On the surface, Coyote looks like a revenge-western populated by talking animals and glowing skies. But beneath the neon fur and berserk violence lies a story about grief, identity, and the lengths we’ll go to feel alive again. Lorenz Wunderle’s short animation drives hard into darkness—then pulls the wheel at the last second into something haunting.

The plot: a coyote and his family are brutally attacked by a pack of wolves. The trauma fractures him. Fueled by anger and sorrow, he accepts the help of a demonic force in exchange for justice. The deal? Pain, violence—and a mirror held up to what vengeance really does to the one seeking it. It’s no tidy moral tale; the metaphor bleeds as loudly as the film’s colors.

Visually, Coyote feels like Saturday-morning cartoons on acid. Wunderle uses saturated reds, toxic greens, and slick animation with rough edges. The characters wear clothes, ride motorcycles, drink beer, and roar into the wilderness. The setup of animals behaving humanly brings both absurdity and pathos. Expect blood, expect chaos—but also surprising moments that just make you stare and say: “Wow, I wasn’t ready for that.”

Part of what gives the film its punch is its emotional core. The coyote’s journey isn’t just about revenge—it’s about loss, hope, and the oddity of carrying human feelings in an animal body. Wunderle has said he started with drawing and visual experiments rather than traditional scripting; the result is a story told in movement, color shifts, and abrupt transitions. That creative process lets the film feel primordial and kinetic at the same time.

Even though the story uses animals, the themes are deeply human. Anger that won’t quiet, grief that won’t leave you alone, deals made in desperation—all of these hit harder when wrapped in blood-splattered neon and fur. There’s an honesty to the violence: it’s never glorified. It’s raw, it’s messy—and by the time the coyote rides off into whatever comes next, you realize the silence after the storm is the true aftermath.

For indie creators, Coyote is a lesson in risk. It doesn’t shy away from darkness, doesn’t sugarcoat the brutal parts, and yet still finds moments of weird humor and off-kilter beauty. If you want a short film that looks wild but feels like something you carry with you, this one’s it.

So if you’re up for ten minutes of psychedelic rage and fur and unexpected introspection—press play on Coyote. Just maybe turn the lights down and brace yourself.