Object #78 - Hell's Bells - Red Hot Mamma (1934)

Dir. Dave Fleischer 

Unofficial Rule #1 of this blog - An object is only an object if it isn't sentient. So as much as I'd like to discuss Roy Batty, he's an android that is More Human Than Human, and is off the table for specific discussion. The same goes for magically enhanced candlesticks, possessed bedframes, or simple-minded robots. So far, this rule hasn't caused too much aggravation, that was until Betty Boop walked into my life.

Even the earliest shorts featuring Betty Boop are beautifully animated, improving in on-screen detail and richness as they go. Fleischer Studios have gone down in history for these short Betty Boop animations, alongside their Popeye, and Superman shorts, and it isn't hard to see why. In Fleischer cartoons, there is a sparkling life to almost every object on screen. Focusing on 1934's Red Hot Mamma, we open on Betty Boop (Bonnie Poe) asleep in her cold house. There's an immediate dynamism as the wind blows the curtains into the house. Boop awakens, frozen, and shuts the windows. 

We follow two perched birds as they fly inside to the fireplace. Atop the fireplace, a clock visibly shivers, as the hands of the clock anthropomorphise, rub themselves warmer, and don a pair of gloves. Boop throws some logs and coal into the fireplace, and the flame from her lamp comes alive, jumping into the fire, lighting it. The birds begin to sweat, and spin on the grate, visually transforming into rotisserie chicken; the candles melt; the thermometer fills to the top, and begins to sweat mercury; the igloo inside a painting melts, and the painted man removes his warm winter coat. Every single object has a verisimilitude, and express some sort of sentient action, hence, making any post on this blog about Betty Boop hard to write!

Most of the Boop shorts share this dynamism in their animation, with Snow White in particular having constant action from the characters and objects on screen. These details are a likely contributor to the long life these shorts have had in the public consciousness, with their influences being felt particularly in the Disney films that would follow them. Many of the Fleischer animators did eventually move to Disney, so this may not be so surprising. Sticking with Red Hot Mamma however, there are more pleasures to be enjoyed in the sounds of non-sentient objects.

Betty Boop dreams from the intense heat that she's entering into Hell itself. As she fearfully struts inwards, even here a sentient flame with two legs follows her. At one point she trips, falling into a rope and accidentally ringing the bells of Hell. Here, the music begins to specifically synchronise with the events on screen. As each burst of flame from underneath booms outwards, the brass section of the orchestra booms with it in tune. After Betty falls into a pit, a bell continues to ring, but in time with the now jazzy music. 

As 'Freshmen' fall into hell, horned devils zip them into a suit, place horns above their head, and tails upon their butts, all done in tune with the music. Just as the animators bring boring everyday objects to life with verve, so too do they inject the sentient devils with an extra spark in synchronising their movement to the music, making them so enjoyable to watch. Everyone likes a good tune after all, and a synchronised dance even more. Like a pre-cursor to a music video, the short continues as we see two devils ring a metal hoop, calling for firemen. As the fire-devils enter, they ring a bell, matching the tune which summoned them. 

Words obviously don't do justice to the joy of seeing such beautiful animation paired with great, jazzy music. The diegetic rings of the bell enhance the music, giving movement not only to the fire-devils and their truck, but the film itself. Even for a short, the time flies by watching it. The flipped perspective of Hell adds another playful twist, as here we see the 'hose' is in fact a dragon spitting fire, burning the 'Freshmen' into blackened devils. Later we see an ice-cream cone of fire, licked by a large demon, and swallowed with glee. What was good is now evil, and what was cold is now hot.

Boop sings from within a ring of fire a song titled Hell's Bells, as the now off-screen bells ring with her. She dances away, countering two balls of flame with punctuated moves of the hip, as trumpets join her in sync. Three demons continue the beat of the bell-ringing, this time as their tails strike the floor with electronic, Morse code beeps, a fantastically inventive bit of sound design. 

