The two main characters in Pivot are meticulously designed and it’s easy to see that a lot of thought has gone into how to give them an eye-catching, individual look.

The concept for the styling of the main character was inspired by the look of our shadow in the Californian sun.

The long, stretched, oversized limbs of the main character are most effective when he is in full flow, bounding through alleys or bouncing across rooftops, his distinctive orange trousers (inspired by old Russian cosmonaut suits) a liquid blur behind him. In dramatic contrast the ‘villain’ of the piece, is a beast of a figure, his shadow swallowing light as he charges after Pivot’s ‘hero’, his heavy laden feet shattering pavement beneath his trunk-like legs, with every giant step.

In its essence, Pivot is a cat and mouse story—hunter versus prey—but it’s a short made with such panache and such vigour, it must be one of the best of its type. The night-time setting, low-key lighting and shadow play within the film, means we are treated to a mood and atmosphere similar to film noir, whilst at the same time hit with the high tension and frantic pace of a horror movie. To check out how the creators of Pivot created the vibe of the film, be sure to check out their mood boards.

It’s so refreshing to see an animation try something different in terms of style, form and content and I honestly can’t remember the last time an animated piece made me feel this tense and this on-edge. Pivot is a film I’m still not bored of watching, despite being in double figures in terms of viewings and surely that is the sign of a truly great short.

Let’s be honest. The story is good, but the visual art direction (or “aesthetic orchestration” as the film puts it) is outstanding—a perfect blend of new age and nostalgia. David puts the digital aesthetic on display in a very authentic way. His compositions reflect the three quarter view of old video games (not unlike A Volta), and at times even uses raw 3D wireframes to portray a characters inner thoughts. Please Say Something makes no attempt to hide it’s construction methods.

The animation is amazing. The pacing and movement of the characters is fast. Watching David play with perspective in referencing security cameras and time-lapse photography, I’m reminded of my first time seeing Aronofsky’s experimental camerawork in Requiem For a Dream. My only quip would be the sometimes overly-exaggerated camera movements when sweeping through rooms.

But it’s the full package that make this film special—the juxtaposition of many opposing things. It’s uniqueness comes from it’s disparity. Told any other way, the story would be ho-hum. The visuals, used for any other brand of story would be entertaining but shallow. It’s a film that has to be done the way it is and must never change—not unlike Cracker Jacks.

I must admit that I am infatuated with this short. I realize that my love is likely disproportionate and temporary, but that is little consolation. Please Say Something is a new favorite of mine.

Note*  — “This was one of the 10 excellent Sundance offerings this year. Check out the other 9 selections here“

The Tale of How is part two of the Dodo Trilogy. Forget for a second that there is neither a part one or part three, the team is operating on an epic vision which I can appreciate. Despite that, the film exhibits a silly and light touch. The mundane names chosen, “Otto” for the octopus and “Eddie” for the savior mouse, coupled with the stoner-ish vocal delivery of Eddie, provides an element of child-like fun to the proceedings, though children might very well be alarmed by images of the dodos being torn apart front and center onscreen.

Speaking of vocals, as distinct as the visual style is the operatic delivery of the story’s narrative. My initial reaction was dismissive—hokum, and difficult to understand hokum at that. But the short runtime of the film allowed me to immerse myself in visuals the first time, and then listen closer to the lyrics the second time. Under closer inspection I realized they were well written if nothing else, and the idiosyncratic deliveries, themselves a slight mockery of operatic forms, were done well enough. The crew has published the lyrics online if you have a curiosity in deciphering some of the more opaque passages.

First coming out in 2006, the film has found many fans, playing the festival circuit, winning a prize at Annecy, as well as touring with OneDotZero and the much-missed ResFest traveling tours. Motionographer and Dek, who also has posted a “making of” vid, have previously featured the film. To capitalize on the popularity the filmmakers have put up a book for sale, featuring original artwork and some lovely prints, along with a DVD copy of the film. I am quite a fan of this approach. Though a little rich for my blood at $50, I think the secret to selling digital content is to package it with non-digital content that appeals to fans, and the book certainly looks lovely, and the quality of our linked Vimeo file is certainly a little lacking.

The directors have repeatedly hinted of a prequel emerging soon for this film, we’ll keep you updated if and when it surfaces. Until then, there is the 2009 United Airlines commercial the team did, which is of a similar, marvelous aesthetic. I cannot believe this actually played on TV!

It’s a story so familiar that it almost demands the use of cryptic metaphors and symbolic imagery. A visual poem—what I consider Un Tour De Manége to be. And you know how I love poetry (The Spider, At the Quinte Hotel).

