Instead, director Genndy Tartakovsky—the visionary behind Dexter’s Laboratory and Samurai Jack —delivered something unexpected: a vibrant, candy-colored, surprisingly poignant musical about the terror of moving on. After the events of the first two films, we find Count Dracula (Adam Sandler) in a rut. He’s lonely. His daughter Mavis (Selena Gomez) is happily married with a son, Dennis, but Drac is spending his nights staring at old photographs of his late wife, Martha. To snap him out of it, Mavis books the entire monster clan on a luxury monster-only cruise.

The twist? Ericka is the great-granddaughter of Abraham Van Helsing, the legendary vampire hunter. Her family’s legacy is genocide, and she carries a suitcase full of booby traps, garlic bombs, and a massive crank-operated “Monster Killer 3000.” What elevates Summer Vacation from juvenile slapstick is its handling of grief. Drac isn’t just looking for a fling; he’s looking for permission to stop being sad. In one surprisingly tender scene, he admits to Mavis that falling for Ericka feels like a betrayal of Martha’s memory.

The film’s centerpiece is not a battle, but a dance. On a ship deck under a full moon, Drac and Ericka share a silent, wordless waltz set to a slow cover of "Just the Two of Us." It’s romantic, awkward, and genuinely moving—proof that you don’t need live actors to create chemistry. On land, the film introduces the original Van Helsing (Jim Garmon)—now a 500-year-old, unkillable, bitter old man who has been turned into a weird hybrid of flesh and machinery. He is, without exaggeration, a hater. His entire existence is fueled by spite. He crashes the cruise piloting a giant mechanical octopus (the Kraken) because he cannot stand that monsters are happy.

In 2018, Sony Pictures Animation released the third installment of a franchise that, on paper, should have run out of steam. Hotel Transylvania 3: Summer Vacation had every right to be a tired rehash: Dracula running a hotel, his human son-in-law Johnny being manic, and a bunch of classic monsters doing monster things.

This is heavy stuff for a film where a talking dog chases his own tail. But Tartakovsky never lets the weight crush the fun. Instead, he uses the animator’s vocabulary—exaggerated squash-and-stretch, silent visual gags, and Looney Tunes physics—to make emotional growth feel as natural as a pratfall.

Van Helsing is a brilliant satire of the obsessive fan who mistakes destruction for legacy. While Ericka eventually sees that her family’s crusade is pointless, her great-grandfather doubles down, screaming about “monster purity.” In a post-2016 world, watching a sputtering old white man in a steampunk mech-suit try to ruin a multicultural vacation feels eerily prescient. No feature on this film is complete without mentioning the “I See Love” sequence. As the ship faces the Kraken and all seems lost, the monsters begin to sing—not ironically, but sincerely. The song, performed by the cast (and later in the credits by Joe Jonas), is a cascading, uplifting pop anthem about found family.