The film enters its conclusion as the devils round on Boop with interest, to which she gives them a literal cold shoulder, visualised as an ice cube, freezing them whole. Her ice-cold stare does the same to the large demon, a stream of ice from her eyes. Betty Boop literally freezes over Hell, and the devils flee, leaving Betty to awake to the cold, her door having been blown off its hinges by the wind. She returns to bed, as blanket after blanket falls atop her, and signs off with her signature catchphrase "Boop-oop-a-doop"! 

If you haven't already guessed, I love every second of this short film. The Fleischers and their animators are rightfully remembered as masters of their craft, and are masters of film. Silent movies, not pre-dating this short by too many years, rarely had the opportunity to synchronise music with the events on screen due to the nature of its performance done live (in most cases). To ask for specificity would be to risk out-of-sync moments ruining the film. But with sound, and the power of animation,  the Fleischers were able in Red Hot Mamma, and many of their other shorts, to use synchronisation as a boon to inventive story-telling and film-making. Ballet did it before them, theatre did it before them, but they were among the first, and the best, in their pioneering work to show just what animation could do when paired with music. The fact that their films have stood the test of time, and are as funny and as joyful as when they were first screened, is a testament to this. Hell's bells indeed! 

Object #77 - ZX Spectrum - Black Mirror: Bandersnatch (2018)

Dir. David Slade

Lewis Carroll has Alice enter Wonderland in two ways - through a rabbit hole, or through a looking glass. Two versions of the same process, taking place in two different books. These processes have entered the lexicon of our language, as synonyms for the feeling of entering into a topsy-turvy, confusing world. In Carroll's novels logic is reversed, little makes sense, and magical, impossible creatures like Jabberwockies, Jubjubs, and Bandersnatches roam the land.

In Black Mirror: Bandersnatch, Stefan (Fionn Whitehead) loses his mind within the labyrinthine process of programming a chose-your-own-adventure video game, titled Bandersnatch. Choices loop, intertwine in unexpected ways, and in some cases cannot be avoided at all, restricting oneself to a single path. Within the film itself, the actual act of Stefan's programming is not dwelt on substantially. We do not see much of the decisions he is programming into the game, only the paths written upon countless pages of paper, and brief, basic 2D simulations of a 3D maze. This is because the actual process of accounting for player choice is done by us, the viewers, or should it be players?

It is debatable as to whether Bandersnatch constitutes a film or a basic video game. Full motion video (FMV) games have been around since the 80s and 90s, like the infamous Night Trap, and have even had a resurgence lately in games like Her Story and Late Shift. FMV games were themselves only video extensions to text-based computer games like The Hobbit (referenced within Bandersnatch) or Zork, themselves parallel extensions to classic chose-your-own-adventures books, of which the fictional Bandersnatch is adapted from. Video game developers have since ditched the actual video component, instead rendering the story within a game engine, to great success in examples such as The Walking Dead or Life is Strange. To a player of such games, FMV or not, the 'gameplay' or viewing experience of Bandersnatch is familiar, where multiple choices are presented at specific moments within the narrative, potentially changing events substantially, cosmetically, or not at all. 

It is via this gameplay process that we the viewers experience what Stefan is going through, and in Bandersnatch, writer Charlie Brooker has overtly tackled what some video game developers have not, that being the actual maddening process of chasing the trail of multiple choices to their conclusions. We do not need to focus on the actual choices Stefan programmes via his ZX Spectrum into the Bandersnatch video game, as the meta nature of choosing Stefan's actions, from the minute (what cereal to eat for breakfast) to the substantial (jumping to his death) acts as the most direct way of conveying the themes of the narrative related to choice and more importantly, its absence. 

The absence of choice felt by the fictional Bandersnatch author Jermome F. Davies (Jeff Minter) led to him feeling compelled to brutally murder his wife, as he felt that fate was dictating his actions, not his own free will. This lack of free will is expressed via the 'White Bear' symbol, where two branches converge to one. This symbol predates the film, stemming from the White Bear episode of the show, another narrative where past choices were of key importance, haunting the protagonist and sealing them in a looping, maddening personal hell. At a key moment in Bandersnatch, Stefan cries to us, the controllers of his actions for a sign. The choices presented to us depend on our previous actions, even here reinforcing the theme of the past dictating the future. The most amusing combination pairs the logo of Netflix, the viewing platform Bandersnatch is viewed upon, with the White Bear symbol. 

