Within the world of animation, most experimentation occurs within short-format productions, whether they are high-budgeted commercials, low-budgeted independent shorts or something in-between. The growing number of short film festivals around the world attests to the vitality of these works, but there are few other venues for exhibition of them, nor are they often reviewed. As a result, distribution tends to be difficult and irregular. On a regular basis, Animation World Magazine will highlight some of the most interesting of these films.

Mr. Reaper's Really Bad Morning (2004), 16:43, by Kevin D.A. Kurytnik and Carol Beecher (Canada). Contact: Carol Beecher, Fifteen Pound Pink Productions [T] 403.541.1527 [E] reaper@nucleus.com [W] www.mrgeorgereaper.com

Birdcalls (2006), 5:00, by Malcolm Sutherland (Canada). Contact: Malcolm Sutherland [T] 514.527.3623 [E] animalcolm@yahoo.ca [W] www.oneiropod.com

Lapsus (2007), 3:30, by Juan Pablo Zaramella (Argentina). Contact: Juan Pable Zaramella, JPZtudio [T] +541149237484 [E] contact@zaramella.com.ar [W] www.zaramella.com.ar

I Like Pandas (2005), 2:55, by Jessica Borutski (Canada). Contact: Jessica Borutski [E] jessicaborutski@hotmail.com

La memoria dei cani (The Memories of Dogs) (2006), 8:00, by Simone Massi (Italy). Contact: Simone Massi [E] nuvole@simonemassi.it, Arte France [W] www.arte-tv.com, Sacrebleu Productions [E] ron@sacrebleuprod.com

Cities fall, but flowers refuse to stop singing in Mr. Reaper's Really Bad Morning. © Kevin D.A. Kurytnik and Carol Beecher.

Mr. Reaper's Really Bad Morning
Mr. Reaper's Really Bad Morning isn't new to the world -- it debuted in 2004, and 2005 was its big festival year, including a screening at Annecy -- but it's new to DVD and it makes its own animation-love gravy every time someone new sees it. So if you've seen it, it's time to revisit it, and if you haven't seen it, the right hemisphere of your brain may need a condom because this is a true cartooning orgasm.

The short begins in the middle of what will turn out to be the only pleasant part of Mr. Reaper's day, the dream he was having right before his waking day started. To the tune of "Them Bones," he enjoys a magical mystery tour of his career highlights through the ages. Wild animals kill some hunter-gatherers. Horus dispatches some Egyptians. The Black Death offs some serfs. Amidst this collection of greatest hits, his alarm clock intrudes. Annoyance. He forces himself out of bed and into the bathroom, and we get a brief look at his very stylish -- if severely decorated -- apartment. Fine art is everywhere. Bosch dominates, of course.

He warms some toast. He pops a tape in the boom box. It's motivational, and consists of nothing but an endlessly repeated chorus of "War!" "Plague!" "Famine!" and "Taxes!" This and his usual radioactive brand of coffee should get him in a good mood. This good mood is not coming. He grabs the scythe, slips on the black holocaust cloak and goes to catch the bus.

One commute later, he's tantalizingly close to his goal -- a major North American city, full of folks who need to die today. His to-do list is succinct: "Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill... " But he can't quite get to the city -- an invisible dimensional wall still must be crossed to get from the Styx to the physical world. For that he needs to catch the connecting bus. For that, he needs to wait -- he checks his digital wrist-sundial -- three hours. Three hours? Oh, man.

Now he's just killing time. He's tapping his fingers. He's grumbling. A meteor destroys the city. He can't move. A mushroom cloud envelops the whole state. Still he can't get to where the action is. Damn. And then, insult to injury, he notices there's a little daisy growing down by his right foot. Well, it's not a head of state, but it'll do -- he kills it. It grows back. He kills it again. It comes back again. He smacks it with his scythe and pulls away his hands with something repulsive on them. Omigod, it's life! Ewww! He tries a green radioactive cloud on the little bugger. Not only does the flower not die, it comes back singing Beethoven's "Ode to Joy." Then things get truly odd.

This is an orgy of cartooning, a Looney Tunes short by way of Richard Williams' Thief and the Cobbler, a real hell of a thing to behold. It's animator porn, like the on-ones, big-budget "wow" reels that the live-action studios used to deploy to bomb the audience as title sequences to their big-budget action comedies. The timing goes beyond knife's-edge into atomic fission. The extreme attention to detail overflows into the sound design as well. Co-directors Kevin D.A. Kurytnik and Carol Beecher of Calgary are long-time members of the Quickdraw Animation Society, and the short was the society's pet project for a full decade. As animation for animation's sake, it's nonpareil. I only have one quibble, which is that I'd love to see it someday without the "movement" intertitles separating it into four parts (when you spend 10 years on something, it makes sense to break it into discrete parts, but the whole piece holds its own so well in terms of timing that they're hardly necessary).