Soviet Animation: The Song of Joy (USSR, 1946)

So, the whole state of Minnesota is basically a snowy wasteland these days . . . and I think we just had our 50th blizzard of the season. I also managed to get stuck in my own driveway yesterday . . . so stuck that even Triple A couldn't get me out (because of the heavy volume of snow and incline on the hill). I found this failure "unacceptable," but the principle of the thing had zero effect on the cold, hard, fact of the thing. Thank goodness for my brothers, who despite their cultured natures, intelligence, and sensitivity, summoned the brute strength of their northern forefathers and managed to free my car from the ice. But we're all tired of it, I'm not going to lie. Roads are bad even when we aren't having a snowstorm, and when we do have a snowstorm, the roads get that much narrower, as the snowbanks further encroach on the road. 

But, in celebration of my brothers' temporary victory over the spirits of snow and ice, I share with you a soviet short film, The Song of Joy (ПЕСЕНКА РАДОСТИ, USSR, 1946). 

It's been a colder, harsher winter than usual. Even the forest creatures can't seem to get warm in their caves. 

Unlikely friendships are born from the mutual desire for warmth and companionship. 

The forest girl shares some hope with the young beasts, who can't remember anything but the winter. 

They're skeptical of her tales of this thing called a thaw.

She becomes so engrossed in her tale of spring, that she ventures outside and begins to cause Spring itself . . . just by virtue of her song. 

This doesn't go over well with Winter, a crotchety old crone living in nearby fortress of Snow Mountain. 

Winter abducts the spring maiden, and turns the first spring Robin into an icicle. 

Spring maiden is defiant . . . 

But she is surrounded by evil polar bears and an ice maze .  .  . how will she escape?

Her new furry friends set out to get her back. 

They reach Snow Mountain, but is it too late? 

Winter has blindfolded the maiden  . . . telling her she is free to go if she survives the trek down the ice staircase. 

But Winter also instructs her right-hand walrus to tamper with the stairs.

They manage to save her, but in a classic "out of the cooler, into the deep-freeze" plot twist, hot on their heels Winter turns the maiden into a ice sculpture. 

Can they save her?And can they avoid being turned into pelts by the maiden's well-meaning hunter of a brother? 

Will spring ever come? 

???

(I'll get back to you on that last one, I'm a bit of a skeptic myself these days . . .)

This one's available with eng subs on the youtubes . . . if you need a nice, twenty minute tale of fluffiness, snow, and hope to brighten your day.

Soviet Animation: Introductions

The, um, dare I say it, more sensual Bagheera from the USSR's
version of the Jungle Book, Mowgli's Adventures (1967-1973)

There are a lot of things in this world that you shouldn't knock till you've tried them. . . and tried them more than once in their best form.

Like kimchee, in one of its many flavors. Or taking a train somewhere on a whim without any reservations or maps. Or exploring the vast array of films that Bollywood's tried and tested industry (Bride & Prejudice does not count) has to offer.

Soviet animation is one of those things. It's taken me some fits and starts, but every time I return to the youtubes and try another film, I feel really rewarded. Now it's starting to become an addiction (like I need another one of those). But seriously get addicted. Like, now.

As a kid, I much preferred Vuk: The Little Fox
(Hungary, 1987), to Disney's The Fox and the Hound.

[Side note: Perhaps my self-congratulation here isn't warranted. This kind of animation might not be much of a stretch for my brain, after all. In full disclosure,  I realized recently that a couple of my favorite animated films I had on VHS as a kid were actually Eastern European animation features that had been re-dubbed and re-edited for an American audience. I don't think they ever got very popular, though, because I've never spotted them on another family's movie shelf. The dubbing also explains some of the weirdness of those films. Dubbed animation isn't as obvious as dubbed live-action,obviously. But when I re-watched the original version of one of the films, the soundtrack didn't misfire with the action as often.]

Some Russian animation is bizarre (to me at least) and utterly unique to itself, and some of it is like a vivid dream populated by Disney characters who've been to some kind of Russian re-socialization camp. They look similar, but when you expect them to turn right, they turn left . . . and when you expect them to go dark they go comedic.

Anyway, as I attempt to acquaint myself with more Russian animation (and there's a whole lot of it), I find that I appreciate the weird. But given the last year I spent bingeing on Indian cinema, I feel a lot more comfortable with weird than I used to.

Cheburashka [the furry one who might be a botched Teddy Bear]
and Crocodile Gena (1967)

For example, there's some Soviet stop-motion that you might not have any reference point for. Like the Cheburashka short features . . . which seem to show what would happen if you crossed Paddington Bear and Mr. Rogers puppet time with a Chekov play.

