A few weeks before reading Ant Colony, I watched Antz for the first time since I was a kid. I quickly understood that Antz was in fact a film for adults, masquerading as a kids’ movie. In this respect, Ant Colony is kind of like Antz dialled up to 100. On the one hand, it’s a lot more explicitly adult: it addresses darker, heavier existential themes and deals a lot more directly with sexuality, often in a bizarrely grotesque manner. On the other hand, its vibrant, simplistic visual style brings to mind Adventure Time, or even a pre-school picture book: all bold lines and bright, block colours. In comparison, Antz looks gritty and realistic.
Of course, there are limits to the comparison with Antz. Ant Colony starts out as series of two-page vignettes, which feel only loosely linked to one another through shared setting and characters. As such, the beginning of the book feels like a collection of comic strips more than the start of a cohesive graphic novel: a series of snapshots illustrating life in and around the titular colony. By the mid-point an overarching narrative does emerge – and events tend to flow into one another more directly than at the start – but the story remains meandering and whimsical. There is no grand quest, spectacular climax or satisfying resolution. In that sense, despite all its surrealism, Ant Colony is a fundamentally realistic work: its characters wander through life, reacting to events and searching for meaning, but there is none to be found.