Andreas Hykade’s frenetic short film, set to a thumping, grinding soundtrack, is a voyage through the history of animation viewed through a prism of potent hallucinogens. Part of the the 6th annual NFB Online film contest from The National Film Board of Canada, in association with the Cannes Short Film Corner, it’s disturbingly hypnotic and I’ve watched it through two or three times this afternoon, in the grip of a powerful stupor.
Sad news today as word filters down that artist and illustrator Frank Frazetta passed away at the age of 82, from a stroke. In the years leading up to his death, Frazetta had already suffered one stroke and the death of his wife, Ellie. What will happen to his extensive, and valuable, collection of work — housed at the Frazetta Museum in East Stroudsburg, PA — remains to be seen. A feud between his children had erupted over it in December of last year but has since ended.
Frazetta’s career spanned roughly four decades. He began in comics in the late 40s, doing work for EC and National before landing a job as an assistant to Al Capp in 1952. He worked for Capp for nine years, and worked on Capp’s seminal strip, Lil Abner for seven of those.
It was his work doing book covers, beginning in the 60s, that would cement him as one of the foremost illustrators of the modern era. His covers for Robert E. Howard’s Conan and Edgar Rice Burroughs’s Tarzan and John Carter of Mars books are some of the most iconic pulp images in science fiction and fantasy and defined the characters for generations of readers. It didn’t even matter that they rarely, if ever, depicted imagery found in their pages. In reference to Conan in particular Frazetta had this to say (on the occasion of the sale of his painting Conan the Conqueror which went for the princely sum of one million dollars):
I didn’t read any of it. It was too opposite of what I do. I told them that. So, I drew him my way. It was really rugged. And it caught on. I didn’t care about what people thought. People who bought the books never complained about it. They probably didn’t read them.
For your consideration: Alexandre DUBOSC‘s short stop-motion film Food About You — to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the Annecy film festival — in which a chocolate cake is made in the traditional manner.
And so another week comes to an end. Time to wrap up those last few loose ends in your in-box and head home for crazy a weekend of amphetamine-fueled debauchery. I mean, it’s Mother’s Day this weekend and all… No? Well, maybe just a weekend of yard work and staid outdoor activities like barbecue and bocce. Pro Tip: a few uppers could enhance said activities. Just sayin’. What? Don’t give me that look. You think you’re better than me? I will cut you! God, why is it so hot in here.
Whew, ok, let’s all just take a deep breath and try to discuss today’s FAM while ignoring the sounds of grinding teeth. Today’s film, no doubt soon to be yanked from YouTube, is Dark Days the documentary by British filmmaker Marc Singer from 2000. It follows a group of homeless people who make their homes in the abandoned subway tunnels beneath New York City, specifically The Freedom Tunnel under Riverside Park. His first film, Singer made Dark Days after moving to New York and making friends with number of the people who made up the Freedom Tunnel community.
For my part I found Dark Days by way of journalist Jennifer Toth — another British immigrant, coincidentally — whose book The Mole People: Life in the Tunnels Beneath New York City Mr. Singer may have read as well. Published in 1993, it is perhaps the best known book on the subject, and also happens to feature residents of The Freedom Tunnel. It’s an engrossing read and has perhaps done the most to fuel the urban myths of organized, underground tribes of homeless. This is no doubt due to the sensationalistic nature of Toth’s account, much of it relying on unverifiable claims. Her credibility was not helped by what turned out to be a laundry list of geographical inaccuracies relating to almost every location she describes.
Surely then, Singer’s film does a better job of showing the reality of the situation. Despite the hip-hop aspirations that coat every surface — from the preoccupation with graffiti to the DJ Shadow soundtrack — the focus is decidedly on the individuals who make up this small community; shot in stark, grainy black and white that perfectly suits the subject matter. It’s a story simultaneously bleak and heartwarming. Such is the nature of all stories that are true.
I had posted previously that I retain from my childhood the visualization of my body in metaphorical terms, especially during times of illness. The accompanying video was one which evoked those thoughts but was still realistic enough to be incongruous with the visuals conjured up by my imagination. In contrast, Henning M. Lederer’s short animation, Der Mensch als Industriepalast (Man As Industrial Palace) — based on the 1927 Fritz Kahn illustration of the same name, previously posted by the lovely Miss Lev in these very pages — is an almost perfect representation of the imagery in my mind. Here the various functions of the body are represented in lucid, mechanical terms; a network of pistons, pumps, pulleys, and tubes manned by an industrious, miniature workforce. It’s simply fantastic. Definitely one to watch in full screen mode.
