Vincent (1982) review: a 6-minute stop motion animated short film of Tim Burton, by Tim Burton and for Tim Burton himself. 

source: moviemeter.nl

Who could have known that a short film by a rookie filmmaker could later deliver The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993) and Corpse Bride (2005) to the world? From the eldritch-looking characters to eerie sensation triggered by the German Expressionist set and pipe organ music, Vincent laid a cornerstone for what is now known as Tim Burton Cinematic Universe. What’s more, it is Burton’s empathic message to the young boy he was. A boy who spent childhood in loneliness when he fell in love with wonders of horror rather than those of space explorers and dinosaurs.

Vincent Malloy is a 7-year-old boy who secretly wants to be like the classic Hollywood horror film icon Vincent Price. He is just different from the other kids who play outside under the sun and read nursery rhymes like “Go Jane Go”. His dream daily routine consists of scheming gruesome experiments on his dog and reading Edgar Allen Poe. One day, after reading a line from his favorite poet, Vincent becomes convinced that he not only had a wife, but that she had also been buried alive. Of course, the boy digs up the garden and gets scolded by his mother. When she reprimands Vincent’s delusions and tells him to go outside for some ‘real fun’, heartbroken, dejected Vincent finally lets the darkness encroach on his body and soul.

Vincent is not just an ambitious project of the young Tim Burton to showcase his skill and talent. It is a sincere personal homage to early muse and lifelong wannabe, Vincent Price, and a memoir of the director’s early inspirations. Reducing the film to a grainy, rusty stop motion animation would be a mistake because several hidden gems are just too good to miss out on. Vincent’s story is, in fact, narrated by Vincent Price, Tim Burton's everlasting hero. Vincent’s imagination of turning his aunt into a wax figure parallels Vincent Price's performance as Henry Jarrod, a serial killer who wax-coated people alive in the 1953 horror film, House of Wax. (On a side note, I found out that Price was the one who did the voiceover monologue in Michael Jackson’s Thriller music video while writing this review, and it made my day.) This personal connection between Vincent’s story and Tim Burton is restressed with the easter eggs hidden throughout the film. Vincent’s dog that falls victim to his master’s frightful imagination turns into a zombie – an early model of Burton’s Frankenweenie (2012). And as the film rushes towards the end with a mad medley of Vincent’s innermost catastrophic dreams and screams, skeletal figures that recall Jack Skellington of The Nightmare Before Christmas appear.

The release of darkness and embracement of solitude in Vincent takes a more concrete shape when some practical film tools - the visuals and the audibles – are added. Classic horror mise-en-scène like doomy pipe organ music and a gloomy German Expressionist set may not seem new, but they do something brilliant. When contrasted with the melancholic flute sound and white backdrops, the clash between the world inside Vincent and reality becomes palpable. They not only accentuate the gruesome imagination of Vincent, but also highlight him as just a lonely child that the world (including his own mother) cannot understand. Vincent doesn’t escape the darkness inside him, but he drags the viewers into his dismal spectacles by sharing the beauty within them. The match cuts shift fast in between reality and fantasy, brilliantly showing a series of Vincent’s frightening illusions and outflanking the audiences with unexpected twists and turns. Every element one sees and hears comes in tune exquisitely and effortlessly. And just like a cherry on top, Vincent Price’s rich, melodious narration is a poem written by the director himself that adds another layer of rhythm to the film. The 6-minute sneak-peek into Vincent’s world (or young Tim Burton’s world) may have started as an anxious, disturbing horror-ride. But, it turns out to be an action-packed, delightful thrill-ride as it reaches the finishing line. His mind seems to be filled with gory, grim imagination at first glance, but once the audiences get to know more of it, they realize that Vincent's mind is the only hideaway where his creativity and freedom reign free.

Although Vincent is one of the first films he ever made, it marks a pinnacle of now-worldwide-known Tim Burton Cinematic Universe – a grotesquely fantastic, animated stop motion world. The self-destructive, self-reclusive delusions of Vincent are so vivid and solid that they overwhelm the reality and arrange a foundation for the forthcoming brand called Tim Burton. But Vincent is not just a film typical of that label. It is a thank you note to Vincent Price and a comforting message for Burton's younger self, whose wit was driven by spooktacular visions. And in his peculiar oeuvre where all the oddities come true, little Vincent will always be there.

Click on Vincent to watch 
Vincent (1982) 👇

Save Ralph (2021) review: 
When saying “I’m ok” actually means “Save me”.

source: IMDb

MAC, L'Oreal, Persil, Oral B, and so many more. These are not popular brand names that every one of us has seen or purchased in malls and supermarkets. Instead, they are one of many mass-produced goods that test on animals only just to make sure we will not die from putting lipstick, shampoo and body lotion on our skin.

Produced and distributed for Humane Society International’s #SaveRalph campaign, Save Ralph is a stop motion animated short film that raises awareness of animal testing across the world. With simplistic, yet eye-opening form and style that voice out the longtime effort of animal welfare organizations and animal rights activists, Save Ralph is not a mere animated stop motion film, but a desperate 4-minute-long mayday call from the lab animals themselves.

