David Lynch Made a Disturbing Web Sitcom Called “Rabbits”: It’s Now Used by Psychologists to Induce a Sense of Existential Crisis in Research Subjects

David Lynch has stayed pro­duc­tive in recent years — putting out an album and reviv­ing Twin Peaks, to name just two projects — but more than a decade has gone by since his last fea­ture film. Still, images from that one, 2006’s Inland Empire, may well linger in the heads of its view­ers to this day. Some of the most haunt­ing sequences that com­pose its three hours include clips of Rab­bits, a tele­vi­sion show about those very crea­tures. Or rather, a tele­vi­sion show about humanoid rab­bits who exchange lines of cryp­tic dia­logue in a shad­owy liv­ing room locat­ed, as the show puts it, “in a name­less city del­uged by a con­tin­u­ous rain” where they live “with a fear­ful mys­tery.”

So far, so Lynchi­an. Part of the direc­tor’s sig­na­ture atmos­phere aris­es, of course, from the men­ac­ing­ly pre­sent­ed 1950s domes­tic­i­ty and the bizarre appear­ance of human actors wear­ing expres­sion­less rab­bit heads. But just as much has to do with sound: along with an omi­nous score by fre­quent Lynch col­lab­o­ra­tor Ange­lo Badala­men­ti we hear that con­stant del­uge of rain, with occa­sion­al son­ic punc­tu­a­tion from an inex­plic­a­bly timed laugh track. You can binge-watch Rab­bits’ episodes on YouTube, an expe­ri­ence which will give you a fuller sense of why Uni­ver­si­ty of British Colum­bia psy­chol­o­gists used it to induce a sense of exis­ten­tial cri­sis in research sub­jects.

Lynch shot Rab­bits in 2002 on dig­i­tal video, a medi­um whose free­dom, com­pared to tra­di­tion­al film, he had recent­ly dis­cov­ered. (When he went on to use it for the whole of Inland Empire, the choice seemed as cin­e­mat­i­cal­ly star­tling, at the time, as any he’d ever made.) The shoots hap­pened at night, on a set built in his back­yard. Its prin­ci­pal cast of Nao­mi Watts, Lau­ra Har­ring, and Scott Cof­fey had all appeared the pre­vi­ous year in Lynch’s crit­i­cal­ly acclaimed Mul­hol­land Dri­ve, which itself began as a prospec­tive tele­vi­sion series. (Even the singer Rebekah del Rio, star of Club Silen­cio, turns up in one episode.) Lynch first “aired” the series on his web site, which must place him among not just the artis­tic but tech­ni­cal pio­neers of the web series form.

But why, exact­ly, did he make it in the first place? “Rab­bits is a sit­com,” writes a con­trib­u­tor called Peek 824545301 at The Arti­fice. “It is not mere­ly par­o­dy or satire; it exists as per­haps the most bizarre and arguably lit­er­al sit­com imag­in­able, though still an oppos­ing force that chal­lenges and defa­mil­iar­izes basic con­cepts.” Abstract­ing the basic ele­ments of the sit­com form while strip­ping them of nar­ra­tive, the show also sig­nals com­e­dy on one lev­el and dark­ness on anoth­er, putting itself “simul­ta­ne­ous­ly in align­ment with sit­u­a­tion come­dies in its essence while also serv­ing as a destruc­tive crit­i­cism.” In this view, Lynch moves from medi­um to medi­um not just as a sin­gu­lar kind of cre­ator but — with his imag­i­na­tion that has some­how come up with even stranger things than this rab­bit sit­com — a sin­gu­lar kind of crit­ic as well.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

David Lynch Posts His Night­mar­ish Sit­com Rab­bits Online–the Show That Psy­chol­o­gists Use to Induce a Sense of Exis­ten­tial Cri­sis in Research Sub­jects

What Makes a David Lynch Film Lynchi­an: A Video Essay

Ange­lo Badala­men­ti Reveals How He and David Lynch Com­posed the Twin Peaks‘ “Love Theme”

Dum­b­land, David Lynch’s Twist­ed Ani­mat­ed Series (NSFW)

