The Miracle of Mystimation

The lovely and talented Else, proprietress of Latent Twist Spatterdashery, introduced me to a most enchanting film a few nights ago: Vynález zkázy, a.k.a The Deadly Invention, a.k.a. The Fabulous World of Jules Verne.

Now I'm no stranger to Czech animation; given my love of puppets, stop-motion, and surrealism, it's unsurprising that Jan Švankmajer is among my favorite filmmakers, and I've seen my fair share of others, from Jiří Trnka to Jiří Barta. But I'm sad to admit I had never heard of Karel Zeman, who is considered to be one of the fathers of the genre.

This film, released in 1958, was absolutely spellbinding. Zeman artfully blends live actors with sets painted to look like Victorian woodcut engravings, stop-motion animation, miniatures, and special effects to create a whimsical world like none I've ever seen. Indeed, the posters for the American release sell it as "The First Motion Picture Produced in the Magic-Image Miracle of Mysti-mation!"

The resulting hybrid of real actors adventuring in a two-dimensional world is just incredible. And as if the visual effects and textures alone weren't magic enough, the story is filled with fantastical mechanical wonders: pedal-powered blimps piloted through the skies, four-legged mechanical underwater fighting machines, a steam-powered villain's lair inside a volcano, and hand-crank picture-wheel projectors.

Apparently this film was shown frequently on television in the sixties, along with another of Zeman's features, on Baron Munchausen (!) ~ and its influence is clear. Terry Gilliam's early animations come to mind immediately, and I am also reminded of the recent Ramona Falls video that I so adored. But I truly can't begin to describe the wonders to be seen in this film, I simply urge you to find and watch it.

It can be found in parts on YouTube, and indeed, one can even buy it on DVD, although it doesn't appear to be getting the Criterion-Collection-treatment it so richly deserves. You can even track down a making-of documentary about Zeman's special effects. As for me, I'm off to track down every other film Karel Zeman made, to devour them with relish.

Non-Stop Shenanigans from Jeunet

I've only ever adored anything that was born in the imagination of French director Jean-Pierre Jeunet. From the seedy dark delights of Delicatessen to the whimsical romantic giddiness of Amelie, Jeunet never fails to delight me. So it was a given that I'd fall for his newest film, Micmacs à Tire-Larigot, a phrase impossible to translate, but roughly meaning "non-stop shenanigans".

Like much of his work, the world created in this film is a saturated one, filled with magical realism and exaggerated caricatures. Micmacs is an unabashedly silly romp liberally dusted with joyful subversion, with an improbable plot about arms dealers getting come-uppance from a merry band of misfits.

Jeunet masterfully weaves his fairy-tale to feel like found-object assemblage art ~ visually enchanting, a finished piece that is so much more than the sum of its junkyard parts. The soundtrack is also lovingly chosen to win my heart, with a distinctive gypsy jazz feel sprinkled with mechanical sounds that add quirk and flavor.

Like one long Rube-Goldberg-esque sequence of related events, the film comes together perfectly in the end. Although nothing can ever top the glory of City of Lost Children, which consistently makes my top ten movies of all time list, I'd highly recommend this one to anyone who likes films of marauding and merriment. And who doesn't, really?

Scents and Sensibility

I am, most decidedly, not a wearer of scents. I am the kind that runs through the perfume section of the department store holding my breath, the kind that finds cologne abhorrent, the kind that can't even use scented lotions. And yet, the emotional potential of the sense of smell, and the vivid language that describes it, draws me in.

{Photo: Kevin McKinney / Things in Jars: For Strange Women}
As Diane Ackerman says in A Natural History of the Senses, "To begin to understand the gorgeous fever that is consciousness, we must try to understand the senses and what they can tell us about the ravishing world we have the privilege to inhabit." And so, a treatise on perfume.

{Alphonse Mucha, Lance Parfum "Rodo" lithograph, 1896}
The delightfully macabre German novel "Perfume: Story of a Murderer", which then became a captivating film, was endlessly fascinating to me. The tale is not for the weak-hearted; filled with gruesome descriptions and disturbing cruelty, it nonetheless features some of the most stunning passages I've ever read. I couldn't imagine how such a strange book could translate well to the screen, but director Tom Twyker brought it to vibrant life in all its bizarre glory.


The last issue of Coilhouse magazine had an interview with Christopher Brosius, who runs Brooklyn scent gallery CB I Hate Perfume, and has been called "the Willy Wonka of Perfume." The CB Manifesto sums up my feelings on perfume perfectly: "A lazy and inelegant concession to fashionable ego / Too often a substitute for true allure and style / An arrogant slap in the face from across the room..." Brosius escapes such trespass by creating the purest of accords, the most elemental single-note scents, that he combines to make his concoctions.


