Recently Viewed: An Ostrich Told Me the World is Fake and I Think I Believe It

[The following review contains MINOR SPOILERS; YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!]

In An Ostrich Told Me the World is Fake and I Think I Believe It—Lachlan Pendragon’s Oscar-nominated animated short—the fourth wall is a fragile construct. Much of the action is glimpsed through a monitor mounted to the camera recording it, with the hands of the artist visibly manipulating the puppets in the background, just barely out of focus. Once the protagonist—a mild-mannered telemarketer—realizes that the world he inhabits is a total fabrication, the seams holding it together gradually begin to unravel. Peering beyond the border of the frame, for example, reveals details (or, more appropriately, the lack thereof) that would otherwise be invisible: the words printed in an employee manual, an entire desktop computer, and his coworkers’ legs dematerialize the instant they exit the viewer’s direct line of sight. Haunted by this nightmarish new reality, he attempts to escape through a door to nowhere—only to plummet into a tray containing multiple reproductions of his own detachable lower jaw.

Featuring a cheekily self-referential tone that perfectly complements its central character’s self-awareness, An Ostrich Told Me the World is Fake is a subversive masterpiece, transforming the very medium of stop-motion into a compelling metaphor for the suffocating existential horror of existing in a society befouled by commercialism, consumerism, and materialism. After all, despite his apparent deific status, the Filmmaker—much like his creations of felt and wire armature—is subject to the whims of forces beyond his comprehension, squandering his craft to produce advertisements for furniture and office supplies. He may sculpt the universe, but the Almighty Dollar reigns supreme, pulling his strings with the promise of a paycheck… and the threat of poverty.

This overarching theme would be intolerably cynical and nihilistic… were the movie surrounding it not so charming, innovative, and effortlessly hilarious. An Ostrich Told Me the World is Fake and I Think I Believe It blows its fellow competitors out of the water; I'll be rooting for it to take home the golden statuette on March 12.

Random Thought Before Bed: Oscar Buzz

Well, the nominees for the 92nd Academy Awards have been announced, and the mainstream entertainment media has been spilling gallons of ink over all of the perceived upsets, snubs, and omissions. Personally, I’ve grown desensitized to such debates (the industry should be able to honor the accomplishments of its various artists without resorting to self-congratulatory back-patting—but I digress); I do, however, have some thoughts on a few of the big contenders:

Recently Viewed - Oscar-Nominated Shorts 2019: Animation

Caught my second ever screening of IFC Center’s annual Oscar Animated Shorts Showcase. Once again, this year’s nominees (with one major exception) revolve around a common theme: the unbreakable bond between parent and child.

I’d previously seen Bao in front of Incredibles 2, of course, but it remains a beautiful, charming story; honestly, it’s probably better the second time around, when you already know the twist (the adorable cartoon dumpling symbolizes the overprotective mother’s estranged son). As much of a tearjerker as it is, however, Cartoon Saloon’s Late Afternoon tugs on the heartstrings just a bit harder, taking viewers on a vivid, colorful journey through an elderly woman’s disjointed, fractured memories—ending with her realization that the kind young lady she’s been chatting with is her own daughter.

One Small Step is slightly more upbeat, but no less poignant, chronicling a shoemaker’s efforts to encourage his daughter to pursue her dream of becoming an astronaut. Weekends, meanwhile, approaches the subject of family from a different angle altogether, finding equal measures of humor and horror in a little boy’s struggle to adjust to his new routine following his parents’ divorce—especially after they both begin new romantic relationships.

The only real outlier is Animal Behaviour, a very silly (and very Canadian) sketch about anthropomorphic mammals, insects, and parasites attending group therapy in order to overcome such self-destructive behaviors as obsessive grooming, butt-sniffing... and eating their partners during sexual intercourse. It’s cute, but lacks the emotional resonance of its fellow contenders.

Look, let’s not kid ourselves: Pixar is bringing home the big prize on February 24, because in this particular category, name recognition is the only thing that matters to the voters. Still, I’m thankful that the ceremony will at least bring increased attention to some talented artists whose work might otherwise have gone overlooked.

Recently Viewed: Cold War

Following this morning’s announcement of this year's Oscar nominees, I realized that I have a lot of catching up to do. I decided to remedy that situation ASAP, starting with a screening of Cold War at Film Forum.

