Review: Toy Story: Tale of Terror!

I’m not sure anyone was in a huge hurry to see more of Woody, Buzz, Jessie and the rest of the gang after their glorious send-off at the end of Toy Story 3 – not because we didn’t love them, but because… well, why mess with perfection? Why go back to the well and risk overexposure? Why compromise that utterly sublime ending?

I’ll get to Toy Story 4 in due course, in which many of these fears did in fact materialize, but the shorts and specials that were released between 2011 and 2014 were delectable little trifles that gave us more adventures of the toys without backtracking on any of the developments or characterizations of the movie trilogy. For now at least, I can continue raving about the continued success of the franchise.

This, plus the Christmas Special (Toy Story That Time Forgot) and three short films (Small Fry, Hawaiian Vacation and Partysaurus Rex) all work beautifully as a sort of coda to the trilogy, giving us glimpses into what is essentially the toys’ happy ending with Bonnie, the new owner who loves and cherishes them, and who they can protect and nurture in return. With that in mind, you can’t blame Pixar Studios for wanting to play a little longer in this particular sandpit.

I’ll get to the rest in good time, but for now, in honour of Halloween: Toy Story: Tale of Terror!

Review: The Maker

If you have not yet seen this extraordinary short film called The Maker, then please take five minutes out of your day to do so now.

 SPOILERS BELOW – WATCH THE DARN VIDEO FIRST

The real power of the piece is that it’s difficult to determine how it’s going to end. Not in the sense that an audience is anticipating a twist ending, but that it’s a challenge to determine what genre we should place it in. For most of the film’s run-time, we’re watching what appears to be a lonely inventor creating his perfect mate: a bride for Frankenstein’s Monster, a Galatea for Pygmalion. The flowery material is a dead giveaway.

Only the frequent glances at the depleting sand in the hour glass serves as an uneasy reminder that something else might be going on, perhaps compounded by the haunting violin music (is there any instrument as eerie-sounding as a violin?), the innate creepiness of stop-motion animation, and the unnerving design of the strange and toothy rabbit-dolls. It all gives us the sense that something is a little off here.

It is not until the film’s final seconds that we realize the truth of the situation: the new arrival is not a wife, but a daughter. The maker bids his creation farewell and leaves her to her own devices. Time is reset and the cycle begins anew.

On second viewing it’s even more unsettling. In those first few introductory seconds where we see our protagonist taking in the workbench and surrounding paraphernalia, we are unaware of what happened only seconds before: of what will happen again once the girl’s musical composition comes to a close. The alarm and bewilderment reflected in each pair of eyes, upon what is otherwise a completely blank face, is much more apparent the second time around.

Some commentators have already bemoaned what they regard as this film's depiction of the futility of life: we live, we fill the time with worldly pursuits, we pass on what we can to those who follow, and we die without any further meaning being derived from the situation.

More unsettling to me was the wealth of unanswered questions that the experience leaves in its wake. Who wrote the book in the first place? Who composed the music? Where do those raw materials come from? Why do we follow such a pattern without questioning the whys and wherefores?

Obviously no one can answer these things, but the film is not entirely devoid of hope.

Between the beginning and end of its existence, in those few precious seconds that are not devoted to the wellbeing of its off-spring, our protagonist experiences passion and power in the playing of his violin. It’s that which gives life, not the repetitive nature of the life cycle.

And before he goes, he gets to share a hug and a smile with his daughter. That will have to be enough, because that’s all we’ve got.

Review: Metamorphosis

According to the official website, this film was made as part of the London Gallery’s showing of Titian’s famous Diana and Actaeon, The Death of Actaeon and Diana and Callisto, all depicting stories from Ovid’s Metamorphosis, brought together for the first time since the 18^th century. The event also spawned a number of related projects from various poets, contemporary artists, composers, ballet dancers, choreographers and filmmakers, all of whom were invited to share their projects as part of the Gallery’s themed exhibition.



The Death of Actaeon

I’ve always loved the myth of Artemis and Actaeon; perhaps because I’d love the power to turn perverts into deer and have them killed by their own hounds. I know at least three men who would be on the dinner table by now were I to possess this gift, and I suspect you have your share of unwelcome peeping toms. Heck, even rubbernecking neighbours can get on people’s nerves.

