When Disney was marketing their latest nature film, Chimpanzee, I don’t think their target demographic was a late 20s woman who eats whipped cream from an aerosol can and has pictures of Ross Gellar taped to her bathroom mirror. Naturally, they were probably after the well-known demographic of kids under the age of ‘wipe your own butt.’ Regardless of whether or not I am supposed to be obsessed with this move, Chimpanzee was the cutest thing I have ever seen. I don’t have enough manicured nails on my body to count the times I caught myself outright squealing and then had to remind my own self that I was in public and if I didn’t pull it together, I was grounded from HBO.
The story is basically about a little baby chimp, Oscar, who is the cutest of them all. Then his mom dies and he get adopted by a man-chimp (which is apparently very rare) and then there is mass amounts of chimpanzee piggy-backs and nut cracking – just go with it. And you might want to bring the defibrillator and some tear catchers, because the cuteness will send you into a diabetic coma.
I mean, there is nothing I love more than animals being personified. Dogs wearing glasses. Cats driving cars. It’s my dream world. Except that if my dog came to life, she would regale the world with stories of me singing Celine Dion in the shower and sobbing during the opening credits of Full House. Whenever I hear the words “Whatever happened to predictability,” it’s like Pavlov’s bell to me. The tears well up and I can’t help it. I also can’t help how much I just love it when animals be doin’ people things. I open my laptop and type in totally sane searches like ‘pigs wearing rain boots’ or ‘cats typing on the computer’ and then it’s three days later and I haven’t moved. Behold: cute animals doing human things.