The film opens to a very average suburban neighborhood before peeking into one house in particular. The loud and exaggerated sounds of rough sex are heard as the camera moves in on the vacuous face of a teenage boy—our main character. An unseen narrator relates the boy’s predicament: he lives in a home of rough folk, his mom and dad thinking nothing of engaging in boisterous sex in his presence, nor for that matter doing drugs and partying with other men. The narrator reveals himself to be the boy’s neighbor, and muses about the mom’s seeming indifference to the boy inbetween observations about how much he’d like to have sex with the older, permanently panty-clad woman.

The film in a way is a quest, albeit of the inward, self-reflecting type, as this neighbor attempts to empathize with and ultimately make sense of the boy. But for what reason? What is spurring the neighbors oratory? That is indeed what the film works up towards, but the exercise is perfunctory—you already know.

The short film thus exists as a meditative elegy, from the neighbor to the boy, and the visuals support the creation of such a mood, using frequent slow-motion to imagine scenes of alienation the boy might have experienced. Yet this empathy is disturbingly buttressed by the sexual fetishization of the mother, as the camera lingers erotically on the body she so frequently flounts in and around the home. Sexual longing on the neighbor’s part is part of his explanation for the boy’s state, yet that means the neighbor must in a way confront his complicity, a feeling if that is expressed in his voice, if not completely registered in his head.

There is no moral to the story per se, and if this elegaic mood fails to find spark within you, then you will find the short film bland and possibly even distasteful. Upon playing Sundance in 2008, many accused writer-director David Michôd of misogyny in the film’s depiction of sexuality. However I find the elegaic streak that Crossbow mines to be rare and wonderful in film, and kudos go to Michôd, because it is difficult to pull off. Indeed the film is strikingly reminiscent to one of the best films of this vein, Sofia Coppola’s work, The Virgin Suicides, a movie structured very similarly, with its title that undermines suspense, and its observant narration that wrestles with the exquisite sadness of seemingly senseless tragedy, and how it relates to sexuality and nostalgia.

Michôd is an Aussie who is part of the increasingly famous Blue-Tongue Collective, whose films have been featured numerously on this site and others. Spider and I Love Sarah Jane have appeared on our lists of our favorite reviews from 2009 and 2008 respectively. However I believe that this is the best short from the group that I’ve seen so far. Blue Tongue’s output relies heavily on surprises and twists, and nominally Crossbow is no different, and yet in practice the focus on atmosphere and mood rather than narrative trickery creates a feeling that the other films we’ve reviewed cannot match. Indeed Miracle Fish the Oscar nominee from this past year, is truly a film that I think wishes it could be Crossbow:  both films center on vacant, disaffected boys that suffer from some sort of abuse, before ending in violence. However whatever feeling the empty school in Miracle Fish tries to convey simply does not come across powerfully, unlike the images of the mother and the activity around the house in Crossbow, nor does the violence at the end of Miracle Fish,seemingly random, hold any sort of weight against Crossbow’s slow unfurling, made all the more powerful by how clearly it is foreshadowed.

Michôd has, like many of his other compatriots in the group, moved on to features. His debut, Animal Kingdom, played Sundance this year. I have yet to have a chance to see it, but will be taking the opportunity as soon as I can in order to see the continued development of this fascinating young  filmmaker.

via jasonbkohl.com

Memories are often all we have of past times and past loves, but what if we lost these memories, how would not remembering the there and then, affect us in the here and now.

Written and Directed by Briand, Apricot tells the story of a young couple on a date early in their relationship, they sit in a restaurant, reminiscing of first kisses and first loves over a fresh cup of coffee. However, as the date progresses it quickly becomes apparent that this trip down memory lane has an ulterior motive for one of the potential lovers.

For a film all about memories and what triggers them, Briand and his team have paid a close eye to details and created a film which evokes a dreamlike state for its viewers (almost as if the Director is encouraging the viewer to float off into their own memories whilst watching the his film). Beautifully shot by Cinematographer Adam Arkapaw, the dreamy visuals float across the screen, just as they would float across the memory banks of the mind. Every shot is composed and lit superbly, the date scene speckled with artificial light and framed so the couple seem the only people in the buzzing restaurant. The memory sequences opt for a more personal feel, bathed in sunlight with people and objects drifting in and out of focus (almost as if they are some of the best home movies you’ve ever seen). A sprawling, unobtrusive score from Basil Hogios, combines with a soundtrack of distant thunder and rumbling winds, helping to merge the worlds of reality and memory seamlessly together.