Dis­cov­er David Lynch’s Bizarre & Min­i­mal­ist Com­ic Strip, The Angri­est Dog in the World (1983–1992)

David Lynch’s New ‘Crazy Clown Time’ Video: Intense Psy­chot­ic Back­yard Crazi­ness (NSFW)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Watch The Hedy Lamarr Story, a New Documentary on the 1940s Film Star & Inventor of Wi-Fi Technology (Streaming Free for a Limited Time)

We told you last year about Hedy Lamarr, the 1940s film star who also helped invent the tech­nol­o­gy behind wi-fi and blue­tooth dur­ing World War II. Now, she’s the sub­ject of a new doc­u­men­tary from PBS’s Amer­i­can Mas­ters series. Direct­ed by Alexan­dra Dean, and stream­ing free online for a lim­it­ed time, Bomb­shellThe Hedy Lamarr Sto­ry, “explores how Lamarr’s true lega­cy is that of a tech­no­log­i­cal trail­blaz­er” and fea­tures, among oth­er things, “four nev­er-before-heard audio tapes of Lamarr speak­ing on the record about her incred­i­ble life, final­ly giv­ing her the chance to tell her own sto­ry.” The win­ner of sev­er­al film fes­ti­val awards, The Hedy Lamarr Sto­ry pre­miered across the US on May 18th. Stream it online above or also here.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. Or fol­low our posts on Threads, Face­book and BlueSky.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How 1940s Film Star Hedy Lamarr Helped Invent the Tech­nol­o­gy Behind Wi-Fi & Blue­tooth Dur­ing WWII

Watch The Strange Woman, the 1946 Noir Film Star­ring Hedy Lamarr

Gus­tav Machatý’s Erotikon (1929) & Ekstase (1933): Cinema’s Ear­li­est Explo­rations of Women’s Sen­su­al­i­ty

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Discover David Lynch’s Bizarre & Minimalist Comic Strip, The Angriest Dog in the World (1983–1992)

Most David Lynch fans dis­cov­er him through his films. But those of us who read alter­na­tive week­ly news­pa­pers in their 1980s and 90s hey­day may well have first encoun­tered his work in anoth­er medi­um entire­ly: the com­ic strip. Like many of the best-known exam­ples of the form, Lynch’s com­ic strip stars an ani­mal, specif­i­cal­ly a dog, but a dog “so angry he can­not move. He can­not eat. He can­not sleep. He can just bare­ly growl. Bound so tight­ly with ten­sion and anger, he approach­es the state of rig­or mor­tis.” That text, which pre­pared read­ers for a read­ing expe­ri­ence some way from Mar­maduke, intro­duced each and every edi­tion of The Angri­est Dog in the World, which ran between 1983 and 1992.

Dur­ing that entire time, the strip’s art­work nev­er changed either: four pan­els in which the tit­u­lar dog strains against a rope staked down in a sub­ur­ban back­yard, in the last of which night has fall­en. The sole vari­a­tion came in the word bub­bles that occa­sion­al­ly emerged from the win­dow of the house, pre­sum­ably rep­re­sent­ing the voice of the dog’s own­ers.

You can see a few exam­ples at Lynch­net and also on this blog. “If every­thing is real… then noth­ing is real as well,” it says one week. On anoth­er: “It must be clear to even the non-math­e­mati­cian that the things in this world just don’t add up to beans.” Or, in a nod to the region of The Angri­est Dog in the World’s home paper the LA Read­er: “Bill… who is this San Andreas? I can’t believe it’s all his fault.”

“At some point David Lynch called up the edi­tor at the time, James Vow­ell, and said, ‘Hi, I’d like to do a com­ic strip for you,’” says for­mer Read­er edi­tor Richard Gehr as quot­ed by John F. Kel­ly at Spooky Comics. Every week there­after, Lynch would phone the Read­er to dic­tate the text of the lat­est strip. “We would give it to some­body in the pro­duc­tion depart­ment and they would White Out the pan­els from the week before and write in a new, quote/unquote… gag.” The clip from The Incred­i­bly Strange Film Show’s 1990 episode on Lynch above shows the evo­lu­tion of the process: some­one, one of Lynch’s assis­tants or per­haps Lynch him­self, would reg­u­lar­ly slip under the Read­er’s office door an enve­lope con­tain­ing word bal­loons writ­ten and ready to paste into the strip. (Dan­ger­ous Minds finds an inter­view where Vow­ell describes anoth­er pro­duc­tion method alto­geth­er, involv­ing wax paper.)

