. No one can better draw out a line about making a rug from the fur off a skunk’s butt, and I mean that as a high compliment.

Out to prove themselves as detectives, Judy and Nick cause widespread damage through the city chasing a criminal, leading Idris Elba’s surly cape buffalo Police Chief Bogo to order them into a therapy session for dysfunctional partners. (Other members include an elephant and mouse duo.)

Acknowledging and talking through differences is the running theme, which dovetails with a plot that goes to the roots of Zootopia. Snakes, we learn, aren’t allowed in the city. As Zootopia prepares for its centennial celebration, Judy uncovers some clues that suggest a snake infiltration. But when one turns up (a cloying Ke Huy Quan as Gary De’Snake), Judy and Nick realize that snakes aren’t so bad.

They follow a deepening conspiracy to keep out snakes that goes back to the founding of Zootopia, “Chinatown”-like. A family of Lynxes, the Lynxleys, has always taken ownership for the weather walls that divide the city into variously accommodating climates. But even one of their own, Pawbert Lynxley (Andy Samberg), suspects foul play — which, I’m sorry to report, doesn’t include a single fowl.

But there are, to be sure, plenty of puns (Gnu Jersey, Burning Mammal) to be found, as well as a “Shining” reference and a quick nod to “Ratatouille” (a sequel to which is also reportedly in development). In “Zootopia,” this stuff is like shooting fish in a barrel. Back is Shakira as a pop-star gazelle named … Gazelle. New characters include a beaver podcaster named Nibbles Maplestick (Fortune Feimster) and a long-maned stallion mayor (Patrick Warburton). Judy and Nick’s adventures take them to a New Orleans-like reptile-friendly enclave and a snowy Tundatown.

For a movie that was in so many ways about a country mouse (bunny) coming to the big city and finding endless varieties of wildlife, both upright and shady, the “Zootopia” sequel spends too much of its time away from its mammalian metropolis. Even Nick Wilde — no longer scheming, more in touch with his feelings — doesn’t feel quite so wild now. The fun caper spirit of the first movie is alive enough to carry Bush and Howard’s film, but you can’t help feel like sequel-ization also means domestication.

“Zootopia 2,” a Walt Disney Co. release, is rated PG by the Motion Picture Association for action/violence and rude humor. Running time: 108 minutes. Two and a half stars out of four.

It’s that time of year again. The time of year when you can’t walk into a multiplex or turn on your television (especially the Hallmark Channel) without encountering a movie determined to make you feel good about the holidays. It can all make you feel as Scrooge-like as washed-up Hollywood action movie star Brad Mac, the protagonist in Chris Foggin’s new addition to the overcrowded genre. It’s no spoiler to reveal that by the end of Tinsel Town (a cute punning title), Brad has learned to embrace the holiday, even if it means having to appear in a British pantomime show.

Brad is played by Kiefer Sutherland, displaying an admirable willingness to make fun of the fact that his days as Jack Bauer on 24 are long behind him (at least until the next reboot). In the best Scrooge tradition, Brad — a three-time Razzie Award nominee who at the story’s beginning is filming the seventh installment of his cheesy action movie series Killing Time — is an obnoxious blowhard who hits on his married co-star and refuses to do his own stunts.

He quickly gets his comeuppance when he’s informed that the studio has nixed future installments of the franchise and that he’s basically become unemployable because he’s too difficult. His beleaguered agent says the only job available is a theater role in England, so Brad reluctantly makes the trek across the pond.

Greeted by his cheerful driver Nigel (Mawaan Rizwan) and informed that they’re headed to the Savoy, Brad settles down for a nap in the car. When he wakes up, he discovers that he’s not in London but rather the small town of Stoneford, three hours away. He’s not staying at the famous Savoy Hotel, but rather the Savoy Guest House that’s currently without running water. And the role he’s about to take on is Buttons in a pantomime production of Cinderella.

Just a few minutes in, it’s obvious that Tinsel Town requires a significant suspension of disbelief. But if you’re in the right frame of mind, you’ll just go with it. Nearly everything that occurs next proves thoroughly predictable, from Brad’s outrage at his current predicament to his hostility toward the cast and crew working on the show to his disengaged relationship with his young daughter (Matilda Firth), who’s now living with her remarried mother (Alice Eve) in London.

