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Primal has a surprising amount to say for a show that's entirely devoid of dialogue.
That's not a surprising detail for anyone who's familiar with the work of Genndy Tartakovsky. The creator of the Adult Swim series, now streaming on HBO Max, has a real knack for telling primarily visual animated stories, as evidenced in earlier works like Samurai Jack and the Star Wars: Clone Wars "micro-series." (He also created Dexter's Laboratory.)
Primal skips dialogue as a natural extension of its setting, a light fantasy take on Earth's prehistoric times. The story follows a caveman and his unlikely Tyrannosaurus friend as they journey through a hostile world, with the two — dubbed by the title of the first episode as "Spear and Fang" — bound together by tragedy.
The series' first and only season so far begins with man and dino's families both wiped out by the same pack of predators, in a pair of brutally violent and heart-wrenching scenes. The two form their unlikely bond out of the shared circumstances, with Spear, who suffers his loss first, moved to compassion when he sees Fang facing the same grim reality wrought by the same trio of beasts.
That all of this emotional depth is communicated without a single word uttered is a credit to the art. Fans of Tartakovsky's work will instantly recognize his signature style: thick characters with sharp-angled features and exaggerated proportions, along with stark color contrasts and a penchant for longer shots.
These elements all come together in a series that is absolutely brimming with beautiful freeze-frame-worthy tableaus. Primal communicates more emotion and story in a single, carefully framed shot than I've seen in plenty of big-budget, box office breaking blockbusters.
Primal has a surprising amount to say for a show that's entirely devoid of dialogue.
It helps that the show's 10 episodes speak to easily understood and highly relatable universal truths. In the first episode, Spear watches as his family is slaughtered and then struggles with the thought of taking his own life. Then, when he meets Fang during a meandering hunt and catches sight of her adorable little hatchlings, the play of emotions that swims across his face is unmistakable.
Each episode revolves around a simple premise that, for anything else it does, further deepens the bond between Spear and Fang. Their story is a mixture of road movie and buddy comedy, but with lots of pauses for everything from heartfelt sentimentality to monster horror.
The fantasy side of things is treated with a light touch, particularly in the relatively grounded set of early episodes, which work more to seal the bond between the two companions. Later episodes get into more unlikely scenarios, like when we encounter a mysterious substance that transforms anyone who imbibes it into a hulking brute. Another episode sees Spear and Fang dealing with what looks like early humans who have established themselves as a coven of witches, rituals, actual magic, and all.
These sojourns into the fantastical are just as strong as the rest of the series, but the inherent mystery they speak to is never the point. Whether it's magic or zombie dinosaurs or whatever else, the threat or obstacle in a given episode is always secondary to the show's central relationship. Primal never loses sight of the fact that Spear and Fang are the heart of this story, and that emotional resonance is far, far more important than exposition.
Image: screenshot: adult swim
Don't make the mistake of thinking that everything is left unexplained, however. Primal's lush visual storytelling puts in the work every episode to give us a sense of place and purpose, a necessary feature given the lack of verbal exposition. We come to understand the world mostly through the perspectives of Spear and Fang, but it isn't a locked perspective.
Prologues and cutaway scenes that step away from the two stars are almost always there to fill in the bare minimum of blanks for us to understand the foundations of a particular story and its emotional stakes. That's not necessary in every episode, but it recurs often enough to be an important piece of how the show tells its stories.
Brutal violence is also a key piece of how Primal communicates with viewers. Spear and Fang are making their way together through a very harsh world that's populated by predators and other dangers at every turn. Blood-letting is a regular sight as you move from episode to episode, and more than a few encounters turn stomach-churningly gory. Safety is a hard thing to find in Spear and Fang's world.
I walked into Primal not sure of what to expect. It's not easy to weave an entirely wordless tale and fill it with feeling. Even knowing Tartakovsky's background and particular talent for minimalist dialogue, I was worried I'd get bored and check out fast.
The opposite happened. From the first frame on, I was riveted. The introduction of Spear and Fang in connection to their personal tragedies is a powerful place to kick this story off, and their unusual friendship that follows winds through a full spectrum of emotional resonance. Primal both made me laugh and pushed me to tears; it can be deeply sentimental in one moment and unflinchingly cruel in the next.
It's a harsh world out there after all. And although no one ever really speaks on the show, Primal still has plenty to say.
The full first season of Primal is streaming on HBO Max, with a second season of the show coming to Adult Swim sometime in 2021.
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