Tag: Animation

  • Oscars 2023: Best Animated Feature

    Oscars 2023: Best Animated Feature

    Pixar, DreamWorks, Netflix (twice!) and even A24. It’s one of the wildest slates yet in the 95th Academy Awards race for the best animated film of the year.

    It’s hard to believe that it’s been over 20 years since Shrek was named the first Best Animated Feature at the Oscars. Since then, the likes of Spirited Away, Wallace & Gromit, Australia’s own Happy Feet, and a slew of Disney and Pixar films have taken the prize.

    Guillermo del Toro's Pinocchio - concept art

    The award remains a little bit controversial, with some arguing that the category makes it less likely an animated feature will be nominated for Best Picture. In fact, only three animated movies have ever been nominated for the top award: Beauty and the Beast (1991), Up (2009) and Toy Story 3 (2010).

    Even the category itself has skipped some heavy hitters. The LEGO Movie (2014) was famously snubbed in its eligible year. The Simpsons Movie (2007) was considered by the Annies, the BAFTAs and the Golden Globes, but the Academy has only ever considered The Longest Daycare for the franchise. Can you believe Tangled (2010) never got a nod?

    This year, Richard Linklater’s wonderful Apollo 10½: A Space Age Childhood was left off the list as the Academy “does not feel that the techniques meet the definition of animation in the category rules” due to the live action reference used for rotoscoping. (An odd decision given that the method has been used in cartoon features as far back as Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs).

    Nevertheless, the 2022 animated films nominated in the category this year are a strong bunch. They continue to show that there is no one audience who watches animated films. They are modern fables about coming of age. They rework classics. They ask the big questions about life and death. They come with environmental messages. They work they way into your heart.

    The nominees are:

    Turning Red

    Turning Red

    Set in 2002 in the Chinatown district of Toronto, Meilin “Mei” Lee (voiced by Rosalie Chiang) is a 13-year-old Chinese-Canadian girl who, despite her mother’s (Sandra Oh) expectations of academic perfection, wants to march to the beat of her own drum. The she discovers the family curse — transforming into a large red panda whenever she experiences heightened emotions.

    You don’t have to go too deep into the well to guess what this film metaphorically represents. It’s right there in the title. Disney even allows the subtext to be made text, with Mei getting a brief explanation of pads and tampons from her mother. It might be a simple thing, especially at this juncture (don’t make me tap the calendar again), but a major animated film having multiple shots of Maxi Pads is a positive step from the studio. Disney sure has come a long way since the 1946 educational short, The Story of Menstruation.

    There’s another equally important piece of representation here. It’s not just the thoroughly intimate Asian-Canadian experience, something director Domee Shi seems to effortlessly weave into a traditional Pixar structure. (There’s the emergency arrival of the aunties, for example, that any number of families are sure to relate to).

    Shi also uses the hyperkinetic language of comics and cartoons in a series of non-sequiturs, fourth-wall breaking narration, speed-lines and anime-inspired cutaways for wide-eyed emotional reactions. In a word, it’s just fun. Check out my full review.

    Guillermo del Toro's Pinocchio

    Guillermo del Toro’s Pinocchio

    It’s probably no surprise for constant readers of this site that the Disney version of this tale is so ingrained in my head. It’s hard to separate the original story from the 1940 Disney version, which is one of the many criticisms that has been levelled at the Disneyfication of fable.

    Which is why I was so surprised to find that Guillermo del Toro’s version doesn’t stray all that far from the traditional version. While placing it in Fascist Italy, a visually and dramatically interesting twist, the basic story beats will be familiar to anybody who has read or seen any version of the tale.

    What separates it, of course, is the absolutely gorgeous Gris Grimly character designs, some outstanding hand-crafted animation, and a firm sense of the macabre. Just look at those Death sequences! The ingenious use of Pinocchio’s nose! (Check out the making-of documentary on Netflix as well).

    Yet other elements simply didn’t work for me. The voice of the lead grated, the musical numbers felt like they’d wandered in from another film, and a rushed denouement made the previous two hours feel emphemeral.

    Perhaps this requires multiple viewings. It was built up as a radically different and darker version, the antithesis to Disney’s live-action retelling of its own retelling. Yet what I found was Pinocchio. What happened, happened. Then it was gone.

    Puss in Boots: The Last Wish

    Puss in Boots: The Last Wish

    It has been well over a decade since the last solo outing of Shrek spin-off Puss in Boots. Still, it’s so fresh in our minds that it could have been yesterday.

    This soft-reboot of the series is something of a revelation. Picking up in medias res, the film finds the titular kitty on the last of his nine lives and at something of a crossroads.

    Retaining the gag-based comedy of the first film, it also pushes itself into some genuinely heartfelt places. The style is something special too: in between the familiar character designs, the variable frame rates and speed lines that characterise the action scenes give this a unique look at feel that borrows some styles while creating something new in the process.

    As a bonus, the ‘Jimmy Stewart’ cricket was the better of the three crickets we saw in cinema this year. More of these please!

    The Sea Beast

    The Sea Beast

    Netflix animation has come a long way over the last few years

    After reaching a kind of apex with 2021’s groundbreaking The Mitchells vs. the MachinesTHE SEA BEAST is a lot more traditional. From veteran animation director Chris Williams, it certainly has thematic and visual nods to some of his past work (Moana) along with other franchises like How to Train Your Dragon

    Still, it would be a disservice to this to compare them too much, as there’s a lot of genuine heart in this tale as well. It’s a tale of breaking through systemic propaganda and prejudice and listening to the youth voice. There’s analogies with everything from the environment to inclusive practice, and while it might be heavy-handed to some ears it’s still a genuine message neatly told.

