Short films, big packages - animation, 2021

It may be a measure of the amount of high quality animation that I've seen in my life or the fact that I went into tonight's collection of films with the weekend's excellent array of "live action" productions still very firmly in my memory, but I was less impressed with this year's batch of animated films than I have been in the past. I sat through the first three waiting for anything to really grab me, although I appreciated the technique employed in all of them. The last two kind of saved the evening for me, although it wasn't like we were sitting through The Power of the Dog...

First up was Robin Robin, an Aardman production about a robin who grows up with a family of mice and, despite her best efforts, doesn't quite succeed at being like the rest of the family. I appreciate Aardman for their persistence in sticking to stop-motion animation; a tremendously grueling process but which carries a distinctly "old world" charm. I first became a fan from seeing the Sinbad films graced with the talent of Ray Harryhausen and one of my favorite modern endeavors in the field is The Nightmare Before Christmas. Aardman is mostly known for things like Wallace and Gromit and have largely stuck to the "claymation" (actually Plasticene) approach to the art form. In Robin Robin, they made their first venture into puppets and did so with aplomb. Everything was quite fluid and produced the kind of visual impact they were looking for. Unfortunately, story-wise it didn't really pay off. My impression as I sat and watched was that they were all big fans of Nightmare and had decided to make their own attempt at it (the constant cones of snow on people's heads, the wide-eyed wonder at every new thing, etc.) Plus, the music was quite derivative. Magpie's (Richard E. Grant) song about collecting things basically borrowed its musical phrasing from Beauty and the Beast's "Be Our Guest", although me being me, the first thing I thought of was Monty Burns' parody, "See My Vest" ("Made from real gorilla chest!") In (ahem) short, I really felt like I'd seen it all before, even if it was well done in a technical sense.

That was followed by Boxballet, a Russian production (which drew a couple quiet "Boo"s from the audience) about the contrasts and similarities between a boxer and a ballerina and how they each try to draw a connection to each other, philosophically and emotionally. I thought the premise was certainly more interesting, as his brutal world that leaves his nose permanently broken and his face regularly wounded is miles from her reality where her winsome form slips past everything without friction... until she encounters the director who wants more from her than just a good performance. What held this one back were the visuals. There was nothing wrong with them and it's a style that's reminiscent of Rocky and Bullwinkle, from Jay Ward Productions, with the thick lines and bright colors of the figures standing out against the finer lines and muted colors of the backgrounds and other objects. But the interesting parts were all contained within the story, which is usually fine, as I'm a story guy, but not to the exclusion of everything else. The demonstration of the boxer constantly framing things with his getting beat down in his latest match ended up being a little repetitive. One high note was his typically direct approach to romancing the dancer, which she appears to turn down in the name of keeping her career path open by succumbing to the advances of the director and his spacious limo. But suggesting that there's that much of a contrast between their two styles, despite arriving at the conclusion they both want, seemed somewhat misplaced to me. When I used to teach in my dojo, a figure I constantly emphasized to the class was one Muhammad Ali, for his fluidity and motion in the ring.

Next up was Affairs of the Art, which was another production from Joanna Quinn and Les Mills. Their first film involving the lead character of Beryl was in 1987. They've since done two more, but it takes a long time to produce them, as their style is to hand draw every frame and they both have day jobs as commercial producers. It creates a spectacular visual style which is great to watch and Beryl remains amusing, 'lo these 35 years later. But, again, I just didn't find that much to get excited about in terms of the whole package. The story, such as it is, circles mostly around Beryl's desire to become an artist of some repute, while she gets distracted by the peculiar fixations of siblings Colin and Beverly, the latter of which involves detonating the family mouse at one point, which was already a bit disconcerting, having seen a cat get dragged down a river in the middle of winter in Robin Robin. I spent most of Affairs kind of waiting for Beryl and company to actually do something of note, although it was at least mildly entertaining watching the trivial things that they were doing. I thought Quinn and Mills did a great job displaying the transition of Beryl from gangly teenager to bouncy adult and their visual style is, again, quite eye-catching, as the constant motion of every line on the screen keeps you occupied. But, just as with the previous two films, I found myself shrugging my shoulders when the credits rolled. Good, but nothing to breathlessly recommend.

However, the interest level ratcheted up a bit with the next film, which was Bestia, a Chilean production based on the personal life of Ingrid Olderöck, who was a member of the secret police in Chile (DINA; Dirección de Inteligencia Nacional) during the Pinochet dictatorship. We returned to stop-motion with this film, although with a much different visual style, as the main character was made of polyurethane mixed with crystal resin, to give her the appearance of a porcelain doll, in contrast to most of the objects and backgrounds, which were of softer cardboard. Filmmakers Hugh Covarrubias and Martin Erazo wanted to convey the hardness of the person that Ingrid was, despite their story being about what they imagined her personal life to be like (she was noted for being very attached to her dog.) Because they were likely filling in gaps that didn't know, they kept their distance from the subject, allowing the story and presentation to run to the abstract in approach, which was really interesting to follow, once you got past the initial confusion. The story is quite grim and certainly the darkest of the five films we saw, which gave it its own special appeal, as a contrast to the very bright and energetic approach of the first three that we'd seen. This was one that I'd be very interested in seeing again, just to examine some of the more subtle cues that I have a nagging feeling that I missed. It was certainly one of the two that definitely made the evening worth it.

The final offering was The Windshield Wiper which, like Bestia, was definitely more interesting in its artistic approach. We're launched from a man sitting in a café, burning his way through a pack of cigarettes, who asks us: "What is love?" We're then led on a path of various encounters and examples that try to portray the emotion (or lack thereof) in modern relationships, from swiping left to watching sunsets as the tide comes in. I really appreciated this one for its overall stylistic approach. The animation leaned toward the realistic (skin creases, strands of hair in the breeze) but the transition points between various shots left no doubt that this was an animated film and the director was emphasizing that, from the phallic symbols of the two factory chimneys that perfectly collide in their destruction to the perfectly lit and staged scene of a homeless man shouting at a mannequin who resembles a past lover. While it was mildly puzzling to see a Spanish film almost entirely voiced in American English, it was clearly a European perspective on sexuality and skin exposure (we were sternly warned by the theater that the latter three films were NOT FOR CHILDREN because, you know, all "cartoons" MUST be for children...) It also included the few really poignant moments of the evening, including when what seemed to be a vignette of the suicide of a young woman, presumably over the inability to derive love from whom she knows or fails to properly communicate with via text. There was a great deal of weight behind what director Alberto Mielgo was saying here but it was presented in a nice, even patter and left you thinking from moment to moment. It's safe to say that this was the best film of the night for me.

So, a little disappointing given the high points from the weekend, but nothing to complain about, certainly. We'll see the documentaries on Thursday and that will be a wrap for Oscar season.