Tag Archive - Animation

Merry Christmas from Gwarlingo (And Monty Python’s Terry Gilliam)

 

A still from Terry Gilliam’s 1968 animation “The Christmas Card”

 

Merry Christmas!

This holiday I’m grateful to readers like yourself who have made 2012 such a fulfilling and exciting year. Thank you. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed connecting with so many of you in person, through email, social media, snail mail, and through the comments on the site.

I’ll be taking some much-needed time off over the next few days and taking a (working) holiday down in Philadelphia over New Year’s. Next weekend will be a rare break for Gwarlingo’s Sunday Poem series. I know how disappointed readers are when they don’t find the poem in their inboxes on Sunday mornings, so consider yourself forewarned! The good news: my shelves are bulging with fabulous, new poetry collections that have arrived in the mail recently, and I’m eager to showcase some of these talented, contemporary poets in 2013. Soon…

In the meantime, I have a fun, irreverent, animated Christmas card from animator and film director Terry Gilliam to share with you this Christmas Day. Gilliam was responsible for giving Monty Python’s Flying Circus its unique visual style, and he also directed a number of memorable films, including Brazil, Monty Python and the Holy GrailTime Bandits, and 12 Monkeys.

 

A still from Terry Gilliam’s 1968 animation “The Christmas Card”

 

Mike Springer at Open Culture describes the origins of this humorous piece in more detail:
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Snow: A Holiday Gift from Gwarlingo

 

(Photo by Michelle Aldredge)

 
Last night the snow finally arrived in New Hampshire. Having grown up in Georgia, a white Christmas is still a welcome novelty for me. Back home in Atlanta, businesses and schools close the moment the “S” word is mentioned. There are few snow plows or sand trucks there, and an all-wheel-drive Subaru is as rare as a nun in a bikini.

But here in New Hampshire, the Land of Subarus, we’re used to the white stuff. We pull on our snow boots and hats, and brave the elements.

I always enjoy those first few snowfalls when the landscape is miraculously transformed. Once the snow is on the ground, I can track every animal who has skirted past my house at night—the deer, the squirrels, the mice, and ermine. And few scenes are as arresting as deep blue shadows stretching over fresh snow on a crisp, clear afternoon. It never ceases to amaze me that I can stand in the middle of the woods on a winter afternoon and actually hear the sound of snow falling.

 

(Photo by Michelle Aldredge)


 
 

Squirrel tracks in the snow (Photo by Michelle Aldredge)

 

This holiday I’m grateful not only for the well-timed snowfall, but also for all of the readers like you who have made the first seven months of Gwarlingo such a success. I appreciate your positive feedback, comments, store purchases, and emails of support. 

I hope you have some time to relax and connect with friends or family this holiday. Today, my Christmas gift to you is this short sand animation called Snow by filmmaker Corrie Francis Parks.

 

A still from Corrie Francis Parks' sand animation "Snow." Watch the full film below.

 

 

Corrie Francis Parks at work on a sand animation (Photo courtesy Corrie Francis Parks)

 

Corrie works with sand, paint on glass, cut-outs and hand-drawn mediums. This particular film uses a highly specialized technique called sand animation. Corrie has found new ways to incorporate color into her sand films—a medium that has traditionally been in black and white.

Using sand as a material is challenging and difficult to master. Corrie is one of the few filmmakers who is pushing this medium in new directions. You can learn more about Corrie’s work on her website or follow her on Twitter.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! Enjoy the film and best wishes for 2012.

(If you’re reading this in an email, click here to watch the video.)

 

 

Snow from corrie francis parks on Vimeo.

 

 

Hedgehog in the Fog: A Short Animated Classic by Russia’s “Golden Snail”

If you’ve never seen Yuriy Norshteyn’s Hedgehog in the Fog, then you are in for a special treat. And if you have seen it, you owe it to yourself to revisit this classic, animated film.

Hedgehog in the Fog is one of the most beautiful, evocative short films ever made. It won many prizes and awards on both sides of the Iron Curtain when it made the festival circuit in the mid and late 70s. In 2003 Hedgehog was named “the number one animated film of all time” at an animation competition in Tokyo.

The story is simple–a hedgehog makes his regular evening journey to see his friend, the bear cub. But on this particular night a fog has descended on the forest and the hedgehog has many frightening, transformative encounters. The cinematography of Nadezhda Treschyova, story by Sergei Kozlov, and music of Mikhail Meyerovich come together with Norshteyn’s animations to create a moving, memorable experience.

Norshteyn’s craftsmanship and originality, as well as his affinity for small, quiet details have earned him tremendous respect in the animation world. Nick Park is reportedly a fan, and the Japanese animator Hayao Miyazaki, creator of Spirited Away and Howl’s Moving Castle, cited Hedgehog in the Fog as one of his favorite animated films and called Norshteyn “a great artist.” Miyazaki and Norshteyn both share an eye for natural beauty. The forest in Miyazaki’s Princess Mononoke may owe something to Norshteyn’s mysterious forest in Hedgehog, though Miyazaki’s final vision is certainly his own.

Norshteyn was born in a working class suburb of Moscow. His early artistic path was a difficult one, plagued by anti-Semitism and struggles within the education system. Norshteyn practiced carpentry and painting before learning animation.

Yuriy Norshteyn, Photo by Nikita Pavlov

Norshteyn works closely with his wife, Francesca Yarbusova, who is an important collaborator on his films. He uses a unique, multi-plane technique to give his work its remarkable sense of depth. The camera shoots down at a series of glass plates that can move horizontally and vertically, giving the illusion that characters are moving toward or away from the viewer.

This stop-motion technique, which does not employ computers, is incredibly labor intensive. His slow production pace has earned Norshteyn the nickname “The Golden Snail.” Since 1981 he has been working on a 65-minute production of Gogol’s The Overcoat. In 1986 he was fired from Souyzmultfilm (the primary Soviet animation studio) because he was working too slowly. It reportedly took Norshteyn and his small team two years to create 10 minutes of film.

While some critics have attributed Norshteyn’s slow output to his obsessiveness and perfectionism, one could also view his story as a remarkable dedication to craft and personal vision in an overly commercialized movie industry. It is a terrible irony that Norshteyn no longer has to contend with Soviet censors, but must now struggle to find capitalist funding for films that have no mass market appeal. In a 2005 interview in The Washington Post, Norshteyn railed against the state of cinema today: “There is no artistic freedom because artistry has been replaced by ignorance.”

Somehow, Norshteyn has found the tenacity to persevere in spite of tremendous setbacks. During the creation of The Overcoat, Norshteyn has endured continual funding problems, the death of his close friend and cinematographer Aleksandr Zhukovskiy, and the closure of the Moscow film labs that were processing the movie’s black-and-white film stock. (For now, Norshteyn has overcome this hurdle by developing the film himself).

Perhaps like Werner Herzog’s Fitzcarraldo or Terry Gilliam’s Don Quixote, the plagued production of The Overcoat should become a story in its own right. Undoubtedly, the final product will determine whether the film is dubbed Norshteyn’s greatest triumph or his greatest folly. If the film lives up to expectation, Norshteyn will likely be portrayed as a hero, and if the film is anything less than a masterpiece, he risks being dubbed the Captain Ahab of the animation world. Regardless, it is an incredible example of an artist remaining true to his vision even in the most difficult circumstances.

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