I adored Ida, Pawel Pawlikowski's previous directorial effort, for its locked-off, static, almost claustrophobic compositions. The camerawork in this followup, however, is significantly looser and more kinetic. And that’s appropriate, considering the narrative is all about movement—whether it’s charting the progression of a traditional Polish folk song as it travels from a remote mountain village to a Parisian jazz club... or following two star-crossed lovers as they desperately pursue each other across the politically-turbulent landscape of Europe circa the 1950s and '60s. 

The framing, too, is beautifully expressive, favoring tight closeups that isolate our protagonists and blur out the background, suggesting that—in their own minds, anyway—they’re the only people in the world that truly matter. Of course, passions that burn with such intensity often lead to disaster... but what a brilliant flame this particular pair produces!

Well, I totally blew it with my Oscar predictions. And the Bingo card. On the bright side, my estimate for the ceremony's end time was right on the money. And the fact that they remembered Seijun Suzuki for the In Memoriam took a bit of the sting away.

Recently Viewed: The Florida Project

Saw The Florida Project at Village East Cinema to scratch another movie off my Oscars catch-up list (it was also a great opportunity to try out my new MoviePass card).

Brought me back to the Orlando I remember from my UCF days—to the swamps, strip malls, and pastel-painted motels on the outskirts of The Happiest Place on Earth. Initially, that local flavor is the main attraction: the narrative ambles along rather aimlessly, eschewing plot in favor of brief (and seemingly improvised) vignettes depicting free-range wild child Moonee and her gaggle of friends making mischief and tormenting tourists. Gradually, however, the conflict that has been lurking just beyond the boundaries of the frame begins to intrude on our heroine's carefree fun (her mother needs to cover rent somehow, after all), threatening to snatch away her innocence forever. Writer/director Sean Baker's knack for filtering the harrowing struggles of his adult characters through his young protagonist's naive point-of-view makes The Florida Project one of the most heart-wrenching coming-of-age stories I've seen in a while (sorry, Lady Bird), eminently worthy of its Awards Season buzz.

Recently Viewed: The Breadwinner

Although the current lineup of Best Animated Feature nominees isn't nearly as impressive as last year’s, I still took time out of my busy schedule to catch a screening of The Breadwinner at IFC Center. I’m a huge fan of The Secret of the Kells and Song of the Sea, Cartoon Saloon’s previous efforts, and while this latest production lacks a few of the qualities that attracted me to the studio’s work in the first place (particularly its celebration of Irish mythology), I found its grounded tone and distinctly Middle Eastern flavor immensely enjoyable.

I’m a sucker for folklore, regardless of the specific culture involved, and there's plenty to savor here: gorgeously stylized depictions of the tumultuous history of the Silk Road and the legends surrounding a brave young farmer's battle against monstrous jaguars and elephants, as filtered through the point-of-view of a little girl masquerading as a boy to support her family in an oppressive society that regards women as inherently inferior. The courage that she draws from these tales and the lessons they teach (namely that compassion is stronger than any weapon) is a testament to the unparalleled power of storytelling.

My gut tells me that Pixar will end up snagging the big prize, but I'll be rooting for The Breadwinner; it's a genuine masterpiece from an immensely talented group of filmmakers.

Recently Viewed: Lady Bird

With the Oscars just a few weeks away, I’ve still got plenty of catching up to do, so tonight, I went and saw Lady Bird. It’s a charming coming-of-age story, with a strong sense of place and nuanced characterization that make it a surprisingly effective companion piece to Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri.

With all due respect to John Hughes, it’s refreshing to see a film in this genre that doesn’t cast the adults as outright villains. The teenagers are trying to figure out what it means to be “grown-up”… but so are all the grownups, who must grapple with the harsh reality that there’s no magic moment where everything snaps into focus and the world suddenly makes sense; they lose their jobs for no good reason, struggle to pay the bills, and find themselves depressed even when their lives seem to be relatively stable. There’s a lot to love in Lady Bird—from Saoirse Ronan’s pitch-perfect leading performance to the authentically meandering dialogue—but it was this thematic complexity that really resonated with me. I don’t know if it quite has what it takes to bring home Best Picture, but its nomination is certainly well-deserved.

Recently Viewed: Darkest Hour

Went and saw Darkest Hour to kick off Oscar Catchup Season. It’s a solid historical drama. Director Joe Wright wisely foregoes excessive stylistic flair (with a few exceptions) in order to instead emphasize the outstanding performances. It’s no revelation that Gary Oldman is a phenomenal actor, but his complex portrayal of Winston Churchill (the subject of countless caricatures) deserves particular praise for capturing both the fervor of his public persona and the insecurities of his most private moments.