    The animation style itself is not something I tend to gel with. Maybe it’s just that it is too clean? Staggeringly crisp and beautiful on a technical level (I mean, that water is gorgeous), but the world never really felt lived-in. Nevertheless, it looks impressive on high-end TVs and part of me wishes I’d managed to see this in a cinema somewhere.

    Marcel the Shell with Shoes On

    Marcel the Shell with Shoes On

    So, this was delightful.

    Expanding on the short films from Dean Fleischer Camp, with a script developed with Jenny Slate and Nick Paley, this stop-motion/live-action hybrid is pure wholesome goodness.

    Following the adventures of the titular shell, who has been left behind in a house with his grandma Connie, we get a pepperleaf full of kindness and optimism that throws us across the room in one of the funniest yet most heartfelt narratives any of us ever witnessed. 

    The animation was led Chiodo Bros. Production (best known for Killer Klowns from Outer Space of all things) and Kirsten Lepore (who was also a visual effects artist on Everything Everywhere All At Once). It’s a simple affair, but blends beautifully with the natural environment.

    It’s unlikely there is going to be a film this or any other year that hits you in the feels as gently as this. Thank you so much for rolling this marble into our bread room. I still keep it to this day.

    ZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz….Oh, hi Nana Connie!

    The 95th Academy Awards are presented on March 12, 2023, in a ceremony held by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences at the Dolby Theatre in Los Angeles. 

  • Oscars 2023: Best Animated Short Film

    Oscars 2023: Best Animated Short Film

    The countdown to the 95th Academy Awards is on! This year, we thought we’d do something a little different and explore some of our favourite categories.

    The Best Animated Short Film category was introduced in 1932 as Short Subjects, Cartoons, a name it retained until 1970. Following Flowers and Trees (1932), the first decade of awards was dominated by Walt Disney before Fred Quimby (of Tom and Jerry fame) started to take the crown. After briefly being known as Short Subjects, Animated Films, the category took its present name in 1974 and it remains almost forty years later.

    With a combined total of 63 nominations and 20 wins, Disney and Pixar may hold their records for a while. Yet in recent years, topical films like Hair Love, If Anything Happens I Love You, and The Windshield Wiper have changed the possibilities of what the short form can be. Indeed, those big studios don’t even get a look-in this year, perhaps indicative that much of their short content is now debuting exclusively on streaming sites.

    The five nominees this year couldn’t be more different, with entries from the US, Canada, Australia and Portugal. Let’s take a look.

    An Ostrich Told Me the World Is Fake and I Think I Believe It

    An Ostrich Told Me the World Is Fake and I Think I Believe It

    Australian filmmaker Lachlan Pendragon represents us in a category where we have historically done well. In the tradition of Aardman and Australia’s own Adam Elliot, this fourth-wall breaking short is wickedly clever in its approach to painstakingly detailed stop-motion animation. It follows Neil, an office worker who comes to believe that the world he inhabits isn’t real, and he may just be a character in an animated film. It’s a fun spin on The Matrix-esque genre — not to mention office comedies — and it might might a good companion to fellow Oscar-nominee Everything Everywhere All at Once. At times, one can’t help that we’ve seen it all before, as if Pendragon isn’t entirely sure where to end it. Still, it definitely signals a new voice on the animation scene and exciting things for the future.

    The Flying Sailor

    The Flying Sailor

    Directors Wendy Tilby and Amanda Forbis take their inspiration from the Halifax Explosion 1917, where a sailor was reportedly thrown 4km before landing relatively unharmed wearing nothing but his boots. Using experimental combinations of CG animation, stock footage and hand-painted elements, there is a lot to admire about the technique the Canadian animators have employed here. It switches from an almost comedic throwback opening to a whole existential float through the cosmos itself. It may not be for all tastes, but it’s certainly a complex labour of love.

    Ice Merchants (2022)

    Ice Merchants

    João Gonzalez’s animated short has already made history as the first ever Portuguese animation to be awarded at the Cannes Film Festival. It focuses on a father and son who parachute from their clifftop house and into the local village each day, selling ice to the locals.

    Although animated digitally, the striking style looks hand-drawn, almost as if the pen and ink marks are still drying on the page. The crafted lines and simple colour spectrum is all that is needed to make these figures pop against the bleak winter background.

    Without any dialogue, this intensely emotional piece about bonds of fathers and sons, loss, grief, isolation, and recovery is told as a simple storybook fable.

    My Year of Dicks

    My Year of Dicks

    If the award was Best Title of the Year, then this one might take it. Sara Gunnarsdóttir’s short, based on Pamela Ribon’s 2014 memoir Notes to Boys: And Other Things I Shouldn’t Share in Public, follows a 15-year-old girl in Houston in 1991 as she attempts to lose her virginity.

    Grabbing our attention with one of the best titles of 2022, Gunnarsdóttir’s 25-minute film is wonderful. The different animation styles and to-camera mixed media pieces bring us an intimacy rarely seen in feature films, let alone contemporary animated shorts. It plays in the realms of comfortable nostalgia, like something Richard Linklater might put together but with fewer dudey dudes. Alternatively hilarious, heartfelt, cringey (in the best ways) and sweet, this is a highlight on any calendar year. Would love to see the concept expanded into a feature, but it works pretty well in this tight form. 

    The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse

    The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse

    With the backing of the BBC and AppleTV+ — and the voices of Jude Coward Nicoll, Gabriel Byrne, Idris Elba and Tom Hollander as the titular characters — this is unquestionably the highest profile short of the category.

    The animation is gorgeous, replicating Charlie Mackesy’s original illustrations entirely through a 2D pipeline. Indeed, there were over 120 artists involved in the process and the results are remarkable. As an animation fan, I have nothing but admiration for the technique.

    So, it’s a shame that the rest all feels so familiar and obvious. From the design of the lead to his cake-obsessed worried optimist of a companion, one can’t help but think of Christopher Robin and a certain bear of very little brain.

