[7.8/10] Kermit the Frog has plummeted to his lowest point. He’s gathered a ragtag group of aspiring performers with a dream to hit it big in Hollywood. Only now they’ve broken down by the side of the road, with no way to make it in time for their big audition. They sit around the campfire, lamenting their rotten luck and looking to their fearless green leader for what to do next. All he can say to them is “I didn’t promise anybody anything.”

It’s a rare bit of sad sack blame-shifting from Kermit. More than forty years later, we know him as the put upon but persevering head of this crew of zany misfits, indefatigable in his cheerful spirit, optimism, and determination. So it stings to see him resign himself to failure, ready to give up and put it on all of his wayward friends for choosing to follow him. That isn’t what Kermit does, right?

But having been dealt a bad hand by fate, the frog wanders off and starts talking to his own conscience. That little voice inside him reminds him that the bear and the pig and the dog and the...whatever *did* choose to come, but not because they believed in him, but because they believed in the same dream. What started Kermit from his swamp was the chance to sing and dance and make people happy. He realizes by believing in that dream, he was making a promise to himself. The meek but motivated frog returns to his friends with his drive renewed, ready to chase that dream with them once again.

Oh yeah, and he’s a big piece of felt with ping pong balls from eyes.

Perhaps that’s churlish of me to say. Even the most widely acclaimed films are just still images strung together fast enough to create the illusion of motion. Orson Welles, who eventually grants Kermit and his friends the “standard rich and famous contract”, made his *Citizen Kane* on studio sets with matte paintings and miniatures. All of cinema is artifice. It should mean no more or less that the soul having a heart-to-heart with himself is essentially a deluxe sock puppet.

But therein lies the majesty of *The Muppet Movie*. It is a profoundly silly film, with assorted talking animals, a villainous frog leg restaurateur and pitchman, a roving gang of burnt out hippie rockers, a cackling over-the-top German scientist, and a karate-chopping pig. It features literal forks in the road, characters talking directly to the audience, and Kermit being rescued from the aforementioned predicament thanks to his acquaintances reading the film’s screenplay.

And yet, despite (or because of) its irreverence, despite the fact that its protagonists are made out of felt and foam rather than flesh and blood, there’s an earnest streak that runs through the film which cannot help but move you. In lesser hands than those of Jim Henson, Frank Oz, and so many other talented writers and performers, a gang of woodland creatures setting course for Hollywood and bonding over their dreams to delight audiences around the world could come off as cheesy. But somehow, amid furry stand-up comedians and the best Idaho wine you can buy for less than a dollar, coming from the Muppets you choose to believe it.

Part of that stems from the pure technical achievement of the movie. Henson and director James Frawley pushed the limits of puppeteering on film, sending Henson and company’s creations into the real world beyond the comfort and artifice of *The Muppet Show*’s standing sets. They ride bikes and drive cars, dance on stage and manage wild west showdowns. Henson himself descended into a diving bell to convincingly portray Kermit playing the banjo and singing “Rainbow Connection” in his swamp. It would be too much to call such a goofy movie realistic. But through Henson and his collaborators’ artistry, the puppets are convincingly a part of the real world, something that helps make their hopes and dreams feel real too.

It doesn’t hurt to have real stars either! The Muppet team pulls out all the stops. From classic comedy maestros like Bob Hope and Milton Berle; to then comedians du jour like Mel Brooks, Madeline Khan, and Richard Pryor; to performers who paved the way for the art like Edgar Bergen and his famed ventriloquist dummy, Charlie McCarthy, this thing is jam-packed with famous faces. Who knows how many favors Henson and his team called in to add some wattage for his creations’ big screen debut, but it worked, and they’re all primed and ready to ham it up with gusto! (No offense, Piggy.) There’s a sense of unpredictability to *The Muppet Movie*, where you’re never quite sure what absurd thing will happen in the next scene, or who’ll show up next, and it adds to the sheer delight of the movie.

The Muppet writers, performers, and creative team spare no lunacy in telling the tale of how their wacky collection of stars came together. The film's humor is wholesome enough to be ripe for all ages, but absurd and rib-tickling enough to please all comers. The jokes go broad, but never cheap, with fourth-wall breaking gags and an air of irreverent yuk-work that lets the humor fare well no matter the setting or muppet co-stars stealing focus in the moment.

That’s why it's so impressive when *The Muppet Movie* sticks the emotional landing amid so much (delightful) silliness. A would-be shootout with aspiring amphibian-amputator Doc Hopper ends with a giant Animal scaring off the attackers thanks to Dr. Honeydew and Beaker’s magic growth pills. But before this insanity goes down, Kermit makes an earnest plea to Hopper’s humanity, affirming the idea that sharing in the same dream to use their talents to brighten the lives of folks the world over makes these ragtag muppets into something like a family. When the little felt froggy scrunches up his face the strange sense of sincerity that comes from the combination of expressive green cloth and Jim Henson’s soft voice, it’s hard not to feel the truth of the sunny sentiment.

Maybe that’s because it is true. While it didn’t go down quite like this, Henson did make his own little family out of the performers who brought this movie, and the Muppets, to life. He gathered them one by one, united or cajoled into creating this profoundly whimsical art, until they too were a loopy but tight-knit group of brothers and sisters on- and off-stage. *The Muppet Movie* is, loosely, their story and also their great triumph.

At the end of the film, Kermit and company achieve their dream, arriving on the set of a big movie studio to produce their show within a show within a show. As usual, the efforts to put on a big production result in more craziness, explosions, and dysfunction. But amid the tumult (and the hole blasted in the ceiling), a rainbow shines through and beams down on the mass of handheld stars basking in their comical glory.

The Muppets sing of writing your own ending, encouraging those young and old to keep loving and keep dreaming. Those who brought these indelible characters to life certainly did, and inspired generations of the young and young at heart to do the same. It’s an incredible trick, to evoke such feeling and inspiration from candy-colored dolls pratfalling across the countryside and selling a brand of optimism that would feel cheesy from any other source. For Kermit, his friends, and his creator, it feels just right, and may be the finest example of cinematic magic you’ll see, on any side of the rainbow.