Noel Clarke plays the fedora and trench coat wearing “gumshoe” in Reign of Death, hunting down a “rat”— in this case a rather retro-styled robot. A woman has been murdered making for front-page headlines in the town, and the two characters end up having a showdown in the same alleyway where she met her end.

The action in the film itself is not the most dynamic as the editing is slow and a couple of shots seem somewhat clumsily executed, but as mentioned the VFX are astounding and create a look very faithful to the film’s classic references. A VFX breakdown has been posted by the man in charge, Linus Hofman, which shows the extent to which CG additions are able to transform real-life locations into the grimy, dark, yet fantastical backdrops of the film’s action.  The result is a look very similar to two features of the past, Sin City and Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow, which used extensive virtual sets to achieve a retro-look.

That said, we have seen numerous examples over the past year and half of increased sophistication in CG/live-action incorporation from the amateur set, and while Reign of Death at its heart prioritizes aesthetics, the film distinguishes itself by having an honest-to-god story unfold in its 5 min runtime. Short film aficionados know that 5 minutes is plenty of time to tell a complete story, however several writers of recent calling-card pieces seem to have forgotten this. Director Matthew Savage though displays a good handle on the story, having elements unfold slowly—well, as slowly as one can in such a short piece—and manages to employ a few traditional short film tricks to joyfully upend expectations, including a late twist.

Produced for BBC’s Its My Shout, yet another UK short film scheme (does the government there never get tired of being so damn supportive?), Reign of Death is an enjoyable watch that has all the elements to succeed in attracting widespread interest. Even though it has yet to make its presence felt online, the traditional path has proved effective for it, as its star and director are now developing a feature adaptation. Placed online last month by Sci-Fi London, catch this short while you can.

The concept in question is the existence of a “transporter”, that most desirable piece of tech to have filtered into the public consciousness via Star Trek. You know, “Beam me up Scotty!” and all that. In The Un-Gone the tranporter is real and the technology has been commercialized, yet apparently not made error-proof. At the start, a young married couple, Mr. Salinger and Maya, are about to take a trip to Britain thanks to “Kuala Lumpur Transit”. Maya is a little bit nervous about the impending departure, but her husband does his best to reassure her, talking about their future together, and ultimately broaching the topic of having a baby together before they eventually depart.

The woman is the one nervous about the procedure, but she makes it through without incident. Ironically it the man who suffers the mishap. It is hard to not spoil an 8 minute short, so I will refrain from going further with recap, though if you are a fan of Prof. Krauss’ The Physics of Star Trek, you may have already guessed at the film’s developments. There is a delicious sensation though to your own gradual understanding of Mr. Salinger’s predicament in advance of the character’s. Hopefully you can catch it before the clunky exposition provided by the transit firm’s executive spells it out for you.

Sadly it is this stretch directly after the big reveal that proves to be the weakest, as it falls down on one of the great strengths of the early part of the film which is the writing. It is rather impressive the way in which writer/director Simon Bovey effortlessly establishes the characters of the couple  early on while interspersing very natural lines into the dialogue that shed light on external factors. It has already been covered now, the ironic appeal of the man standing up for the transporter, unaware of how severely his faith is misplaced,  however in that opening conversation other examples of excellent screenwriting exist, most notably the conversation about having a baby.  Perhaps a baby is a bit of a blunt-force instrument—they are tremendous emotionally and metaphorically rich plot contrivances,  but this talk perfectly establishes the couples tenderness towards each other, as well their shared optimism for the future. As an audience we feel an instant connection to the couple, played by Stephen Billington and Linette Beaumont, as they act out this delicate balance between anxiety for the trip and excitement for the future.

There is a confident efficacy to Bovey’s establishment of character but it is the small throw-away lines that do magic in placing those emotions the couple share in context. Their optimism is perhaps something that is rare in this future-world. Lines such as the husband suggesting that the couple “apply” for a baby, or the excited reactions involved when the white British-sounding male announces that he’s received an “immigration permit” to go to Birmingham, England seem to broadly sketch out that this world adheres to that model of an aggressively-controlled, dystopian British society that seems to be de rigeur for futuristic depictions of the country (V for Vendetta and Children of Men spring to mind, must be the cameras). Ultimately these details do not further the plot, but they provide the kind of nuance that turns an average movie good, and a good one great, by immersing an audience into a setting that is more fully realized.

Such nuance is less evident after the big reveal. One wonders if there isn’t a better way to unveil the film’s twist than by simply stating it. Furthermore, while understandably Mr. Salinger is in shock, he is awfully slow to come to grips with the situation at hand. It’s exceptionally funny when sci-fi fans nitpick small details as unrealistic in the midst of an altogether ludicrous landscape, but The Un-Gone is sufficiently demure in its brand of speculative fiction that it does niggle the mind to wonder if even in generic totalitarian futures people would really use technology such as a transporter without understanding how it works. Evidently Popular Science magazine has closed up shop in this alternate world.

Still, the concept is too good and the execution and tightness of the short from a strictly filmmaking perspective is too strong for the film to be derailed in any meaningful way by such quibbles. The film has been successful on the festival circuit, playing over 70 of them, which is how I managed to see it a couple of years back. It created a sufficient impression on me at the time that I have periodically found myself searching for it online since, and I am pleased to find that on repeat viewing my estimation of its quality remains the same.