    Imitation is the highest form of flattery. So, if you like that aphorism, then this short is filled with them. At times, this feels like a greeting card or wholesome meme machine brought to life. Indeed, it was so heavy-handed that one can’t help but ponder if it was meant to be parody. If it wasn’t so damned earnest, that might be the case.

    Or perhaps I’m just cynical and bitter. For a younger audience, it’s a gentle piece of positivity that reinforces the strength of communities that look out for each other. Told in storybook fashion, that’s easy to digest in a sea of information, this is sure to be a crowd-pleaser.

    Catch the Oscar Shorts (animated and live-action) at cinemas 10,11 & 12 March

    Locations and session details at: https://shorts.tv/en/events/oscar-shorts-2023

  • Review: Disenchanted

    Review: Disenchanted

    Once upon a time there was a place called Disney. They wanted to make merry with all the people of the land. That was before they took the lands of Marvel, Lucasfilm, and Fox, when Disney’s banners looked a little different. In a year that included Ratatouille and National Treasure: The Book of Secrets, there was another little bit of unexpected magic in the form of Enchanted.

    Fast forward 15 years, and direct-to-Disney+ sequel DISENCHANTED is one of at least half a dozen legacy sequels or remakes dotting the House of Mouse’s annual output. The setup, in which the happily ever after of the original has been tarnished by harsh realities, is an apt analogy for the world that we find ourselves in.

    Giselle (Amy Adams), Robert (Patrick Demsey), and Morgan (Gabriella Baldacchino) still live in Manhattan with new baby Sofia. Finding that the everyday grind has robbed them of the magic of their existence, Giselle convinces the family to move to a gated community called Monroeville. The move doesn’t go to plan.

    Disenchanted (2022)

    The house is a shambles, Morgan is miserable, and Robert has a massive schlep to the office. Social activities are ruled over by the local queen bee Malvina (Maya Rudolph). So, when King Edward (James Marseden) and Queen Nancy (Indina Menzel) visit from the animated Andalasia and present them with a wishing wand, Giselle wishes that Monroeville was more like a fairy tale. This goes comically wrong: Malvina becomes an evil queen and Giselle starts turning into a wicked stepmother.

    Finances aside, for a sequel to work there needs to be a compelling reason to return to that world. The premise of flipping the script on the original by putting these characters into a magical realm could be intriguing. However, much of the charm of the original was that it already flipped the classic script by injecting magic into a cynical modern NYC. This means that DISENCHANTED now exists in a self-sustaining bubble, a straight fairy tale with magical characters in a fairy tale world. It’s not only less interesting, but kind of misses the point of the first film as well.

    Disney+ no doubt threw some money at this, and the lavish sets, dance sequences, and stacked cast are all reflective of this. Yet in other ways, director Adam Shankman (who brought us The Pacifier and Rock of Ages) is a saddled with some poor special effects and lacklustre animation (As with the first film, the animated sequences were outsourced, this time to Canadian animation studio Tonic DNA). To quote Giselle in the film, “It’s a fixer-upper.”

    Disenchanted (2022)

    Like Hocus Pocus 2, another legacy sequel released this year, the appeal mostly comes from seeing the original cast again. In Adams, we have a lead who seems to be enjoying the hell out of returning to this character. There’s a scene where she whips back and forth between good and wicked and it’s just sublime. Her duet with Rudolph (“Badder”) is one of the more engaging numbers.

    Speaking of singing, the wickedly talented Menzel — who, despite her Broadway chops, famously didn’t sing in the first film — makes up for it in troves with some lung belters. This is the house that Frozen built, after all. James Marsden is sometimes there too. (Seriously, he might be in this even less than X-Men: The Last Stand).

    For the time being, DISENCHANTED seems to emblematic of Disney’s output strategy. Take a dash of nostalgia, two parts ready-made franchise, and a sprinkling of familiar cast members. It’s just a shame that in the rush to do so, nobody stopped to think whether they should. Nevertheless, if this sends us all back to the original, then perhaps there still is a little fairy tale magic left after all.

    2022 | USA | DIRECTOR: Adam Shankman | WRITERS: Brigitte Hales (Story by J. David Stem, David N. Weiss, Richard LaGravenese) | CAST: Amy Adams Patrick Dempsey, Maya Rudolph, Yvette Nicole Brown, Jayma Mays, Gabriella Baldacchino, Idina Menzel, and sometimes James Marsden | DISTRIBUTOR: Disney/Disney+ | RUNNING TIME: 118 minutes | RELEASE DATE: 18 November 2022 (Disney+)

  • Disney Minus: Walt’s first fairy tales

    Disney Minus: Walt’s first fairy tales

    Here I attempt to watch (almost) all of Disney’s output in the order it was released. We continue our Dis-covery in 1922, as Walt modernises some classics.

    Before the Disney brand became synonymous with global market dominance, it was most associated with fairy tales. Some say the studio updates them for modern palettes, while others would accuse them of the Disneyfication of common legends. Yet whichever way you slice it, fairy tales have been in Disney’s DNA since their inception.

    As we saw earlier, Walt Disney’s earliest efforts were closer to test pieces: single-frame setups that they described as ‘illustrated jokes’ and screened at the Newman Theater. “The success of the Newman Laugh-O-Grams,” wrote Robert Tieman, “encouraged Walt to set up his own company.” Ub Iwerks joined him as his chief animator.

    Reportedly influenced by animator Paul Terry’s spoofs of Aesop’s fables, Disney and Iwerks started work on animating a series of fairy tales in various modern settings throughout 1922. In RED RIDING HOOD, for example, we have a dramatically different version of the familiar tale, allegedly due to the rights being unavailable at that stage. Of course, it didn’t stop ol’ Walt from lifting a design for Felix the Cat for his recurring character of Julius, seen in the short shooting holes in donuts with a shotgun. 

    Disney's Little Red Riding Hood (1922)

    From there, the story diverges further. Red is still seen taking a basket to granny, using her motorised cart instead of skipping through the forest. The ‘wolf’ is (rather disturbingly) just a sleazy older dude in a car, although he does have the ability to shrink said car for safekeeping. It does mark the triumphant return of the Fliver, quite possibly the same one we’d seen flying over Kansas City a year earlier. Instead of a woodsman, we have a fellow in a plane.

    All of the Laugh-O-Grams shorts follow a similar model. While most of this is an exercise in repetitive motion and early animation workshopping, achieved by photographing inked lines on paper rather than animation cels, they could be hailed as Disney’s first attempt at storytelling in animation. This is not to be dismissed. Walt was only 21 when he made the first of these, taking sixth months and working in his off-hours. Not unlike the later Snow White, this may have been regarded as one of his first ‘follies.’

    In THE FOUR MUSICIANS OF BREMEN, which biographer Neal Gabler argues is actually the first short produced by the studio, the narrative feels amped up several notches. Disney takes the loosest threads of the classic German tale Die Bremer Stadtmusikanten. Featuring another early appearance of Julius the Cat (modelled after Felix) with a donkey, rooster and dog companions, there’s little trace of the musician story here. It’s more concerned with their extracurricular activities: fishing and fighting criminals.

    The Four Musicians of Bremen (Disney)

    Embracing cartoon logic to its extremes, the animals find themselves pursued by a swordfish across land — with an actual detachable sword on its snout. Oxygen paradoxes notwithstanding, there’s a wonderfully clever moment when the swordfish uses his most prominent feature to saw a tree that the animals have used as temporary refuge.

    The showpiece moment is the standoff between a group of criminals, the animals, and an anthropomorphic house. Using simple repetition and rubber-banded objects, it’s a delightfully chaotic few minutes in which the chimney bounces back cannonballs, a house is turned into Swiss cheese, and Julius rides said cannonballs using his tail as a steering column.

    Disney would make several attempts to bring this tale to life in later years, and some of this is documented in the excellent Charles Solomon book, The Disney That Never Was. The closest they got was in 1969, before a Russian short was released that year. The only tangible evidence we have of Disney’s later vision is The Story Of The Bremen Town Musicians, released by Disneyland Records in 1970.

    Jack the Giant Killer

    While Jack and the Beanstalk and Goldie Locks and the Three Bears shorts are sadly lost to the ages, we still have JACK THE GIANT KILLER. Later retitled with synchronised sound as The K.O. Kid, this was the last of seven Fairy Tales Laugh-O-Grams directed by Walt Disney. Recently recovered and shown to festival crowds, the set-up is simple enough: the titular Jack, his girlfriend Susie and your ol’ pal Julius the Cat set their sights for the Land of the Giants. Hijinks ensue and there’s a fair bit of chasing.

    While not exactly formulaic, at least in the modern definition of the word, Disney was settling into a solid rhythm here. The storm sequence is sublime, revealing a darker side as it rain tridents. It’s as if the King of the Sea himself is attacking them. Our good friend the swordfish makes a welcome return, this time with a more hi-tech buzzsaw on his face.

    PUSS IN BOOTS is a far cry from the DreamWorks film a century later, presenting as a loose series of visual gags. It doesn’t make much sense: there’s a monarchy, but it’s clearly the US in the 1920s, and we swing from romance to bullfighting to a cinema so quickly that you’re liable to get whiplash. 

    Cinderella (1922)

    Yet scratch beneath the surface and there’s a lot more going on here. Getting quite meta for fledgling industry, there’s a film-within-a-film starring “Rodolph Vaselino.” There’s the slightly surreal ‘as time flies’ intertitles (complete with flying clocks). There’s an open-ended conclusion with the circle zoom on the speedometer, and even a poster for Disney’s own ‘Laugh-O-Grams Cinderella!

    Speaking of which, CINDERELLA — Disney’s first attempt at a story they would later perfect in 1950 — starts with the Prince shooting and hunting bears. (Not a Disney+ classic then). Otherwise this is a straightforward (albeit modernised) adaptation of the fable, and the last of the Laugh-O-Grams that Disney and friends produced prior to starting in on the hybrid Alice Comedies. Like Puss in Boots before it, here we see Disney refining storytelling in the lead-up to longer and more complex pieces of animation. 

    The story hits most of the same beats as the fairy tale, albeit updated to the 1920s. The carriage is a car, for example, and Cinderella goes to the ball in a flapper outfit. There’s chases and gags aplenty, but it ends rather abruptly with a “happily ever after.” Curiously, so does the later 1950 version. For the keen, there is a short documentary narrated by Don Hahn from one of the DVD releases called The Cinderella that Never Was. It only briefly touches on this film, but it’s interesting to see how this early short developed into the later classic.

    Legacy o’ Grams

    While not literally seen in frame, as was the case in his earlier shorts, Walt had a heavy hand in these early shorts. The names associated with this early series — Ub Iwerks, Hugh Harman, Friz Freleng, and Carman Maxwell — all went on to be legends in the animation industry.

    Like most of their contemporaries, they are still predominantly a collection of short visual gags. They were commercial enterprises, and even included an ad for a dentist (Tommy Tucker’s Tooth). Yet here we see Walt starting to pull those elements together into a story. Yet these fairy tale shorts were considered to be commercial failures. After finishing pre-production on the Alice Comedies, the Laugh-O-Gram studio filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy in July 1923. We assume things got better for Disney eventually.

    Still, this was the beginning of a storytelling motif for the animator, by reworking classics and making them uniquely Disney. Somewhere on a parallel Earth, these often outlandishs bits of animation may have been condemned to the dust bins of history. Indeed, at least one of these shorts lost for decades until it was recovered in the UK in 1998. Yet these early days inspired much of what would come, not least of which was Steamboat Willie only 6 years later, solidifying almost a decade of work on his craft.

