GOAT looks like an underdog sports story on the surface, where a goat tries to earn his place in a league built for bigger animals, but it’s really driven by something more intimate. Family, belief, legacy, and the ache to prove you belong are what actually ground the journey.
GOAT is set in an all-animal world and follows Will (Caleb McLaughlin), a small goat who lands a rare shot at the roarball pros, a high-intensity, full-contact, co-ed sport dominated by the most significant and fiercest animals. His new teammates, led by iconic veteran and Will’s idol Jett Fillmore (Gabrielle Union), don’t exactly welcome him, but Will isn’t trying to blend in. He’s trying to change the game and prove that “smalls can ball.”
The Nerds of Color joined a select group of journalists to preview the film and go behind the scenes of its production, including how the team pulled from fashion across different cultures, translated kinetic athleticism into animation, and shaped the deeper themes the film explores.
In GOAT, fashion isn’t what the animals wear. It’s an identity.
For costume designer Dominique Dawson, GOAT was an opportunity to build a visual language in which animal anatomy and basketball culture, in and out of the arena, could coexist. Naturally, the research had to start with animal movements and how they would affect the fabric of the film. And there was a menagerie of different animals coexisting in one place, so it had to make sense.
Only after understanding their physicality did she build an extensive streetwear reference deck, pulling from global designers, emerging fashion scenes, and real-world basketball spaces like Rucker Park, Venice Beach, and West Fourth Street. The goal was not to imitate trends, but to translate the emotional and cultural logic of basketball fashion into character design.
For Will, Dawson designed him to appear larger than he actually is, using layered silhouettes and bulked-up proportions to reflect a character who wants to take up space in a world that doubts him. As the story progresses, his fashion sense evolves alongside his confidence. He comes from nothing but has the confidence of Steph Curry. As such, Will moves beyond simple streetwear toward looks that feel more expressive and personalized once he gains access to the kind of money that makes those luxuries possible. Yet he never becomes arrogant or detached from where he came from. Instead, his style remains grounded, signaling growth without erasing humility.
Jett Fillmore’s design tells a different story. As an established veteran, the black panther’s wardrobe leans toward a power-suit aesthetic, symbolizing authority and legacy. But Dawson ultimately pivoted toward a feline-inspired catsuit that emphasized Jett’s physical strength and presence, rejecting the idea that aging athletes should shrink themselves to make room for the next generation. Metallic textures and bold cutouts highlight her musculature, transforming her body into a statement of power rather than something to be hidden or softened.
Mane Attraction (Aaron Pierre) is an Andalusian horse whose massive ego leads him to believe the world is his runway. Dawson framed him as the team’s greatest competition rather than a traditional villain, but his wardrobe still conveys antagonism through pure ego. She started with the swagger of reggae party style, mesh and chains designed to show off and provoke, then tightened him into sleek black pieces with industrial hardware. This minimalist Rick Owens-adjacent vibe reads expensive and untouchable. And when the spotlight hits, he goes full showman, a modernized “Macho Man” energy where the belt buckle is basically a thesis statement. He isn’t just trying to win. He’s trying to be seen winning.
If GOAT’s fashion establishes identity, its production design turns roarball into something closer to a modern major league spectacle. Each city carries a distinct sense of place, and the arenas aren’t generic stadiums so much as extensions of their surrounding environments, from jungle courts to volcanic terrain, icy surfaces, an undersea arena with stalagmites hanging overhead, and a mile-high setting built around altitude and scale.
What makes the worldbuilding pop is that these spaces aren’t static backdrops. They react. Courts shift in response to physical impact, like stomps and thunderous slam dunks, and they mirror player energy and volatility. An ice court can shatter creating broken ice sheets, or a volcanic arena can erupt when emotions run hot. At the same time, environmental hazards like falling stalagmites introduce a constant element of unpredictability.
To keep that chaos legible, GOAT relies on a striking visual philosophy that treats its characters less like cartoons and more like sculpted athletes under arena lights.
Production designer Jang Lee explained that the film intentionally moves away from the visual cues of traditional animation, favoring hard, directional lighting that carves shape and muscle into every frame. Inspired by ancient African sculpture and the faceted surfaces of sports cars, the characters are built around strong plane changes that remain readable even beneath fur or thick skin. The effect makes every player feel physical and present, less like an animated figure and more like an athlete caught under unforgiving arena lights.
That sense of clarity is paired with a deliberately gritty, lived-in aesthetic inspired by films like City of God and Do the Right Thing. Rather than presenting roarball arenas as pristine, idealized spaces, GOAT leans into texture, messiness, and density, environments that feel occupied, weathered, and shaped by the people who live there. The cities don’t just exist to host games; they feel like communities with histories, pressures, and social energy pressing in on the action. That is evident in how the community views its teams and in how fans react to aging veterans versus hotshot players.
Art director Rich Daskas emphasized a desire to make GOAT’s world feel gritty, organic, and inhabited, drawing inspiration from urban cinema, where environments shape the people who move through them. Characters aren’t polished or pristine; their fur is messy, their clothing worn, their spaces slightly cluttered, reinforcing the idea that these athletes exist within real communities rather than fantasy arenas. Whether it’s Will’s youthful, unruly hairstyle, the haze-filled interiors of shared apartments, or background details that suggest constant movement and noise, the film embraces density and disorder to sell authenticity. It’s a choice that aligns with GOAT’s larger themes, placing its characters inside environments that reflect pressure, ambition, and the social ecosystems that elevate some players while pushing others aside.
