And three years later, in 2013, we actually
seemed to annoy someone: yet another person who, as so often nowadays, lacked
the balls, shaved or not, to use their real name — yes, we're talking about
you, "Anonymous" — and was more interested in what they thought should be said than what the
writer wanted to say.
And so they spleened, indefinite and oddly chosen pronouns and all, in those
pre-Trump days: "It is strange how badly the internet has damaged critical
thinking. Perhaps it is its nature, preventing considered reflection prior to
posting babble before the author forgets what tiny thought just flashed through
its [sic] brain.
"This is a somewhat uncomfortable
film, I believe intentionally, compelling the viewer to resist and retreat from
organic engagement while at the same time remaining visually focussed. The
deliberately paced motion, although possibly an unintended result of the
obviously painstaking production technique, gives a sense of trance.
"I enjoy it, knowing it will be
over soon."
While we can possibly see whence
Anonymous's end reaction — "I enjoy it, knowing it will be over soon" — to
the film came, particularly if one is of the kind that finds stuff like Magritte's
or Dali's paintings as just too weird, we also tend to think that if the above was indeed
the intention of the filmmaker, then for the most part Asparagus is a failure. (Organic
engagement was and is paramount, in our case; the short even increases ours as
it progresses. Furthermore, for all that which is surreal or strange in the short, nothing
is actually disturbing enough to be labeled as "uncomfortable". At least not in our book; more gentle souls might disagree.)
Nevertheless, when we stumbled upon
this month's Short Film the other day, Anonymous's well-written second
paragraph actually came to mind: it is 100% applicable to Ego zhena kuritsa / Hen, His Wife, this truly
odd animated short made by Igor Kovalyov almost
two decades ago in what was then the Soviet Union.
This 13-minute animation, while
engaging, is disquieting enough that one looks forward to its end even as one
remains transfixed by what transpires. We would not advise watching
it on acid, for though beautifully drawn and narratively intriguing, it is also queerly disturbing on the visual, emotional, and intellectual levels. The
interplay of the repulsive aspects with attractive ones induces an indeed odd "organic"
experience, as although the viewer ends up being seduced by the very repulsiveness
that makes the short so striking, the viewer also never truly stops feeling repelled. Not that anything is truly repulsive here: it is far more simply disquiting.
Like Asparagus, Hen, His
Wife leaves much opportunity for interpretation, arguably even more so than
in the older film; and like the older film, much that seems to infer intention or
possible interpretation nevertheless also remains enigmatic despite the overt
feeling of both symbolic significance and visual purpose.
The basic setup is simple: An
anthropomorphic hen housewife lovingly, hectically, tends to her ill, blue-headed husband in
an apartment they share with their pet, an oversized, hybrid centipede with
human head. Their tranquil life takes a turn for the worse when they receive an
unexpected visit from a dichotomous "friend" who sows the seeds of
discontent…
The
Full Short:
