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The Broadest of Spectrums: Reviews of Oscar-Nominated Short Animated Films
By Geoff Carter
My wife and I have made it an annual tradition to trek to the local movie theater and see the Oscar-nominated Best Short Subject Films, both the animated and live action categories. Not only is it a treat to see the latest in animation trends and techniques, but the entire genre of short film is also a refreshing way to experience the cinema much like the Dashiell Hammett omnibus my brother gave me for Christmas last year.
Hammett is a very economical writer whose short stories, especially his earlier ones, lay down only the most necessary plot points. His main character, the Continental Op—the antecedental Sam Spade, doesn’t even have a name. All we know about him is that he’s good at his job and a little overweight. Don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against strong and thorough character development—in the right place—but short stories, like the movie shorts, don’t have to give us any more detail than is absolutely necessary to make their points. The narrative is concentrated
“The Red Balloon” the 1956 short film by Albert Lamorisse is a perfect case in point. In this charming little piece, a young Parisian boy untangles a red helium-filled balloon from a lamp post and soon realizes that the toy has a mind of its own. It follows the boy everywhere he goes like a devoted dog until its devotion to the young man leads to its eventual demise. The viewer does not need to know how the balloon has become a sentient being or what the boy is thinking—except in a very elemental way, or why no one else thinks a smart balloon is weird. That knowledge is not necessary to the narrative. We accept the story as it is.
A couple of weeks ago, I reviewed the five Academy Award nominees for best live-action short. This week, I’ll be taking a look at the nominees for animated shorts, a wide-ranging group that includes traditional—and beautiful—line animation, stop-action clay animation, arresting mixed-media presentations, and an incisively wicked look at a young girl’s coming of age—told in an arresting and hilarious array of animation tropes.
The first selection was the Australian stop-action existential comedy, “An Ostrich Told Me the World is Fake, and I Think I Believe It” by Lachlan Pendragon. In this piece, Neil, a telemarketer unsuccessfully trying to sell toasters from his cubicle, becomes increasingly bewildered by odd goings-on in the office. Articles from co-workers’ offices—as well as body parts—go missing. When Neil falls asleep at this desk, he wakes to encounter an ostrich who tells him his world is “fake”. Neil steps into a storeroom and falls off the animation set and is put back by the animator. Coming to work the next morning, he discovers the furniture has been changed by “corporate” and takes extreme measures to prove their world is a sham, which results in dire consequences.
This short is a witty, multi-layered, existential examination of not only Neil’s life, but our own worlds and begs a number of questions. Who exactly is corporate? God? Wall Street? Who is the ostrich, the whistleblower, the seer, the absurd corporate icon, who reveals the truth to Neil? Who is our ostrich and where is he? This was a very funny and enjoyable—and slyly insightful—watch.
The next nominee was “The Flying Sailor”, a Canadian animation by Wendy Tilby and Amanda Fortis based on a true story. In 1917, Charles Mayers, an officer of the SS Middleham Castle, was blown off the deck of his ship when a nearby vessel exploded. Mayers flew over two kilometers, landing on a nearby hillside. He somehow lived to tell about it.
The film begins with a sailor walking along a deck. After the explosion, he is sent flying naked through space. To portray the physically short but metaphysically epic journey of the man as his life—in all its glory, trivia, pain, and memory—Tilby and Fortis used a variety of mixed media, including 2D and 3D as well as live-action footage. The result is an absorbing, and sometimes humorous, pastiche of images comprising what must be the unfortunate sailor’s life flashing before his eyes. There is a grainy, antiquated quality to some of the images, lending qualities of both historic authenticity and dreamlike imagery to the film. The absence of any dialogue also adds to the ethereal quality. It is an unusual yet remarkable film.
The third nominee is a Portuguese film “Ice Merchants” by Joao Gonzalez. In this line drawing animation, a father and his young son live on a house perched on the face of a sheer cliff. Every morning, they harvest ice and then parachute down to the village below to sell their frozen wares and then rise back to their precarious home and begin the process all over again. The routine between the two of them is unvarying, but sometimes the father will catch sight of a yellow mug and contemplate it. It’s obvious that it belonged to someone now absent from his life. One day, not as much ice forms, and the next day even less, and then the very mountain on which they live seems to be giving way—possibly a comment on climate change? Disaster ensues and the father and son find themselves plummeting towards certain doom only to be saved by the most unusual—and touching—circumstances.
The lack of dialogue, the simple dichromatic color scheme, and the poignant musical score lend this film a dreamlike quality. The static routine of the pair as they work, live, and play is reassuring and comfortable, yet their sense of loss is palpable. This is a beautiful and touching parable of love, devotion, and tradition.
The last two nominees, “My Year of Dicks” by Sarah Gunnarsdottir and Pamela Ribong, and “The Boy, the Mole, the Horse, and the Fox” by Charles Mackesy and Matthew Freud, could not be further apart on the spectrum of the animated short film genre. Not that there are defined rules for this format, but animation has a tradition—dating back to Disney—of family-oriented cartoon cell animation. Pioneering works like Pinocchio, Snow White, and Sleeping Beautydefined mainstream animation—at least American animation—for generations. Cartoons were for kids. Some of today’s short animation pieces still reflect this sensibility.
“The Boy, the Mole, the Horse, and the Fox” is definitely an offshoot of this sort of animation. Based on the children’s book by Charles Mackesy, the film is a journey of discovery, friendship, forgiveness, sacrifice, and love. While the animation is beautifully done and absolutely breathtaking, the dialogue and insights of the characters are mundane, kitschy, and at times, downright syrupy. A friend of mine observed that the story resembled a series of Hallmark cards while another stated that the boy’s voice was so sincere and heartfelt, it seemed almost smarmy.
On the other end of the spectrum, “My Year of Dicks”, based on Pamela Ribon’s memoir, Notes to Boys and Other Things I Shouldn’t Share in Public, follows Pam, its fifteen-year-old protagonist, as she seeks out the proper boy with whom to lose her virginity. Ranging from comic to harrowing to sad to just plain weird, this film is a wondrous pastiche of animation ranging from live action to line animation to anime to psychedelia. The scene in which Pam’s father attempts to tell her about the birds and the bees is in equal parts hilarious and harrowing. “Dicks” is a groundbreaking piece of animation that should not be missed.
Short films, both animated and live, are underrated and underappreciated. There is the Shorts Channel, available on Direct TV which features nothing but short films. As a break from serialized dramas, limited series, feature films, and regular TV fare, short films can be a welcome, refreshing, and enlightening alternative.
Take a short break and check them out. They’re definitely worth the time.