    NEXT TIME: Enter Alice.

    Disney divider

    Gabler, N. (2011). Walt Disney: The biography. London: Aurum.

    Tieman, R. (2003). The Disney treasures. New York: Disney Editions.

    MORE FROM DISNEY MINUSNewman Laugh-O-Grams | Walt’s first fairy tales | Alice Comedies | Oswald the (Un)lucky Rabbit | Silly Symphonies | The Spirit of 1943 | So Dear to My Heart | One Hour in Wonderland | The early lost films | Johnny Tremain | Westerns of the 1950s | Moon Pilot

    All images in this article are owned by Disney unless stated otherwise.

  • Imposter syndrome: 25 years of ‘Perfect Blue’

    Imposter syndrome: 25 years of ‘Perfect Blue’

    “Why do all psycho thrillers in Japan turn out the same way?”

    Outsiders might have said the same about anime at a certain point in the 1990s. Following the launch of Neon Genesis Evangelion on an unsuspecting world, Japanese and international audiences were being treated to a plethora of organic mecha and super robot shows.

    Yet there was a parallel movement that saw global festival and cult audiences, perhaps on the hunt for the next Twin Peaks, searching out shows like Serial Experiments Lain. In the same year Hayao Miyazaki’s Princess Mononoke (1997) became the most-expensive anime film up until that time, Satoshi Kon’s debut film PERFECT BLUE (パーフェクトブルー) won Best Film and Best Animation awards at Montreal’s 1997 Fantasia Festival.

    ‘A rape scene? You have got to be out of your mind!’

    Based on Yoshikazu Takeuchi’s novel Perfect Blue: Complete Metamorphosis, the film opens on the performance of J-pop idol group CHAM. Its leading light Mima (voiced by Junko Iwai) is about to ‘graduate’ from the group to pursue a solo acting career. Yet an obsessive stalker isn’t happy with the change, watching her every move and posting it as an online diary. When the people around her are violently murdered, her sense of reality is shaken to the core.

    Perfect Blue (1997)

    While Kon’s debut is often considered groundbreaking for the number of boundaries it pushes, it’s remarkable for just how close to reality it actually was. For a medium that was known for bringing unreal things to life, here is a film that mirrors the darker aspects of our world. From the opening scene, in which photographers and fans alike mindlessly snap away at the CHAM performance, the thin line between the public and private lives of a celebrity are blurred.

    In many ways, PERFECT BLUE anticipated a more sinister age of celebrities and the perils of being ‘always on.’ Even if the MiniDiscs and faxes mark the film as a product of its time — and someone has to explain the Internet to Mima at one point — it could almost be an early commentary on social media. Kon’s ability to get into the dark mind of the cult of celebrity seems to come from a very real place. In the recent documentary Satoshi Kon: The Illusionist, actress Junko Iwai discusses how her own time as an idol and the experience of being stalked influence the character.

    So, when people talk about the ground that Kon broke, it was in his dissection of those well-known tropes. In the wake of the ultra-violent films like Ninja Scroll (1993) or the Genocyber (1994) series, not to mention the notorious sexualised violence of Urotsukidōji (1987), Kon’s sequences are based in more of a grim reality. Yes, there is an argument that Kon, much like Paul Verhoeven, uses rape merely as a narrative device. PERFECT BLUE is full of examples of the male gaze, not least of which is a nude photo shoot that is used repeatedly throughout the film.

    Yet the first instance of rape on screen is within the context of Double Bind, the film within a film that Mima is shooting. As the scene is shot over several takes, Kon slides out of any accusations of sensationalism by making us consider the moment for what it is: a deliberate deconstruction crafted in a studio for our entertainment. Kon is calling out the kinds of sex and violence that made the pearl-clutchers reach for the smelling salts, both in Japan and Hollywood, while pointing out our collective complicity in its perpetuation.

    Perfect Blue (1997)

    “But illusions don’t kill.”

    By this stage in the film, Kon has conclusively introduced the notion of duality. Just as David Lynch’s contemporaneous Lost Highway (1997) explored the fluidity between recorded memory and the event, PERFECT BLUE also crafts a thriller within the framework of identity, voyeurism and the notion of multiple selves.

    For much of the film, Kon and screenwriter Sadayuki Murai keep events deliberately ambiguous. When Mima is first introduced, we already see her ‘other’ self reflected in a train window. Later, she sees a reflection of herself in her idol outfit claiming to be the ‘real’ Mima. As the events of the film escalate, it becomes unclear whether Mima is seeing another self or is committing crimes while in a fugue state. This is exacerbated by the film constantly segueing in and out of the similarly themed Double Bind, confusing the lines between fiction and reality even further.

    The ambiguity continues right through the gripping climax to the almost dreamlike ending. Following an attempted rape by her stalker Me-Mania, it is revealed that Mima’s agent Rumi — herself a former idol seeking to relive her glory — has been manipulating both Mima and Me-Mania. Rumi even began to believe that she was the real Mima in a kind of shared delusional disorder. In the final scenes, a more assertive Mima visits Rumi in a mental health facility, the latter having now completely succumbed to her delusions. As staff mistake Mima for an impersonator, the now successful star reassures herself in her car’s rear-view mirror that “No, I’m the real thing.”

    “The pop idol image is suffocating me…”

    We lost Satoshi Kon in 2010 after a brief battle with pancreatic cancer. In his short but significant career, he also released Millennium Actress (2001), Tokyo Godfathers (2003), Paprika (2006) and the TV series Paranoia Agent, described as his answer to Twin Peaks. He may not have been as recognised in his time as he would have like, but 25 years after his debut we can reflect on how he ushered in a new era of adult storytelling in anime. “Satoshi Kon broadened the scope of animation,” Mamoru Hosoda (Summer Wars, Belle) once declared.

