Strange Beast: The Tragedy of the Toons and Toontown in Coyote vs Acme
2 September 2026
In the wake of a long succession of origin stories based on studio intellectual properties that flip-reverse the hero-villain dynamic to eke out every last bit of audience cash at the box office (think Ursula, or the Joker), Coyote vs Acme (2026) avoids falling into the trap. Yes, the film is sympathetic to its eponymous coyote star, Wile E. But it’s critical of his obsessive machinations, and his desire to catch the Road Runner does not require explaining away—it’s a simple case of predator hunting prey. With its whip-smart visual and physical gags, Coyote refuses to get weighed down by any retroactive reimagining of Wile E.’s past.
Riffing on Erin Brockovich (2000) and any number of other legal dramas, Coyote revolves around Wile E.’s law suit against Acme. A fictional purveyor of joke products for toons, like dynamite and rocket roller-skates, Acme products often fail spectacularly when used, which result in laughter for the audience and pain or shame (or both) for the character. Realising there are only so many times that he can be blown up, fall out of the sky, or find himself naked of fur after using Acme goods, Wile E. responds to a television ad for a low-budget law firm. There, he hires flailing attorney Kevin (Will Forte), and the lawyer’s eager law-student niece Paige (Lana Condor), to fight his case against the corporate behemoth. According to the film, Acme’s economic and political power has grown exponentially since its toon-gag days thanks to its line of tech products for humans.
Riffing on Erin Brockovich (2000) and any number of other legal dramas, Coyote revolves around Wile E.’s law suit against Acme. A fictional purveyor of joke products for toons, like dynamite and rocket roller-skates, Acme products often fail spectacularly when used, which result in laughter for the audience and pain or shame (or both) for the character. Realising there are only so many times that he can be blown up, fall out of the sky, or find himself naked of fur after using Acme goods, Wile E. responds to a television ad for a low-budget law firm. There, he hires flailing attorney Kevin (Will Forte), and the lawyer’s eager law-student niece Paige (Lana Condor), to fight his case against the corporate behemoth. According to the film, Acme’s economic and political power has grown exponentially since its toon-gag days thanks to its line of tech products for humans.
Wile E. Coyote stares through some Acme binoculars. Ketchup Entertainment, 2026.
Roger that
For all that it refers to the Acme Corporation’s past, though, and Wile E.’s long history of Road Runner-chasing exploits, Coyote is curiously light on cartoon or film citations. Its handful of references to broadcast episodes of Wile E. Coyote and the Road Runner serve more as flashbacks for Wile E., who thinks in animation, than as a statement of his former presence as a cartoon star on television screens. Indeed, none of the toons featuring in Coyote are working in the film or television industries any more. None of the human characters watch animated shows. In its contemporary media landscape of social media and smart phones, Coyote suggests that no one remembers, or has time for, cartoons.
In keeping with Coyote's media-illiterate legal team (who, in what might be a joke about changing voice actors, nevertheless fail to recognise the most famous of the toon stars they encounter) the film has amnesia when it comes to its forebear, Who Framed Roger Rabbit (1988), in which Wile. E and Road Runner briefly appear. A stylish crime thriller that married live action and animation in a story about corruption and redemption in LA, Roger Rabbit was aesthetically rich with references to early animation, film noir, 1970s New Hollywood, and numerous actors, actresses, and directors. It insisted on toons’ important social value in bringing everyone—humans and toons alike—together by making them laugh. Coyote by contrast is light on citation, and recognises no such shared human experience through screen media.
At the end of Roger Rabbit, the beleaguered toons become the new joint-owners of the Acme Corporation and their beloved Toontown, a kind of parallel LA inhabited solely by cartoon characters. Having been left the two properties by entrepreneur Marvin Acme (who’s murdered during the course of the film), the toons get an equal stake in both the means of their cartoons’ production (Acme products enable their gags), and the place where they live. Putting aside issues of Toontown’s segregation from humans, and being privately owned and bequeathed by a human in the first place, Roger Rabbit champions collective ownership. The toons literally walk off into the sunset of their new commons, free from outside exploitation and empowered to shape their lives into whatever wacky forms they choose.