That said, it’s rather fortunate that Dunkirk was also released in 2017; Christopher Nolan’s immersive depiction of the horrors that those stranded soldiers experienced on that beach helped me to better comprehend the gravity of the stakes as Churchill clashed with his indecisive War Cabinet. My friend commented that it would be interesting to see both films edited into a single four-hour epic. I couldn’t agree more—heck, throw in Their Finest and make it a miniseries!

Recently Viewed: My Life as a Zucchini

Thanks to Sunshine Cinema, I've finally managed to see every Oscar-nominated animated feature, and I couldn't be more satisfied with the diversity of this year's list of contenders: a deliciously bizarre experimental fairy tale, an Eastern mythology-inspired fantasy epic, a buddy comedy with an animal kingdom twist, a more traditional (but no less excellent) musical... and the film I saw today, My Life as a Zucchini, a quiet, slice-of-life coming of age drama that proves there's more to the medium of stop motion than simply spectacle.

Like Laika's beautifully-crafted and technically accomplished Kubo and the Two Strings, Zucchini explores themes of family and loss. But whereas Kubo is primarily concerned with the sweep and grandeur of its hero's external struggles—from sword fights on storm-tossed ships to battles against giant skeletons—Zucchini finds conflict in the subtle details of activities as mundane as eating in a crowded cafeteria.

The film's dedication to observing its characters’ inner lives and emotions serves the story well. In the opening scenes, we watch as a tragic accident robs the nine year-old protagonist of his neglectful, alcoholic mother. A sympathetic policeman takes him to a home for orphans and castoffs, where, in an unexpectedly happy turn of events, he discovers what it means to be loved for the first time. As the local bully bitterly notes, all of the young residents have suffered terrible abuse and witnessed horrors far beyond their comprehension—and yet, they persevere by finding comfort in their friendship and camaraderie. Even though the children hide numerous physical scars and grapple with the harsh reality that they’re too old to hope for adoption, Zucchini isn’t a movie about despair; it’s about overcoming that despair and learning to enjoy starting indoor snowball fights, or wearing silly costumes, or falling in love.

All that being said, how does My Life as a Zucchini stack up against its fellow Academy Award nominees? Honestly… it’s impossible to choose a clear favorite; Zootopia, Moana, Red Turtle, Kubo, and Zucchini are all masterpieces for different reasons. And I think that’s the best possible outcome: whichever one of these films takes home the big prize tomorrow night, animation enthusiasts/fanatics will be the real winners.

Recently Viewed: Academy Award-Nominated Animated Short Films 2017

Having seen all of the Animated Feature Oscar nominees but one (My Life as a Zucchini), I decided to head over to IFC Center and see what the Animated Shorts category had to offer. The screening ended up being an emotional roller coaster ride. Although the movies were obviously produced independently of one another, a few recurring themes emerged, namely the myriad ways in which human beings perceive time and the bittersweet bond between parent and child.

In the first film, a mournful Western entitled "Borrowed Time", a middle-aged sheriff stands at the edge of a cliff, haunted by the memory of how, as a teenager, on that very spot, he let his father down, with tragic consequences. Over the course of seven minutes, the filmmakers craft a deeply moving meditation on the nature of failure: sometimes, we're simply not ready for the responsibilities thrust upon us; we can either let our mistakes consume us, or accept them and find the strength to carry on.

Where "Borrowed Time" intercuts between the protagonist's traumatic past and tortured present, the second film, “Pearl", presents a linear narrative, condensing about a decade’s worth of material into six minutes—but this just makes the gradual evolution of its characters, a single father and his adorable little girl, that much more resonant. Observing the action from the passenger seat of the car out of which the pair initially lives, we watch as the well-meaning dad struggles to make ends meet as a busker. Eventually, he abandons his personal ambitions in order to better provide for his daughter, but as she grows older, she rebels and leaves home to start her own band. Ultimately, however, their shared passion for music allows them to reconcile, and all of his sacrifices and compromises pay off when she achieves her dreams. As a lover of stories in which the power of art brings people together, this one definitely hit the spot.

Next up was “Piper”, which doesn’t deal directly with time (unless you subscribe to the film school theory that, due to the transformative nature of editing, all works of cinema are implicitly about time), but certainly explores familial bonds as a mother sandpiper attempts to gently teach her timid chick to be self-sufficient. I already saw this one when it played in front of Finding Dory, but it remains a stunning technical achievement, seamlessly marrying photorealism with cartoon anthropomorphism.