With its sci-fi trappings, pleasing twist, and lean runtime, I really do think that the film is well-suited for the internet. However the film does lack the visual panache that internet fans seem to clamor for. The lighting is dull and flat in that peculiarly British way us Yanks can never seem to understand, muddying up the color palate, and while the the reliance on set design and practical effects is admirable, the setting is sparse and stagey. One wonders at the possibilities for a script this smart if only it were made now, in this era of super-cheap CG. Either way don’t let that dissuade you from enjoying this fine film and appreciating the strengths it possesses. Maybe if we all do, it will go viral all the same.

This all to say that when we see Ben, in Luke Snellin’s BAFTA nominated short Mixtape, hand over his creation to the mother of the girl next door, he’s got a whole lot riding on Lily getting it or not. Snellin appears to have tapped directly into the mainline of nervousness and anticipation bubbling around his young protagonist’s gut, – expertly portrayed here by Bill Milner, who you may be more familiar with from his starring role in Son of Rambow or this year’s equally excellent Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll. The production design is also bang on, with subtle touches such as Ben’s copy of the now sadly defunct Melody Maker magazine or the Bowie poster, combining with the soundtrack to set the period without hitting you over the head with their ‘of then’ timeliness.

Shot in a single day, Mixtape was created for the Virgin Media Shorts competition, which it ultimately won ahead of 2,000+ competitors. Snelling describes the film as, “a kind of melting pot of all my influences both musically and as a director”, with the concept springing from, “all these little tapes I made for family and friends when I was young”.

It seems that the draw of depicting children’s lives on screen (his first short Patrick was about a bullied boy who learns to fly) remains strong, as aside from his commercial directorial duties at 2am Films, Snelling’s supposedly in development for a feature based on kids with special powers, due to be shot and completed by the end of this year. Personally, I’m hoping for a good New Mutants adaptation, but regardless, if he maintains his eye for detail I’m sure it’ll be worth a watch.

Bournemouth Film School graduate Rob Brown’s short takes a slightly different tack to other sex trafficking films you may be familiar with, such as Lukas Moodysson’s Lilya 4-ever. Instead of cataloging the indignities no doubt in store for victims of the forced sex trade, Echoes focuses on Anya, promoted from sex worker to trafficker, and her journey from Lithuania to London with the innocent (and secretly pregnant) Liliana.

Given that a large chunk of Echoes unfolds within the confines of the coach transporting the women across Europe, Brown and cinematographer Justin Brown make effective use of the handheld camera, capturing everyday locations in muted tones which reflect the film’s bleak world. I had initially presumed the decision to go handheld may have been born out of a necessity to steal shots in the London Underground, but as (I later discovered) Echoes was shot on Super 16 it’s more likely that this was solely a stylistic decision—one which completely works for the narrative and atmosphere of the film. The final shot of Anya, now boxed in by her decision to let Liliana go free, with nowhere to go except down the dark corridor that stretches out behind her is particularly foreboding.

Ultimately Echoes is a film about the willingness to sacrifice the future of others to secure your own position, it’s a sacrifice Anya is unable to make despite the hell that awaits her.

Since those days, this short has become sort of an online Halloween favorite, and it’s easy to see why.

As brisk as a nursery rhyme, The Cat with Hands is a twisted tale (so deliciously Grimm) about a well-dwelling cat that steals human body parts. That’s where the hands came from, see? Amazing how creepy the film manages to be just by attaching our normal limbs to the body of a household pet. Narrated by a single voice throughout, the story takes the shape of a freaky folk tale, and even has the campfire-style twist to go with it. This ghoulish concept originated from a recurring nightmare the director’s sister used to have when she was young, which stacks another evidence for children being the best source for all things messed-up.

Writer-director Robert Morgan’s experience with stop-motion animation is impressive, having also done a couple of really great grotesque shorts reminiscent of Brothers Quay (take a look at his Separation). Nowadays, it’s rare enough that stop-motion animation is used at all—unless your name rhymes with Schmenry Schmelick—let alone used as an effect. Funded by UK’s Channel 4, Morgan was able to shoot a portion of the film in stark 35mm live-action and a portion in stop-motion figures. The latter is specifically used to render the eponymous cat. It gives that side of the film an otherworldly effect: cartoony enough to be fantasy (which helps with hiding the revelation) but not so cartoony that it takes away from the spooky atmosphere.

Having been around for so long, The Cat with Hands may not be a discovery anymore, but it remains a favorite for its memorably simple creature and myth-like attribute—like a bedtime story that won’t go away.

It’s good to see an evolution of this technique present in his latest piece, The Black Dog’s Progress. The film opens to the disquieting strains of Sorenious Bonk’s score with a single repeating flipbook panel, surround by soon to be populated white space, which depicts the Black Dog’s arrival in a gift box. His new owner promptly sneezes all over him and to say that this is as good as things will get for the Black Dog would be the understatement of the year. Animation or not, this certainly isn’t one for the kids! As the panels appear and shift to make room for each other, we’re presented with an interconnected mosaic of abuse and indignity piled on our four legged friend that belies the pleasant cartoon style of the drawing (somewhat reminiscent of the transformed creatures in Shynola’s promo for UNKLE’s An Eye for An Eye). At its height, the frame contains 24 flipbook panels of action, which your eyes continuously flit around in fear of missing something. However, Irwin quickly focuses our attention with a spotlight that guides us through the gruesome tableau.