    UK critic Andrew Osmond, author of the 2009 biography of the filmmaker, draws a parallel between PERFECT BLUE and David Lynch’s Mulholland Drive (2001). In candid moments, Darren Aronofsky points to iconic shots (such as Mima in a bathtub) that he ‘borrowed’ for Requiem for a Dream (2000). Indeed, the embedded video above leaves little doubt as to the influence. You can see that influence even more clearly in his later Black Swan (2010) and Nicolas Winding Refn’s The Neon Demon (2015).

    So, while we may look back on aspects of this and see it as a product of the late 1990s, it continues to transcend any sense of time and place. Kon returned to some of these themes in the arguably superior Millennium Actress, another film where the lines between cinema and reality have blurred. In an age when entire fandoms are built around brand identities, and social media has made it easier than ever to get lost in alternate identities, maybe Kon was just 25 years ahead of his time.

  • Review: Lightyear

    Review: Lightyear

    It has not gone unnoticed that Disney-Pixar have been releasing some of their most original work in years under adverse conditions. From Onward through Soul and Turning Red, the animation powerhouse has managed a four-film streak of original concepts that have debuted on, or at least been fast-tracked to, Disney’s streaming service. As Pixar returns to cinemas, they only do so with the more familiar branding of the Toy Story universe.

    Well, sort of. LIGHTYEAR is not so much a solo Buzz Lightyear film as it is the origin story of the character that inspired the toy line. An opening title card tells that in 1995, a boy named Andy received a Buzz Lightyear toy based on his favourite movie. This purports to be that movie. So, what we have is an in-universe feature, one that follows Space Ranger Buzz Lightyear (voiced by Chris Evans) as he and his crew become stranded on a distant planet thanks to his own hubris.

    While trialling an experimental power source to get them all home, he inadvertently gets flung four years into the future. After repeated flights, a dejected Buzz finds that not only have the survivors built a fully-fledged civilisation, but they are fighting Zurg’s (James Brolin) robot invaders. Together with Izzy Hawthorne (Keke Palmer), the granddaughter of Buzz’s best friend and commanding officer, he tries to put a past wrong right.

    Lightyear (2022)

    Director Angus MacLane (Toy Story of Terror, Finding Dory) and co-writer Jason Headley’s film works best when it plays this concept straight. Between the call-back lines and winking to the camera, which are prolific in the first act, there’s a throwback action film that’s light on subtlety but big on thrills. Even before the title drop, there’s a massive set-piece action sequence that seems to set the tone for the rest of the film. At least until it all shifts radically.

    With the introduction of Izzy comes companions Mo Morrison (Taika Waititi), a clumsy cadet, and ex-con Darby Steel (Dale Soules), the film becomes a tale of a ragtag group written as comic relief. It’s as if Buzz not only crash lands in the future but in another film entirely, as MacLane and Headley lose faith in their own premise (or Disney wasn’t quite ready for a wholly dramatic feature yet). That said, robotic cat Sox (voiced by Peter Sohn) — a utilitarian twist on Up‘s Dug — is a source of unrelenting joy.

    On a technical level, there’s nothing to quibble about. Every Pixar production ups the ante on animation, and this time the visuals are leaps and bounds (lightyears even) ahead of anything else out there. While maintaining some of the familiar character designs, the influence of ILM gives us realistic spaceship designs and effects to evoke the films of the 80s and 90s. Of course, no film in 1995 looked this good.

    A fun albeit straightforward animated caper, LIGHTYEAR is the kind of meta-commentary one gets when all the cinematic influences exist in a closed-loop lifecycle. Pop doesn’t just eat itself here but continues to create whole meals out of its own brands. There is no apparent irony, after all, that this is literally meant to be a major release that inspired toy sales. Just as they did with live-action remakes of their own animation, Disney have opened the door to more in-universe origins to infinity (and beyond). Surely, Woody’s Roundup: The Motion Picture can’t be far behind?

    2022 | USA | DIRECTOR: Angus MacLane | WRITERS: Jason Headley | CAST: Chris Evans, Keke Palmer, Peter Sohn, James Brolin, Taika Waititi, Dale Soules | DISTRIBUTOR: Disney | RUNNING TIME: 110 minutes | RELEASE DATE: 16 June 2022 (AUS), 17 June 2022 (US)

  • Review: Mickey – The Story of a Mouse

    Review: Mickey – The Story of a Mouse

    Who’s the leader of the club that’s made for you and me? For 94 years, the answer to that question has remained the same for Disney. After all, they aren’t known as the House of Mouse for nothing. Yet over the course of almost a century, the Mouse has come to represent everything from the American Dream to the cheapening of it. Filmmaker Jeff Malmberg attempts to trace his complete history in this charming documentary.

    Disney has always run with Walt’s line that “it all started with a mouse.” This isn’t exactly true, of course, with Walt Disney’s first works predating this by half a decade. Malmberg’s documentary recognises from the start that these stories have made the modern myth of Disney. Whether it is Walt’s apocryphal tale of creating Mickey on a train trip — or the more likely one of scrambling to come up with something after losing the rights to Oswald the Lucky Rabbit — storytelling has been part of Mickey’s longevity.

    MICKEY: THE STORY OF A MOUSE is both a dissection and continuation of this official story. Being a Disney production, it has a vested interest in perpetuating the myth. As such, the loose framework for the film is the creation of a new animated short called Mickey in a Minute, one that aims to include different versions of Mickey throughout history. Using the last three traditional hand-drawn animators still working on the Mouse, including the very enthusiastic Eric Goldberg, the short provides an excuse to go back into the extensive Disney archives.