Either explanation is cryptic to Stefan, and the 'Netflix' route ends in a meta joke to the viewer about boring choices, and the arbitrariness of their choices. However even this can branch, into either an over-the-top fight scene for our amusement, or more poignantly, a scene where even actor Fionn Whitehead is fictional, and is himself struggling to reconcile which choices have been written (or programmed) for the script, and whether he is himself or his character. 

Chasing one branch where Stefan follows famed programmer Colin (Will Poulter) results in his character explaining his theory on parallel dimensions, time being a construct, and the nature of mankind being programmed and controlled. This allows the viewer (provided they've also discussed Stefan's childhood history with his therapist) to, in one scene, have Stefan ponder Colin's words, and choose to travel through a mirror, back into the crucial childhood scene which sealed the fate of his mother's life (Fleur Keith), alongside his own. This literally evokes Through the Looking Glass, here having the mirrored surface act as gateway to the crucial moment where a young Stefan (A.J. Houghton) either delayed or did not delay his mother by looking for a stuffed rabbit. The first of the main five endings I received, apparently the rarest according to Netflix themselves, was to choose, as young Stefan, to go with his mother immediately. However, in typical Black Mirror fashion, the twist is that Stefan's mother will delay for the later train regardless, this being the train that will derail and kill her. By choosing to go with his mother, Stefan removes himself from the maddening process we have been inflicting upon him, and is killed alongside his mother as a young boy.  

Also in typical Black Mirror fashion, this bleak ending is one of the kinder ones, as it leaves Stefan free of our control, his adult body dying in the present day within the therapy room, a representation of the aborted timeline he has rejected. Here, the title of Black Mirror comes into play. In terms of the show, Brooker has referred to the show itself acting as a dark mirror to what paths society could go down. Another interpretation, due to the show's focus on the perils of technology, is that when we stare into a blank, black computer/phone/TV screen we see a distorted, dark mirror image of our faces. However in terms of Bandersnatch the dark mirror which allows Stefan to travel within his mind to his own past acts in a meta nature, surprise surprise. 

With full knowledge of all potential endings, from the mundane - Stefan working on a mediocre game due to mismanagement, to the extreme - murdering his father and chopping his body into pieces, the 'Train' or 'Mirror' ending is the one where Stefan takes control of his own fate. Instead of falling prey to the madness like Jerome F. Davies and lashing out murderously, Stefan's best true ending is to accept that some branching pathways do funnel to one event. He chooses to die with his mother, calling into question whether the entire film was some parallel timeline in the first place. One ending path even questions this, suggesting that Stefan may have been the subject of a program and control experiment, where his memory of the key event is false and implanted by shadowy scientific actors. This seems to be the 'traditional' Black Mirror interpretation, but could just as easily be endemic of conveying the paranoia Stefan has fallen to in reaction to our omnipotent control.

We then are the villains of the piece, and the beauty of the narrative is that the punishment for our cruel actions is to experience what Stefan experiences. The process of restarting the film on Netflix, viewing or fast-forwarding to each choice, over and over again, with some choices locking endings, looping back, or changing the choices presented is slowly maddening. We can, and do, go a little loopy as the Netflix program itself changes presented choices depending on those already experienced, thus even making guides online unreliable. Just like the game within the film, the programming fights back and has ideas of its own. In that sense, it's a beautiful, chaotic interactive art piece, where the deeper into Wonderland we go, the more our own mind fractures in keeping track of these events. The Black Mirror becomes literal, the screen we watch and interact through, just like Stefan and his ZF Spectrum as he programmes, becomes the portal, the transportive black mirror through the malleable construct of time and free will.