Dialogue also plays a huge part in the feel and the flow of Apricot and Briand has obviously taken great consideration into ensuring the pitch of the dialogue marries up with the other contributing elements of his short. With lines like “He could stare at the Sun longer than anyone I ever met” and “He always covered his collarbone” uttered throughout the film, the unrealistic, almost poetic dialogue also adds to the trancelike feel of Apricot.

There are some films made to provoke anger or disgust from its audience, some films made solely for laughs and some to evoke forgotten memories, Briand’s Apricot is definitely the latter. A film for the dreamers, A film for the romantics and in my opinion a film for film lovers.

Framed as a bedtime story, Tarboy begins with a grandfather robot telling little Billy robot of a time when greedy men ruled the world and forced robots to work all day. When robots began being dumped into landfills, the souls of the robots melted into the tar pits and were reincarnated as Tarboy—a boy made of a million robot souls seeking revenge. We follow his journey to his inevitable demise.

The visual style is fairly minimal. More flat than I typically care for, but the simple silhouetted shots work well. The fight sequence in the dark is just beautiful to watch and beautifully choreographed with the music. The use of language is great. It’s fast and rhythmic, at times almost musical, but it’s the small whimsical touches to vary the pace that I particularly enjoy (”Grandpa, you swore.” “Shut up, Billy!”).

Created by James Lee, Tarboy is a unique voice. James has absorbed pop culture, chopped it up, and served it back to us. And with over a million views on Newgrounds and YouTube, audiences are enjoying Tarboy. We focus a lot on deep, cerebral stories and sometimes forget there is also a strong draw toward films with interesting attitude and character that focus more on emotion than reason. Though we sometimes look down on it, I’ve seen enough interesting yet boring films to admit there is a talent to making something entertaining.

So far, this one short is the only Tarboy film, but James appears to be developing future installments. Keep tabs on Tarboy and James’s other adventures in storytelling at Tarboy.com.

In the film, anthropomorphic cats reside in a swinging town reminiscent of Casablanca. Music is the community’s pride and the solace of our world-weary hero; a loner cat of a literary inclination, who doubles as our narrator. One by one though the musicians and singers of the town disappear. Utopia transforms to dystopia, and our hero uncovers the root of the disappearances: a malevolent force is bent on creating the most horrific of all instruments—the Cat Piano (a real thing!).

Analogies are always helpful in relating the qualities of a film. Already I have referenced Casablanca, so I  will attempt to continue in this mode. In tone, imagine if you would the slightly gothic fantasies of Neil Gaiman.  The vocal stylings of Nick Cave as the main character proves an inspired casting choice in this vein. Rather than Mr. Gaiman’s proclivity towards the Romantic poets though, writer/director Eddie White finds inspiration in Kerouac and Beat poets. Arrhythmic rhyming and chewy alliteration color our hero’s retelling of the town’s travails, annoying some commentators on the internet so far, but adding a necessary element to what would otherwise be ponderous recap.

Visually I do not think I am qualified to deconstruct the influences on display, and this is what I meant the most about a confident aesthetic. An anime styling is certainly seen in the character designs: our heroes gangly body and heroine’s humongous eyes,  the villain’s otherworldy visage and the deliciously imposing mechanical construction of the Piano.  The work of someone like Tartakovsky though is easily perceived as well, the dramatic, graphic contrast between light and dark that described so much of his best work on Samurai Jack.

But some elements are wholly unique. The vignetting of almost every shot, a fierce glowing brightness emanating from the characters themselves receding to black on the edges; rarely if ever using all the real estate available in the chosen 2.35:1 screen ratio, is a stylistic choice that pays dividends, serving to selectively focus audience attention, and accentuate the hypnotically sinister air permeating the short film.

The People’s Republic of Animation is the studio which produced this piece. Based out of Australia, they have been on my radar since they produced Safer in a Wild World, a spot for the Mitsubishi Lancer. While cute, it did not lead me to suspect that this kind of storytelling was something they were capable of. It seems though that their aggressively multi-platform philosophy of working through shorts, commericals, tv and video games, has paid off. Sometimes we celebrate works for their roughness, a hint of the process and the work involved, evidence therein of a blossoming talent unfolding like a newborn fawn which exhibits beauty and grace on those wobbly legs. The Cat Piano is in contrast a mature work, the kind of refined piece that can only be earned through trial and mastery. This is a superlative short by any reckoning.