Using inspiration from William Hogarth’s A Rake’s Progress (1733) as a jumping off point, The Black Dog’s Progress was originally conceived as an online commission for Animate, which Irwin has said influenced the development of the concept as he envisaged viewers being able to “explore the narrative and scrub through the timeline at their own pace.” After designing the multi-frame layout and deciding how each panel would interact with its neighbours, Irwin created 50 physical flipbooks (with additional variants as needed) that were then scanned to create the animation.

As disturbing as it is, The Black Dog’s Progress is a short that demands repeated viewing, inviting you to return time and time again to marvel in the decent of its protagonist, as if you were the one forcing him through the pages of his story.

With as many directors as arms of one of its plucky stars, Oktapodi is the rightly lorded Gobelins L’Ecole de L’Image 2007 graduation film from Julien Bocabeille, François-Xavier Chanioux, Olivier Delabarre, Thierry Marchand, Quentin Marmier and Emud Mokhberi.

There’s certainly a lot to love about Oktapodi. For one the vibrantly designed, wide-eyed octopi lovers and expressive restaurant cook nemesis are fantastically realised. Also, this two minute tale doesn’t waste a single second of screen time or animation resource with anything that doesn’t push the story along and fully entertain whilst doing so. Within the first 20 seconds, the motivations and stakes of the coming pursuit are well and truly set, so we can settle down to enjoying the slapstick set pieces as they rapidly unfold.

In an interview with CG Society, co-director Emud Mokhberi said that the two minute running time was a limitation set by Gobelins to enable students to complete their work at a reasonably high quality, within the alloted production time. Once they had the story in place, the team however took that limitation and used it to build an increasingly frantic pace which composer Kenny Wood’s score beautifully brings to hectic life, especially as the film is completely dialogue free.

Amongst its many awards, Oktapodi went on the win both the Audience Prize & Best in Show at SIGGRAPH, along with the Canal+Family Award (Student Film) at the Annecy International Animated Film Festival in 2008 and was also nominated for an Academy Award in 2009.

Check out Oktapodi.com for a detailed making of video.

And yet—there’s always an “and yet”—fan films and the Internet are so gruesomely intertwined that to reject one is to reject the other, at least with regard to video. Only porn stands prouder as the flag-bearer of streaming distribution. It hurts all the more because of those very occasional gems that force fools like me back into the muck searching for another Troops or Pink Five.  As this site claims to represent the best in online shorts, we need to dip into the slime, and what do you know? I found a jewel, pre-shined and all.

The Hunt for Gollum needs to be watched twice, because a first viewing will be interrupted by your own exclamations of “This can’t be a fan film” and “There’s no way this was done for under £3,000.”  It is an amazing piece of work: sweeping vistas, ancient forests, goblins hordes, and all put together by unpaid fans.

The story, with an adjustment or two, comes from an appendix to the Lord of the Rings that I can’t recall reading. Gandalf fears that Gollum may be captured by the dark forces of Mordor and reveal the location of the One Ring, and sends the ranger Strider to find the warped creature and keep him away from their enemies. Does that mean nothing to you?  Do you need to be told who Gandalf and Strider and Gollum are?  Or who Peter Jackson is?  If so, this film isn’t for you. It makes no attempt to appeal to a wider audience. It doesn’t need to. Only Lord of the Rings fanatics, that is, fans of the humongous epic cinematic trilogy, need apply.

While it doesn’t stand on its own, as a previously unfilmed chapter in Peter Jackson’s vision, it works incredibly well.  Director Chris Bouchard has Jackson’s style down pat, and uses enough wide shots of mountains and marches though wildernesses, all set to music just this side of Wagner, to lead anyone to believe that The Hunt for Gollum is really a secret proof of concept piece that Jackson shot to prove to New Line that he could pull off the larger project.

Adrian Webster makes a convincing Aragorn, though the poor man is stepping into the slick, testosterone oozing shoes of Viggo Mortensen. “Convincing” is the best that could have been managed.  Patrick O’Connor is a level up as Gandalf, and for my money fits the literary wizard better than Ian McKellen, and I am fond of McKellen’s work.

Is The Hunt for Gollum non-stop entertainment and excitement?  No; it is laced with self-importance and drags for much of its length. But that’s exactly the same thing I’ve said of Jackson’s mega-film. If you found its tone on the money and were comfortable with its leisurely pace, than you will be happy with every moment of this work.

The Hunt for Gollum is that rarest of fan films. It matches its progenitor without feeling unnecessary or embarrassing. It brings action, depth of character, and effects worthy of its parent. If you’ve left Middle Earth behind, there’s nothing here to bring you back, but if you are twitching for the big screen adaptation of The Hobbit, here is your fix.

Place the family round the dinner table, include the grown up kids and grandparents – nine guests in all plus dog – provide ample red wine, alcohol-free for the grandparents, place the digital voice recorder on the table and let things roll. Such is the technique of Tom Senior, final year student at the Farnham campus of the UK’s University of the Creative Arts (UCA), a fine institution boasting three Oscar winners amongst its illustrious alumni in Daniel Greaves, Michael Dudok de Wit and Suzie Templeton.