Lynch came up with the words, but what about the images? “I assume he drew the first iter­a­tion,” says Gehr as quot­ed by Kel­ly. “I don’t even know if the sec­ond and third [pan­els] were hand drawn. Those could have been mimeo­graphed too or some­thing.” The style does bear a resem­blance to that of the town map Lynch drew to pitch Twin Peaks to ABC. The atten­tive fan can also find a host of oth­er con­nec­tions between The Angri­est Dog in the World and Lynch’s oth­er work. That fac­to­ry in the back­ground, for instance, looks like a place he’d pho­to­graph, or even a set­ting of Eraser­head, dur­ing whose frus­trat­ing years-long shoot he came up with the strip’s con­cept in the first place. “I had tremen­dous anger,” says Lynch in David Bre­skin’s book Inner Views. “And I think when I began med­i­tat­ing, one of the first things that left was a great chunk of that.” If only the Angri­est Dog in the World could have found it in him­self to do the same.

via Dan­ger­ous Minds

Relat­ed Con­tent:

David Lynch Draws a Map of Twin Peaks (to Help Pitch the Show to ABC)

The Paint­ings of Filmmaker/Visual Artist David Lynch

David Lynch’s Pho­tographs of Old Fac­to­ries

“The Art of David Lynch”— How Rene Magritte, Edward Hop­per & Fran­cis Bacon Influ­enced David Lynch’s Cin­e­mat­ic Vision

David Lynch’s New ‘Crazy Clown Time’ Video: Intense Psy­chot­ic Back­yard Crazi­ness (NSFW)

The Incred­i­bly Strange Film Show: Revis­it 1980s Doc­u­men­taries on David Lynch, John Waters, Ale­jan­dro Jodor­owsky & Oth­er Film­mak­ers

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

How the Sounds You Hear in Movies Are Really Made: Discover the Magic of “Foley Artists”

Have you ever worked as an “extra” on a film or tele­vi­sion shoot, one of the anony­mous many some­where in the back­ground while the main char­ac­ters advance the sto­ry up front? If so, you know that to be seen but not heard onscreen requires doing exact­ly that. Even though a crowd­ed par­ty scene, for instance, real­ly does sound like a crowd­ed par­ty scene in the final prod­uct, the shoot hap­pens in some­thing close to silence. Only the stars speak, and indeed make any sound at all; every­one else just mimes their live­ly con­ver­sa­tions. Sound design­ers add the crowd noise lat­er, after the shoot, just like they add music, foot­steps, doors open­ing and clos­ing, crack­ling of fires and the whip­ping of winds, and pret­ty much every oth­er sound you hear besides speech.

“The Mag­ic of Mak­ing Sound,” the Great Big Sto­ry video above, reveals the work of Foley artists, some of the most lit­tle-known crafts­men in the enter­tain­ment indus­try. We usu­al­ly think of real­ism as a pri­mar­i­ly visu­al qual­i­ty, prais­ing some­thing that “looks real” almost as often as we com­plain about what “looks fake,” but much of what makes dra­mat­ic action onscreen feel real hap­pens on a com­plete­ly unseen lev­el.

Foley artists (named for ear­ly sound-effects design­er Jack Foley) cre­ate all the inci­den­tal sounds you’d expect to hear in real life, so if and only if they do their work well, nobody in the audi­ence will notice it. (Min­i­mal Foley work, com­bined with dia­logue dubbed in a stu­dio instead of record­ed dur­ing the shoot, con­tributes great­ly to the “dream­like” qual­i­ty of some old­er films, espe­cial­ly from Europe and Asia.)

