Sitting through David OReilly’s digital punk animations feels a wee bit like the non-stop hallucinations of your last journey on mushrooms.
The Animation Pimp
The Pimp waxes nostalgically about his early affection for the game of baseball…and shares some baseball-themed animated shorts.
I see a lot of TV animation for kids. Sounds pretty enviable, doesn’t it? Well, it is when you stumble upon godsends like the shows Yo Gabba Gabba! Otherwise, it’s a pretty hellish experience being forced to hear god-awful music and watch screaming adult-voiced kids, bad animation, idiotic storylines, and annoying dialogue, writing, and plots that read like they’re were made by a factory of Ned Flanders clones.
Hide the children, put away your daughters, he is coming. That prevert of the Baltics, Priit Pärn. The barely-a-man looks like a dressed up caveman.
Through the use of a short story, the Animation Pimp delves into the issue of why short films continue to get bigger.
The Animation Pimp interviews legendary mad man JJ Villard. And lives to tell the tale.
A partner in crime at the Ottawa International Animation Festival, recently suggested that I should address a relatively familiar (meaning it was probably two people who asked) question asking why we don't show more funny films. Believe me, I want to show funny films. If I could, that's all we'd be showing. The problem, mon chums, is that I just don't think that most of you make funny films.
There are films that have blitzed my senses into giddy, drunken stupors of delirium and bewilderment, riotous exhalings of creativity, desperation, and experimentation. Too often, these voices expire as rapidly as they respired, brief greetings before vanishing into the crowded darkness. One of the first animation films to short circuit me was Hilary by then Royal College of Art graduate, Anthony Hodgson.
Pretty much everyone thinks they can do selection better. I go to Annecy and other festivals and can't understand what the committees and juries are thinking. But...what you and me are doing is presuming there are good and bad ways of doing selection. Festival committees and judges are not these detached demi-Gods standing above and beyond us mortals. They are just everyday folks, as biased, passionate and flawed and well-meaning as you and your films.
As I sit in the chemo clinic lazy boy chair, I see a headline on the tv about an episode of South Park inspiring students at a Canadian school to have a "Kick a Ginger" Day. I laughed and imagined kicking Seth Green in Radio Days. Nurse looks up at me. My IV bag shook.