Before discussing the animation technique used let me say that the sheer naturalness of the dialogue is a delight. Meals in my home are not unlike this and, whereas accents the world over fluctuate, I recognise something of me in at least one of the characters. The tiny conflicts and moments of alcohol -(or is it just happiness) fuelled daftness strike a chord, the dialogue being full of the myriad irrelevances of real speech, occasional tensions, the peaks and troughs of real life. As the food goes down a treat, not to mention the red liquid, dad licks his spoon, then gets tired and, the central event of the piece other than simply eating, the taking of the family photograph cannot be put off any longer. So dad pulls himself together, sets the remote control and, hey presto, the family is preserved for posterity, all smiling for (or is it because of ) the camera.

Now to the technique. At first sight I thought Tom had rotoscoped the action. In fact the drawings are all digitally hand drawn, 2D computer images, the animator’s quick hands and eyes for detail tracing the essential action and character. Thus the food glides from plate to mouth, the youth stretches, the dishes accumulate by the sink, the table cloth devours the serving plate, the faces are satisfied and full. The backdrop is a sketchily dabbed stroke or two of predominantly yellow watercolour and sometimes the artist focuses on the mouth as a barest disembodied confusion of lines, gyrating busily as the food is devoured. It is all very sketchily done, lovely semblance of watercolour throughout, with that minimalist attention to form you just know is beautifully done. It matches the meandering quality of the dialogue to perfection.

I went home and googled, dutifully looking out for all of you, our beloved fledgling audience,  but of course none of the short films were to be found. None except for the Animation Grand Jury Prize winning Photograph of Jesus! Hoo-Raaaaay.

Photograph for Jesus is of that weird genre hybrid, the animated documentary. Ryan or I Met the Walrus are examples in this mode, using recorded audio as the basis for the narrative. In this film an unseen photographic curator relates some of the odd and sometimes just plain daft requests he gets while working at the archive. We all get a chuckle via simple storytelling as he recounts his surprise, disbelief and exasperation at some of the things folk are looking for, while images catalogued in the vast wharehouse come to life via an impressive diversity of animation techniques. My personal favorite is the story of someone wanting an actual photograph of a Yeti.

The content of the short is heavily influenced by the reason for its creation. In 2008 Getty Images put on a contest for filmmakers, asking them to create a short film in which no less than 50% of the imagery was comprised of material from their London-based Hulton archive. Using image archives for the raw material in which to animate films is a neat idea and so far has produce some dynamite work—Run Wrake’s Control Master being the other example that comes to mind, but Laurie Hill took the premise of the contest and cleverly turned it in upon itself, creating a film out of the archive that itelf comments on the archive.

The Getty’s contest page displays some of the other worthy entries, including one by SotW-featured Ian Mackinnon, but Photograph of Jesus is the undisputed cream in my mind, only partly because of its perfection as a commercial. The film is also a delight of animation. It comes at a furious clip and blends photographic manipulation with collage, including a few instance of a bizarre but interesting kaleidoscopic montage, as well as stop motion of the physical space housing the collection. It’s visually arresting stuff, and the madcap feel of the action is a nice complement to the dry humor of the British narration.

Like most short filmed goodness on the web, our man Dek already scooped the film well before us, so visit if you want a personal copy.

To set the scene: a girl looks from a window onto a snowy vista, where she ventures to make a row of snow angels. That is until her doppelgänger buries her in the snow and returns to the house, which is populated by circus folk; a midget, a fire-eater, a contortionist and ‘her’ mother who wears a bandage over one eye. The girl is then sent upstairs call the other girls for breakfast, who turn out to be identical to her, and all dressed in gymnast outfits. Meanwhile outside a groundsman and his dog discover the original girl and begin to dig out the snow. The girls lead the doppelgänger down to breakfast, where her mother takes off her clothes to reveal the same gymnast outfit beneath. Then at the urging of the fire-eater, the midget attempts (and fails) to throw a strawberry into the mother’s mouth much to the glee of the onlookers. The doppelgänger runs to the window, through which we can see it is now Spring and the groundsman stands to reveal a white lilly on the spot where the original girl lay.

Summarized as above, Snow Angel appears to lack cohesion, but as the elegant animation plays out in its compelling, yet unfussy style, you find yourself drawn into the world; intrigued by it’s oddities yet happy for them to remain unexplained.

The last place I’d expect a film as off-kilter and Lynchian in its aesthetics as Snow Angel to originate would be as part of an online campaign for a multi-national, but the project’s genesis was from London based digital agency Dare as part of their Online Script Project for Sony VAIO. An initial scene was written by John Malkovich, which was then opened to the public for continuation and completion. Malkovich chose the winning scenes by Wayne Chisnall, Laura Tonini and Arianna Tropeato to complete the script. It then made its way to director Laurie J Proud and a team of animators and fx artists over at animation studio par excellence Sherbet (home to Tony Comely too!— JS). Proud was given a free hand to design the cast of characters and settings for the strange tale, but stuck pretty close to the original story; “I had a lot of visual freedom to design the characters and the whole look. However, I didn’t really change anything about the action as I felt it was my job to stick to the script.”

It seems almost redundant to point out great sound design in animation as that tends to be a given for any effective piece, but the work of Barney Quinton at You Are Hear is truly outstanding and a major part of what kept me in a constant state of unease throughout. I don’t know who’s idea it was to use slithering, ghostly voices coupled with intertitles for the dialogue, but it was an utter stroke of genius.

As well as watching Snow Angel here, you can head over to the competition site ( www.vaio-john.com) to take a look at the original collaborative script.