The Great Big Sto­ry video, along with the short pro­file of vet­er­an Hol­ly­wood Foley artist Gary Heck­er just above, show mas­ters of the trade employ­ing a vari­ety of its tools: bags of corn starch for snow, gloves with paper­clips taped to the fin­ger­tips for dog paws, and for that inevitable (if implau­si­ble) schwing of a sword being unsheathed, a kitchen spat­u­la. Just like visu­als, sound requires a cer­tain degree of not just imag­i­na­tion but exag­ger­a­tion to achieve that “larg­er than life” feel­ing. Still, the Foley craft has its ori­gins in noth­ing more grand than the sounds made by hand to accom­pa­ny radio dra­mas in the 1920s. The pro­fes­sion may have moved on from the coconut-shell horse hooves of near­ly a cen­tu­ry ago — these videos show the cur­rent indus­try stan­dard, a jer­ry-rigged look­ing device made of plunger cups — but most of its equip­ment has remained reli­ably unchanged. How many oth­er kinds of film-and-tele­vi­sion tech­ni­cians can say the same?

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How the Sound Effects on 1930s Radio Shows Were Made: An Inside Look

Hear 9 Hours of Hans Zim­mer Sound­tracks: Dunkirk, Inter­stel­lar, Incep­tion, The Dark Knight & Much More

Why Mar­vel and Oth­er Hol­ly­wood Films Have Such Bland Music: Every Frame a Paint­ing Explains the Per­ils of the “Temp Score”

240 Hours of Relax­ing, Sleep-Induc­ing Sounds from Sci-Fi Video Games: From Blade Run­ner to Star Wars

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Watch the Brand New Trailer for Bohemian Rhapsody, the Long-Awaited Biopic on Freddie Mercury & Queen

“Talk of a movie about [Fred­die Mer­cury], who died in 1991, has gone on for years: Dex­ter Fletch­er came up as a poten­tial direc­tor, and for the role of Mer­cury both Ben Wishaw and Sacha Baron Cohen have at dif­fer­ent times been attached. But now the film has entered pro­duc­tion, hav­ing found a direc­tor in Bryan Singer, he of the X‑Men fran­chise, and a star in Rami Malek, best known as the lead in the tele­vi­sion series Mr. Robot.”

That’s how our Col­in Mar­shall intro­duced a post last fall which, among oth­er things, gave us a first unof­fi­cial glimpse of Rami Malek as Fred­die Mer­cury. Now comes the first offi­cial glimpse of Malek as Mer­cury. Above, watch the new­ly-released trail­er for Bohemi­an Rhap­sody, the long-await­ed biopic that explores 15 years in the his­to­ry of Queen–from the for­ma­tion of the band, to their cap­ti­vat­ing, career-defin­ing 1985 per­for­mance at Live Aid, pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured on our site here.

Enjoy the trail­er, and look for Bohemi­an Rhap­sody to hit the­aters on Novem­ber 2.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Queen’s Stun­ning Live Aid Per­for­mance: 20 Min­utes Guar­an­teed to Give You Goose Bumps (July 15, 1985)

Lis­ten to Fred­die Mer­cury and David Bowie on the Iso­lat­ed Vocal Track for the Queen Hit ‘Under Pres­sure,’ 1981

65,000 Fans Break Into a Sin­ga­long of Queen’s “Bohemi­an Rhap­sody” at a Green Day Con­cert in London’s Hyde Park

Sci­en­tif­ic Study Reveals What Made Fred­die Mercury’s Voice One of a Kind; Hear It in All of Its A Cap­pel­la Splen­dor

Hear Fred­die Mercury’s Vocals Soar in the Iso­lat­ed Vocal Track for “Some­body to Love”

Extremely Rare Technicolor Film Footage from the 1920s Discovered: Features Louise Brooks Dancing in Her First Feature Film

In brief sur­veys of film his­to­ry, the eye-pop­ping process known as Tech­ni­col­or seems to emerge ful­ly-formed in the 1930s and 40s with clas­sics like Gone with the Wind and The Wiz­ard of Oz, movies so vivid they almost exem­pli­fy the phrase “eye can­dy” with a “rich­er, col­or-flood­ed ver­sion of the real world,” writes Adri­enne LaFrance at The Atlantic. This gold­en age of Tech­ni­col­or, with its “super­sat­u­rat­ed aes­thet­ic… cre­at­ed films punc­tu­at­ed by col­ors so elec­tric they were sur­re­al.”