Two adjectives let you know what to expect. Cute and sweet. It doesn’t start that way though. Jason is struggling with the stereotypical alienation of a young office man new to the big city. Work is boring, the loneliness is heart-breaking, and the false expectation of family and friends who think you’re living it up to the max is soul-crushing. But, through the window and into the office across the street, Jason spots and draws the attention of the girl who might change all that.

Signs is a classic boy meets girl in which the central conceit is not too contrived. You couldn’t make a feature based off it, but it is the perfect size for a short. If you read my reviews, you understand that I am a big fan of scripts and filmmakers that understand the limitations of the form and play to its strengths. Signs takes that to heart, with a spare script in which every piece has resonance. Many of the introductory moments that inform our impression of Jason as depressed, the photocopying at the office for instance, are inverted later on in a funny way to establish his renewed verve. Routine is presented at first in order to accentuate Jason’s dread of life, the mind-numbing banality of his existence, yet the pacing of the film and its editing, morph his morning routine into narrative development. The long-drawn out takes initially become progressively quicker to signify Jason’s energy and excitement, building to a fevered pace right before the moment he is let down at the end of act 2.

Nick Russel does a really laudable job as Jason, playing the role with the kind of earnest goofiness that has earned Hugh Grant millions of dollars. The role on both ends, the sad sack and the nervous  comedy are both very easy to overplay, but he does not.  I wouldn’t be surprised to see more of him in the future.

Signs is also in keeping with my interest in corporate sponsorship. The film was part of the Schweppes Online Film Festival, an ad campaign devised by Publicis Mojo which commisioned a handful of films. I found Signs by accident, I was was thinkng of doing a writeup on Magnifique which you can view at the above link. Magnifique is a well-done, but ultimately one-note comedy about a man with an amazing member.  It was pleasing to watch in a Wedding Crashers sort of way plus  it sported some nice mod fashion and design. If you’d like to check out more of the Schweppes films I’d recommend that one, and would say to stay away from Jet Black, a moody piece about a hit man, that is all misplaced affect, with no substance.

Hope you enjoy Signs, I’m going to go back to trying my best to find obscure films. We’ve been a little slow here at SotW of late, so look forward to a bunch of Short of the Moments soon to make up for it!

Director Michael Lucas plays with that fear in Turn, a witty ten minute surrealistic journey.  Ambitious Christine is going nowhere fast on the crowded roadways, so takes a short cut through a narrow alley, trying to get to work for an important presentation.  But harried Leo has already tried that alley, and after two hours of attempting to make the turn out of it that would put him on the main road, has given up.  With no sidewalks, and an unending stream of roaring cars zipping by only inches from the alley’s exit, what are two people to do?

Metaphors run rampant: modern life as a frustrating and meaningless road that can often take us to places it’d be better not to go; the truly important things encompassed in a simple alley; an artistic portrait superimposed on a diagram represents the joys in life sometimes being able to burst through the clutter.  You can find themes and sub-themes and the cousin of your sister’s best friend’s themes; plenty to keep this picture coming back to your consciousness.  But this is no heavy message piece.  It is quick, and funny.  You can take it on the simplest level and be well entertained.

While only two characters speak, and all but a few seconds take place in a thin valley between nondescript buildings, Turn seems like an expansive film due to the deft camera work of Shing Fung Cheung.  The only claustrophobia is in the minds of the Christine and Leo.

Short films cannot bring us deeply developed complex characters; there isn’t time.  The format, like that of the short story, is best at illuminating a single idea, event, or joke.  But within the limitations of time, Turn does a remarkable job of making Christine and Leo real. I know people like them and in some ways, I am like them.  That made their story richer, and their foibles funnier.

Turn was shot as part of the Australian Film Television and Radio School (AFTRS) program, which has produced far more than its share of entertaining short films.  A year after Turn,  AFTRS put Peter Templeman, who is flawless as Leo, in the director’s chair for The Saviour, which became an Academy Award nominee.

I’ve heard Jasper Morello described as a gothic horror, but there’s certainly a strong connection to science-fiction drawing from the genesis of the genre in the vein of Jules Verne’s Journey to the Center of the Earth and Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. The sub-genre is a newer category, steampunk, which—for those unfamiliar with the term—is essentially a 19th century vision of the future where steam powers all. The allure is both a nostalgia for the Victorian-age aesthetic and a fascination with mechanics all set in a fantasy world with few limitations.

The unique style of animation is truly something to behold and reminiscent of the oldest surviving animated feature, The Adventures of Prince Achmed (1927). The simplified characters are reduced to silhouettes diverting our attention from the character to the action in the background—intricate workings of steampunk machinery and soft, ethereal skyscapes. Lucas created the characters out of various found materials and shot them in stop-motion—the silhouette effect, he says, was the result of a “happy accident” when a light blew out. The machines and backgrounds were created with the aid of a 3D computer rendering and all was composited together to created a very seamless, very unique combination.