In a sentence, Tomas has created a film that uses life-scale stop-motion (or pixelation) using found objects all shot against a gym floor. It builds from the thread of Pes and his stop-motion films that repurpose found objects in meaningful ways.

The big difference here is scale—a property that Tomas utilizes in his effects by holding up objects in front of the camera at a closer, foreshortened distance. This LoFi effect works surprisingly well and helps to solidify the notion that no CG was involved here. The LoFi effects + stop-motion + flat perspective create an amusing reference to the 2D adventure worlds of yesteryear’s video games.

On set, the film is shot from a balcony looking down on to a gym floor.

Let me take the chance to explain the appeal of the LoFi aesthetic (low fidelity) that is growing increasingly more prevalent. It’s a backlash against the ultra-real CG of today that tries to cover its tracks. Instead, it reveals the maker’s hand (in this case, quite literally). The more ghetto the special effects, the greater the props. But as much as it is a statement against big budget effects, it’s also a statement for the home-spun ingenuity of our YouTube generation. A sort of nose-thumbing that says, “look what I can do with what little I have.” However, as the French filmmaker Michel Gondry could tell you, LoFi effects are not necessarily the fast, cheap methods most make them out to be. No, in fact, LoFi most always requires more time and often burns a bigger hole in your pocket. So why do it? Craft. The LoFi aesthetic reveals a customization, dedication, and level of care that none can match.

Shotlist and storyboard all in one—looks like a game level.

If you’re interested in learning more about how Sorry I’m Late was made, drop by the Making Of page and view the many animation tests. Turn back the page from Sorry I’m Late, and you’ll see that Tomas has created another short stop-motion film called Little Big Love. Check this, and other entrepreneurial endeavors out on his personal website.

A young  girl watches TV, her mother absent. Edits imply a great passing of time. She sleeps some. She suddenly goes outside with her dog and after some exploring in the middle of a batch of tall grass, she meets a man. They share a charged and intimate moment. He touches her, picking off a small bug on her shoulder which he places in her hands. Across the field is her mother dishing out an icy glare. The girl walks back to the house. That is the film. It is up to subtext and beauty to give life to the experience: the ennui of a girl ignored, the simple joy and wonder of the outdoors and its unmediated experience,  the power of the man’s unflinching gaze. I cannot believe he is a stranger. The mother’s reaction is confirmation of as much. Suddenly an untold backstory fills in the edges of the picture. A story of love and loss, or maybe mistakes and regrets, a story that gives context to little innocent girls abandoned and ignored. The details are left to the viewer to guess, but their absence makes the film richer for it.

It is impossible to describe the grace of this film through words, but that’s why we link to the video as well. As it behooves me to try, I will start with the fact that is shot in 35mm using the ultra-wide 2.35:1 ratio. Great care is given to the cinematography, the caressing light of the television screen, the excellent focus pulling, all of which lends the seemingly ordinary events a sense of cinematic grandeur. Would have loved to have seen this on the big screen. The second technical element that deserves highlighting is the sound design. The outdoor scene is wonderful with the soft sounds of the wind, the birds and the bypassing cars. They help add to the lazy Sunday languor of the piece, yet rather than be mere background they draw you into an immediacy of the moment,  sharply attuning you to the vibrancy of a place and time. The care and attention to the details in both image and sound is not merely stylistic, it places us into the mind of the young girl, simultaneously oblivious and yet hyper-aware,  providing us with the vividness and romance which so often are the lasting hallmarks of momentous encounters for lives so young.

Alicia Duffy, where are you? Produced in 2002 by Breakthru Films, the company that produced Suzie Templeton’s Peter and the Wolf, and with help from the UK Film Council, this professional-quality production succeeded in its goals, winning a BAFTA nomination and playing Cannes. Yet it is the last entry on Ms. Duffy’s IMDB page. As designers and animators are increasingly taking over creative aspects of film, overwhelming us with advanced editing techniques and increased computer intergration, this is a calling card for a filmmaker who knows how to tell a story visually, with patience, space and emotion—the exact kind of qualities which I feel could use a comeback. So Alicia Duffy, please direct again.

In Marc Craste’s strikingly original animation Jojo in the Stars, the nightmarish, freak show world he has created reminds me of what might happen if Lynch and Burton ever decided to make a film together (in fact Craste evens proclaims Eraserhead as one of the inspirations behind his film—along with Wings of Desire).  It’s rare to see an animation in such a desaturated form, but the colourless aesthetics of the film adds magnitudes to the industrialized carnival location of the film, whilst also giving it’s characters a dark, tragic edge. If Jojo would have been in colour, it’s hard to imagine how the characters wouldn’t have been cute and lovable (ok maybe not Madame Pica) and this would have inevitably distracted the focus from the story at the heart of this piece.

Although the visuals of Jojo will almost inevitably be what the majority of its viewers remember and remark upon, it is the narrative of the film which takes it to the next level. A heart-breaking tale of love, isolation and self-sacrifice, Jojo tells the age old story of how far one robot-bunny-thing will go to try and set free the silver-plated, owl-like, trapeze artist he has loved from afar. Although set in a twisted, strange world, very unlike the one we live in, the story of Jojo feels like it could come from any book or any film set in any time or any place.