Stylistically, Un Tour De Manége is stunning. It’s rainbowed watercolor-like warmth reflects the wide-eyed enthusiasm of a child exploring color for the first time. Far it is from the cold, lifeless characters common to 3D animation. Applause please for Les Manéges— filmmakers Nicolas Athané, Brice Chevillard, Alexis Liddell, Francoise Losito, and Mai Nguyen. All students of the seemingly unstoppable, Gobelins in France. They are so good with their visual storytelling—you can faintly see dandelion seeds floating out to sea as the girl is first separated from her mother—a subtle summation of the events unfolding. The characters play the parts but the details tell the story.

In the end, our little heroine is rescued from the dark depths and reunited with her mother. And thus, the ride begins again…

Skhizein begins with a fairly odd premise to match its odd name. In an interview Clapin says the word derives from the Greek, meaning “to split” or “to cleave”—sharing that root with schizophrenia. Adhering to that concept, early on our main character comes face to face with a meteorite, the aftermath of which causes him to exist exactly 91cm from himself. In practice this means that when he sits down he looks as though he is floating in the air because his visual presence is 91 cm away from the chair itself. This is a cause of consternation for our hero, as one might expect, and the early part of the film relates our character’s attempts to cope.

Clapin has improved his technique from Une Histoire…, Skhizein is a huge leap forward for the French animator in regards to design, background detail and character movement. This is surely a large component of why the film has experienced such success. Similarities between the two films though exist. The two films share a limited color palette and a central concern: an examination of outsider figures, whose deformities—physical or mental—keep them from being in harmony with their environment or with others. However, Une Histoire… developed its joke in a relatively lighthearted, rom-com fashion, leading to a telegraphed happy ending that contributed to why I did not care for it very much. I expected similar of Skhizein, and was actually frustrated during the viewing process by little things I chocked up to sloppiness; examples of continuity errors where the character did not abide by the conceit of the film for example. However Clapin takes the film and its character in a direction far different than I expected, and really caused me to reevaluate my initial impressions afterward. Many of the things that bugged me I now believe to be intentionally woven in to foreshadow the climax. Strange though it may be, the film is aptly titled, both for its character and for its audience—as my expectation of the film and perception of its story while viewing, ended up being quite split from the emotionally resonant statement Clapin had in mind.

Many thanks go to Film in Focus and Kodak for bringing this to the web as part of the promotional buildup for the film 9 (featuring several other good films like Oktapodi). That’s why you”ll see Shane Acker at the start of the video introducing the film. I’ve had some difficulty with the Film in Focus video hosting while writing this review so I’ve included a link to a better quality Vimeo link as well. Perhaps click on the Film in Focus link to pad their web stats and then use Vimeo’s bandwidth?

In Egmont Mayer’s animation, Red Rabbit, this is exactly the story the director chooses to tell. “The man lives alone in a small apartment. The little contact he had with other people has dropped to zero since the rabbit appeared. Every attempt to get the rabbit out of his apartment has failed and since he is not sure whether or not pets are allowed in the building, he does not let anybody enter his apartment”—(via egmontmayer.com)

Mayer’s student film is a beautifully paced, stylistic piece, where no dialogue is needed to convey the emotions of the main characters. Tensions and relationships are slowly and thoughtfully developed throughout the film and we seem to know exactly what the characters are thinking and feeling without anyone ever having to speak a word. Even though as a viewer you really feel the loneliness and isolation of the characters, there is still a certain warmth and touching poetry to this tale.

Rabbits seem to be constantly appearing in films and throughout film history have been used to symbolise many different things. There are many different theories as to what the giant rabbit in Harvey symbolizes, or what Frank the rabbit in Donnie Darko represents. I’m not quite sure what the giant rabbit in Mayer’s Red Rabbit symbolizes, but the one thing I am sure of, is that this is one of the best animations you’ll see all year.

For other Filmakademie work, check out Das Rad.

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.

To see it is to know why. 9 blows away any expectations you have for a student film. The film images a post-apocalyptic future. An animated rag-doll with the number “9″ on its back scavenges along in a human-free landscape. Through flashback we see 9’s encounter with “5″, and how they both fought against a giant mechanical monster that ends up stealing 5’s soul, making him inanimate. In the present again, 9 must confront this monster if he wishes to keep his own life.