Jasper Morello ran the festival circuit a couple years back until it reached the pinnacle of short film—an Oscar nomination— where I saw it for the first time. It did so well, that Lucas has three more Jasper adventures in the works. If you’ve already seen this film, it’s a great second-viewing. If you haven’t yet seen it, you’re in for a real treat.

It has been extremely popular, but I sat on posting it because something about the film didn’t sit with me right. It’s for sure a superior film, I just think I loved everything about it except the parts that I assume everyone loves. ^_^

Good thing I waited I suppose, because MarBelle scored an interview with, and a real cool vfx vid from Mr. Edgerton for his own site, which adds a little bit of illumination to a key sequence—forcefully overcoming any reservations on my part to recommend.

Check it out at:  Director’s Notes

Evidently Tropfest NY started in 2006 via a partnership with the Tribeca Film Fest and this was its second year as a stand-alone event. Not too long ago I extolled the virtues of the original Australian itineration when I reviewed Marry Me the winning film from this year’s event, so I was excited to check out what I had missed with TropFest NY. I hopped online to watch some entries, thinking I could stockpile some worthy films to add to the review queue.

Or that was the idea at least. I made the mistake of watching the festival winner, Mankind Is No Island, and half-finished review or not, I knew it had to be this week’s entry. Simply put, no film has moved me half as much in a long time.

Mankind Is No Island is 3min30 long. Go watch it now, because a conventional description does not do it justice. Nor does trying to pigeon-hole the film for that matter. It is an interesting conglomeration of genre types, and few of those types really are film-related at all. In relying on the written word to tell its story, it is more properly a poem, though surface comparisons to all those typographical exercises one sees on Youtube can be made. Certainly the arrangement of the title-cards betrays someone with a design background, yet really almost the entire film is composed of near-static shot compositions. Is that not fine art photography? If we ignore technique in favor of intention, perhaps it is best thought of as a documentary for social change.

Trying to intellectually grasp the film is ultimately a pointless exercise in the face of the awesome power of experiencing it emotionally. It is devastating. I am not faint-hearted, my girlfriend will attest to that, but the film invariably summons a tear every time I view it. Part of this of course is the subject—homelessness is undoubtedly a tragedy—yet it truly is the construction of the film that most elicits these tears, starting with the score. John Roy provides it and it is spare and melancholy and beautiful. So are the images, all of them taken by cell-phone. The backlighting of “Hope” is gorgeous, the shadow falling across the last “Me” poignant, the child and mother street sign, heartbreaking. And let’s not forget the poetry of the message itself. If it was clumsy, preachy or overbearing, the film would be easily sunk. Thankfully that is not the case, and all these factors interplay in what is a powerful piece of filmmaking.

Jason Van Genderen is the toast of New York right now. Congratulations, it is well-deserved. Mankind is No Island is a triumph. A bunch of famous people made short films starring New York for New York, I Love You which premiered this month, and this one will be better than all of them.

So of course this February Tropfest 2008 played out to great success once again. And thanks to a really great marketing and distro agreement, all of us non-Aussies, (or I suppose you Aussies who couldn’t make it to a screening as well) get a chance to join in on the fun through the magic of video that streams through a series of tubes!

Marry Me, a short based on the experiences of the filmmaker, Michelle Lehman, while growing up, won the whole enchilada, and is a very sweet film about childhood. The teaser caption for the film describes it as a story about “a little girl who likes a little boy and a little boy who likes his BMX bike”. The premise reinforces gender stereotypes, but a solid kick of grrrl power at the end solidifies the contemporary feel. Still it’s the purity, and irony of the premise—girl chases disinterested boy—that brings a smile to one’s face, especially knowing that in 10 years those roles will be switched and he’ll be kicking himself. What really makes the film click though are excellent performances from the very young actors, which is an extremely impressive feat. (Believe me I know).

