My writing workshop participants wrote very nice reviews and I want to share them with you.
Two weeks ago I had the pleasure of attending the 31st edition of ETIUDA & ANIMA Animation Festival in Krakow, Poland. Along with all the great films and special events that I will write about soon, I also presented a two-day workshop on writing about animation.
On the first day, we talked about what makes a review valuable and discussed how to develop your writing style and what makes an article interesting to a reader. We watched three very different films, Brutus (2014) by Svetlana Filippova; Fetch! (2002) by Nina Paley; and Adam Elliot’s Harvie Krumpet (2003). Each of the 4 participants could then select one of the films to write about. They could also select an animation that they watched at the festival to write about.
On the second day, everyone read their reviews and we all discussed them. We also talked about interviewing techniques and they all got to practice on ETIUDA Competition Coordinator Konrad Glabek, who visited the workshop on both days.
I have given this workshop before with nice results, and this group of ladies all turned out to be excellent writers. I felt that that Natalia Kulik, Magda Nieswiec, Anna Dziubanchuk and Maria Pecheniza-Tkachova wrote nice reviews and I want to share them with you.
The Human Element: Lessons from a Film Critique Workshop
by Natalia Kulik (natalia.adelaida.kulik@gmail.com)
Oct 23rd 2024, Kraków, Poland
I signed up for the Film Critique workshop with Nancy Denney-Phelps not because I wanted to learn how to write reviews for short animated films. The truth is, I had only written one film review in my life, about 15 years ago, while pursuing a Master’s degree in cultural studies and cinema. And honestly, it wasn’t even a good one—it was too pompous, desperately trying to reveal deep truths about the human condition. But I do like writing. I keep a journal mostly to make sense of the world around me (and there’s plenty to be confused about), and occasionally, I write social media posts for businesses and NGOs. That’s why I was looking to improve my style, maybe pick up a few general pointers, hear some tips and tricks, or at least learn the dos and don’ts of writing. But Nancy didn’t give us any of that in the workshop. Instead, she focused on one core idea: what makes an article truly compelling is other people.
During the two hours we spent together, she emphasized this over and over again. “Talk to people as much as you can” was her mantra, and it struck me as simple but profound. She encouraged us to actively seek out conversations, to become genuinely curious about others. Why? Because people are the richest source of information and inspiration. By engaging with others, you open yourself up to new perspectives on the world and even yourself. Of course, it’s not always easy to approach a stranger and ask a thought-provoking question. Even if the question is good, there’s no guarantee it will lead to a conversation. And not every conversation will yield enough material to base an entire
article on. But it’s a starting point, and like any skill, it takes practice. Just as a good sourdough bread needs a starter and experienced hands to knead the dough, a great article needs a compelling story. And the stories that resonate most deeply with us are often those about other people. Maybe it’s because we’re naturally drawn to the human experience, or perhaps because we see ourselves reflected in others—their triumphs, their struggles, their mistakes. Whether we aspire to be like them or see their stories as cautionary tales, people are our mirrors.
One of the stories Nancy presented during the workshop was from the short animated film Brutus, based on a novel by Czech writer Ludwik Ashkenazy. The film tells the story of the Holocaust through the eyes of a German Shepherd named Brutus, whose life is forever changed by the Nuremberg Laws. Separated from his beloved mistress, a Jewish woman, Brutus is trained by soldiers to kill Jews in concentration camps. The film culminates in an agonizing scene where Brutus and his mistress are unexpectedly reunited.
The animation style is messy, hectic, even disorienting. At first, we see only fragmented glimpses of the world through Brutus’ eyes—legs, shoes, other dogs, a spinning carousel. Everything is grey, washed out, distorted. We witness the tender bond between Brutus and his mistress, a relationship marked by comfort and companionship. But this is quickly shattered by the heart-wrenching scene of their forced
separation. As the woman walks away, she thinks only of the sausage she gave Brutus earlier, making the viewer question how much she truly cared for him.
I found Brutus horrifying for several reasons. On one level, it exposes a dark truth about humanity that demands reflection and understanding to prevent such atrocities from happening again. We see how fragile and malleable the human psyche can be, how it can be warped to the point of losing its sense of humanity. But on another level, the film suggests something even more unsettling: just as dogs can be trained to obey cruel commands, so too can people be conditioned to commit terrible acts. One scene shows a pack of dogs, exhausted from torturous training, transforming into human soldiers— automatons ready to follow orders without question. In this chilling parallel, the film implies that humans, with our moral codes, can be far worse than animals. Unlike dogs, we have the capacity for moral choice, yet we still choose to inflict harm.
Nancy’s workshop left me with more than just insights into writing—it reminded me of the power of human connection. Whether through writing or conversation, engaging with others opens doors to understanding, empathy, and sometimes, even discomfort. Brutus was a difficult film to watch, but it underscored Nancy’s lesson: stories that matter are stories about people. They challenge us, move us, and ultimately, make us see the world—and ourselves—more clearly. I may not have written a film review in 15 years, but after this experience, I’m inspired to explore the stories around me and share them with a fresh perspective.
