Declared the "best animated film of all time" in 1984 by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, the "greatest animated film of all time" at the 2002 Zagreb Festival, and "the second best animated film of all time" at the 2003 Laputah Animation Festival, Yuriy Norshteyn's "Tale of Tales" nevertheless, like most of the director's work, remains virtually unknown outside of Russia. Norshteyn's an "animator's animator", cherished mostly by those who share his profession.
"Tale of tales" revolves around a little grey wolf. The character's based on the wolf in "The Little Grey Wolf Will Come", a popular Russian lullaby. There the wolf was a figure of mischief who kidnaps babies. Here he is presented warmly (and even protects babies). Hugely symbolic, the film watches as the wolf bounces from one odd situation to the next, scenes arranged like a series of hazy dreams, memories or half-recollections, in which sequences seem to trigger successive memory sequences. In this regard the film heavily resembles Tarkovsky's "The Mirror". Its plot contains three overlapping sections, one of which focuses on memories, the other upon the "contemporary" world, and the other upon a happy, idealised dream world. The film shifts fluidly between these three worlds, and presents a symbolic portrait of Russia, spanning from the 19th century, through to the Civil Wars of the 1920s, to the post war period of Norshteyn's youth and finally to the 1970s.
Most of what the film depicts will fly over the heads of those unfamiliar with Russian history. One must remember that Stalinist socialist realism severely restricted the space in which creative intellectuals could operate. Symbolism, with its emphasis on the metaphysical, the irrational and the mystical, was then seized upon by many Russian artists, who sought to free themselves from socialist realism's straightforward, pragmatic purpose of disseminating the Communist message. For this reason the state sought to ban even showings of "Tale of Tales", but public protests and strategic editing by Norshteyn prevented this from happening. Still, much of the film deals with national inferiority complexes, the effects of social and technological changes and the various freedoms which Russia, still ruled by autocracy, lacked. While the West was typically painted, in Russia, as an ageing and degenerate place, mired in materialism and an overdeveloped sense of rationalism unanchored to any higher truth, Norshteyn's film, while not celebrating the West, questions whether Russia is destined to deliver itself or even others from various debilitations. The film's final point is fairly simple: the belief that eternal happiness is not found in state ideology but in family life, and that fulfilment comes from within and not from the involvement in the building of communal societies. In the way he celebrates the everyday, the mundane, promotes an individualistic approach to locating happiness, Norshteyn is openly defiant of the collectivist spirit of socialist realism. As the Soviet Union crumbled, Norshteyn would later question the position he takes in this film.
Of course unless one reads the film's barrage of very abstract images - old wooden chairs, rejected sewing machines, Napoleon hats on adults and kids (tyranny seeding the future), crumbling communal apartment buildings, lines of cars speeding away from old Russia and into new Russia, flaming apartments etc – this message flies over the heads of most who see the film. What one chiefly appreciates is therefore the film's unusual mood, with its primitive shapes and shadows, its Bunraku doll-theatre visuals, its rough-hewn style, its hand-made charm, its aura of ink, oils and card, its unique lighting and "depth effects" and its powerful, mysterious and creepy quality. You've never seen anything quite like this, thanks largely to a fairly unique process used by Norshteyn. Unlike most animators, he utilises a technique in which cards are lit with practical lights and in which different segments of each animated "cell" are "stuck" to different, independently moving planes of glass. This lends his films a fairly sophisticated sense of three dimensional depth, and of flickering, tangible light, both of which bely Norshteyn's primitive shapes.
9/10 – Worth two viewings.
"Tale of tales" revolves around a little grey wolf. The character's based on the wolf in "The Little Grey Wolf Will Come", a popular Russian lullaby. There the wolf was a figure of mischief who kidnaps babies. Here he is presented warmly (and even protects babies). Hugely symbolic, the film watches as the wolf bounces from one odd situation to the next, scenes arranged like a series of hazy dreams, memories or half-recollections, in which sequences seem to trigger successive memory sequences. In this regard the film heavily resembles Tarkovsky's "The Mirror". Its plot contains three overlapping sections, one of which focuses on memories, the other upon the "contemporary" world, and the other upon a happy, idealised dream world. The film shifts fluidly between these three worlds, and presents a symbolic portrait of Russia, spanning from the 19th century, through to the Civil Wars of the 1920s, to the post war period of Norshteyn's youth and finally to the 1970s.
Most of what the film depicts will fly over the heads of those unfamiliar with Russian history. One must remember that Stalinist socialist realism severely restricted the space in which creative intellectuals could operate. Symbolism, with its emphasis on the metaphysical, the irrational and the mystical, was then seized upon by many Russian artists, who sought to free themselves from socialist realism's straightforward, pragmatic purpose of disseminating the Communist message. For this reason the state sought to ban even showings of "Tale of Tales", but public protests and strategic editing by Norshteyn prevented this from happening. Still, much of the film deals with national inferiority complexes, the effects of social and technological changes and the various freedoms which Russia, still ruled by autocracy, lacked. While the West was typically painted, in Russia, as an ageing and degenerate place, mired in materialism and an overdeveloped sense of rationalism unanchored to any higher truth, Norshteyn's film, while not celebrating the West, questions whether Russia is destined to deliver itself or even others from various debilitations. The film's final point is fairly simple: the belief that eternal happiness is not found in state ideology but in family life, and that fulfilment comes from within and not from the involvement in the building of communal societies. In the way he celebrates the everyday, the mundane, promotes an individualistic approach to locating happiness, Norshteyn is openly defiant of the collectivist spirit of socialist realism. As the Soviet Union crumbled, Norshteyn would later question the position he takes in this film.
Of course unless one reads the film's barrage of very abstract images - old wooden chairs, rejected sewing machines, Napoleon hats on adults and kids (tyranny seeding the future), crumbling communal apartment buildings, lines of cars speeding away from old Russia and into new Russia, flaming apartments etc – this message flies over the heads of most who see the film. What one chiefly appreciates is therefore the film's unusual mood, with its primitive shapes and shadows, its Bunraku doll-theatre visuals, its rough-hewn style, its hand-made charm, its aura of ink, oils and card, its unique lighting and "depth effects" and its powerful, mysterious and creepy quality. You've never seen anything quite like this, thanks largely to a fairly unique process used by Norshteyn. Unlike most animators, he utilises a technique in which cards are lit with practical lights and in which different segments of each animated "cell" are "stuck" to different, independently moving planes of glass. This lends his films a fairly sophisticated sense of three dimensional depth, and of flickering, tangible light, both of which bely Norshteyn's primitive shapes.
9/10 – Worth two viewings.