As fine a film as Marry Me is, the true star this week is the Tropfest Video Vault, which allows viewers to stream all 16 chosen finalists from their computer, as well as an extremely healthy selection of finalists and winners from past years. It is the most comprehensive online offering from a major short film festival that I have come a across, and simply another goldmine for online short film fans. (Update: check out Tropfest’s new Youtube Channel)

It commences with a giant stork-like, metal bird, beautifully crafted—there can be no other word for all the prop and puppet design here—sweeping down over a wooden carcass of a ship, the struts and frame boat and the skeletal system of a giant animal. The ship is floating on strips of wood, like complex pedals of a vast cathedral organ, the gently undulating lathes forming the sea. We become aware of a bespectacled figure immersed in the innards, studiously working on the cogs and wheels of his wooden clock. When the bell rings it is with the resonance of the giant metal bowls in the heights of Notre Dame. There is no Quasimodo figure however, just an old man hard at work, the passage of time and the disease revealed in his transparent, emaciating figure. The soundtrack is the bells and ticking of the clock.

Visually, this stop-motion movie is stunning even in the reduced quality available. Building the set and puppets took one year alone. The studio set is remarkable—artfully lit, providing ample scope for the camera to pan around. We see the clock-maker from different angles—his face sculptured from wood cast in the warm glow from his lantern; or we look down from above and marvel at the symmetry of the boat beneath.

Veteran actor Barry Otto narrates the story of Dik’s relationship with his father with such sincerity I believed, until I read the credits, that it was the director himself speaking. It is a complex work involving guilt over the death of his younger brother, John, who died at the age of five, 14 years before Dik was born. The consequent sadness in the family was one from which Dik felt excluded. Unlike the sudden death of a road accident the slowness of cancer allowed the son to say goodbye and “hello”. When his father dies his ashes are buried with those of his long dead son. In a moving passage of commentary the difference in quantity of the ashes between the two, boy and man, achieves both reconciliation and a release.

Dik was courteous in replying to questions from one of my students, Adam Fadra, in an extended interview for my school website last year and provides ample detail about the production. For example, the “hero bird” was assembled from brass, aluminium and bits of one of his father’s clocks whilst the process involved Dik constructing a thousand moving parts and making 22,000 images.

I see a lot of animated movies. Dad’s Clock stands out for a number of reasons, its candour being one. I have never seen a set of this complexity, a work of art in itself. The supreme craftsmanship allows Dik to form striking tableaux: the skeleton figure peering into his telescope out to the stars on top of the symmetrical alignment of timber, figure and ship viewed in front of the backdrop of the cosmos. When the old man descends for a final time into the machine and the mechanism closes around him it is an obvious metaphor but an effective one.

Dik’s personal and dignified tribute deserves greater recognition than it has received other than the director’s Australian home. His design and architecture company Studio 505 is situated in Melbourne.

Post apocalyptical world – check
An underdog to root for – check
A bully to get his comeuppance – check
Kick-arsed girl to pine over – check
and, of course, Zombies!

The thing about ILSJ—co-written by Susser and David Michod—is that if you were to strip away the high production values and outlandish world setting, there’d still be at its core a touching age-old story of teen awkwardness in relating to the object of your desire that places our hero Jimbo in the shoes of Kevin Arnold or Dawn Wiener before him, it’s just that their obstacles were slightly less brain hungry. Susser’s direction and the central performances from Brad Ashby and Mia Wasikowska completely sell the story and illustrate that when it comes to world-changing events outside of our normal experience, we’ll adapt with worrying ease. But that doesn’t mean our personalities will change; a bully’s still a bully, brother and sister still fight and the kids aren’t gonna do the washing up if no one’s around to make them.

Of course, even with all that, it’s a hard sell if things just don’t look right. However, not only are the visual effects flawless—helmed by Mike Seymour of fxphd who also filled the role of Executive Producer—but I have to admit, Richard Mueck’s nerve-jangling zombi turn had me tauter than the rope holding him back as the kids taunt and mock him; this is, after all, a zombie flick and those critters have a pesky way of managing to sink their teeth into all but the overly cautious.

Much has been made of the technical achievements of ILSJ, with it hailed as “a showcase of the most modern digital production techniques” by Digital Producer Magazine. Director of photography Adam Arkapaw shot the film in Sydney, Australia on a Thomson Grass Valley Viper FilmStream digital camera with Codex Digital recording technology enabling shots to be checked on set in full HD for focus and special effects.

ILSJ has rightly kicked up a storm of festival praise at both Sundance and the Clermont-Ferrand International Short Film Festival where it was awarded the Prix Canal.

The animation technique integrates traditional, hand-drawn 2D characters and textures in a 3D environment through a process referred to as 2.5D. Although coarsely integrated at times, the visuals do their job of telling the story without becoming a distraction.

This festival hit is Jonathon Nix’s first short animated film. The Australian animator is currently developing the prequel—a feature-length animation titled The Missing Key. Hello was my personal favorite from the Animation Show 2 (2005), and I’m pleased to see it now find a home online.