    Walt Disney Archives logo

    In a way, the story of Mickey Mouse is also the story of animation. As a fellow librarian, these trips into the archives and Animation Research Library are the reason one turns up to these documentaries. We get to see early sketches and cels. We follow along as Mickey’s style changed over time, from a beacon in the dark days of the Depression to his evolution in style and tone. Donald and Goofy are introduced as parental pressures smoothed out Mickey’s rough edges. Fantasia (1940) gave him more expressive facial features. The 1950s transformed him into suburban mouse, complete with TV fan club. That was followed by decades of stagnation, as Disney tried to keep Walt’s values frozen in time. “It almost felt like they wanted to put the lid on Mickey,” comments animation legend Floyd Norman.

    Even with the official corporate spin, one of the more progressive things about this piece is that it is also interested in interrogating some of the less glamourous years for the Mouse. In a montage of confronting blackface, especially from Mickey’s early days, several commentators acknowledge that it is “difficult to see Mickey as part of that conversation,” concluding that “he speaks to the racism in our society.” From his use in 1960s counter-culture, through Disco Mickey and Disney’s extremely litigious protection of copyright, the film also accepts that Mickey is now just as much a corporate symbol as he is a historic character.

    While it would be interesting to see a third party dissect the history of the Mouse, it’s unlikely that anybody other than Disney would have the access (or the intellectual property rights) to provide us with such an extensive overview. Like the The Imagineering Story series, we are treated to some amazing archival footage, extensive interviews and a legitimately feel-good piece commentary from fans and creators. “At this point, Mickey is us,” concludes the film. “So, wherever we’re headed, he’s coming with us.”

    SXSW 2022

    2022 | USA | DIRECTOR: Jeff Malmberg | CINEMATOGRAPHER: Antonio Cisneros | EDITOR: Jake Hostetter and Aaron Wickenden | CAST: Eric Goldberg, Mark Henn, Randy Haycock, Floyd Norman, Carmenita Higginbotham, Rebecca Cline, Kevin Kern, Bob Iger | DISTRIBUTOR: Disney/Disney+, SXSW 2022 | RUNNING TIME: 93 minutes | RELEASE DATE: 11-20 March 2022 (SXSW)

  • Review: Turning Red

    Review: Turning Red

    It’s been an odd couple of years for Pixar. While they have been on a streak of original films since Onward, the impact of the pandemic has made the former box office Goliath a staple of Disney’s streaming service. TURNING RED continues that trend, debuting directly to homes around the world, but breaks new ground in so many other ways.

    In fact, it’s weird to even have to type this in 2022, but director Domee Shi’s debut film is Pixar’s first all-female led film. Not just in terms of its delightfully crafted set of characters, but the creative team behind the scenes as well. Shi is best known for her charming 2018 short Bao, also the first Pixar short to be directed by a woman, and here she teams up with playwright and television writer Julia Cho for a unique spin on a coming of age comedy.

    Set in 2002 in the Chinatown district of Toronto, Meilin “Mei” Lee (voiced by Rosalie Chiang) is a 13-year-old Chinese-Canadian girl who, despite her mother’s (Sandra Oh) expectations of academic perfection, wants to march to the beat of her own drum, wrap herself in the warmth of friends’ love and swoon over boy band 4☆Town. Yet when she discovers the family curse — transforming into a large red panda whenever she experiences heightened emotions — she tries to balance all of her responsibilities and desires in a surefire recipe for catastrophe.

    Turning Red

    You don’t have to go too deep into the well to guess what this film metaphorically represents. It’s right there in the title. Disney even allows the subtext to be made text, with Mei getting a brief explanation of pads and tampons from her mother. It might be a simple thing, especially at this juncture (don’t make me tap the calendar again), but a major animated film having multiple shots of Maxi Pads is a positive step from the studio. Disney sure has come a long way since the 1946 educational short, The Story of Menstruation.

    There’s another equally important piece of representation here. It’s not just the thoroughly intimate Asian-Canadian experience, something Shi seems to effortlessly weave into a traditional Pixar structure. (There’s the emergency arrival of the aunties, for example, that any number of families are sure to relate to). This is important, and continues on from Raya and the Dragon and Shang-Chi in the studio’s attempts to be more inclusive. Yet the other moments of ‘being seen’ here are the ways in which Shi takes fandom completely seriously. 4☆Town might be the epitome of late 90s/early 2000s cheese to us, but they are a way of life to this group of misfits. If the musical Fangirls taught us anything, it’s how formative, supportive, life-changing and valid fandom is during one’s teen years.

    It’s a shame that TURNING RED wound up debuting on the small screen, as then lush animation and innovative style screams for a cinema release. There’s the almost invisible magic, like the phenomenal textures on animal fur, the details from the streets of Toronto, or the veritable feast of lovingly rendered food porn as Mei’s dad cooks. Like Mitchels vs. The Machines last year, Shi also uses the hyperkinetic language of comics and cartoons in a series of non-sequiturs, fourth-wall breaking narration, speed-lines and anime-inspired cutaways for wide-eyed emotional reactions. In a word, it’s just fun.

    When Pixar next returns to our screens, it will be with a more familiar franchise name: Lightyear. While that film aims to do something new with the Toy Story universe, one can’t help the feeling that Disney-Pixar has created a tiered structure in its release patterns. Still, the simultaneous worldwide release to well over 120 million users increases the chances of someone seeing this, and hopefully seeing themselves, in one of the most heartfelt animated films in recent memory.