So it’s interesting to me that out of the myriad of stories that Ovid retells in Metamorphosis, and the incredible range of human-to-animal/plant/object transformations that it contains, it’s usually the story of Artemis and Actaeon that immediately leaps to mind at mention of the title (either that or Daphne and Apollo).

If Metamorphosis was a school, Actaeon would be its show pupil, so what is it about this story in particular that’s so compelling? Forbidden female beauty? The hunter becoming the hunted? The ironic tragedy of being killed by one’s own faithful dogs?

According to this short film, the appeal lies in the sense of justice and/or vengeance meted out from goddess to man, as disproportionate as it may seem. Unlike the myth, which usually depicts Actaeon accidentally chancing upon the bathing Artemis, the film has him deliberately seek her out in her bathroom, having already made her visibly uncomfortable earlier in the evening when he stares at her suggestively at the dinner table.

Transporting the story to an English mansion during the hunting season (in which Titian’s Diana and Actaeon is hung on the wall), our Artemis stand-in, played by Anna Friel, appears to be the only woman in the house. This, along with her white gown, emphasizes her vulnerability and consequently the predatory nature with which Actaeon (Ed Speelers, still with the world’s most punchable face) initially hunts for her.

His consequential metamorphosis is staged as painful and confusing, not only with antlers erupting all over Actaeon’s body, but with the room itself being invaded by nature, in striking contrast to the baroque opulence of the mansion.

With this, you can’t help but detect a faint air of feminist triumph, not only in the fact that it is clearly Artemis’s hound that leads the hunt for the transformed stag (she’s shown feeding it scraps at the dinner table; it barks a warning when Actaeon enters the bathroom), but in the relish with which she eats the bloody venison that’s been brought to the table after the transformation, eying the empty chair opposite.

Maybe it’s just me, but in this day and age, in which pornography is accessible at the touch of a button and private photographs can be spread with frightening ease across the internet without the permission of the subjects (usually women), it comes as a revelation to see a film that underscores the sanctity of a woman’s privacy and the dire consequences when it is invaded by unwanted eyes.

Review: Trid An Stoirm

This short animated film by Windmill Lane Pictures has picked up a few awards, and manages to tell a haunting story in its seven-minute running time. Check it out here.

A young woman (Alice, according to the end credits), is mourning the death of her husband, presumably lost at sea judging by the opening shot of a ruined fishing vessel. She is joined by an ancient Banshee, whose necklace she snatches in a bid to bribe her way to the land of the dead to find her husband and bring him back to life.

Perhaps it was just because I knew that Katie McGrath voiced both Alice and the Banshee, but I couldn't help but be strongly reminded of Merlin. Alice and the Banshee taking a barge to the land of the dead was reminiscent of Morgana and Morgause travelling to the Isle of the Blessed, and though there was never a Banshee on Merlin, she’s rather similar to Gemma Jones’s portray of the Cailleach as a gatekeeper of the dead. Finally, the conclusion of the film relies heavily on the Balancing Death’s Books trope, which was very much a staple part of the way magic worked throughout Merlin.

While I won’t give away the twist ending, we’ve all heard enough legends to know that when you make a wish, you should not only Be Careful What You Wish For, but that it’s crucial to be very specific about what it is you want. The film plays this trope like a violin when it comes to Alice’s mournful words to the Banshee: “bring him back” and “I have to bring him home,” before she follows in the footsteps of Orpheus and Eurydice by travailing the land of the dead in search of him, stalked by both the Banshee and the film’s most visually creative element: several skeletal-yet-muscular dogs that do the Banshee’s bidding.

Though the animation of the human figures make them a bit expressionless and plasticine-like, the movement of the choppy ocean and the flowing robes and hair of the Banshee are striking. I couldn’t help but notice that Alice actually looked a bit like Katie McGrath, but she actually does a much better job of capturing the ancient voice of the Banshee (I guess all that chanting and cackling as Morgana paid off), and the Banshee herself – not some helpful spirit, but a dark creature of magic – is the film’s most memorable aspect.

It’s short but haunting, and successfully hinges itself upon the oldest theme in the world: death. Specifically, that it hurts like hell and there’s nothing we can do about it. Even in our fiction (as we see here), it somehow feels like less of a story if the division between life and death is breeched too easily and without consequence, and this abides by immutable rule of all ancient legends: that meddling with the laws of life and death come at a great cost. Take seven minutes out of your day to watch it.