“Blind Vaysha”, on the other hand, mentions family only tangentially, instead offering the program’s most explicit and thorough examination of the perception of time. The eponymous character doesn’t literally lack eyesight; rather, her green left eye peers into the past of whatever it observes, while her brown right eye experiences the future. Thus, her parents and suitors are simultaneously rowdy children and withered octogenarians, the tree in her front yard at once a lush sapling and an ancient, termite-eaten husk. The concept of being functionally blind to the world around us, tormented by the choices we’ve made and paralyzed by the fear of what might come to pass, is compelling, but the direct address and call to action that conclude the short are a bit too didactic for my taste.

The final film, “Pear Cider and Cigarettes”, was the only real outlier (the circular narrative structure serves the story rather than any thematic purpose, and the central character’s relationship with his parents is less immediately important than his turbulent friendship with the narrator), but that hardly diminishes its excellence as a character study. While the opening evokes classic, hardboiled neo-noir (receiving a letter from a dead man, gravelly voiceover), the short quickly develops into something far more personal: a graphic memoir (similar to My Friend Dahmer in its presentation, though thankfully not in its content) depicting a young, reckless athlete’s physical deterioration following years of self-abuse. The actual animation is limited, featuring as much recycled footage as the ‘90s Spider-Man cartoon, but the visuals—largely monochrome, with occasional splashes of color from a vibrant sunset, or flashing police lights, or the protagonist’s jaundiced complexion—are nevertheless gorgeous, and the storytelling more than compensates for any aesthetic shortcomings.

To sum it all up: an hour-and-a-half well spent. Now I just need to track down My Life as a Zucchini to fully satisfy my animation addiction.

Cinemagic: The Artist

“I’ll never talk!” silent film star George Valentin cries (via title card). And right there, in the opening seconds, The Artist tidily introduces its central conflict.

The Artist traverses familiar territory—the classic Singin’ in the Rain dramatized the rise of the talkie way back in 1952—but cuts its own unique path. The dream sequence in which sound quite literally bursts into Valentin’s silent world exemplifies the picture’s stylized approach. In an era that takes sound for granted, it’s refreshing to see some legitimate innovation, a novel (ahem) voice that evokes Hitchcock’s Blackmail, Lang’s M, Chaplin’s Modern Times.

But this creativity only reinforces the movie’s elegant use of silence. The action occurs between 1927 and 1932, when directors as stubborn and proud as Valentin perfected the obsolete art of screen pantomime in films such as City Lights, Sunrise, and A Story of Floating Weeds. Jean Dujardin absolutely earns his Oscar, immersing the viewer in the period by bottling the energy, timing, and mannerisms of masters like Fairbanks, Chaplin, and Keaton—making Valentin's frustration with his gradual irrelevance all the more palpable. Michel Hazanavicius, too, deserves his statue. He takes his place alongside Chaplin, Murnau, and Ozu by not only capturing the flavor of Hollywood’s most artistically fruitful years, but also by demonstrating once again that you don’t need words to tell a good story. The proof: Valentin and dancing extra Peppy Miller slowly fall for each other across successive takes on the set of A German Affair.

Their body language and expressive eyes say it all. No dialogue required.

Previous Cinemagic Posts

1. Hugo

2. Fish Story

3. Adventure Time: "What Was Missing"

4. Inglorious Basterds

I love this video (which has popped up on aintitcool.com, joblo.com, and probably a few other sites). Not just for young Mr. Spielberg's tongue-in-cheek overconfidence, but also for the beautiful (and absolutely valid) rant by Joe Spinell--the character actor in the '70s and '80s--two minutes in. The very next year, Spinell would play the Personnel Officer in Taxi Driver--another film nominated for Best Picture, but not Best Director. 

Funny how the Oscars work. 

The Beauty of Silence

Last night, Jean Dujardin took home the Best Actor Oscar for his work as George Valentin in The Artist—an almost entirely silent role. And although I’ve not yet had the pleasure of watching that film, I couldn’t be happier. Considering sound basically killed the art of cinematic pantomime, it’s refreshing to see the Academy acknowledge its merit—especially since “Best Actor” seems to mean “gives the most sincere and passionate monologues” these days. All in all, the decision should thrill fans of Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, and Takeshi Sakamoto (lazy Kihachi in so many of Yasujiro Ozu’s silent masterpieces).

Unfortunately, the Academy’s failure to recognize some of 2011’s other less verbal performances diminishes the boldness of its ultimate choice. Any great actor can convey his character’s emotional state through dialogue; the best actor knows how to utilize the moments of silence. The following three performers excelled in this area… making their omission from the list of nominees all the more perplexing.