16th World Festival of Animated Films in Zagreb, Croatia. All images courtesy of Animafest © 2004.

Zagreb is the unassuming capital of Croatia, an Eastern European nation of four million souls, and has hosted the ASIFA-sponsored Animafest every two years since its inception in 1972.

Everything you have heard about Zagreb is true, and, if you haven't yet heard anything, you should consider yourself welcome there. With the unhesitating hospitality of managing director Margit “Buba” Antauer and the tireless support of her volunteer staff, Zagreb 2004 (known loquaciously as the 16^th World Festival of Animated Films) was both inspired and inspiring. There is so much animation being made in the world, so much beauty patiently laid down, frame by frame. Thanks to the heroic efforts of the selection committee, who culled together a wonderful collage of films from 57 countries, festival guests not only enjoyed the camaraderie of artists from across the globe, but also glimpsed a variety of animated visions that we so rarely get to see.

Admittedly, after a weeklong marathon of watching films (June 14-19), the sight of moving images makes my eyes itch, and just the thought of watching more films makes me want to nap. However, given hundreds of movies with origins as varied as Uzbekistan, Iran, Cuba and Zimbabwe, there is a very real satisfaction in having experienced the breadth and warmth of the global animation community. Equally rewarding was the nightly support of thousands of Zagreb's locals. To be sure, Zagreb is a city steeped in artistic culture, which is made palpable in its many historic buildings, public sculptures, museums and galleries. It was a delight to meet lawyers, economists, architects, agronomists, and students of theater and literature who turned up to the animation screenings simply out of appreciation, enjoyment and respect for the art form. A few persons, with whom I spoke, seemed a little surprised to learn that their homegrown festival is so well regarded among academics and professionals, and that filmmakers were arriving from all over the world to celebrate and compete.

Every animation that made it to the projection booth was a small miracle, a triumph of creative stamina, and each short film was accorded its accolade from the audience. Even so, when local Zagreb animators Marko Mestrovic and Davor Medurecan were honored with a special distinction for their poetic work Ciganjska (2004), the award was accepted to thunderous applause.

But that is getting ahead of ourselves, as part of the closing ceremony. Really, how might I distill the essence of Zagreb 2004 in a handful of pages? What follows is a whirlwind tour through my tangled memory of the festival, a hodgepodge of half-formed highlights and sleepy snapshots based on actual events.

Monday (More or Less)
It is early morning. Not even the pigeons are awake. Guests and authors amble into Vatroslav Lisinski Concert Hall. There is a small theater showing the first program, titled Animania, a collection of short films not part of the official competition but that the selection committee felt was noteworthy to exhibit. Appropriately, the first day is framed in remembering the past; finding context and orienting ourselves to what has come before. Perhaps in recognition of the animator's godly fascination with ministering minutiae, one film opines that “time holds so still, it's scary.”

A 90-minute animated documentary, The Animated Century (2003) by Irina Margolina and Adam Snyder, chronicles the worldwide history of animation with clips from 160 films. Examples include animation using pinscreens, carved wood and bamboo, glass figure puppets, folded paper, and sand and oil on glass, among other techniques. We see that animated filmmaking, without market pressures, pursues experimentation and expression for its own sake. With some state-sponsored films, animation walks a fine line of paradox and irony, exploring themes of censorship and artistic freedom. Meanwhile, in other cultures, the stylistic intent of animation may aim to integrate, say, the artist's sensuality with meditative peace.

The animated documentary itself extends from Winsor McCay's The Sinking of the Lusitania (1918) to something as recent as Paul Fierlinger's biopic Still Life with Animated Dogs (2001).