The White Bear symbol could not be more important here, as it's purpose goes beyond easter egg, and contributes to this maddened state. In that episode, the plight of the protagonist was a punishment for her past actions, where she was viewed through the cameras of a willing audience, who actively interacted with the event of her punishment. Crucially however, in that episode, all interaction was done distantly, whereas in Bandersnatch the showrunners and filmmakers have succeeded in making that interactive process direct. But, like the FMV games of old, that interaction is limited by the practicalities of programming, scripting, and here, filming. Future explorations of the interactive film genre may be freed by further advents of technology; possibly Virtual Reality, which Black Mirror has already commented upon. For those future endeavours, the lessons of Bandersnatch should be considered, specifically in how the meta process of interaction can leave the viewer with a deep sense of empathy. The act of interacting isn't just a theme of the film, it is the film.      

Object #76 - Steak Knife - The Lobster (2015)

Dir. Yorgos Lanthimos

Relationships are a continual process of give and take. The ideal image of a romantic relationship is one where both partners find balance between giving and taking. As we all know, relationships are tough, oftentimes requiring one partner to live with a situation they do not want to. In situations like this, there needs to be some leeway given to the beleaguered partner until equilibrium is restored, where both partners enjoy being together with little-to-no negative repercussions. But if the imbalance cannot be righted, then the relationship likely falls apart. 

Lanthimos' black-comedic satire of humankind's need for romantic relationships sharply aims its sights on this target - the balance. In the world of the The Lobster, newly single people take residence in a compound hotel. having 45 days to find from among them a suitable romantic partner. If, at the end of the 45 day period, they have not found a partner, then they are turned into an animal of their choice. The set-up is absurd, but is explored throughout, offering surprisingly insightful commentary on the importance society places on the concept of happy, coupled individuals. 

Our protagonist, everyman, David (Colin Farrell) gamely attempts, after a period of some reluctance, to cast himself into a relationship. In the monotone narration provided by an unseen woman (Rachel Weisz), we are informed that one of the women David is interested in (Angeliki Papoulia) is 'heartless', a fact he will soon learn. This coupling is set against the backdrop of the compound hotel, where assemblies, presentations, and dances all dispassionately extol the virtues of being coupled - from offering women the safety of not being sexually assaulted while walking alone, to simple things such as having assistance to do one's belt. 

In this cloying, desperate atmosphere, those who do manage to couple are paraded as shining examples to the others. Those that continually fail take place in frequent hunts into the forest, to capture 'Loners', those forbidden people who live alone outside the compound. These hunts offer the opportunity to extend one's stay another 24 hours per each successful capture of a 'Loner', in essence, extending one's life from animalhood, and presenting a tangible, negative alternative to escaping this rigid system - ostracisation, and being hunted just like the animal you'd eventually become anyway.

David and the Heartless Women (as she is credited) couple up after a brief process of evaluating their respective natures. In narration, we learn that David believes it harder to pretend to be heartless while being empathetic, than pretending to be empathetic while being heartless. This difficulty becomes exposed when the Heartless Women tests David, brutally murdering David's dog, the reincarnated form of his former human brother. 

In a telling scene, we see the woman wake David, who has established himself as a deep sleeper. She tells him what she has done, and Farrell brilliantly plays the breakdown of a man - a man who has placed himself in a false situation due to the pressure of society, a man forced to attempt coupling with a sociopath lest he be turned into a lobster, a man now having to pretend not to cry as he sees the bloody remains of his dead brother/dog. It doesn't last, as his tears confirm the woman's suspicions, that David is not truly heartless like she, and that he will now be punished for falsely attempting to escape the pressure of the compound.  

The coupling process with the Heartless Woman is a beautiful piece of satire that does however cut to the bone of incompatible relationships. David presents himself as something he isn't, and it costs him. Earlier, as the two get into a double-bed, he asks her if she wants the bedroom light on to continue reading. She says yes, and asks if this will be a problem for him, to which he says no, and that he's a heavy sleeper. Within the world of the film, it's a crucial test, as each is looking for any possible foible or quirk which will render the relationship incompatible in future. It's made clear that the threat of animal transfiguration is one which will hang over even those who successfully leave the compound as happy couples - if the relationship fails, back to the compound they go, and the process starts again.