And then there's the sheer beauty of For Strange Women ~ almost enough to tempt me into giving scent-wearing another chance. Like Brosius, Jill McKeever is a different kind of perfume-maker ~ independent, innovative, and terribly strange. Scents like "Sweet Androgyny" and "Decadence and Debauchery", her breathtaking imagery, and packaging that hearkens back to an Edwardian apothecary are all incredibly appealing to me. Absinthe Lip Balm, enough said.

{Photo: Kevin McKinney / Perfume: For Strange Women}
In her Kansas City lab, Jill uses natural essential oils and plant absolutes to fragrance her goods and tinctures ~ which include lip balms, bath salts, and perfume oils. She "combines antiquated styles with pagan sensibilities" to make her lavish potions, and describes how the different scents blend like harmonies to create the music of the perfume.

{Photo: Kevin McKinney / Bath Salts: For Strange Women}
I am also intrigued by the quirkiness of alt perfume house Black Phoenix Alchemy Labs, with their Neil-Gaiman-novel-themed collections and full moon open houses. Perfumer Elizabeth Moriarty, who was (so fittingly) trained by a Voodoo practitioner in New Orleans, certainly has a nose for the odd and enticing. In an LA Weekly article, she says she loves “using scent for atmospheric purposes, for triggering Proustian memories and for inspiring emotion. Scent is such an underrated sense, and perfumery is such an underrated art.”

{Photo: Kevin McKinney / Perfume: For Strange Women}
I am most pleased that there are perfume-makers out there looking at scent in a new way. When done right, a scent can evoke a feeling, a location, a time, a person... and transport us instantly back to that emotional place via our most basic chemistry. So what aromatically moves you?

Textured Bliss from Ramona Falls

I have actual hard evidence of the power of social media marketing, and it is this: I just purchased an album from a band I'd never heard of, simply because of their incredible video that was released a mere month ago and has been going around on Facebook. And I am well pleased.

I was completely captivated when I saw the video for the Ramona Falls song I Say Fever. Unlike anything I've ever seen, it's some sort of magic combination of Victorian paper animals and stop-motion animation, and yet feels totally edgy and now. See for yourself ~ and do go full screen.

A side project from Brent Knopf of Menomena, whom I haven't yet heard but will surely pursue, this album, Intuit, is absolutely brilliant. The songs are like complicated blossoms unfolding, opening to expose new treasures with each listen. The epic opening song, Melectric, sends me off to into visceral, textured bliss.

Unexpected percussive elements, shimmering vocals, orchestral arrangements, and sweeping variations in mood (due, in part, to the many guest artists who contributed) ~ the layers keep peeling away to reveal more loveliness. You can watch Brent get wicked with the looping here, as he records the luscious song Going Once, Going Twice.

Just doing my part to virally spread lovely music ~ so go listen.

Things that Please Me: Crankbunny

In need of some whimsy to cheer an otherwise gray day yesterday, I turned to puppet-maker and animator Norma V. Toraya, also known as Crankbunny. In a world of overwhelming technology and frenetic multi-tasking, there's something comforting in the mechanical simplicity of her paper treasures.

Like the red bloom framed above, all of Crankbunny's beautiful pop-up cards are an art-form unto themselves ~ my most lusted-after being the Secret Decoder Card, where she will add a hidden message of your choice to be decoded by the lucky recipient.

But it's her paper puppets that tug my heart-strings. I want to scamper about inside her world of vintage-looking and oddly vulnerable creatures, her sad factory robots and thirsty zebras and winsome monkey-ladies...

Like so many craftistas that inspire me, Crankbunny's devotion to the details is incredible. She says she makes every card with her "tiny little marshmallow fingers" ~ and at over 3,000 sales on Etsy, that's a lot of wee bits of paper to cut out and assemble. And if you're wondering *why* she makes handmade goods, watch this lovely short film she animated.

Now you know! Want more? Visit the Crankbunny Etsy shop, or check out the new book she's just published, Paper Puppet Palooza.

On Etsy, you may even watch one of her puppet-making how-to's, or read her Featured Seller Interview, which is quite sweet and quirky. And of course, check out her Web site and blog.

Now go buy handmade!

The Wild Rumpus!

It's been some time since I've sat through an entire film beaming from ear to ear, but last night I left the theater giddy from the brilliance and purity of Spike Jonze's new interpretation of Where the Wild Things Are.

Not to raise anyone's expectations to unhealthy heights, but set aside all that buzz, rumors of poor test screenings, and the anxiety about the corruption of a classic book, and this is an stunning film in its own right.