For all that it refers to the Acme Corporation’s past, though, and Wile E.’s long history of Road Runner-chasing exploits, Coyote is curiously light on cartoon or film citations. Its handful of references to broadcast episodes of Wile E. Coyote and the Road Runner serve more as flashbacks for Wile E., who thinks in animation, than as a statement of his former presence as a cartoon star on television screens. Indeed, none of the toons featuring in Coyote are working in the film or television industries any more. None of the human characters watch animated shows. In its contemporary media landscape of social media and smart phones, Coyote suggests that no one remembers, or has time for, cartoons.
In keeping with Coyote's media-illiterate legal team (who, in what might be a joke about changing voice actors, nevertheless fail to recognise the most famous of the toon stars they encounter) the film has amnesia when it comes to its forebear, Who Framed Roger Rabbit (1988), in which Wile. E and Road Runner briefly appear. A stylish crime thriller that married live action and animation in a story about corruption and redemption in LA, Roger Rabbit was aesthetically rich with references to early animation, film noir, 1970s New Hollywood, and numerous actors, actresses, and directors. It insisted on toons’ important social value in bringing everyone—humans and toons alike—together by making them laugh. Coyote by contrast is light on citation, and recognises no such shared human experience through screen media.
At the end of Roger Rabbit, the beleaguered toons become the new joint-owners of the Acme Corporation and their beloved Toontown, a kind of parallel LA inhabited solely by cartoon characters. Having been left the two properties by entrepreneur Marvin Acme (who’s murdered during the course of the film), the toons get an equal stake in both the means of their cartoons’ production (Acme products enable their gags), and the place where they live. Putting aside issues of Toontown’s segregation from humans, and being privately owned and bequeathed by a human in the first place, Roger Rabbit champions collective ownership. The toons literally walk off into the sunset of their new commons, free from outside exploitation and empowered to shape their lives into whatever wacky forms they choose.
Roger Rabbit jumps out of a cupboard at detective Eddie Vallance in the film-noir thriller Who Framed Roger Rabbit. Amblin Films, 1988.
Ruling the roost
But somewhere between Roger Rabbit’s optimistic denouement and the opening of Coyote, something has gone very wrong. At what was meant to be the communally owned Acme Corporation, CEO Foghorn Leghorn has presided over an Amazon-meets-BAE-like expansion of the product range to include everything from smart phones to military jets and bombs. Mostly human workers populate the offices. Acme advertising is everywhere in Albuquerque (where the film is set in a nod to the ‘runaway’ nature of the Hollywood film industry, which has caused job losses in LA), with nary a toon to be found. Thus, under Leghorn’s rule, Acme is an example of the ‘tragedy of the commons’, which is a political theory suggesting that common resources are not possible to maintain owing to individuals’ greed. While widely discredited by evidence to the contrary from around the globe, the film buys into the theory and positions Leghorn as the main beneficiary. With or without the consent of the other toons, he has plundered common assets for a personal rise up the capitalist pecking order.
Toontown no longer seems to be a safe haven of hand-drawn architecture for the toons, either. In Coyote, Toontown isn’t acknowledged by anyone, whether cartoon or human. Wile E. lives in a cave somewhere outside Albuquerque and chases Road Runner across the human-world desert, along human-made roads. Daffy Duck—who, like Coyote, suffers the effects of failing Acme products—resides in a human-run and built facility. Bugs Bunny shows up at a local carrot festival for human visitors. The ever-irritating Tweety Pie is employed by human bosses to sell out his cartoon peers.
