The characters here are supposed to be delightful—or at least interesting—simply because they’re superficially odd, and it just isn’t enough anymore.
This to me is an echo, and a distillation, of all the things I come back to in my talks about "weird" (see: here, here).
Weird isn't cosmetic. Some of the weirdest-looking folks I've known were some of the most straightlaced and conventional; some of the most straightlaced- and conventional-looking folks I've known were so strange under the skin I couldn't even begin to fathom them.
Weird isn't décor or design. Weird is spirit and outlook. And while we're at it, maybe we shouldn't call it "weird" to begin with, again because of the way that term started as a pejorative and has evolved into an adjective used to mean "appealingly strange" in an unthinking, reflexive way.
I'll say it: I'm getting tired of weird as a selling point. It's one of many attributes, and perhaps not even the most important one, that a work can exhibit. I care if a work is unique, rather than weird per se.