Jonze perfectly distills the pathos of childhood, and in particular the challenges of being a creative and intense child, without trivializing it. Though the Arcade Fire song that made the trailer was conspicuously missing from the film, the score by the phenomenal Karen O creates a sublime backdrop of frenzied raw emotion. And the Wild Things themselves, massive monsters made by the legendary Jim Henson's Creature Shop, are surprisingly sympathetic and compelling.

Though the film may not mirror the book exactly, author Maurice Sendak approached Jonze to take on the project and worked closely with him throughout, urging him to "keep it dangerous". I've always been one for the darker themes, scoffing at those who would shield their little ones by offering only sanitized stories, so I love that Jonze preserves the peculiarity and wickedness that earned the book criticism in the first place ~ while making the story his own.

A good article with more making-of back-story can be found here, but I say just go see it. And then let the wild rumpus start...

Within Your Rights to Bite...

If you haven't seen the Swedish film Let the Right One In, you should. I rented it after reading an intriguing review on an excellent blog I follow, Blood Milk, and it was stunningly lovely.

I'll admit, I have an undeniable weakness for vampire films, but this one transcended the genre with its fragile beauty. If you can't bear plainly illustrated violence and slow, disturbing moodiness, this may not be the film for you, but I was absolutely mesmerized.

The film does not flinch from exploring intense themes in the fertile borderlands between good and evil, adulthood and childhood, innocent friendship and budding sexuality, and all of these are treated with incredibly stark tenderness. The two twelve-year-olds who play the leads were quite magnificent in their roles, and the icy perpetual night of the slums of Stockholm was a perfect setting. The film is both savage and poignant, and utterly moving.

The film is based on a 2004 novel that I'd love to read. I'll pretend I didn't hear about the American remake. La la la.

Good trivia... besides the lore that says a vampire cannot enter a house uninvited, the title also refers to a Morrissey song I had never heard, "Let the Right One Slip In," which includes the delightful lyric "I'd say you were within your rights to bite." I've been bitten, truly.

Why I Love Isabella Rossellini

Truly, one just can't help but adore the fabulous and talented Isabella Rossellini.

Never mind that she came to New York from Rome at age 19 and paid for school by being a translator and circus ringmaster. Never mind that she's been romantically linked to Martin Scorsese, Gary Oldman, and David Lynch. Never mind that she's stunningly beautiful, brilliant, and an active environmentalist.

I love her for her fearlessness. She was mesmerizing as the masochistic lounge singer in Lynch's neo-noir classic Blue Velvet. And who could resist her as a double-amputee beer baroness wearing beer-filled artificial legs in the beautiful surrealist film The Saddest Music in the World by Canadian genius Guy Madden?

But it's Green Porno that sealed my love for Ms. Rossellini. When asked by the Sundance Channel to make a series of "flashy environmental" shorts, Isabella took it upon herself to illustrate the frequently disturbing sex lives of insects.

Most definitely not safe for work, but delightfully bizarre and candid, the series features a charmingly amorous Isabella frolicking about in an oversized, cartoonish set, mostly made of paper. And she's just released Season Two - on sea creatures. Please let there be an octopus episode, please!

Here's a recent interview with Isabella. And my favorite snarky feminist pop culture rag, Bitch Magazine, just featured the series in an article called Wings of Desire, on the radical gender role implications of documenting bug sex.

You know you want to see Isabella as an orgasmic snail in a giant homemade paper maché costume. And her accent makes a statement like "We're sequential hermaphrodites" sound positively sensual. Just go.

Things That Please Me: Surreal TV

I'm one of those people who simply doesn't do television. But every once in a while a show makes it through the filters and captures my attention, and then I become addicted and have to watch every episode in all-night marathons. The most recent of these is Lars Von Trier's cult classic horror mini-series from the early nineties - Riget, or The Kingdom.

I haven't completed the marathon yet, but thus far I've been captivated enough by the bizarre and colorful characters, ridiculous plot twists, and dry moments of comedy to forgive the shaky claustrophobic camera work and indulgent B-movie gore. Besides, the fact that it's all in Danish makes it that much better.

Preceding Riget by a few years, and drawing frequent comparisons, is Stache's favorite TV show of all time - Twin Peaks. I somehow missed the phenomenon the first time around, but when it finally came out on DVD, I consumed it like candy. The unsettling snail-like pacing, the unabashed absurdity, and the droll humor all instantly endeared me to David Lynch's foray into the small screen.

I both love and hate the way Lynch makes you feel like you might be missing something deep, when in fact there is no answer - the truth is that it just doesn't make any sense at all. Twin Peaks reached levels of artfulness rarely seen before or since on television, and scores of rabid fans are still talking about it.