But like any new tech­nol­o­gy, col­or film, and the Tech­ni­col­or process in par­tic­u­lar, fol­lowed a long tra­jec­to­ry of tri­al and error involv­ing many an ambi­tious fail­ure and many ear­ly attempts now lost to his­to­ry. One such film, 1917’s The Gulf Between, con­sid­ered the first Tech­ni­col­or film, employed one of the ear­li­est, two-col­or ver­sions of the process. Sur­viv­ing now only in very short frag­ments, the 58-minute pro­duc­tion was “expen­sive and hard on the eyes,” notes Richard Tren­holm at Cnet, “a crit­i­cal and artis­tic flop” and “a com­mer­cial one, too.”

Tech­ni­col­or sci­en­tists and film­mak­ers refused to give up on the process, labor­ing might­i­ly through­out the 1920s to fig­ure out the exact ele­ments need­ed to con­nect with movie­go­ers. Most prob­lem­at­i­cal­ly, the two-col­or process could not repro­duce believ­able blues, pur­ples, or yel­lows. As James Lay­ton, co-author of The Dawn of Tech­ni­col­or, tells The Atlantic, “skies would nev­er repro­duce accu­rate­ly, and water wouldn’t…. There are some great exam­ples. A beach scene… where the sky is this very vivid green, it’s very unnat­ur­al.”

One her­culean effort to make Tech­ni­col­or a hit came from Dou­glas Fair­banks, whose painstak­ing 1926 film The Black Pirate made artis­tic use of the process’s lim­i­ta­tions, tak­ing inspi­ra­tion from the Dutch mas­ters to achieve a sense of depth. In 1970, the British Nation­al Film Archive began a restora­tion (see some clips above, with a 70s-sound­ing sound­track over­laid).

Fair­banks’ film remains one of only a hand­ful of Tech­ni­col­or films from the peri­od that has sur­vived in full into the present, like­ly because it rep­re­sents one of the few com­mer­cial suc­cess­es. But just last month, Jane Fer­nan­des, a British Film Insti­tute (BFI) con­ser­va­tion­ist, dis­cov­ered sev­er­al snip­pets of many more 1920s Tech­ni­col­or films taped to the begin­nings and ends of reels from a copy of The Black Pirate donat­ed to BFI in 1959.

These frag­ments include a very brief shot of silent icon Louise Brooks in col­or (at the 1:11 mark), from the lost 1926 film The Amer­i­can Venus, her first fea­ture. Also includ­ed in the find are short clips from oth­er Tech­ni­col­or films made that same year, The Far Cry, The Fire Brigade, and Dance Mad­ness, as well as a test shot from the his­tor­i­cal dra­ma Mona Lisa, star­ring L.A. Times gos­sip colum­nist Hed­da Hop­per as Leonar­do da Vinci’s enig­mat­ic mod­el.

You can see these prized snip­pets in the video at the top of the post, with nar­ra­tion from BFI cura­tor Bry­ony Dixon. “Anoth­er batch of extracts,” reports Smithsonian.com, “was found taped to ads for a North Lon­don tele­vi­sion shop that ran before and between movies in the 1950s. They include scenes from ear­ly Tech­ni­col­or musi­cals that came out in 1929 includ­ing Sal­lyGold Dig­gers of Broad­way, Show of Shows and On with the Show!