These are stop-motion characters for children following traditions of Russian literature . . . trying to tackle social problems, anarchists, personal isolation, and loneliness. How awesome is that? Or maybe it's just about a group of creatures who happen to become friends. You can take it however you like.

[Side note #2: I wish I had the money to fund a study measuring a "boredom quotient" before and after a person begins a steady diet of foreign cinema. I swear apathy and discontent would decrease by a significant percentage. It's good for the mind to indulge in that which is odd and outside one's comfort zone. I mean, you'd really think that it would take too much effort to invest in art and stories you have no context for, but if it's beautiful and well-made, the comfort zone factor can be easily discarded. And if it's not beautiful or well-made, you can still sometimes find some treasures in the rubbish pile.]

The Snow Queen (1957)

For those of us who display ADD tendencies, it helps that a lot of these films are rather brief, or were even originally released in multiple short episodes. Plus, if you want something semi-familiar, you can also find a lot of well known fairy tales in animated (and live-action) form . . . and nobody, nobody does fairy tales like the Russians.

Time to resume my very pleasant search for more, more, more . . .

Illumination . . . and The Secret of Kells (2009)

I could ask for no better animated film to showcase one of the purposes of this blog than 2009's, The Secret of Kells.

Recently, I saw this film for the first time, and it certainly lived up to all the good things I've heard about it. (Namely from my brother, who wouldn't stop pestering me to see it.)

Born into a claustrophobic medieval life, young Brendan has never been outside the ever-growing walls of the Irish Abbey of Kells. His uncle, the Abbot, was once a great illuminator, but no longer. Now, with the Norse raids growing ever nearer, all the Abbot can do is obsess over increasing the abbey's fortifications and keeping Brendan from any possible dangers.

Brendan's life drastically changes when a legendary illuminator, Aidan of Iona, arrives with the great book of Iona . . . the work of some 200 years and many illuminators.

The master, his book (and his delightful cat) are all that remains of the isle of Iona, which has also fallen to the Norsemen. Aidan no longer has the eyes or the steady hands needed in an illuminator. But he sees potential in Brendan . . . and spurs him to disregard the Abbot's wishes and venture outside the walls of the abbey. What for? Why for ink and inspiration, of course!

The forest looks inviting here . . . but as anyone familiar with fairy tales (or Irish legend) knows  . . . it is also full of dangerous beings of both the light and dark variety. Beings which may or may not help Brendan in his quest to help the master illuminator finish the great book.

Meanwhile, the Vikings draw ever closer to the abbey, and everyone but the Abbot knows that the great walls will eventually give way. And what will happen to the Book in the pillaging haze of blood and smoke?

This film is technically "about" the Book of Kells, which is considered by most to be the greatest piece of illuminated literature to survive the Dark Ages. Virtually nothing is known about the artists responsible for it . . . and the location(s) of its creation is (and probably will remain) in dispute. This film takes the prevailing theory--that the book was begun at Iona and finished at Kells upon Iona's destruction--and turns it into a gilded, panoramic battle between light and darkness.

And yet, the larger powers of light and darkness are not really in the center of this stage. Humans are. Brendan is not charged between choosing light over darkness, nor is he tasked to defeat darkness at all costs. This story takes pains to suggest that not all evil forces can be repelled all the time.

Frustratingly, as the arc of the invading Norseman suggests, Darkness often "wins" for a time, despite herculean efforts. The villagers hiding in the chapel below, waiting for the Norseman to inevitably break down the great doors, was one of the most poignant moments in the whole film.

But the inevitability of defeat only underscores the need for a beacon of hope . . . something to steal past the darkness, outlast it, and emerge unscathed in a later time time and place.

In the quasi-spiritual world of this story, I think we could call Uncle Abbot the ultimate temptor--or force to be reckoned with. The abbot shames, scolds and finally locks Brendan  away for his jaunts into the woods and his interest in illumination over protecting the abbey. And while this may seem practical and judicious, the Abbot is more fearful than wise . . . more obsessed with the impossibilities of the present than the possibilities for the future. He doesn't understand that Brendan has a higher calling of sorts . . . that his nephew has a chance to not only protect  knowledge, but create a better world, a brighter world . . . namely through the intricate work of illumination.

Without the pen and the paintbrush, without art and story, we all might as well be animals, huddling hungry in the dark. Thank the powers that be for the Illuminators, now and then.