Along the way, however, Foggin and his quartet of screenwriters deliver plenty of entertainment. It’s not surprising, considering that the director and several of the scribes were previously responsible for such similarly sweet British comedies as Bank of Dave and Fisherman’s Friends.

It also helps considerably that the cast includes more than a few ringers, including Rebel Wilson as Jill, the show’s choreographer; Derek Jacobi as the stage door manager who used to be a panto star himself; and stage legend and three-time Olivier Award winner Maria Friedman as the actress playing the Fairy Godmother. Jacobi in particular gets the chance to shine, with a poignant monologue in which his character talks tenderly about his deceased husband.

The plotting becomes needlessly complicated at times, such as with Jack becoming a local hero after foiling a burglary, and later disgracing himself with a drunken tirade at a Christmas tree lighting ceremony, which leads to him being arrested and put on trial. There are subplots involving Jill’s contentious relationship with her bullying ex-husband (Danny Dyer) and the burgeoning romance between the panto’s Prince Charming (Lucien Laviscount, Emily in Paris) and Cinderella (Savannah Lee Smith, Gossip Girl). By the time the film ends with a spirited ensemble rendition of Katy Perry’s “Roar,” you may feel as overstuffed as if you’d gorged at a Christmas banquet. 

There are plenty of amusing moments involving the colorful townspeople and the central character’s fish-out-of-water unease in his new situations. But Tinsel Town is most effective when concentrating on Brad’s inevitable heartwarming transformation from arrogant movie star to gleeful member of the panto’s hardworking ensemble, and his newfound maturity in terms of being a loving father to his daughter. Sutherland makes it all work, delivering a thoroughly winning performance that makes you buy into the overall hokum.

I first learned about Japan’s rent-a-family industry from a 2018 article in The New Yorker, then from Conan O’Brien’s late-night show on TBS that same year, and finally from Werner Herzog’s ponderous and unclassifiable docu-drama on the subject, Family Romance, LLC (2020). It’s a curious practice designed to counteract the stigmas around mental health in Japanese society, which have fueled a nationwide epidemic of loneliness and unresolved psychological hang-ups. The service allows users to hire an actor to portray a family member or friend to address an emotional need. For instance, a widower might hire an actress to play his late wife to tell her goodbye, or a woman who cannot have children might employ child actors to play her kids, giving her the experience of motherhood. The practice raises all sorts of questions about its ethical implications and emotional consequences, especially when deception is involved. That’s the hook of Rental Family, a drama starring Brendan Fraser, fresh off his Oscar win for The Whale (2023). It’s a movie whose schmaltz serves both the material’s sentimentality and cleverly comments on how pretense can produce a genuine response. 

This is the second feature-length film by Hikari, following her debut for Netflix, 37 Seconds (2019), which, alas, I have not seen. Co-written by Hikari and Stephen Blahut, the feel-good story follows Phillip (Fraser), an American actor who has worked and lived in Japan for seven years. Most famous for a well-known toothpaste commercial, he struggles to land more substantive roles. His latest gig entails attending a funeral as a “sad American,” which turns out to be a faux service for a man who wanted some perspective on life, staged by a company called Rental Family. The founder, Shinji (Takehiro Hira), offers Phillip more work because his company needs a “token white guy.” Phillip reluctantly agrees, understandably feeling strange about the whole thing. “You can’t just replace someone in your life,” he argues. The counterpoint is that transactional relationships and role-playing can produce real catharsis. 

After all, what are movies but staged stories that provide an actual emotional response, despite our awareness that they’re fictional? Hikari’s film raises valid questions about the ethics of using such a service. It compares the industry to sex work in a brief but tender subplot, and links the service to the emotional impact of mimetic art—both illusions that are designed to produce a real outcome. Hikari grapples with these ideas in a mawkish package, questioning the use of actors in situations of emotional fraud while recognizing that, when used ethically, even fictional family members can provide the company’s clients with the support and play-acting therapy they need. Though it may seem strange to North American eyes, it’s normal in Japan to suppress emotions to preserve the delicate yet all-important social decorum and harmony (having grown up in the land of Minnesota Nice, this was all too familiar to me), and the Rental Family service seems uniquely suited to this cultural demand. 