In BFI’s April 30 press release announc­ing these rare finds, Dixon com­pares them to “an Egypt­ian vase shat­tered into pieces and the shards scat­tered across muse­ums all over the world…. For now we have the shards but we can dream of see­ing Louise Brooks’s first film or a lost Hed­da Hop­per in colour.” Future dis­cov­er­ies, as well as the lat­est restora­tion tech­niques, may soon return an expand­ed his­to­ry of 1920s two-col­or Tech­ni­col­or to schol­ars and film fans of the 21st cen­tu­ry.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ear­ly Exper­i­ments in Col­or Film (1895–1935)

How Tech­ni­col­or Rev­o­lu­tion­ized Cin­e­ma with Sur­re­al, Elec­tric Col­ors & Changed How We See Our World

The Col­or Palettes of Your Favorite Films: The Roy­al Tenen­baums, Reser­voir Dogs, A Clock­work Orange, Blade Run­ner & More

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Europe After the Rain: Watch the Vintage Documentary on the Two Great Art Movements, Dada & Surrealism (1978)

“Dada thrives on con­tra­dic­tions. It is cre­ative and destruc­tive. Dada denounces the world and wish­es to save it.” So says one nar­ra­tor of jour­nal­ist-film­mak­er Mick Gold’s Europe After the Rain, a 1978 Arts Coun­cil of Great Britain doc­u­men­tary on not just the inter­na­tion­al avant-garde move­ment called Dada but the asso­ci­at­ed cur­rents of sur­re­al­ism churn­ing around that con­ti­nent dur­ing the first half of the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry. “Dada want­ed to replace the non­sense of man with the illog­i­cal­ly sense­less. Dada is sense­less, like nature. Dada is for nature, and against art. Philoso­phers have less val­ue for Dada than an old tooth­brush, and Dada aban­dons them to the great lead­ers of the world.”

Of the many bold and often con­tra­dic­to­ry claims made about Dada, none describe it as eas­i­ly under­stood. But Dada has less to do with intel­lec­tu­al, aes­thet­ic, or polit­i­cal coher­ence than with a cer­tain ener­gy. That ener­gy could fire up the likes of André Bre­ton, Sal­vador Dalí, René Magritte, Gior­gio de Chiri­co, and many oth­er artists besides, chan­nel­ing frus­tra­tions with the state of post-World War I Europe into a sen­si­bil­i­ty that demand­ed rip­ping every­thing up and build­ing it all again, begin­ning with the very foun­da­tions of sense.

Gold and his col­lab­o­ra­tors on Europe After the Rain under­stand this, audio­vi­su­al­ly inter­pret­ing the lega­cy of Dada, which despite its short lifes­pan left behind a host of still-strik­ing works in text, image, and sculp­ture, in a vari­ety of ways.

“The movie is full of trea­sures,” writes Dan­ger­ous Minds’ Oliv­er Hall, includ­ing “BBC inter­views with Max Ernst and Mar­cel Duchamp from the Six­ties, a read­ing of Artaud’s ‘Address to the Dalai Lama,’ an account of Freud’s meet­ing with Dalí.” He adds that its “re-enact­ment of Breton’s dia­logue with an offi­cial of the Par­ti com­mu­niste français is illu­mi­nat­ing, and com­ple­ments the oth­er valu­able mate­r­i­al on the ‘Pope of Sur­re­al­ism’: his work with shell-shocked sol­diers in World War I, tri­als and expul­sions of oth­er Sur­re­al­ists, col­lab­o­ra­tion with Leon Trot­sky in Mex­i­co, less-than-hero­ic con­tri­bu­tions to the French Resis­tance, and study of the occult.” But then, the kind of mind that could launch a move­ment like Dada — which fifty years after its end remained fas­ci­nat­ing enough to inspire a doc­u­men­tary that itself holds its fas­ci­na­tion forty years on — is capa­ble, one sus­pects, of any­thing.

Watch the uncut ver­sion of Europe After the Rain above.

via Dan­ger­ous Minds

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The ABCs of Dada Explains the Anar­chic, Irra­tional “Anti-Art” Move­ment of Dadaism

Read and Hear Tris­tan Tzara’s “Dada Man­i­festo,” the Avant-Garde Doc­u­ment Pub­lished 100 Years Ago (March 23, 1918)

Three Essen­tial Dadaist Films: Ground­break­ing Works by Hans Richter, Man Ray & Mar­cel Duchamp

Hear the Exper­i­men­tal Music of the Dada Move­ment: Avant-Garde Sounds from a Cen­tu­ry Ago

