Yuri Norstein
Yuri Norstein (1941-) is a Soviet and Russian animator renowned for his distinct technical ambition in his films. His work is mesmerising in its multitude of textures, often utilising various elements within one shot.
Tale of Tales (1979)
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Norstein uses multiple panes of glass to create a depth of field from the separation of layers. These layers can be moved individually to give the illusion of characters moving through a convincing space. The glass panes are placed 25-30cm apart, and 1 metre deep overall.
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It is evident when you watch any Yuri Norstein film that there several techniques at play, simultaneously making the most of two-dimensional and three-dimensional parts of a scene. Often the result is not exactly realistic but dream-like, evoking very real textures on otherwise simplified characters and landscapes. The narrative tends to meander in a similar way, taking you on a mysterious visual journey rather than through a conventional story structure.
'The Hedgehog and the Fog' (1975)
'The Hedgehog and the Fog' is perhaps Norstein's best known work. It demonstrates everything that makes him so individual as a film-maker, bringing together some incredible textures to create a distinct mood.
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The film is on some level quite traditional, like a children's fable. And yet, there is an otherness to the atmosphere that stays with you. Much of the technique is is so mysterious that it leaves a deep impression on the viewer; I found myself continuing to think about the process long after seeing the animation.
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'The Overcoat' (1981-?)
Norstein's main project since 1981 has been an adaptation of 'The Overcoat', the classic 1842 short story by Nikolai Gogol. There are several minutes of preview footage available to watch online. In the video there are some staggering shots of the human figure and face in motion, particularly one which features the main protagonist's limbs writhing under a blanket which is a mind-blowing feat of drawing.
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The production time is now over forty years, making it the longest production time in animation history.
The film is still unfinished to this day and presents a real question to me of what the limits of ambition should be. Is any masterwork ultimately worth that amount of time out of your life? I don't know the answer. Part of me still insists that you should spend your life making the best single piece of art you can leave behind. However, I have gone through a process of trying to become less of a perfectionist over the years as I have seen that instinct keep me from ever releasing my own stories. I can't help but view 'The Overcoat' as a cautionary tale for animators and illustrators like myself who have a tendency to focus on making work visually sophisticated rather than just good enough to deliver a great story. Complexity is all too attractive if you need to prove something to yourself or to the world, when simplicity was always the answer anyway.
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Another such example of an unfinished project is Richard Williams' 'The Thief and the Cobbler', which remained in production for decades. It is also both an incredible technical achievement and yet ultimately by some measure, a failure.
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I became aware of Williams through his 'Animator's Survival Kit' (DVDs and book) which is widely regarded as the essential guide for animation students. Williams it seems knew about as much as one can know from decades in the animation industry and still I often think of his final incomplete feature as a sign that even the greats can lose a sense of perspective. Maybe it doesn't matter, maybe the surviving pieces of a masterpiece are enough to admire. But great stories should be seen by a wide audience, and these real life cautionary tales are a reminder to me to steer clear of aspiring to technical mastery and instead to be an imperfect but effective storyteller. Much as I might romanticise the herculean effort as artist, surely the end goal must be to sacrifice something of your perfect vision in order to share your story with others.
The Thief and the Cobbler
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