Craste stated that he wanted to create a “a love story with freaks” and that’s exactly what he’s done in creating a cold, nightmarish world, filled at it’s heart with a universally touching story of warmth and devotion.

Comprised of two parts, To Build a Home firstly chronicles the last hours of a dying woman (Julia Ford), as her dedicated and faithful partner (Peter Mullan) cares and comforts for his love in her final moments. In the second part of the short, we see Mullan’s broken shell of a man, coming to terms with the loss of his beloved and struggling to face his future without the woman he loves. It’s an emotional journey full of feeling and atmosphere with a story that will resonate with anyone who has experienced the passing of a loved one.

Up the Resolution’s sombre video for two of The Cinematic Orchestra tracks is a swift departure from their usual, graphics/effects laden work (their video for Coldcut’s Sound Mirrors being a pristine example of this). For To Build a Home, UTR instead decided to focus their attention more on storytelling, mood and performance. The story they weave is touching and mesmerizing, whilst the performance from their two lead actors is nothing short of heart-breaking. Peter Mullan is in spellbinding form portraying a man struggling to come to terms with loss, but I wouldn’t expect anything less from one of Britain’s most under-rated actors. Although this appears to be a story- and performance-driven piece, don’t for any minute be fooled into thinking that the visuals for this film have been over-looked. The cinematography is absolutely sumptuous. Shot on 35mm, it perfectly captures not only the stunning landscapes of Cumbria, but every nook and cranny of the couples homely little stone cottage (as well as every nook and cranny of the actors expressions). The aesthetics of the film are even more amazing, when considering this is director Andrew Griffin’s (an animation specialist) first venture into the medium of 35mm film.

As a music video it’s a pretty original idea, combining two songs from an Artist into the soundtrack of a short film, especially as the two tracks complement the narrative perfectly. As a short film, it’s beautiful in all departments, utterly compelling and will stay with you for a long time after watching it.

Animators at the start of their careers are often seduced by the burning desire to strut their stuff, showing off their talents with the whizz bang of a preening peacock, but thankfully Solar is the antithesis of any such showboating. That isn’t to say the film lacks style, but rather that the duo have chosen to place their storytelling prowess at the forefront and supported it with a believable world that works across every dimension

Apparently Solar went through 20 script re-writes and numerous design tweaks before the machinery was locked down, so the sun moon cycle became a valid and logical system that behaved in a believable manner. With such a solid base, the physics of the world are easily stretched to include the giant throwing the controller into the heavens so he can pedal a moon back to base when the mechanics fail and so begin the cycle once again.

In a world of spoon fed stories it’s to Wharton and Shires’ credit that we can latch onto Solar’s narrative without the need for a single word of dialogue, although credit should also go to Simon Koudriavtsev who provides the emotive score for for the piece.

Solar has understandably racked up a host of awards and nominations including Best Animated Film at the Royal Television Society Awards, a Student Escape Award in CG and Best of Show at Cubria’s graduate exhibition. Also, for those of you curious for a peak behind the curtain, the Solar site hosts a pretty detailed making of video along with concept art for the film.

The visual style, though beautiful at times, is also rather clunky. There are times when movements seem awkward and I’m pulled out of the not-so-carefully constructed world of the film. I was even more disappointed after learning the film was created by the impressive Smith & Foulkes of Nexus Productions who also created the well-loved story within a story closing credits of Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events.

Overall, due to a lack of an engaging story, consistency and plain outright entertainment value, This Way Up leaves plenty more to be desired. I see this film as a great story pitch that was rushed to production.

The film moves effortlessly between passages of time, tracing the break-down of the relationship precipitated by and relived through an obsessive requirement to record events the two have shared. The greater Rob’s fear of losing her the more desperate is he to preserve Alice’s image.

The narrative is presented in flip book animation and live action. Narrated by Rob (Simon Perry) we watch as Alice attempts to wrestle him back to reality. “Can you just STOP for one minute to talk about this?” she writes. I can scarcely conceive of a form of flip book ignored in this classy film: conventional, hand machine operated, toilet tissue unravelled, images discarded on the floor, cascading in the air, even, at one stage, pasted to the London Underground wall behind Alice as she sits alone with the possessions removed from their apartment.

If the use of animation is extraordinary, the filming is subtle with a curiously detached quality about it. Many of the shots of Alice are full on portraits, reflecting her partner’s obsessive need to record their relationship. The walls of the apartment itself are white and at times it is as if the director has drained much of the colour from the action so that it echoes the flickering white paper of the flip books. Technically and artistically accomplished, Adjustment is beautifully edited, cutting from past to present almost as if the photographs and drawn images are shuffled into a different order, as indeed they are in the film.

The movie formed part of Ian’s graduation from the Royal College of Art in 2006. He also studied and taught Computer Animation at Bournemouth University. He is one of the UK’s young directors with huge potential.

That is the setup for Soft, a film which is lean, yet inventive and diverse in technique, a true coming out for a rising star, British writer/director Simon Ellis. Shot on film over 5 days for the sum of 50,000 pounds, the film is the product of a sponsorship by the UK Film Council and Film4 via their Cinema Extreme program, which identifies British film talent and supports their ability to step up to feature films by first tackling a professional short.

Based on the film’s reception, that decision to invest in Mr. Ellis, seems wise. Soft was the recipient of the 2008 International Jury Prize at Sundance, as well as Best of the Fest at the ’07 Palm Springs Short Film Fest. What Soft accomplishs to garner such acclaim is multi-fold: the film is novel and yet relatable, timeless yet extremely topical, and while so much of the film is about relationships and emotions, its defining moment is a thunderbolt of shocking action.