But perhaps my most beloved surreal TV show is HBO's Carnivàle, which certainly owes much to these earlier shows. But Carnivàle takes the top honors in my book for the stunning production values, and because, well, it takes place in a traveling carnival in the 1920's.

I have such appreciation for the painstaking way in which the creators immerse you in the world of the show. All of the extras look like living Dorothea Lange portraits. The opening title sequence takes my breath away every time. And the stunning art direction, gritty costuming, and luminous lighting lend a palpable sense of beautiful decay and doom every time you watch the show.

It seems shows like this always end poorly, or not at all, as in the case of Carnivàle, which was written as a seven-season show and canceled with a fist-clenchingly frustrating cliff-hanger after only two seasons, spawning desperate campaigns to bring it back from heartbroken fans. And they are all too rare - clearly the general public does not share my peculiar tastes.

So I'll have to wait, perhaps years, for the next time some rogue director wants to make a brilliantly baffling show to remind me that sometimes, TV can be worthwhile.

Sweet Coraline

I'm simply giddy with excitement about Coraline ~ it's like a fantasy-obsessed animation-loving post-goth craftista's dream come true.

Everything meticulously hand-made? Check. Voices by comic heroes French and Saunders and John Hodgman? Check. Sassy little girl with blue hair and striped stockings? Check. A toy squid? Check. Miniature sweaters knitted with sewing needles? See for yourself!

Though I'm an avid Neil Gaiman fan, I haven't read the book - I purposefully avoided it so I wouldn't face the disappointment I had with Stardust. So it will be a treat now to read it.

I can't really say much beyond this: you must see it, and you must see it on the big screen. Go now.

Drunk History

In the hallowed halls of viral web video, every once in a while there's a shining star. One that stands out from the crowd - one that makes your eyes tear up, or is milk-out-the-nose funny.

I was having a rough day at work last week when a gem from that latter category arrived in my in-box from my dear Lord Hopton (who has undeniably impeccable taste in humor, as well as everything else in life).

It's Episode Three of a series aptly titled "Drunk History," and, well, just watch it.

Drunk History vol. 3 - Featuring Danny McBride by Danny McBride

The brilliance originates from FunnyorDie.com, and there are four or five episodes in circulation, but this one is my favorite.

Praise you, Derek Waters. Thanks for the laugh, I needed that.

Black Cat, White Cat

I find myself melancholy, trying to write a brief tribute to my poor Nimbus, who left us for the big donut-bed in the sky over the weekend.

It's the end of a feline era. Nimbus and her sister Carolina, to whom I said goodbye last spring, were born the month I graduated high school, and kept me furry company through a parade of houses and boyfriends and jobs for, uhm, more than fifteen years.

Nimbus kindly eased our transition by keeping us up all night with her grating senile meowing for the past few months, so we were definitely ready to let her go. Didn't stop me from crying, though. My home is now kitty-less for the first time in my adult life.

Fortunately, she was forever immortalized in psychedelic cat YouTube fame in this video a few years ago, with music and imagery by the illustrious Stache.

Oh, the purr! I intend to go out and rent Emir Kusturica's Black Cat, White Cat in honor of both my dearly departeds. Perhaps a zany Balkan comedy will cheer me.

Farewell, Nimby. All the peacock feathers and pets you could wish for in heaven, my sweet!

Everything Begins and Ends...

Last night I watched Picnic at Hanging Rock, an Australian period thriller from 1975. If slow, atmospheric, moody films are your cup of tea, this one should win your heart.

Director Peter Weir treats us to lush oddly-angled and layered shots of the outback landscape, a haunting pan-flute-and-organ-heavy soundtrack, and loads of simmering repressed Victorian adolescent girl sensuality (with a nod to the slightly-baggy-woolen-stocking fetishists... oh, such stockings will you see). You can almost feel the heat rising from the rocks... and the languid girls...

Fortunately the beauty of the cinematography and the charisma of the dewey actresses overshadows the Victorian costumes à la Gunne Sax that pin the look as mid-seventies.


But it was the open end that kept me thinking about the film long after the credits. The movie teased us with vague possible explanations, but gave no resolution to the central mystery. Why is our need to have stories tied up in neat little packages by the end so powerful?

I discovered the original book was written with eighteen chapters, and the final chapter solved the mystery, but the author decided to remove it at the last minute. The eighteenth chapter was published twenty years later in response to demand from the public for closure to the story.

Of course I was unable to resist searching for a spoiler, and of course I was disappointed in the resolution, which was silly and unlikely, and nowhere near as moving and evocative as the open end.

When will I learn? Some stories are better left unresolved. As Miranda, the central character in the film, says, "Everything begins and ends at exactly the right time and place..."