In Save Ralph, humanity's manipulation of innocent lives on test animals is manifested through the self-negation and self-affirmation of Ralph. To bring such exploitation out of the surface, director Spencer Susser utilized a specific film form – documentary – with a fictional twist; thus, turning Save Ralph into a mockumentary that not only is a mock-up of real-life issues, but also a mockery of human hypocrisy. In the film, we follow Ralph on his daily routine as a test animal accompanied by casual interview-like dialogues between the rabbit and the cameraman. While eating his cereal, Ralph mentions, “They [humans] are far superior to us animals, they’ve even been to space. Have you ever seen a rabbit in a rocket ship?”. Not knowing the sheer fact that a rabbit called ‘Marfusha’ was sent to space in 1959, 2 years before the first human in space – Yuri Gagarin, Ralph echoes the superiority of humans over animals. More like a human dominance I would say. This less-than-10-seconds-long space talk pinpoints that choosing a rabbit to endure a shift in gravitational power and hypoxia towards space was all determined by men. Nevertheless, Ralph keeps on reassuring himself by saying “This thing [testing on behalf of humans] is what we were born to do. It makes us rabbits happy.” He remains like the masses that stay satisfied with hegemonic production and distribution of culture industries. Ralph normalizes his lifelong experience as a victim instead of accusing humans or asking for some help. He tries to smile away, but can't hide the tears falling down.

Moving on to stylistic features of the film, Ralph embodies the form of an anthropomorphic rabbit who can think, make jokes, feel and express emotions. This humanization brilliantly highlights physical and mental damages carved on Ralph in such a realistic way. Our sympathy heightens not only for this fictional animal character, but also towards the real-life animals that are locked up in laboratories. Although represented in supposedly adorable, or at least delightful stop motion animation, the vivid portrayal of Ralph’s injuries - a skinned back, a blinded, murky pupil, a broken ear and neck - afflicts our vision and emotion. From the clip of Ralph sitting in his cozy living room for an interview to the post-test, impaired rabbit in a locker room, aggravation of Ralph’s life bluntly reveals that we, human beings, are the very reason for this crisis.

Save Ralph reminds us that we are the one and only contributors who have initiated the tragedy of Ralph and his bunny friends. In a ceaselessly cruel food chain, humans are just a bunch of apex predators with a lost sense of animal bioethics. The film pleads for our responsibility and consciousness on consuming cruelty-free products – the least every one of us can do. Delivered in the most appropriate and attractive representation, Ralph is a poignant reminder that the move against animal testing is not about freeing our guilt, but solely for the animals to be protected from human cruelty.

The House (2022) review:
After an embarrassing series of banal misses, Netflix’s new stop-motion animation dedicated to grown-ups out there finally scores a rebound shot.

After letting down many global audiences with disappointing releases that are more generic than Hallmark Christmas movies, Netflix has finally brought us something that is worthy of our time and subscription fee. Three different stories are told by three teams of renowned directors and animators from across the world, luring people into the magic of stop-motion, black comedy and thriller fantasy. And everything revolves inside a single setting – the House. From the meticulous frame-by-frame fabrication of the cotton ball-like characters to fast-paced, suspenseful unfolding of anthologies, The House invigorates the Netflix users’ low level of expectation that had hit rock bottom after the Kissing Booth trilogy and He’s All That.

The first piece, “And heard within, a lie is spun”, follows a family who took an offer of giving up on their small, yet cozy house for moving into a luxurious mansion under construction. While the parents are dazed at the sight of luxuries, two young sisters begin to realize that the House is full of faceless, fishy workers plotting against their new masters. When a fire breaks out, the parents, who have turned into lavish furniture of the mansion – a very naked symbol to the tragic end of materialistic minds - are left behind, burning in their own voracious greed and long-overdue regret. Untouched by insatiable materialistic desires, the kids successfully escape the House.

The second segment, “Then lost is truth that can't be won”, is all about criticizing our current era of showing-off. Now, the House seems modern and smart, bedecked with an indoor aquarium and a brand-new set of superfluously overpriced music speaker. The real story, however, is that the House is being quickly gnawed by creepy termites, and is ready to be sold to anyone who shows a tiny bit of interest. Blinded by this immediate gain to get rid of the House, the developer falls victim to his own chicanery by giving his absurd dog and pony show away to an old rat couple who turned out to be another pair of pests. From the first segment to the second one, it becomes clear that poverty and the insects were not the mainsprings of tragedy. It was, after all, mere cupidity towards luxury. And at the very sight of the calamity, the House stands as the main stage of three different downfalls of rapacious materialistic minds. While doing so, the film also clashes with the conventional idea of ‘home’ - the House is no sanctuary, but a site of mayhem that would have been better off as a no man’s land. As the House turns out to be a place no better than a prison; not only the characters, but the audiences feel helpless and defeated.

Because every cloud has a silver lining, “Listen again and seek the sun” tells a story of a cat (her name is Rose, a personified, independent female cat) who is hyper fixated in restoring the House. In the age of apocalyptic climate change and worsening floods, she insists on not leaving her home – a space where her happiest memories were made. Not long after, Rose falls into despair when her housemates start to venture outside the sinking House to find a new home. When this heavy-hearted, stubborn cat finally gives up on the House and overcomes her long-held fears, the House transforms into a sailing ship. Now packed with hope, courage and passion, Rose sets on a new adventure. As the third segment magically lifts the doom and gloom from the previous tales, a sense of catharsis is delivered to the audience; and, believe it or not, this was from Netflix.

So, if you have ever imagined a film-child of Wes Anderson’s Fantastic Mr. Fox and Tim Burton’s Corpse Bride, and have been looking for one, The House is it – a fine combination of charming characters and spine-chilling stories. Despite the deplorable debacle made by several (if not most) Netflix originals, The House lends a hand in breaking the vicious cycle of mind-numbing self-torture sessions, and it does not let us down.