    2022 | USA | DIRECTOR: Domee Shi | WRITERS: Julia Cho, Domee Shi | CAST: Rosalie Chiang, Sandra Oh, Ava Morse, Hyein Park, Maitreyi Ramakrishnan, Orion Lee, Wai Ching Ho, Tristan Allerick Chen, James Hong | DISTRIBUTOR: Disney/Disney+ | RUNNING TIME: 100 minutes | RELEASE DATE: 11 March 2022 (Global)

  • Review: Belle

    Review: Belle

    When The Matrix Resurrections was released in cinemas late last year, movie audiences were reminded that we have been partly plugged into virtual worlds for decades. Yet that mirror universe has always forced us to lead at least two lives. The duality of this existence is something filmmaker Mamoru Hosoda knows so well, with his body of work often exploring the lines between this world and something ‘other.’ Hosoda continues his thematic journey, linking early Digimon — and especially Summer Wars — with this modern fable. 

    A loose adaptation of Beauty and the Beast, it follows Suzu (voiced by singer Kaho Nakamura), an alienated high school student left unable to sing due to a major childhood trauma. In the virtual world known as ‘U’, Suzu creates a persona she names ‘Bell’ who can sing like Suzu used to. Her popularity rises, and the community names her “Belle” due to her beauty. Yet an avatar known as Dragon begins to sabotage her, so Suzu and her new community of IRL friends begins to investigate who he might be.

    BELLE (竜とそばかすの姫) is one of those delightful films that as soon as you think you’ve got it figured out, it pulls the rug out from under you. Just like Hosoda’s earlier film The Boy and the Beast, the high-concept is a vehicle for something more personal. Where that film alluded to Rudyard Kipling’s The Jungle Book, here Jeanne-Marie Leprince de Beaumont’s 16th century fairy tale is the backdrop for exploring self-image and personal worth in the digital age. Indeed, the literal translation of the Japanese title is ‘The Dragon and the Freckled Princess.’

    Belle (竜とそばかすの姫)

    There’s the typical Japanese high school stuff here, of course, but Hosoda transcends all that by lifting up the curtain for a moment. U might be a fictional world where the characters show each other a kind of facade, but we viewers do that every day through everything from our clothes to our social media profiles. As the film unfolds, themes of abandonment and bullying become part of the landscape. There’s a handful of absolutely heartbreaking scenes in the film’s climax — when the identity of the Dragon is at last discovered — and few dry eyes will be left in the house. 

    With the assistance of veteran Disney animators and character designers Jin Kim (Hercules through Raya and the Last Dragon) and Michael Camacho (Summer Camp Island) on the character design of Belle — not to mention studio Cartoon Saloon contributing to the background work of the world of U — this is also one of Studio Chizu’s most visually stunning animated films to date. The stylised settings push the boundaries of the animated canvas: the spread of gossip is rendered like a strategy game, for example.

    For the longest time, Hosoda was dubbed a successor to the Studio Ghibli legacy. Yet with BELLE it is entirely clear that he is well beyond such reductive labels. The hyperbole belongs entire to Hosoda and his Studio Chizu team. Already a massive hit in its native Japan, do not miss your chance to see one of the best animated films of recent memory.

    The Reel Bits: Asia in Focus

    2021 | Japan | DIRECTOR: Mamoru Hosoda | WRITERS: Mamoru Hosoda | CAST: Kaho Nakamura, Ryō Narita, Shōta Sometani, Tina Tamashiro, Lilas Ikuta, Kōji Yakusho, Takeru Satoh  | DISTRIBUTOR: Toho (JPN), GKids (US), Kismet (AUS) | RUNNING TIME: 125 minutes | RELEASE DATE: 16 July 2021 (JPN), 14 January 2022 (US), 20 January 2022 (AUS)

  • Review: Blush

    Review: Blush

    Apple may not be a name synonymous with animation just yet, but after distributing last year’s award-winning Wolfwalkers they seem determined to change that. BLUSH is the first collaboration between Apple Original Films and Skydance Animation, a short that will undoubtedly be spoken about in the same terms as Pixar’s short films.

    In a dazzling opening, in which we follow a water droplet down through a space-born greenhouse, we’re introduced to a human horticulturalist traversing the stars. He crashes into an asteroid and soon his plants start to die out, with the traveller not far behind. All seems lost until the arrival of an alien who not only revives the plants, but provides him with a breathable atmosphere as well.

    The pair build a lush green planet on the otherwise barren rock together, raising children and trees with equal pleasure. It’s a clean 11 minute short that uses no dialogue, but visually continues to advance the story with every frame. Indeed, some features struggle to fit this much storytelling into things more than ten times the length.

    Blush (Apple Original Film)

    Despite the powerhouse production companies holding the pursestrings, the origins of BLUSH are far more personal. The directorial debut of the Emmy Award winning Joe Mateo — whose work has been seen in multiple Disney productions from Pocahontas through to Ralph Breaks the Internet — is inspired by the loss of his own wife to breast cancer in 2017.

    As a result, there are times when this feels like the prologue to Pixar’s Up by way of a sci-fi façade — and that’s exactly the compliment that it’s intended to be. The film wordlessly pack a life well-lived into a compact framework, conveying the pain of loss and the hard work of moving on without a single spoken line. You would have to be made of pretty stern stuff to not get a little choked up by the end of the short.

    If the narrative doesn’t get to you, then the jaw-dropping animation will. Mateo and his experienced crew have developed a beautiful use of light and colour contrasts as the planetoid slowly comes to life. It’s a vividly coloured piece, often framed by the light of a moon. Clever cutaways show the rock in its entirety: it’s a neat trick that shows the passing of time, but we also get to see the level of planning and detail that went into every inch of this production.

    An artist once said that good art doesn’t make you feel something, but it gives you permission to recognise those feelings in yourself. Which is where BLUSH will connect with most audiences, whether they have suffered grief in this way or not. Now, if you’ll excuse me I have to go and hug my partner.

    2021 | USA | DIRECTOR:  Joe Mateo | WRITER:  Joe Mateo | DISTRIBUTOR: Apple TV+ | RUNNING TIME: 11 minutes | RELEASE DATE: 1 October 2021