The magic of the cinematic environment at the film festivals - Etiuda & Anima 2024
by Magda Nieświec (magda.nieswiec@gmail.com)
The Etiuda & Anima film festival started on a sunny Tuesday in the last week of October. During the introduction, we had a chance to listen to the story told by the rector of the Academy of Fine Arts in Krakow – Andrzej Bednarczyk. The way he described his childhood story about the greatness of television, and more especially the magic of animation left me mesmerized. “Flow” – a Latvian feature animation by Glints Zilbalodis was presented as an opening film. It was a simple, non-dialogue story about the five animals who got to trust each other, build a connection, and try to help one another in the face of the big, almost biblical flood. The computer animation didn't really fit my taste but along with splendid music and the tiny – nearly human-like – mimicries of the animals, it didn't bother me that much. That swelled my heart, immersing me in the story of the big flow and allowing me to swim in the water along with the cat – the main character of the film. Even though too many threads were touched and not enough were explained and finished fully, the film left me with a warm feeling inside and a big smile on my face.
Before the screening, I had a chance to meet Nancy Denney-Phelps with whom I had a film-critic workshop the next day. The two-hours meeting passed as quickly as the wind on that beautiful, autumn day. Nancy, instead of teaching us how to write, preferred to talk about her experience, describing how animation festivals work and how to make connections through the parties and network drinks, stating that it's much more important than focusing simply on writing the most eloquent and too-intellectual stuff. She played three of her favorite animations for us, one that especially caught my attention. “Harvie Krumpet” by Adam Elliot from 2003. It was a story about the life of an unlucky man, who was born with Tourette syndrome in the Polish forest in 1922. Following his life we learned that he experienced a lot of misfortunes, starting from the death of his parents, World War 2 that led to his migration to Australia, splitting his skull in two, or being struck by lightning – to state just a few. However, despite all those things, he never lost the will to learn and discover new things. The pessimistic story was intertwined with warmth and hope that didn't quite fit the opening quote about “some who are born to achieve greatness and some who are not”. Harvie was one of those who was not born to achieve it, yet it didn’t make his story any less important and interesting. Although the film was especially gloomy and heartbreaking, with the washed colors and slowly moving plot, it left me with hope and desire to “seize the day” – as a big monument said to Harvie - and I think that’s what films are supposed to do.
Following this idea, along with Nancy's advice, I tried to do as much as possible that day. I attended two screenings, both for animations and short features, seeing 18 films at all. Some of them I enjoyed a lot, some not that much, but that’s normal and shouldn’t be discouraging. I had a chance to discuss my opinions with the members of the jury during the night drink later, which on top of all allowed me to learn a lot about the way some films should tell their stories by camera movement or the small background details. The night drink was also a great opportunity to meet the filmmakers and ask them questions I didn't have a chance to ask during the Q&A session. In the end, as it always happens for me at film festivals, those two days allowed me to realize how much I love cinema and how much I enjoy being a part of this small cinematic environment, no matter if it’s as a guest or just a simple viewer. I have a lot to look forward to in the next few days.
Do you have time to read this article? The protagonist of Nina Paley's Fetch! probably doesn't.
by Anna Dziubanchuk - (annadziubanchuk@gmail.com)
In Fetch!, a 2001 short animation created by Nina Paley, the main character is too busy calling after his runaway dog to pause and reflect. Produced in the United States and featuring Paley's signature hand-drawn animation style, this short film quickly became a favorite on the international film festival circuit. Fetch! was screened at festivals like the Chicago International Children's Film Festival and BAMkids Film Festival, winning first prize at the Nisan Kinderfest in Germany. Its simple yet engaging narrative focuses on a man chasing his dog, but there's much more beneath the surface.
At its core, Fetch! represents the stages of psychological response to life's challenges, as symbolized by the protagonist's endless chase. Life, with all its chaos and unpredictability, exists in its own right – like the dog tirelessly pursuing the red ball. We, however, have a choice in how we respond. I observed stages of denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and finally acceptance, much like the Kübler-Ross model of grief. For example, the denial phase is clear when the protagonist repeatedly calls out for his dog, refusing to accept that the dog won't return on command. Anger strikes in the form of lightning, a visual metaphor for frustration. Bargaining follows when the man starts putting up "Lost Dog" posters in the hope of reclaiming what's been lost. Then comes depression, when the man falls off a geometric shape and the screen is flooded with multiple blue dogs – an overwhelming sense of hopelessness. Finally, in a moment of acceptance, he meditates, and the dog, of its own accord, returns with the ball.
Visually, the animation uses color sparingly but effectively. Most of the film is in black and white, allowing the key characters to stand out with their bold, symbolic colors. The blue dog, red ball, and yellow protagonist remain visually separate yet symbolically connected, as their colors merge toward the film's end, creating a metaphorical and visual harmony.