But somewhere between Roger Rabbit’s optimistic denouement and the opening of Coyote, something has gone very wrong. At what was meant to be the communally owned Acme Corporation, CEO Foghorn Leghorn has presided over an Amazon-meets-BAE-like expansion of the product range to include everything from smart phones to military jets and bombs. Mostly human workers populate the offices. Acme advertising is everywhere in Albuquerque (where the film is set in a nod to the ‘runaway’ nature of the Hollywood film industry, which has caused job losses in LA), with nary a toon to be found. Thus, under Leghorn’s rule, Acme is an example of the ‘tragedy of the commons’, which is a political theory suggesting that common resources are not possible to maintain owing to individuals’ greed. While widely discredited by evidence to the contrary from around the globe, the film buys into the theory and positions Leghorn as the main beneficiary. With or without the consent of the other toons, he has plundered common assets for a personal rise up the capitalist pecking order.
Toontown no longer seems to be a safe haven of hand-drawn architecture for the toons, either. In Coyote, Toontown isn’t acknowledged by anyone, whether cartoon or human. Wile E. lives in a cave somewhere outside Albuquerque and chases Road Runner across the human-world desert, along human-made roads. Daffy Duck—who, like Coyote, suffers the effects of failing Acme products—resides in a human-run and built facility. Bugs Bunny shows up at a local carrot festival for human visitors. The ever-irritating Tweety Pie is employed by human bosses to sell out his cartoon peers.
Foghorn Leghorn threatens Acme Corporation's lawyer in Coyote vs Acme. Ketchup Entertainment, 2026.
Cartoon bombs and killing movies
As the animated characters navigate the human world, Coyote recognises not only the toons’ loss of collective power and the harms caused to them by corporatised consumer culture, but also the physical impacts that media-making have on our Earthly environments. In Roger Rabbit, it was human products—pianos, guns, and a chemical ‘dip’ made of acetone and turpentine—that threatened toons and humans alike. In Coyote, Acme’s cartoon products are the main cause of harm; conveniently for humans, Acme are using the toons are like animal test subjects to prevent humans from getting hurt. Acme's goods are used to make a city street bend and twist like ribbon as Kevin tries to escape the corporation’s henchmen. An animated train bursts out of a tunnel and crashes across a human carpark, leaving debris and devastation in its wake. When cartoon bombs explode they leave craters in the desert ground.
The subtle shift implicates animation, among other screen media forms (those Acme smart phones), in contributing to global heating, pollution, and other kinds of ecological devastation. However, we know that not all filmmaking is created equal. Hand-drawn animation of the kind referenced in Coyote will almost certainly produce fewer greenhouse gas emissions than the digital effects the film deploys. The film and television industries that spawned the original Wile E. Coyote and the Road Runner series in the 1950s were not, unlike the video-based platforms that we scroll online, hurtling us toward media consumption emissions greater than those of the aviation sector. There’s no hiding from the fact that Hollywood filmmaking practices are environmentally unsustainable; its humans, though, not cartoons conceived in the 1940s like Leghorn, that are the root cause.
It all makes for a pretty dispiriting, if honest, account of our cultural and ecological moment. The stories that we once enjoyed together have been disappeared (likely locked inside studio vaults) by companies that care more about selling merchandise than screen media. (Coyote itself was destined to be canned by Warner Bros as a tax write off, with Deadline describing the move as a manoeuvre to ‘kill’ movies. It has only been released since Warner Bros agreed to sell it to an independent distribution company, Ketchup Entertainment, following a fan-led campaign.) Technological messengers, be they phones or explosives, have replaced meaning. Making films hurts workers and the environment, and the law is never on your side.
As the animated characters navigate the human world, Coyote recognises not only the toons’ loss of collective power and the harms caused to them by corporatised consumer culture, but also the physical impacts that media-making have on our Earthly environments. In Roger Rabbit, it was human products—pianos, guns, and a chemical ‘dip’ made of acetone and turpentine—that threatened toons and humans alike. In Coyote, Acme’s cartoon products are the main cause of harm; conveniently for humans, Acme are using the toons are like animal test subjects to prevent humans from getting hurt. Acme's goods are used to make a city street bend and twist like ribbon as Kevin tries to escape the corporation’s henchmen. An animated train bursts out of a tunnel and crashes across a human carpark, leaving debris and devastation in its wake. When cartoon bombs explode they leave craters in the desert ground.