The conflict is at the heart of the film’s allure, and it is complex—simultaneously playing out on a physical as well as ethical level, defying easy resolution or second-guessing on the audience’s part. Moreover, the conflict is twofold—the man and son up against nameless aggression, but also the man and son versus each other, setting up a novel premise that is yet still universal. Who has not confronted bullying? Tension is masterfully manipulated through a slow burn pacing that pushes the film to its 13min runtime. In his 15 prior shorts Ellis had yet to break the 10min mark in length, and I generally agree with him in that doctrine, yet in an interview, Ellis responds “In my opinion, most short films are almost always too long but I felt this one needed room to breathe.” Soft benefits from that choice not only in atmospherics, but also in developing its characters.

The 13min runtime allows for a second stellar aspect of the film to shine through, which is its acting. The tension that is central to the film is largely generated from the performances, and the liberal employment of extreme facial close-ups to convey subtle notes of apprehension, dawning comprehension and resolve, that move the film forward. It is rare that a short film so wholly relies on performance and character development as Soft does, but so much of the story is interior. It is truly the change and growth in its characters outlook and reactions which define the story, the explicit action is merely the consummation of information already conveyed.

Finally the film is topical, in a way that surely has benefited its reception in the UK. Having spent some time in London over the last few years, I can attest to a rising hysteria amongst media outlets and evidently the public at large, over the rise of “Hoodies”, Ellis definitely plays off of existing fears to great effect by imagining a villainous force of randomly violent, hip-hop inspired youth to serve as the catalyst for his story. Histories of Hoodie-hysteria often trace the rise of the phenomena to the controversial use of CCTV cameras on London’s streets and public places. The high angle shot which opens and closes the film is obviously meant to evoke this current reality of constant surveillance. And yet while the hoodies of the film are villains, thugs delighting in the delivering of abuse, I read a moral to the film that ultimately is dismissive of the threat of hoodies—yes there exist bullies and maladjusted youngsters, but they are merely bullies, not a sinister new force. The real threat is the disconnect of a society from its youth. Elders chide and judge without understanding, while the youngsters scoff at their hypocrisy. This crisis is happening in the homes of communities, not on the streets.

All this adds up to a compelling film that deserves the accolades it has received so far. Unfortunately the success of Soft means that like so many of its festival brethren, it will be a while before we see a legit high-quality internet version. In the meantime enjoy this version which seems to have been recorded off French Tv, complete with subtitles. Oh well, it is worth it still.

Meghana uses her ink sparingly. The drawings are sketched out in minimal detail, perfectly composed. She eschews colour, musical soundtrack, even, with the barest possible exception, voice. Instead she uses subtitles, pared down to the essential thoughts of the child. The soundtrack is one of sighs, movements and breathing. The animation flickers along with a grainy quality. Our focus is entirely girl and grandmother. It is a refreshing, innocent world where the girl is a tiny speck on a rolling landscape of bed, quilt and adult. Performing cartwheels, blowing bubbles, taking a boat journey, walking with imaginary friends and, ever present, the sound of the old woman’s breathing. When there is silence the granddaughter’s world changes. She waits with her family by a towering telephone, returning up the steps to a room that is very empty.

Meghana has a talent for encompassing the world of the child in a few strokes of her pen: the looming, intimidating forms of the older children, the waves of the sea becoming the hair of the old lady, the clutching hand that lifts the child from the boat into her protective arms, the bubbles that become clouds over the girl’s head. Imaginatively and conceptually the movie allows one the privilege of entering an innocent world of childhood. In our busy civilisation the grandparent has a huge role in the upbringing and support for children. A Journey Across Grandmother pays homage to the woman and, in a sense, the institution.

Born and brought up in Bangalore, India, Meghana obtained her first degree from the National Institute of Design before moving to the UK to obtain a masters degree in animation in 2006 from the celebrated Royal College of Art. A Journey Across Grandmother was Meghana’s graduation degree. She has been commissioned for various collaborative projects for Channel 4 and is currently undertaking research in India for what hopefully will be her next individual film. Her website is well worth a visit and I have written about her work on the www.animationblog.org.

Living “a miserable existence on a remote and austere strip of coast”, the two old spinsters are eager to find company, with the complicity of the sea. Possibly male—handsome—grateful? Though they’d hardly win the heart of any living man, The Pearce Sisters won Best Short Animation at the 2008 BAFTA Awards.

Director Luis Cook has been at Aardman Animations since 1994, but this is his first (second, if you count the title sequence for the London Film Festival) non-commercial work. At a time when beauty often seems less exploratory, and more of a formula, it’s refreshing to see a film dive into the aesthetics of ugliness. With every detail in every scene transporting us into this parallel universe born from Luis Cook’s mind—a world both austere and humorous at the same time. As my friend Mike appropriately asked, “If the sisters had only gotten a bikini wax… would things have turned out different?”

One can only guess.

Holiday Romance is a 1998 British comedy that’s not going to leave you dwelling on the nature of life, but will leave you with a smile.  A small time burglar (Oz Milburne) thinks it’s his lucky day when he sees a woman (Eva Pope) drop her keys on the train platform.  She’ll be off on vacation and he’ll have all the time in the world to pilfer her home.  He’d have thought differently if he’d noticed her dropping them previously, planting them for someone to pickup.  At the house, he finds everything he could have desired, plus a little more in the form of a not-so-ferocious dog.