The geometric shapes in Fetch! serve more than just an aesthetic function – they are a projection of the character's internal journey. The simple squares, circles, and lines reflect the basic structure of his world, one that is orderly yet disrupted by the chaos of his runaway dog. These shapes act as obstacles and stages in his emotional journey, symbolizing the mental and emotional boundaries he must cross. Their minimalistic design ensures that they don't distract from the core narrative, but rather, support it, emphasizing the universal experience of facing life's hurdles.
The audio plays a pivotal role in adding dynamism to the film. The rhythm and instruments shift notably during the protagonist's meditation, slowing down to reflect his moment of introspection, grounding him after the chaos. The music acts as a metaphor for his inner transformation, symbolizing calm acceptance. Once the meditation ends, the soundtrack returns to its fast-paced, upbeat tempo, echoing life's constant movement. However, the difference is now in the protagonist's perspective – he has achieved mental balance and can engage with life's challenges from a new, grounded standpoint.
So now, go watch Fetch! again and pay attention to the starting point: why does the dog begin chasing the ball endlessly? This simple action sets off a chain of emotional reactions that are deeply relatable, making the short film not just an entertaining piece, but also a reflection on life's inevitable challenges.
Joko
by Maria Pechenzka-Tkachova - (pecha.mary@gmail.com)
Directed by: Izabela Plucińska, Screenplay: Izabela Plucińska, Justyna Celeda, Production: Animoon, Country: Poland, Germany, Czech Republic, Year: 2024
Recently ended the 31 edition of International Film Festival Etiuda&Anima, which every year hosts in Krakow animators from all parts of Poland and a lot of artists from abroad. This year in the ANIMA.PL competition the main award Grand Prix Golden Żmij got the animation JOKO directed by Izabela Plucińska. Movie also got a Special Mention at ANIMA COMPETITION.
The story is pretty simple. There is a guy named JOKO, who, as all the representatives of the lower class, works at the factory. The factory is just near hotel. Factory workers can earn money by carrying “Guests from the hotel”, being a live “taxi” and Joko seems to be the only one not to be okay with this. It looks like the definition “Guests from the hotel” itself suggests that we deal with someone with a high position, someone rich and famous, but we never really get a clue. From the very beginning, we get Joko’s point of view, we see these “Guests from hotel” with his eyes. Joko seems to be the revolutionary but even in his protests he sticks with feeling like he is much worse than all of these people he disrespects. He wants to escape his life but cannot be untangled from the paradigm. The first film frames already suggest, that there are some social stairs everyone knows about – so Joko’s chief at the factory wants to be like hotel people, Joko wants to be as his factory chief, well not be, but just have something in him, what his chief has.
We see a classical type of storytelling – there is a hero, who doesn’t want to go the wrong way so badly, but has to because of the circumstances. If Joko doesn’t start carrying “Guests from the hotel”, his family will die because of hunger. So he betrays his principles. To become a hero for his family. But at the this same moment – Joko finally agrees to hold Wanda (it comes with a lot of new experiences for a guy, social and sexual) he also finally becomes a hero of the system. “Hero!” – scream to Joko the other factory workers. He is not just another factory boy who carries the rich, he was the last factory boy who didn’t do this. And his breakdown brings „peace” between factory people and hotel people. In reality, it means that from now on factory guys hold hotel ones as it was their main job. We looked at Joko as he was small man who anyway couldn’t change a thing, but his role was actually that of a gamechanger.
Why, even when he has already earned enough money to escape, Joko continues to carry people? And why now it seems to be much more easier for him? Joko starts to play the game by others’ rules but at the same time, now having choice, he feels like he is controlling everything. He’s fooling himself and for the first time in his life, without even seeing it, is becoming a real loser. When he drops a “Guest from the hotel”, this guest says “Finally!” like he was expecting this to happen for a long time now. Joko literally falls and gets forever stuck, glued to his masters.
When Joko and the „Guest from the Hotel” are already glued, Joko sends his small sister Amika for the doctor, she with feeling no weight carries this doctor. Amika has never had her brother’s point of view. For her carrying people is no personal offence, no humiliation, no way of earning money – it is just something you have to do because of the situation. Meanwhile, for the first time we don’t hear in the movie the traditional: “Can you give me a ride?” or “I’ll pay with the gold”. With his choice, Joko normalizes carrying people. Joko’s sister who, like he says himself at the beginning of the film, should live another, better life, takes a paradigm of humiliation. From now on she doesn’t see how this “other” could look like…
And then there is the mother, who symbolizes fast and (maybe) effective solutions, but at the same time, a solution that has no future. She’s the grown-up Joko, she raised Joko to be the grown-up who didn’t break the pattern for the future children. Joko’s hero fails. Maybe he actually was this small guy…