Serious stuff no? Its strange, but even in the realm of short film which rewards experimentation and risk-taking, the cartoon legacy of animation has really made this form of dark and mature CG a rarity. There is a sense of adventure in the thrilling chase sequence roughly half-way through the film, but also a palpable terror. Going through our own archive I cannot find an entry that compares. And yet the film is not simply a cut-scene from a horror video-game. The more I think about it, the more it strikes me that 9 is truly a unique hybrid in terms of the tone it strikes. The wide-eyed and appealing character design of our rag-dolls is very innocent, and the even the monster, horrifying as it is, wearing the skinned bodies of 9’s fallen comrades as a coat, looks actualy kind of like a dog. A child could watch 9 and not suffer nightmares.

This is what I imagine Tim Burton saw that appealed to him—9 can appeal to a wide-range of audiences. It’s a gritty post-apocalyptic film for kids, that doesn’t pander or soften its scares. It harkens back to better era of children’s fare, movies like Labyrinth and The Dark Crystal that freaked me out as a kid.

Questions of the upcoming feature aside though, the short itself is technically brilliant in both story and execution. The enabler of this is the running time. 10 minutes is quite an undertaking even for a UCLA MFA capstone project.  Not to denigrate another awesome film, but because of the shared conceit of an animated doll, the comparison to Sebastian’s Voodoo, a super-acclaimed student animation from last year, came to mind. That film, while superior in some ways in beauty and detail, it is less half as long as 9, and has a fixed setting, whereas 9 gloriously follows its character across vast changes of locale as he flees from the beast that is hot on his trail. In interviews Acker credits his background in architecture for giving him the grounding necessary in 3-D modeling to pursue a more expansive story. Likewise working for WETA on the Lord of the Rings movies is a good way to develop chops that exceed the average student. It pays off in that 9 feels like a story, rather than an idea or joke, or a twist—devices that shorter films often must adopt.

Watch the short film now, and in less than the two weeks the feature film will be out in theaters. Based on this I will certainly be there.

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.

Logan, a motion design studio famous for their slick commercial work for big companies like Apple, Nike, Sony, and others, are the main faces behind A Volta. Inspiration came from the artwork of The Date Farmers—an LA-based duo who describe their work as “Mexican-American heritage rooted in California pop culture”. Their work has been translated by Logan into a dark, grungy world that could be the offspring of Sim City and Grand Theft Auto. The erratic camera work keeps a frantic pace that seems most revealing when less is shown.

It is a music video but one where the featured song plays as background music to a narrative with characters and dialogue. The song is by NASA (North American South America) from their first album, The Spirit of Apollo released earlier this year. All the songs on the album have corresponding videos made by selected pairings of artists and directors. Though I haven’t found any others yet.

If you’re interested in learning more about A Volta, BoingBoing has a nice Q&A with the director, Alexei Tylevich of Logan.

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.

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.

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.

She’s naturally enough concerned for her son in all respects, even including the possibility of his eloping with the Moonies. Moms worry themselves with things like that. Or flying saucers. She (and he) put down his problems to transferring from Catholic School to Public School. Traumas like that have a debilitating effect on one’s adolescence. Back to the disease. How exactly he acquired AIDS is not exactly clear, though it appears to be largely the responsibility of a contaminated hamburger consumed in the classroom. Hamburgers are the root of all evil and guilt for a good Catholic boy in a non-Catholic school.

Some homespun advice from Mom and semi-official advice later leads to further neurotic behavior: a period where they abstain from the cup at communion and instructions to her boy to stay clear of sharp toys. All goes well until he has cereal at his friend Ryan’s house. Ryan loses his trousers and throws a puppet at the boy’s face. It’s AIDS time again, and this time almost too much for mom and son to bear.

Made with Mirage, now TVPaint, the hilarious mix of styles—real images of hamburgers, paired with black and white movies contrasting with gaudy coloured animation conspire to share one modern nuclear family’s guilt. You’ll love it. Suburban angst.

Score: 7/10
A Sundance 10/10 film: now online

The film animates the interactions between its director, Chris Landreth, and a panhandling, ex-addict named Ryan Larkin. What elevates these interviews beyond simple sympathy, a mere portrait in degradation, is the relationship between the two. Ryan is a hero to Chris. An Oscar-nominated animator in his own right, Ryan Larkin is a man whose work in the 60’s and early 70’s “secured his place in the history of animated fimmaking” as the film states. But artistic and commercial frustration, paired with a debilitating addiction brought Ryan out onto the streets where Chris finds him.

While blessed with a fascinating subject in the figure of Ryan, Landreth finds more than mere tragedy, he finds a cautionary tale. The film emphasizes a kinship that Landreth feels towards Ryan, and finds him terrified. This emphasis on Landreth’s self-recognition is represented from the beginning as the film opens with him talking about his own failures. Thus the film morphs from what on first glance is a reclamation project, into as much of an examination of Landreth as of Ryan. Throughout the interviews he inserts himself into the work, and as a result the film becomes a meditation on the madness and sacrifice of the art.