It's a clear satire of a feeling everyone goes through in the beginnings of a relationship, as well as the consequences of falling out of one - the judgement of your peers, particularly those who remain coupled (adding insult to injury), and the knowledge that you'll have to go through the entire courtship process all over again. The bedside lamp acts then as a symbol of the give and take within a relationship that can end in dissolution, and in the case of David, even further extreme tests of character. 

David later find true love outside the compound with the Short-Sighted Woman (Rachel Weisz), set against the flipped world of the Loner forest. Here, relationships are forbidden by the leader (Lea Seydoux), as all the Loners are united only by being collectively alone. In a great moment, the Loners have a 'silent dance', each listening to music from their own headphones, united, but alone. Within this environment, the Short-Sighted Woman and David surreptitiously make signs of love to each other, and plan to escape into the real-world. This real-world is seen in visits as a dogmatic environment where couples thrive, but individuals are questioned and asked for certificate papers of coupling. Once again, a heightened satire of the importance society can place on couples rather than single people.

The Short-Sighted Woman is blinded by the Loner Leader within this city, via surgery, as punishment for the feelings she has with David. She attempts to hide it from him at first, but realises that there is no way to continue the relationship without him knowing, a mature move. David is appalled, but continues loving her, if a little more reluctantly than before she was blinded. It's clear from David's behaviour now that he feels there is an imbalance in the relationship. He has to adapt the secret signals of love to being non-visual, and must physically support her as they escape the forest.

This imbalance comes to a head in the final scene of the film, as they sit at a restaurant in the city. To re-balance the relationship he offers to blind himself. This is done matter-of-factly, both through a statement to her, and in his asking the waiter for a knife, a steak knife specifically. Was this statement a test? Was he only offering out of obligation, an extension of the same forced coupling present in the compound and their society as a whole? Did he expect her to turn him down, telling him not to be foolish and that they could co-exist as they are now?

Regardless, he goes to the bathroom, and attempts to stab himself in the eye. David hesitates, and the final long shot of the film rests on the Short-Sighted Woman, sitting alone in the restaurant booth, traffic going by outside, as she awaits his return. The length of the shot allows us to reflect on the extremity of the action David is attempting. It is a literal symbol of the lengths one must go to, against one's better nature, to remain in a balanced relationship. But it such extreme self-sacrifice worth it? Should one literally blind oneself to be compatible with one's partner? 

This theme of compatibility is expressed throughout the film, as couples refer to the similar features they share with their partners, such as the Limping Man's (Ben Wishaw) former wife also having a limp, and the Limping Man's forced nosebleeds as a technique to win the favour of the Nosebleed Woman (Jessica Barden), who suffers from routine nosebleeds. In the compound the new entrants are asked to present themselves with a 'distinctive feature', as if to present themselves only based on features which can compliment the same in another person. This extends outside the compound, as David happily states that he is also short-sighted in a discussion with the woman, as if it's further proof they should be together.

However even those in happy relationships, such as the Hotel Manager (Olivia Colman) and her husband (Garry Mountaine), who are presented, literally on-stage, as ideal partners, can fall apart easily when incompatibilities are pushed to their extremes. An earlier scene has the Loner Leader force the husband to shoot the Manager as proof of his admital that he can live alone while she cannot. The husband pulls the trigger, revealing the gun to be empty of bullets, a move which will now fracture that relationship, to the Loner Leader's visible pleasure. 

Even the posters for the film make reference to this theme, visually portraying the absence of a partner, and the incompatibility of one person without another. But within the final scene, it would appear that the mature move would be for David to return, and tell her that he loves her regardless of her blindness. But within this world of all-or-nothing love, would The Woman reject this, as it is not the absolute love of stabbing your own eyes out for your partner? Will their now-incompatible 'distinctive features' be seen as hallmarks of a relationship doomed to fail? What Lanthimos wishes to leave us with is that message, and all it carries with it - what is absolute love? How much give and take is actually possible within a relationship? Can we love that which isn't wholly like ourselves?