Dress Like an Intel­lec­tu­al Icon with Japan­ese Coats Inspired by the Wardrobes of Camus, Sartre, Duchamp, Le Cor­busier & Oth­ers

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

How Master Japanese Animator Satoshi Kon Pushed the Boundaries of Making Anime: A Video Essay

To casu­al view­ers, most Japan­ese ani­ma­tion (at least apart from the ele­gant work of Hayao Miyaza­ki and his col­lab­o­ra­tors at Stu­dio Ghi­b­li) can look like a pret­ty unso­phis­ti­cat­ed and even dis­rep­utable affair, char­ac­ter­ized by crude flashi­ness, con­vo­lut­ed sto­ry­lines, and bizarre, sopho­moric humor. All those things do, of course, exist in the realm of ani­me, but only because every­thing does: if Japan’s ver­sion of ani­ma­tion often ris­es above those of oth­er cul­tures, it does so as a result of that cul­ture regard­ing ani­ma­tion as sim­ply cin­e­ma by oth­er means. And any cin­e­mat­ic form will inevitably pro­duce diverse vir­tu­os­i­ty: to see how a mas­ter Japan­ese ani­ma­tor can have a sen­si­bil­i­ty com­plete­ly dif­fer­ent from that of Miyaza­ki, look no fur­ther than Satoshi Kon.

“Even if you don’t know his work, you have cer­tain­ly seen some of these images,” says Every Frame a Paint­ing’s Tony Zhou in the series’ video essay on Kon’s work, which includes the inter­na­tion­al­ly acclaimed films Per­fect BlueTokyo God­fa­thers, and Papri­ka.

“He is an acknowl­edged influ­ence on both Dar­ren Aronof­sky and Christo­pher Nolan, and he has a fan base that includes just about every­one who loves ani­ma­tion.” The essay shows us how those two West­ern live-action auteurs, among Kon’s oth­er fans, have bor­rowed his images for their own sto­ries, just as Kon, in turn, drew a great deal of inspi­ra­tion from a sim­i­lar­ly unlike­ly source: George Roy Hill’s 1972 cin­e­mat­ic adap­ta­tion of Kurt Von­negut’s nov­el Slaugh­ter­house-Five.

More specif­i­cal­ly, Kon drew inspi­ra­tion from the film’s inven­tive and sur­pris­ing cuts from one scene to anoth­er, a for­mal reflec­tion of its chronol­o­gy-and-geog­ra­phy-jump­ing pro­tag­o­nist’s state of being “unstuck in time.” Through­out his decade-long fea­ture film­mak­ing career, Kon “was con­stant­ly show­ing one image and then reveal­ing that it was­n’t what you thought it was.” Kon died in 2010, hav­ing “pushed ani­ma­tion in ways that aren’t real­ly pos­si­ble in live action, not just elas­tic images but elas­tic edit­ing, a unique way of mov­ing from image to image, scene to scene.” His accom­plish­ments live on not just in his own work, but in all the ways the cre­ators who admire it con­tin­ue to adapt his inno­va­tions for their own, even in the tra­di­tion­al­ly “respectable” forms of cin­e­ma.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Art of Hand-Drawn Japan­ese Ani­me: A Deep Study of How Kat­suhi­ro Otomo’s Aki­ra Uses Light

The Phi­los­o­phy, Sto­ry­telling & Visu­al Cre­ativ­i­ty of Ghost in the Shell, the Acclaimed Ani­me Film, Explained in Video Essays

The Exis­ten­tial Phi­los­o­phy of Cow­boy Bebop, the Cult Japan­ese Ani­me Series, Explored in a Thought­ful Video Essay

How the Films of Hayao Miyaza­ki Work Their Ani­mat­ed Mag­ic, Explained in 4 Video Essays

The Ori­gins of Ani­me: Watch Free Online 64 Ani­ma­tions That Launched the Japan­ese Ani­me Tra­di­tion

A Salute to Every Frame a Paint­ing: Watch All 28 Episodes of the Fine­ly-Craft­ed (and Now Con­clud­ed) Video Essay Series on Cin­e­ma

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

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Open Culture was founded by Dan Colman.