There is always an air of sadness about puppets masquerading as humans. The team addresses this phenomena to a point when the young man’s hand falls off at an inopportune moment (there’s never a good moment!). The young would-be lovers gaze out their shop window set to see a real life couple embrace in the square after the man has proposed to the girl. This ignites an intention in the puppet man’s head. The film’s opportunity to communicate a sense of pathos in how dolls view bona fide humans is missed as this film avoids such grandiose claims. Instead, the film’s charm comes through its archetypical character traits: gentle foolery, the over-earnest suitor, and the occasionally coquettish girlfriend.

I have covered many student films on my Animation Blog, but this is my first from Malaysia. The 3D work is very competently handled—the characters brightly lit with clever points of view. What is interesting is the choice of France as a location. We are well used to French movies of charm from such animation establishments as Gobelins L’Ecole de L’Image or Valenciennes’s Supinfocom. Le Mannequin has something of that look, though it owes just as much to the inimitable Pixar style. It’s a genuinely stylish piece with a light touch however, and for those who like happy endings, don’t miss the action as the credits roll.

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.

The story follows Alice (Selma Blair), a single woman with a pain deep inside of her that no doctor can diagnose. She seeks out a Specialist who sets off on a surreal expedition inside her and discovers something astounding—she’s completely empty—”A woman with nothing inside her but a cold, hard breeze.” His photos come back showing a vast frozen wasteland (not unlike the rural Alaskan town I grew up in). But rather than search for a cure for her pain, the Specialist takes her to universities around the world gaining accolades for his discovery. No one it seems is willing to help Alice, so it takes her own strong will to shift this story from one of exploitation to self-reliance.

Shot by Sigel himself, The Big Empty seems almost like a playground on which the cinematographer was able to experiment with new techniques. Lighting and color play a large role in defining the film’s somber mood and Alice’s inner pain. Unique POVs put us in strange places. The film is a hefty 21 minutes yet the story progresses at a nice pace and continues to reward you to the end.

If haven’t yet had the chance to check out the YouTube The Screening Room, The Big Empty is the perfect excuse. Thankfully, past films will remain archived online, so you can go back and catch all the previous films as well.

The thirteen-minute short, shot a year earlier, is a prequel to the feature. They’ve been shown together on the festival circuit, though they will go their separate ways once The Darjeeling Limited enters wide release. The connection between the two was initially nebulous, but Anderson quickly realized that if he was using the same lead actor in both projects, he probably ought to be playing the same character.

The story is slight, even for a short, but Anderson has never been concerned with plot. In a richly toned Paris hotel room, a very un-Parisian man (Jason Schwartzman) is hiding from the world. A phone call from a mysterious woman (Natalie Portman) warns him that she will be there in thirty minutes. With a mixture of desire and fear, he prepares for her arrival, cueing the oddest seduction song on his iPod that you’ll find in a movie. When she shows up at the door, it’s clear she’s the one in charge, though in charge of what is never made clear. The rest is all relationship.

For saying little and doing less, Hotel Chevalier is incredibly compelling. Part of it is the mystery. We don’t know who these people are or what their problems have been, though it is clear that both are broken. She’s physically bruised; he’s mentally fried. We’re not told why, and we don’t need to be. With a few lines, extended shots focusing on expressions, bizarre kitsch set around the room, and anomalous music, we are presented with complex people. It just turns out that we don’t know how they are complex.

Mystery and Anderson’s always present quirkiness are not the only draws. Hotel Chevalier is also erotic. Portman, lying on a bed, her leg held high, requiring that her boot be removed for her, is a striking image for a majority of the male population. Much has been made on internet chat sites of Portman’s nudity, particularly after she had stated that she’d never get her kit off on film. Calm down. While the ex-Queen Amidala is technically nude, anyone seeking this out with hopes of Playboy-like frame captures will be disappointed. The titillation is not from naked flesh, but from character interactions laced with passion and pain.

It’s dangerous, or perhaps simply fruitless, to search for a great truth in a Wes Anderson film, yet a simple line gives us one, as well as a great deal of insight into the un-named male (in The Darjeeling Limited he’s called Jack). When the girl states she doesn’t want to lose him as a friend, Jack replies, “I promise I will never be your friend.” That may be the greatest truth of male-female relationships.

Critics and audiences usually credit Anderson’s films as works of genius or self-obsessed boredom. I agree with both assessments, sometimes at the same moment. His vibrant use of color and texture and clever but often repeated camera work can become distracting over two hours, but are fresh in a piece under twenty minutes. Likewise, his tendency toward vague answers, cynicism, and contrived whimsy are tailor-made for the short format. I’ve never enjoyed him more.

Anderson’s said that you need to see Hotel Chevalier to get the proper experience from The Darjeeling Limited, but I don’t think it’s true the other way around. I’m glad to know that there is more to the story of these two eccentric people, but I don’t have any desire to know what it is (well, there’s more to Jack’s story; the girl only appears briefly in the feature). With these two, their tale can’t have a satisfying ending, so why even try? I’m contented with the image of the pair standing on a beautiful hotel balcony. Hotel Chevalier gives us a moment in their lives, and that’s enough.