There’s plenty to be mad about in the year of our lord 2026. Wars are being waged, prices are skyrocketing, and a global slide toward totalitarianism is well underway, but politics are hardly the only waystation for modern anger. Fire and brimstone swirl just as readily around our entertainment, and while concerns over ethical depiction and censorship mostly rule the internet headlines, Coyote vs. Acme, the latest quasi-live action Looney Tunes flick, took an alternate route to its surrounding indignation. After decades of failed attempts to adapt Ian Frazier’s satirical The New Yorker article for the big screen, Warner Brothers finally had a finished product on their hands near the middle of 2022… and announced its banishment less than a year later. In an effort to cut their presumed losses, the studio looked to claim a 30 million dollar tax write off (on a production that had cost them north of 70) rather than release the movie, following the cynical playbook that had just befallen the still-unseen Batgirl and Scoob! Holiday Haunt. There was just one problem; people had already seen the movie.

And the word-of-mouth, however mysterious in its origins, was outstanding. The whispers cited uproarious slap stick, a surprising emotional core, and a gem of a screenplay by Samy Burch, who was mere months away from scoring an Oscar nomination for her majesticly naughty May December script. Immediately awash in online backlash, WB reversed their decision and started shopping the film to fellow distributors, though all offers proved too unappealing until Ketchup Entertainment shelled out a cool 50 million for the rights in early 2025. It’s an eye-popping number given the franchise’s ever-diminishing fiscal returns, an overpay that the big wigs at Ketchup hoped to justify by leveraging audience vitriol against the film’s original stewards. A trailer that not-so-subtly likens Warners to Acme, the monolithic, unfeeling corporation that serves as the movie’s antagonist, was just the cherry on top of the sundae; folks were already trained to think of their ticket purchase as a middle finger to the man, creating an alternate reality where a century-old cultural institution could cosplay as the little guy.

Granted, it’s not like the eponymous desert dweller knows that his image has proliferated over lunchboxes, t-shirts, and Saturday morning cartoons. His lone concern is the capture and consumption of that damned Roadrunner, and director Dave Green’s film meets him at a breaking point. While adding yet more failed consumerist products to his growing collection, Wile E. Coyote, as the government knows him, chances upon a televised commercial for Avery, Jones & Maltese, a personal injury law firm that specializes in small payouts for cartoons to whom the Acme corporation has sold a bill of false goods. Heading straight for Albuquerque, our wordless protagonist is soon represented by Kevin Avery (Will Forte), a (cheap) suit who’s inclined to settle any and all grievances for a quick buck. He’s got no interest in fighting the monied overlords in earnest, but a claim filed behind his back leaves him no choice but to exchange legal blows with ace lawyer and former schoolmate Buddy Crane (John Cena). It’s an uphill battle, to be certain, but their research soon unearths a cover-up that’s been ongoing for generations.

Would you believe that the monopoly-seeking manufacturers behind most of our creature comforts don’t actually have your best interests in mind? Perhaps the information will be new to those in the movie’s initial, elementary-aged target demographic, but for the older viewers who have taken on Coyote vs. Acme as a hobby horse, the film’s premise isn’t exactly revelatory. If the surface-level commentary had anything to do with WB’s opting to bury the thing, the choice was woefully misguided; Burch’s writings stop well short of anything incisive, and have Amazon more clearly in their crosshairs anyway. It’s probably not as nefarious as all that, but the fraught backstory of this one does give the events on screen a veneer of importance that wouldn’t have existed otherwise. For the most part, it’s a standard David tale, told, as always, by Goliath.

No one needs a mute, handdrawn Brush Wolf to pantomime truth to power, but the familiar architecture of common-mammal-in-the-court-of-law strips the movie of narrative thrust. You know precisely where it’s going from the jump, and will likely be able to predict its adult-oriented reference points as well, which hop gleefully between A Few Good Men, The Insider, and Mr. Smith Goes to Washington. There’s fun, if not novelty, to be had in refashioning righteous fury and pot boiler legalese for the kiddos, especially when it comes with a hefty helping of violent tomfoolery. Acme excels at the stuff, creating one Rube Goldberg machine of malfunctioning chaos after another with the breathless imagination of a child at play, each interacting more seamlessly with the movie’s human players than the last. The integration is pretty dazzling, and provides a much-needed distraction from cinematographer Brandon Trost’s more ground-bound photography.

Because when the Tones aren’t on screen, Acme looks strangely glossy and intangible, a detachment that’s amplified by a sleepwalking Forte. This is not the kind of flick that requires method acting, but the SNL alum, who has plenty of experience playing to the cheap seats, is disappointingly aloof here, especially in contrast to the honey-baked ham that Cena is cooking up. He fully understands the assignment, which is more than can be said of editor Carsten Kurpanek, though you can hardly blame the guy. Some connective, cosmetic tissue is clearly missing from the theatrical release, an intermittent distraction that may ultimately prove endearing to the keyboard warriors who forced the flick into the light of day. It might not be in its ideal form, but love and passion have a way of smoothing over some pockmarks.

Which brings us to the Coyote vs. Acme’s greatest, most affecting feat, and the behind-the-scenes metaphor that it unwittingly creates. For all the maneuvering and paperwork and public image maintenance that both Kevin and Buddy obsess over, Wile E. only has eyes for that bird, and the feeling is mutual. The chase is affirming to both pursuer and pursuant, a point that Burch lands with shocking gravity given all the cartoon mania that precedes it. There might even be some misty eyes in the crowd, which makes sense in light of how neatly that melee between frienemies maps onto the experience of the movie’s champions. Interest in Coyote vs. Acme might have grown from a place of frustration, but the work has paid off, and it’s finally here. Those who worked tirelessly in the digital trenches have only a decent movie to show for their efforts, but sometimes the hunt itself is worthy of the resultant sweat. After all, everyone’s gotta be mad about something.