The visual effects by Dylan Casano create impactful moments that freeze explosive plays and emotional beats into stylized visuals inspired by special-edition basketball trading cards. They flash by quickly, almost daring the audience to catch them, but they linger in memory the same way real sports highlights do.
Casano described the process as a kind of visual archaeology, breaking down what makes trading cards feel collectible and iconic, from foil textures and stamped lettering to iridescent patterns that shift under light. Taking those trading card elements as inspiration, the graphics were rebuilt from scratch and integrated into GOAT’s visual language, allowing each character’s impact frame to reflect their personality, status, and narrative arc. A playground bully like Grizz tears through a worn, wrinkled card that feels undervalued, while Olivia’s moment of retribution is surrounded by emojis, livestream comments, and social media noise that mirror her obsession with visibility.
Will’s impact frames evolve alongside his journey. His first appearance arrives as a rookie card, complete with modest stats and subtle visual cues that signal potential rather than dominance. As his confidence and skill grow, so do the designs, cleaner layouts, bolder colors, and higher numbers that track his progression in real time. These aren’t just stylistic flourishes. The creative choices function as visual milestones, charting growth the way fans measure legacy.
Even with the stylized looks and flashy effects, the frames have a surprising amount of restraint that doesn’t interrupt the flow of the game or distract from the action. Instead, they enhance it, transforming peak moments into immortalizing greatness.
To capture that visual flair, head of story Keely Propp and head of cinematography John Clark mapped out the film’s roarball sequences with the same precision you’d expect from a real sports broadcast, with Andre Iguodala consulting on gameplay and contributing specific plays.
The team built roarball sequences through an evolving storyboard animatic, refining timing, spacing, and camera intent roughly three years before the final animation was locked in. The level of attention was especially evident in a key action sequence that required around 1,500 drawings, far more than the roughly 300 a typical scene might demand, underscoring how seriously the filmmakers treated the mechanics of the sport.
Clark stressed that the process always began with narrative clarity rather than spectacle. Propp described storyboarding as the foundation of the entire film, with her team drawing a rough version of the whole movie, not just individual scenes, and repeatedly screening and revising it over the course of several years.
Action sequences in particular demanded an extraordinary level of iteration, with pivotal games requiring thousands of drawings to ensure that every shot, camera move, and play supported character arcs and emotional beats. For Propp, the goal wasn’t simply to choreograph exciting movement, but to make sure each play advanced relationships, tensions, and turning points within the story.
That story-first approach carried directly into Clark’s previs and camera work. Once plays were designed with Andre Iguodala’s input, Clark’s team translated them into overhead “chess piece” layouts to visualize player movement and spacing before animation began. Those sequences were then blocked out in Maya and refined in Unreal Engine, where camera placement, lens choices, and speed were tested extensively. Clark described this phase as a playground for discovering a new cinematic language, one that could place the audience directly on the court without sacrificing readability.
For each play, the team generated extensive camera coverage, sometimes more than ten minutes’ worth, which was then handed off to editorial to be cut like live-action sports footage. The result is action that feels immediate and immersive, yet always anchored to story intent rather than visual excess.
Even with its meticulously planned action and camera language, GOAT ultimately finds its rhythm in the edit. Editor Clare Knight said the editorial process would begin far earlier than final animation, often at the storyboard stage, where rough drawings, temporary sound effects, scratch dialogue, and music are assembled into a working version of the film. This early approach allows the team to test tone, pacing, and character clarity long before the visuals are polished.
Edits are also informed by test audience screenings throughout production. One early example involved Coach Dennis (Patton Oswalt), whose initial performance played clearly on screen but failed to connect emotionally with preview audiences. So directors Tyree Dillihay and Adam Rosette had to rethink Dennis entirely.
Using quick sketches, improvised performances, and new dialogue recordings, the team rebuilt the scene in editorial, pushing the character into a more heightened, unpredictable space. Since animation doesn’t require physical reshoots, these changes could be developed rapidly inside the edit bay, turning experimentation into a core creative tool.
Knight emphasized how early previews helped refine comedic timing, emotional beats, and character likability, especially in more extended roarball sequences. Some game sections were repeatedly reworked to ensure that spectacle never overwhelmed emotion, with pacing adjusted so the audience could fully register reactions, tension, and payoff. At one point, a climactic game sequence stretched to nearly 15 minutes, only to be reshaped through editing to balance drama and engagement better.
Editorial also became a space for performance sculpting. In animation, Knight noted, editors have an unusual level of control, allowing them to rebuild dialogue line by line, combine takes, or integrate ad-libs to sharpen comedy and deepen characterization. Music further shaped the film’s momentum, with hip-hop and trap influences helping lock the movie’s rhythm to contemporary basketball culture.
By grounding its spectacle in culture, community, and character, GOAT distinguishes itself from traditional animated underdog sports films. It treats basketball not just as a game, but as a language shaped by identity, history, motherhood, and aspiration. Through fashion that communicates confidence and insecurity, arenas that turn worldbuilding into home-court identity, and action sequences built with the logic of a real sport, the film understands that basketball is more than competition. It’s a force that builds character, tests legacy, and brings communities together.
GOAT opens in theaters on February 13, 2026.