This theme is represented verbally through the interviews and through Landreth’s voice-overs, but the film, as an animation, won most of its acclaim though its ability to impart these themes visually. The characters in the film are animated in realistic CG, but are damaged. Landreth has been mutated in a psychedelic fashion, and his fear of failure pops up periodically throughout the film as a literal entitiy, colorful strips which bind his head and face, blinding him. While Landreth has his scars, even missing part of his head, Ryan is simply lacking. In a literal sense. Ryan is represented more or less normally, but huge chunks of his face and head are simply missing. The metaphor is clear—The ravages of his lifestyle clearly have damaged him, but more sinisterly, it can be read that his art has in fact consumed him as well. That the self-destructive impulses of creativity, have hollowed Ryan out.

Ironically, in the film Ryan talks about his Oscar nomination. About how he lost out to Walt Disney. Later in the film he decries the lack of money as something that killed his animation career. The awarding of an Oscar to this film therefore brings out an added level depth when watching, and reiterates the importance of these awards to independent filmmakers, a point I made much more eloquently around this time last year. Thanks go out to the Youtube Screening Room for bringing Ryan to us for free in a way that still benefits the filmmakers. Youtube is really bringing great films into this series as the last couple of weeks have showcased Short of the Week 2008 faves, I Love Sarah Jane and The Bloody Olive. Thanks go to NFB Canada as well for their continued production support of great artists, but also for bringing some of their illustrious catalog to YouTube.

The plot itself is somewhat weak, yet still engrossing I find. A brown street rat, living in the midst of gritty urban decay, stumbles into a pristine research lab. The lab’s white rats are all at the mercy of the central research computer responsible for managing the lab. It is actually very similar in look to the ship’s computer in Wall-E coincidentally enough. As an invader, the brown rat must grapple with the sinister central computer in order to get close to his object of affection, and they team up to try and win their freedom.

The most interesting aspect of the film is the decision to not anthropomorphize the rats, which creates a completely different feel for the film than might otherwise been attained. The rats look, move and gesticulate as rats do. The lack of words, or truly human emotions though, make selling the central love story of the film a bit problematic. To see rats behave genuinely like rats, only to occasionally exchange longing gazes, is a bit incongruent. The animation really helps to punctuate these emotions felt throughout the film though. Several close-ups and artfully posed shots, combined with truly superb lighting effects boldly exteriorize the interior drama.

The film is a product of a studio named Charlex Films based out of New York. According to their website, Charlex has a distinguished history in the advertising biz, and One Rat Short is the fruit of their experiments in longer-form CG, with the hope of leveraging this experiment into longer narrative work. The advertising background makes sense while watching the film, because the concept is so simple. 2 minutes could probably have been shed off the final runtime, but in a showcase piece, a certain level of extravagance is only to be expected.

And as a showpiece for what the studio can do, the film is truly excellent. As previous studios have shown, a killer short film can be a great calling card for getting both the experience and backing to tackle a more major project. Blue Sky Studio’s is the obvious parallel here. They won attention and fame as well as an Oscar in 1998 for their short film Bunny. Four years later Ice Age was a hit in theaters.

One Rat Short did not win an Oscar, but it is featured on Magnolia Pictures DVD of the 2006 Oscar Short Film Nominees as a bonus film. Consider supporting short film by buying the DVD.

The 3D animation, done in 2001, holds up extremely well today. In full effect is the natural, handheld camera look that’s become a necessity in quality 3D animation today. Even the main character’s facial expressions, the bane of most 3D animators, are appropriately exaggerated to express emotion.

Ruairi is a director with great foresight and a strong understanding of the medium in which he dabbles, be it pixels or people. His latest short, The Silent City, is a live-action that dwells in the same sinister science-fiction realm. Ruairi’s next film is rumored to be a live action adaptation of the well-respected 1988 anime, Akira.

Which is all I suppose a round about way of saying that when I stumbled across En Tus Brazos—the tale of a once great, now crippled Tango dancer, his wife and their break from the world of now into the glories of imagination and the past—even though I didn’t at the time know it came out of Supinfocom, I wasn’t surprised to later find out that co-directors François-Xavier Goby, Matthieu Landour and Edouard Jouret’s created En Tus Brazos as their graduation piece.

There are so many elements of En Tus Brazos that alone would make it worthy of a mention. From the use of light and reflections, to the framing of the action and subtle camera moves, whether it’s the gentle pushes and pulls in the couple’s apartment or the achingly beautiful final shot that reveals so much about the couple’s relationship and how the accident has transformed their roles, but perhaps in doing so strengthened their dedication to one another.

