Animation, as a realm of human endeavor, inherently accommodates all perspective and imagination. The art form allows us to articulate our experience through the caricature of an impossible reality, as well as to distill complex ideas through an abstract aesthetic. While artists should not have to shoulder the burden of weighty themes in their work, they also should not feel the need to shy away from them. It often comes as an inspiring and inspired diversion when animators include notions of peace, nonviolence, compassion and other similar idealism in their films.

Azur and Asmar, by Michel Ocelot, shares a vision of tolerance and cooperation among different cultures through the adventurous rivalry of two boys raised as brothers. © 2006 Nord-Ouest Production.

The International Animated Film Assocation (ASIFA) recognizes over two dozen animation festivals around the world, with the big ones being held in Annecy, Zagreb, Ottawa and Hiroshima. The biannual festival in Hiroshima, Japan is devoted exclusively to showcasing animated films that promote peace, love, friendship and understanding. Thus the festival's cartoon mascot, Lappy, is a symbol of "happy laughter."

It is a surreal feeling to walk along the streets of a city that, several decades ago, was consumed in a nuclear conflagration. One can scarcely fathom the absolute horror of that blinding moment, when the bomb detonated, time stopped and life melted away. In the museums, we see photographs of the hellish ruins, maimed survivors and ghostly shadows of disintegrated people. In a memorial park in Tokyo, there is a flame from the Hiroshima holocaust that has been kept burning all these years, as an urgent reminder of the need for peace.

Hope endures. Japan today is a thriving blend of tradition and technology, where the past and future are rubbing elbows, if not locking arms. On the bullet train to Hiroshima, one graffiti artwork exhorted simply, "No War." At a bohemian Tex-Mex/African restaurant across the street from the animation festival, on the wall behind the front door is a doodle scrawled by John Lasseter (1990). It is a small world, after all.

A Strong Heart
With every passing year, the world is getting smaller. Some even say the world is flat. That is, the opportunity to participate in the global culture and economy is open to virtually anyone who may want to "plug and play." The threshold is within reach to create and distribute independent works, and it is both humbling and heartening, now, to witness so many animated films being made.

The Man Who Planted Trees, by Frédéric Back, is an allegorical tale about an individual sowing peace in the world, and the hope and happiness reaped by future generations. © 1987 Société Radio-Canada.

At last year's Hiroshima festival, a spectrum of peace-themed animation was on display. Eva Goes to Foreign (2005) by Neil Ross is a Flash-animated public service announcement describing the abuse of women in trafficking drugs. Suite For Freedom (2004) by Caroline Leaf, Aleksandra Korejwo and Luc Perez employs animated sand, salt and pastels to tell the story of the Underground Railroad, which led enslaved men and women out of the American South. A Tender Soldier (2006), hand-drawn by Kaoru Maehara, poignantly illustrates how people can be extremely careful in their relationships with other life, while being unsympathetic and vicious toward each other. And, of course, there was the perennial classic by Frédéric Back, The Man Who Planted Trees (1987), about the patient, unassuming efforts of one shepherd who, amidst two world wars, helped to transform a deserted countryside into a vibrant landscape filled with life.

Of special interest at the festival was the feature film Azur and Asmar (2006) by French director Michel Ocelot, which should be premiering in the U.K. and U.S. this winter. Its style of computer animation unfolds like a gorgeous storybook, not only complementing the fairy-tale quality of the film, but also offering a welcome departure from the current trend of 3D cinema. The film trades visual depth and technical achievement for their immersive narrative equivalents. Like Ocelot's earlier feature, Kirikou and the Sorceress (1998) - a folktale touching on compassion, forgiveness and reconciliation - Azur and Asmar also delves into issues of peacemaking. The film centers on the adventurous rivalry of two young men, deftly weaving elements of ethnic and religious tolerance, as well as brotherly coexistence and cooperation, into its tale of Arab/West relations. For anyone who has watched children at play, the film's message echoes clearly. Distinctions based on race, culture and nationality are divisive mental constructions that we only learn later.