The film has the dry, witty humor I’ve come to expect from Britcoms, along with the mindset.  The kindly robber, who is ready to break into your home or pick your pocket, but would never harm you no matter what, is a British character through and through.  The joke wouldn’t work if the film was set in the U.S., where we assume our crooks carry guns and would blow you away right after killing their own grandmothers.  But Holiday Romance assumes lovable criminals are everywhere, so it all makes sense.

While it feels like a substantial project, the film has a small cast. With only three main actors, and one of those a dog, it’s the four-legged thespian who steals the show. Well, you know the old saying about never acting with kids or animals. The humans do their jobs admirably, but cute will win out.

Of course you’d expect an Academy Award nominee to look good, and it does. Director J.J. Keith pays the bills directing U.K. commercials and is considered one of the best. His skills transfer over to the world of storytelling (where the climax isn’t a frothy mug of Guinness). He knows how to shoot in confined spaces and you still can’t beat 35mm for a short. He was aided by producer Alex Jovy, who shared the directing chair; the two decided to simplify the credits.

It can be a disorienting experience, so view Abigail not in search of a solid narrative, but as a fluid collection of thoughts strung together by the common theme of loss.

Tony, the filmmaker, explains his inspiration for the short:

I decided the best approach was to collect all of the random ideas that pop into your head while you’re brushing your teeth or paying for gas and try and discern a common thread between them. It wasn’t until the thought of the burning airplane popped into my head in a park in London that the film started to structure itself. After that it was a case of holding each tiny idea up against the this plane scenario and seeing which fit the best.

This kind of technique comes from the idea of a zeitgeist or memes (Richard Dawkin’s word for culturally prevalent ideas that are passed on and mutate like genes). It also relates to something Ed Hooks said about the roots of storytelling. He said that the role of the storyteller essentially hasn’t changed since the days of shamanism when stories were told to the tribe to vindicate their beliefs and bolster their reserve in tough times. I think he’s got a point. Even with apparently subversive and anarchic art: If it’s successful it’s a sure sign that it’s reflective of the values of some kind of ‘tribe’ of people who then re-digest it and use it to bolster their reserve in tough times.

For me, (Abigail) was just an experiment to see what kind of memes or cultural ephemera were in my head so that I might find something interesting. It’s like rooting through the trashcan of popular culture to try and find it’s bank details!

Abigail was Tony’s capstone to his years at the Royal College of Art where it waded through the festival rounds (Special Distinction at Annecy) before making a big splash online. For a genre that often translates poorly online (drama), Abigail’s strong imagery and score are powerful enough to draw you in. Impeccably well-crafted, Tony has a surgeon’s eye for iconic imagery. His glowing, technicolor world provides a surreal backdrop for the ensuing madness.

Abigail is a very computer-centric film. It was made entirely on a computer and designed to be viewed on a computer screen …it has a much more interesting life on-line because once it’s part of the web it’s like a magnet with iron fillings. The oddest patterns emerge from those attracted and repelled by it.

For example, it was recently downloaded by a girl in China, stripped of it’s audio and re-scored with her favourite Spanish grunge band. the result was horrific, but I was flattered.

While working on his next film, currently Tony finds most of his inspiration from comic books and graphic novels with plans to explore new possibilities in online graphic stories. Check out his website for updates on his work.

Read our full Q&A with Tony Comley.

One of the keys for the continued viability and importance of the form is in the new generation of filmmakers making use of it. Suzie Templeton is a new and important practitioner of stop-motion animation and has been notably celebrated for it. This week’s short, Dog, won both a British Animation Award, and the BAFTA for short animation in 2002. Dog is a window into the relationship of a father and son shortly after the unexplained death of the boy’s mother. Grief needs to be worked out on both characters ends, yet is not allowed to breathe. The tension and ambiguity of the characters circumstances suffocates their interactions and comes to a head with the death of the family dog, an event which can be seen as compassionate or a betrayal of trust—and possibly symbolic of something even darker.

Works like Dog, and Templeton’s previous work Stanley, are the true antithesis of the larger than life spectacles originally associated with stop-motion, a necessary departure surely in this computer-driven age of filmmaking. These films are as resolute in their interiority, their exploration of confined spaces, and their decidedly unspectacular characters, as early films were in realizing epic tales of heroes and monsters. Templeton seems to revel in unveiling the mystery and perversion of the actual as much as those previous films did in their joyful creation of the fantastical. Ultimately you are left with something as unsettling as works by Jan Svankmajer or the Brothers Quay, but more so for its seeming ordinariness than its absurdist or macabre nature.

Templeton has recently completed her latest work, a major step in both technique and ambition; a 30min stop-motion adaptation of Prokofiev’s Peter and the Wolf which recently aired on television in Britain. (How cool is that!) If you enjoy Dog, I suggest purchasing it.

With a minimalist approach to animation, Scotish animator, Sharon Colman, is capable of saying much with very little. She explains her process: “I always wanted to approach animation from a traditional illustrative angle,” she says. “I’m amused by the peculiar and absurdity of human nature, and developed an interest in character and their physiological makeup.” (Source: NFTS)