En Tus Brazos has the perfect balance of sparsity and detail in that it delivers what all films should, but few manage—to build as rich a world as possible by providing the most amount of story, setting and mood with the bare minimum of exposition.

Animation, much more so than the other disciplines of filmmaking allows creators to actually place the viewer square in the middle of their imaginations and deliver a story as it was originally conceived with the minimum of compromises. That being the case, I’d happily sign a five-year lease to take up residence with Goby, Landour and Jouret’s creations, if only for the opportunity to join the tango too.

A malformation of his backbone forces our hero to walk with his head held low, permanently fixed toward the ground. How is he supposed to search for happiness, his loving one, when all his eyes catch are his own feet? And who’s gonna love him, someone who looks so different from other people?

Storywise, what makes the difference between the work of Jérémy Clapin and other similar stories (I’m thinking of An Eye For Annai and Hedgehug) is the encounter with the “similar and complimentary.” Rather than being the resolution of the story, it’s the starting point of a process that brings the man and the woman (and hopefully us with them) to learn a valuable lesson.

From a visual point of view, the 3D graphics are employed to give the main characters a more distinctive aspect, with a final result that looks like traditional animation, in a similar fashion to The Pearce Sisters (my last pick, which also shares a near total absence of dialogue). What we see and what we don’t is spoken loudly through the characters’ actions.

Setting the mood for the entire film (with help from the beautiful score by Nicolas Martin) is the first sequence of the movie—a splendid example of Clapin’s style. We’re presented with many couples in love, with none or few distinctive characters, composited like a sort of diorama. They pass in front of our view like a merry-go-round, and when the last couple breaks from their kiss, our hero appears, as from behind the curtain of our oblivious daily existence. Everything makes him stand out from the crowd: his backbone, his loneliness, and his tri-dimensionality (compared to the flatness of the other characters). The sequence fades to black and into the main titles. Only twenty seconds ago we hit the play button, and we’re already helplessly captured by the charm of the tale.

On a personal note, I completely agree with the sense of the story, or at least what I perceive it to be, but I’ll leave you to discover it for yourself. Or… just enjoy the show. That is, after all, why they call it a show.

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.

Then, a film comes along and reminds me that “experimental” can be more than an exploration of form. The experimentation in Far West explores film’s purest intention—the suspension of disbelief—the moment where we fall into the story and drop reason at the doorstep. Nieto cleverly blurs that seam—where does reality end and the story begin?

Far West is less a film and more of a live performance. Nieto stands at the front of a crowd with an artist’s table and a camera looking over his shoulder projecting an image of the table for the crowd. He takes the crowd through the typical construction of an animated scene using cut shapes of cacti and a phony sunset. Then, something unexpected happens. You feel it coming, but it’s a surprise nonetheless. The gasps of the crowd reflect back to the stories we’ve been told of film’s infancy where crowds ran screaming from images of oncoming trains. Moments later you find that seam—that break—and return to reality. But you can’t help but believe it, if even for just a split second, your reason will hang suspended.

I’m surprised by how little has been published about Far West or Nieto for he truly is one of the most refreshing filmmakers to storm the experimental scene. Another equally-inspiring film of his, Carlitopolis, involves a box and a lab mouse (also on YouTube).

Nieto is a young Columbian filmmaker working in Paris who, on his personal website, calls himself a “perversionist artist… persecuted by animals defensors and Hare Krischna.” Capucine, Nieto’s next experiment involving the capucine monkey’s ability to communicate with humans, is scheduled for release in 2008. On this and others, Neito has teamed up with the production crew at Autour de Minuit, the same group behind another Short of the Week selection, Collision.

A carefully composed color scheme and the seamless combination of video and animation make this short a visual masterpiece. Video of heads and bodies are carefully stitched overtop animated legs and limbs for a strange yet highly mesmerizing effect. This 2D animation was done by Louis Clichy, the creator behind A Quoi Sert L’Amour (The Perils of Love), Short of the Week #19.

Denis’ most recent animated film, After the Rain (Passion Pictures), is now making the festival circuit. Let’s hope it’s released for online audiences soon.

Animated from a set of 1950s stickers meant to teach kid’s how to read, Rabbit reads like a children’s book brought to life in 3D. In combination, the horrific storyline and the innocent imagery creates a sense of twisted unease that has no equal.

Run Wrake is a seasoned animator/illustrator with a bizarre taste in the grotesqueness of pop culture. His website is chock full of more film pieces and probably the best illustrated biography page I’ve seen.