Who Gave a Juice CEO a Space Cult and a Talking Donut?
Billy 5000 just wanted five grand before New Year's. Instead, he got entangled with a corporate citrus overlord, a stowaway donut-creature, and a Florida full of freaks. Julian Glander's Boys Go to Jupiter just dropped its trailer—and the indie animation world is SCREAMING.
The trailer for this animated oddity—premiered at Tribeca 2024 and heading to select U.S. theaters on August 8, 2025—hits like a Grubhub delivery to a haunted nostalgia rave. Imagine: Dazed and Confused meets Beavis and Butt-Head with a sprinkle of Everything Everywhere All At Once—then blend it in Blender, literally.
This Film Was Made in 90 Days—And It Shows in the Best Way
Animated entirely in Blender over just three months (!), Boys Go to Jupiter wears its lo-fi, acid-drenched style like a badge of chaotic honor. It's absurd, glitchy, and weirdly beautiful. Julian Glander—known for work on Adult Swim and Cartoon Network—goes full auteur here, writing, directing, and producing a feature that looks like it was beamed from the mind of a gamer-poet high on orange soda and Adderall.
And let's talk cast:
Jack Corbett. Tavi Gevinson. Elsie Fisher. Janeane Garofalo. Julio Torres. Demi Adejuyigbe. Max Wittert.
You don't get that voice lineup without promising a very strange ride.
Juice Cults and Techno-Feudalism: The Secret Sauce
This isn't just a weird cartoon about a kid on a food-delivery hustle. It's a full-on critique of late-stage capitalism. Inspired by Google Street View trips through Tampa, Glander taps into suburban alienation, economic despair, and the dumb surrealism of modern hustle culture. Think Sorry to Bother You—if it had more beach scenes and a sentient pastry.
Our hero, Billy, dodges responsibility by shoplifting and pool-hopping. But when he meets Rozebud (an old flame) and a weirdo creature named Donut, the film dives into techno-feudal madness, complete with a shady juice company CEO named Dr. Dolphin. Somewhere, Terry Gilliam is either crying or suing.
This isn't just coming-of-age. It's coming-of-wage—in a gig economy hellscape ruled by grinning CEOs and pastel-colored nihilism.