However, Rental Family becomes complicated when Phillip’s assignments require deception. His first major gig involves marrying a woman in a false ceremony. The woman, a lesbian who plans to move away with her wife, doesn’t want to come out to her parents. So she hires Rental Family to arrange a sham wedding in which she will marry Phillip for her parents’ benefit, then move away with her wife, leaving her parents happy and none the wiser. Maybe that’s a selfless choice for her parents’ benefit; maybe it’s a selfish choice, motivated by the fear of disappointment and confrontation. My first thought was this: What happens if the woman’s parents see Phillip in Japan after their daughter moves away? What if they recognize him from the popular toothpaste commercial? The screenwriters never have the characters ask these obvious questions upfront when Shinji hires Phillip, but quite predictably, they emerge as the story unfolds. 

Whereas Herzog’s film explored this industry as a form of therapy, where the client knowingly hires an actor to fill an emotional gap in their lives, the clients in Rental Family engage in a kind of fraud and emotional manipulation. Sure, Phillip works with at least one client who just wants a friend with whom he can play video games and visit erotica shows. But most of his services involve some level of deceit. The main story centers on a single mother, Hitoni (Shino Shinozaki), who hires Phillip to play her estranged husband and the father of her 11-year-old daughter, Mia (Shannon Mahina Gorman), to help the girl get into an exclusive school. However, Mia does not know that Phillip is not her father, and the subterfuge requires that they form a father-daughter bond that becomes authentic—tragically so, given that Hitoni cannot hire Phillip forever. “I’m messing with people’s lives,” worries Phillip, who soon becomes so attached to Mia that he turns down better acting work in Korea to avoid abandoning the child who sees him as a father. Another gig finds Phillip enlisted by an aging actor’s daughter to play a journalist so that the once-famous star will feel the spotlight again. The actor believes Phillip will write a new celebration of his work in a film magazine. What happens if the actor discovers the article will never come out? In both cases, Phillip’s role could lead to a later sense of betrayal worse than the problem he was initially hired to resolve.  

Rental Family plays like a soap opera at times. Hikari directs with a heavy hand, replete with glossy digital photography by d.p. Takurô Ishizaka and overwrought music by Jónsi and Alex Somers that punctuates every emotion with a cloying profundity. But the saccharine tone may echo the notes of make-believe at work in the story and industry, where an act proves just as effective as the real thing. Frasier’s performance just as broad. From his breakout role in Encino Man (1992) to The Mummy franchise, Fraser has never been a subtle actor outside of a few roles (see Gods and Monsters, 1998). His living cartoon quality means he works well in Looney Tunes: Back in Action (2003), but his presence in dramas varies. Here, Fraser’s kind, sensitive, yet wounded face exudes every emotion; his gestures are grand and caricature-like next to his more restrained costars. And since much of the story is told through Phillip as an emotional focal point, there’s an unintended sense of othering at work, placing many Japanese characters and aspects of Japan’s culture in a cloud of mystery. This is a shame, as I found the restrained subplots involving Phillip’s coworkers—his boss Shinji and fellow actor Aiko (Mari Yamamoto)—to be the film’s most nuanced and compelling scenes. 

Even though much of Rental Family feels like a banal made-for-TV movie or pilot for a weekly dramedy, even the cheesiest programming can produce genuine feelings. Why else does the Hallmark Channel remain so popular? The film sets out to tug the viewer’s heartstrings, and I could feel the tugging from my seat. Sometimes, my gut reaction was to resist the pull. Other times, I couldn’t help but be moved. Hikari never delves too deeply into her characters’ internal lives, preferring shots of them pondering the cityscape or walking in deep contemplation. It can feel superficial. But that’s fitting, since her film is about how surfaces and performance can have legitimate emotional results. This is a thoughtful film that gave me pause and made me question the validity of staged emotions, performance, and simulation. I’m still having an inner debate about the degree to which these themes about the power of pretense influenced Hikari’s sometimes cornball aesthetic. But the feelings it produced in me were genuine, and I suppose that’s what matters most.