AWN’s latest survey highlights under-the-radar animated shorts currently making their way through the festival circuit or newly available for online viewing.
Alright… we’re back.In this month's , we explore new films that delve into themes of war, awkward concert moments, printers, chance happenings, and poetic swearing.
, Aleta Rajic, Serbia/Slovenia With hints of Georges Schwizgebel’s style, begins with a woman smashing a fly before leading us on a waltz through the streets of Sarajevo on June 28, 1914.The film captures various goings-on among the city's inhabitants, ultimately culminating in the figure of Gavrilo Princip just moments before he assassinates Franz Ferdinand, plunging the world into chaos.Director Rajic reflects on the film's themes, stating: “I was quite interested in the transfer of aggression; it’s something I find very peculiar and frequent in the world.
It seems to peek out from everywhere, at all times.It doesn’t let you be, try as you might.I believe this emblematic moment in history - presented in a somewhat inverted manner in - hopefully speaks to the kind of energy we all put out there each and every day.
On a brighter note, I am also deeply inspired and often moved to tears by moments of compassion, forgiveness, and a good heart.These moments become all the more beautiful by contrast.I hope I can make a film about this too someday.” is funny, confusing, and tense, subtly suggesting how a single moment can be triggered - or prevented - by the slightest change.
If the woman doesn’t swat the fly, encounter a barking dog, or cross paths with a pickpocket - each setting off a chain of almost comical urban chaos - history might have taken an entirely different course., Kristian Pedersen, Norway One of the things I admire about Norway’s Mikrofilm studio is that, alongside their more digestible, audience-friendly projects, they also produce Kristian Pedersen’s visually striking, experimentally inspired poetic films.If you’re unfamiliar with his work, do yourself a favor and check out (2016) or (2018) - both absolutely striking works.
Pedersen’s latest film is based on Norwegian concrete poet Jan Erik Vold’s 1969 poem, , which roughly translates to in English.Vold’s poem consists of nothing but that phrase, yet it is presented in a variety of ways, each carrying its own weight and nuance.Pederson’s interest in language began as a child.
He recalls: “I grew up with a love of playing with language in our house.It’s an effective way to break apart something and put it back differently, see it from another angle, so it becomes something else.This poem made me laugh, and that music brought me joy, they’re both so playful.
So, I wanted to combine the two, and see what happens when typography alone acts out the temper: meets .I went analogue with physical letters for scenography, printing and scanning back sequences, printing the whole thing on 35mm and distorting it and feeding it back in.It’s word wildlife fun.” In this adaptation, Pedersen takes Vold’s words on an abstract journey, where they linger, twist, and dance like fragmented echoes reverberating through time and space.
Stephan Schrader’s pulsating score adds a tone that is somehow both tense and playful, perfectly complementing the visuals.Ultimately, captures the sheer frustration and sterility that many of us feel while observing the world around us.Sometimes, all you can do is stare ahead and mumble “goddammit” repeatedly - whether to yourself or to others.
, Marium Qortua, Georgia Armed with a design that harks back to the UPA and Golden Books era, this brief, one-note (yes, pun intended) cautionary tale captures an absurd moment - one that I suspect has played out countless times - during an orchestra’s warm-up for a big performance.“My house is full of broken musical instruments, and then there’s me,” says Qortua.“I have no idea how to play.
I tried several times but only ended up damaging the instruments even more.But one day, I kept practicing and practicing until I actually got really good at it.And since I became so flawless, I decided to create an ‘orchestra’ with all my broken instruments." Unfortunately, I can’t say more.
It wouldn’t be good for me, for you, or for the director - who would undoubtedly be pissed.And honestly, I could do without that, because I’m already pretty stressed.Why? Well, thanks for asking, but that’s really none of your concern.
Enjoy the concert! , Duncan Major, Canada Fittingly kickstarted with the word “we,” Duncan Major’s animated short explores both the physical impression of letterpress printing and the intellectual and emotional impact left on Major by a mentor who introduced him to the craft and the joy of creativity.The result is a playful, philosophical, and intimate experimental work that evokes the early whimsy of Norman McLaren, alongside the works of Judith Poirier and Lizzy Hobbs.Created as a tribute to a former mentor and artist who shared Major’s passion for letterpress printing, is a striking, poetic, and handmade beauty - both profoundly personal and universally resonant Says Major: “When I was 13, I spent the summer working as a printer’s devil for a book artist.
In a jumbled studio filled with books, ink, paper, paint and printing equipment, my employer - Tara Tidwell Bryan - was to make a profound and lasting impression on me.That summer, and throughout my teens, she taught me how to print on her vintage hand-operated presses, setting type one tiny metal letter at a time, carefully assembling her ingenious tunnel, accordion and jack-in-the-box books while we listened to CDs.We had a passion for hands-on creativity in common, and as I went on to embark on a career, start a family and establish a printshop of my own, she remained a best friend and constant mentor on whom I could always rely for knowledge and inspiration.” , Rao Heidmets, Estonia When people talk about Estonian animation, they invariably think of names like Priit Pärn, Kaspar Jancis, Mati Kütt, Priit Tender, and Sander Joon.
However, one of the veterans of the scene, Rao Heidmets—despite his diverse and thought-provoking body of work—often seems to be overlooked or flies under the radar, even with his consistent success at festivals.He’s somewhat like the George Harrison of Estonian animation.presents a surreal, layered narrative: a parrot...
a wealthy couple...a man fiddling with a golden globe puzzle...a flying blue woman setting the table before tending to the wife...
a baby...a big dinner being prepared.Meanwhile, the caged parrot spots a bird outside and, inspired, dons his finest clothes.
Time passes—the father stares at his phone while the child grows.Suddenly, the baby has become a young woman on the verge of marriage, yet the parents remain oblivious.The sounds of blasts and bombings echo from the television, but no one seems to notice.
A simple click of the remote makes it all disappear—or so they believe.But how long can we continue to bury our heads in the sand or hide in our homes? Rao Heidmets writes: “I am used to constantly following world politics.When Russia crossed the Ukrainian border with its troops, everyone was in shock.
I watched in horror as tanks moved closer to Kyiv day by day.But what horrified me even more was the world's reaction to it.At first, it seemed like no one planned to step in to help.
It felt as if they were genuinely hoping Kyiv would fall in three days so they could continue their idyllic lives as if nothing had happened.Life has become so comfortable that, instead of taking action, people go to great lengths to prove and explain that things are not as they seem.This is where the idea for my new film came to me—you live in a perfect idyll and refuse to believe or hear that war could also reach you.” This wonderfully strange and original stop-motion work blends puppets, pixelated actors, and an array of 3D objects.
As expected from Estonian animation, it’s filled with absurdist comedy, biting satire, and harsh truths about the dangers and delusions of a passive population doing its best to look the other way and pretend everything is okay.
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