AWN’s latest survey of under-the-radar animated shorts currently traveling the festival circuit or new to online viewing.
In this month's Binocular Briefs, we explore a new short from Priit and Olga Pärn, a playful critique on the dominance of cars in our lives, an intriguing reinterpretation of Pinocchio, a supernatural stop-motion piece on the imbalance between humanity and nature, and a gentle ode to winter.
No Room, Jelena Oroz
I recently gave up owning a car in favor of an electric bike, and so far, it’s been a great decision. The moment I get behind the wheel of a car, I turn into an aggressive, impatient lunatic. I’m always in a rush, even when there’s no need to be. I yell (inside the car) at other drivers, constructing elaborate stories about their clearly demented personalities. Since ditching the car, my commute has become infinitely calmer and more relaxed. But now, I have to be far more cautious of distracted drivers, racing to nowhere, oblivious to everything around them.
Mixing 2D and stop-motion, this playful and colorful film tackles something we all take for granted: the domination of our public spaces by cars, roads, and all the infrastructure designed to make life easier for drivers. In No Room, Oroz unleashes a personal rant against a society dominated by these metal/plastic beasts.
But more than that, it’s about the entitled drivers who roam through public spaces as though pedestrians and cyclists are mere nuisances—mosquitos to be swatted, reminders to stay in their place. Cars have a way of turning many of us into impatient, volatile psychopaths—always in a hurry, but for what? Your crumbling marriage? Your dead-end job? Just where the hell are we rushing off to? Because there’s only one guaranteed destination in the end... and at this rate, you’re going to get there a lot sooner than you think.
Il Burattino e La Balena, Roberto Catani
By my count, this is the third animated short of 2024 that features a variation on Pinocchio (the others being Gina Kamentsky’s Pinocchio in 70mm and Jonny Cricket’s—though I’m guessing that’s not his real name—brief satire of the story).
This freewheeling, hand-drawn interpretation comes from Roberto Catani, the director of award-winning shorts like La Sagra (1998), La Funabola (2002), and La Testa tra le Nuvole (2013). Featuring his signature metaphorical animation and minimalist drawings, Il Burattino e La Balena opens with the sounds of Pinocchio being constructed. Like Frankenstein’s monster, he rises, looks around, taps his toe... What to do? With a foolish grin, he prances about, until a man places a cap on his head—and the tone darkens.
As the wooden puppet climbs a set of stairs and steps into the world, he’s confronted by a group of eerie, “children of the corn”-like humans, all tapping in unison. It seems they were once wooden too. The film raises unsettling questions: Look at these humans—abused and manipulated by political and economic systems. Is this really what you want? Is there much difference between being human in this world and being a wooden puppet?
On Weary Wings Go By, Anu-Laura Tuttelberg
The traditionally male-dominated Estonian animation scene has thankfully evolved, with several talented women emerging as powerful voices. Among them are Lucija Mrzljak, Helen Unt, and the dynamic duo Girlin-Bassovskaja Galina and Anu-Laura Tuttelberg. In her latest film, Tuttelberg has crafted a serene, poetic ode to winter, blending live-action with beautifully sculpted porcelain characters.
The story follows a young woman walking through nature when, without warning, autumn abruptly gives way to a harsh and unforgiving winter. Unprepared for the cold, she witnesses the fading of flowers, birds, and insects as they succumb to the season’s icy grip.
On Weary Wings Go By stands as a refreshing departure from the often frenetic, fast-paced animations that rush towards a clear resolution. Instead, this film invites the viewer to simply inhabit a moment, to engage with the sights and sounds of nature as it undergoes its timeless transformation from autumn to winter.
Inkwo for When the Starving Return, Amanda Strong
Amanda Strong (Four Faces of the Moon, Biidaaban) returns with a mesmerizing, stop-motion film based on a story by award-winning writer Richard Van Camp. The narrative follows a young, genderfluid warrior on a journey of self-discovery in a world ravaged by greed and human exploitation of the land. As with her previous works, Strong masterfully blurs the line between reality and the supernatural, drawing viewers into a dreamlike state (that occasionally veers into a nightmare) where the boundaries of time and place feel fluid and uncertain.
As Strong reflects, "Richard Van Camp’s short story offered a balance of terror and beauty, challenging me to explore important and relatable topics: the gender spectrum, greed and destruction of the land, and the return of ancestral medicine and teachings."
Inkwo: When the Starving Return is a unique, powerful, and impassioned plea for harmony—between humanity and nature, and among ourselves.
Luna Rossa, Olga and Priit Pärn
It’s been nine years since the Pärns stirred mild controversy with the short, Pilots on the Way Home. Now, they return with a mini-epic of sorts—the 32-minute, mixed-media film Luna Rossa (Red Moon).
Set in Italy, the film opens with a man who looks as though he’s stepped straight out of Priit Pärn’s 1988 masterpiece, Breakfast on the Grass. He enters a room and watches a woman on multiple monitors. She moves around the space in a nightgown, owns a gun, and appears to have a makeshift science lab. She later meets a mysterious man with a ponytail, along with a brunette, but their connections remain ambiguous. Hints of surveillance, love affairs, terrorism, and obsession create an unsettling atmosphere. The open-ended narrative plays like a “choose your own adventure,” inviting viewers to piece the puzzle together in any way they see fit.
Visually, Luna Rossa blends motion-capture, 2D animation, and collage elements in a way that feels awkward, absurd, and dreamlike—perfectly aligning with the offbeat characters and surreal plot. Initially, I was skeptical when I heard the Pärns were using motion-capture, but the technique nicely complements the film's uncanny tone.
If there’s one drawback, it’s the runtime. At 32 minutes, Luna Rossa may pose a challenge for animation festivals, many of which cap entries at 30 minutes. Fitting this film into a festival lineup could be tricky for programmers.
A well-known figure in the world of independent animation, writer, author & curator Chris Robinson is the Artistic Director of the Ottawa International Animation Festival.