The subtle shift implicates animation, among other screen media forms (those Acme smart phones), in contributing to global heating, pollution, and other kinds of ecological devastation. However, we know that not all filmmaking is created equal. Hand-drawn animation of the kind referenced in Coyote will almost certainly produce fewer greenhouse gas emissions than the digital effects the film deploys. The film and television industries that spawned the original Wile E. Coyote and the Road Runner series in the 1950s were not, unlike the video-based platforms that we scroll online, hurtling us toward media consumption emissions greater than those of the aviation sector. There’s no hiding from the fact that Hollywood filmmaking practices are environmentally unsustainable; its humans, though, not cartoons conceived in the 1940s like Leghorn, that are the root cause.
It all makes for a pretty dispiriting, if honest, account of our cultural and ecological moment. The stories that we once enjoyed together have been disappeared (likely locked inside studio vaults) by companies that care more about selling merchandise than screen media. (Coyote itself was destined to be canned by Warner Bros as a tax write off, with Deadline describing the move as a manoeuvre to ‘kill’ movies. It has only been released since Warner Bros agreed to sell it to an independent distribution company, Ketchup Entertainment, following a fan-led campaign.) Technological messengers, be they phones or explosives, have replaced meaning. Making films hurts workers and the environment, and the law is never on your side.
Wile E. (far left) and Road Runner (left) appear among Looney Tunes and Disney characters in Who Framed Roger Rabbit. Amblin Films, 1988.
That’s all, folks
Among all the bleak gags and commentary on Big Tech, Coyote does have a lot of fun. The film’s blend of live-action and animated elements is well handled by director Dave Green and cinematographer Brandon Trost, and Steve Price’s portentous score, with its choral Road Runner-inspired ‘beep beep’ refrain, is suitably melodramatic. That Samy Burch’s script, based on a New Yorker article from 1990, maintains Wile E.’s silence (he uses placards and body language to great effect) suggests that the filmmaking team have taken their cartoon subject matter and toon stars seriously.
In keeping with Wile E., Coyote vs Acme is a strange beast. It’s funny, sometimes moving, and encourages audiences to keep going in the face of adversity. What it fails to do is tell us what we’re struggling for, though, besides personal pride; in Coyote’s world, the magic of film and television is already dead and buried in a coyote-shaped crater in the desert. With all the colour drained out of its characters atomised lives, and corporations and state legal systems indifferent to Wile E.’s plight, the film could have done more to convince us that cartoons, and cinema, matter. Wile E. might be content to return to his endless chase of the Road Runner, but for the rest of us there’s no straightforward escape from the cycles of consumerism and catastrophe in which, like Acme’s glue product, we seem to be forever stuck.
Among all the bleak gags and commentary on Big Tech, Coyote does have a lot of fun. The film’s blend of live-action and animated elements is well handled by director Dave Green and cinematographer Brandon Trost, and Steve Price’s portentous score, with its choral Road Runner-inspired ‘beep beep’ refrain, is suitably melodramatic. That Samy Burch’s script, based on a New Yorker article from 1990, maintains Wile E.’s silence (he uses placards and body language to great effect) suggests that the filmmaking team have taken their cartoon subject matter and toon stars seriously.
In keeping with Wile E., Coyote vs Acme is a strange beast. It’s funny, sometimes moving, and encourages audiences to keep going in the face of adversity. What it fails to do is tell us what we’re struggling for, though, besides personal pride; in Coyote’s world, the magic of film and television is already dead and buried in a coyote-shaped crater in the desert. With all the colour drained out of its characters atomised lives, and corporations and state legal systems indifferent to Wile E.’s plight, the film could have done more to convince us that cartoons, and cinema, matter. Wile E. might be content to return to his endless chase of the Road Runner, but for the rest of us there’s no straightforward escape from the cycles of consumerism and catastrophe in which, like Acme’s glue product, we seem to be forever stuck.