If internet historians like the ladies and gentlemen at Everything is Terrible have demonstrated anything it is the supposition that commercials are only annoying at the time of their original airing. It is only when one of these terrifying mishmashes of imagery and catchphrases interrupts an episode of Dick Wolf’s newest fetish that we turn to our DVR to save us. Only years later will their genius truly be appreciated. Such is the reasoning behind posting this, over nine glorious minutes of commercials from the Fort Worth/ Dallas are, circa 1990. Come for Westway Ford and Trophy Nissan; stay for Channel 21 KTXA’s prime time lineup.
In an effort to flesh out its library, today the FAM presents Un Chien Andalou (An Andalusian Dog), the 1928 film by surrealists Luis Buñuel and Salvador Dalí and the quintessential “art film”. Most famous for its opening scene, in which a man, played by Buñuel, slices open the eye of a woman with a straight razor, Un Chien Andalou is an almost perfect summation of the Surrealist movement. Things happen in Un Chien Andalou, their relationship to one another dictated by the logic of dreams. Scenes lurch violently along in time and characters exhibit a confusing, rapid-fire succession of emotions. It’s a movie that is open to a vast range of interpretations, and in true Surrealist form Buñuel rejected every one of them, stating, “Nothing, in the film, symbolizes anything. The only method of investigation of the symbols would be, perhaps, psychoanalysis.”
Despite the director’s expectations — they supposedly attended the premier with pockets full of rocks should a horrified audience become violent — the film was well received. In a sad twist, both of the leading actors of the film eventually committed suicide. Pierre Batcheff overdosed on Veronal in a hotel in Paris in 1932, and Simone Mareuil doused herself in gasoline and burned herself to death in a public square in Périgueux, Dordogne in 1954. In the ensuing years since its debut Un Chien Andalou has been recognized as a seminal moment in the history of cinema, a staple of any film buff’s diet. Now the FAM can rest easy, knowing that there is at least some modicum of credibility found herein should it be placed under the glaring eye of some future, internet historian.
And just remember, it’s only a cow’s eye.
The Icelandic volcano Eyjafjallajökull has received a fair bit of attention of late. Not unexpected, buy cialis considering that its insidious ash cloud momentarily brought air travel in the vicinity of Europe to a standstill. No doubt, advice this is some sort of evil, ailment Nordic plot, the ins and outs of which are of no concern here. What we wish to call attention to here is the footage above, a bit of geological geekery. As the volcano continues to erupt one can see the shock waves from each explosion of magma ripple through the plumes of smoke and debris. Such is nature that it can be so beautiful and fascinating in its destruction.
I am certain there are those who would follow Mer’s amazing Cenobite accessory post with something a bit more weighty with content, a bit more elegant than this. Those people are, I am almost as certain, more talented than I. It seems that I am, in fact, just a sucker for a really excellent pun. And thus my private shame is now made public.
via The Daily What : Street Anatomy
Just in time to put you off your lunch, the Friday Afternoon arrives with 2009’s Food Inc, the scathing documentary/critique of America’s food industry. Directed by Robert Kenner and co-produced by Fast Food Nation author Eric Schlosser, Food Inc is of the variety that both infuriates and terrifies in equal measure. It must be pointed out, however, that if you are already up on the subject matter, or have already read Fast Food Nation, there isn’t a whole lot that is new here. Still, for those uninitiated in the horrific practices of companies like Monsanto and Tyson it can be an eye-opening experience.
Recently, it was shown on PBS for their POV segment — it can be viewed on their website until this coming Thursday, should the YouTube version get pulled — and was followed with the delightfully Lynchian Notes on Milk (Click that link to watch. Do it!) a short film looking at the rise of milk in America.
So get to watching, dear readers, and get a better picture of the horrible stuff we put into our bodies everyday. In the meantime I’ll get back to my Big Mac, because nothing tastes quite like Creutzfeldt–Jakob.
Update: Reader rbk points out that PBS is not viewable in America’s hat, Canadia. Therefore, filthy Canucks should go here.