Opera and animation – a royal wedding of bastards, the intersection of a high degree of stylisation and emotional truthfulness. Both art forms take a multi-eyed look at inner reality, avail themselves of various art genres with relish, and create a multi-perspective by layering space, form, sound, motion, and time, exposing the nature of the unspeakable.

Kim Thompson’s Monty Pythonesque “All the Great Operas (in 10 Minutes)” tightens and intensifies, laconically and statistically, 11 opera plots, recounting stories of adultery, incest, and suicide in 10 minutes – with a total of 38 deaths. By skilful omission, she reveals the true essence of opera and animation: excessive, stirring embellishment when the plot pauses, when the narrative chain makes a temporal detour in linking cause and effect. To put it plainly: an aria is called for.

While artificial animation characters lack a singing voice of their own by nature, opera and animation are still similarly arialike. By exiting the real-time plot, principles of objective reality are overthrown. There are no natural laws for emotion, the arrangement of musical notation, or the sequence of film frames. All is open for metamorphosis and manipulation. Thus, the voice content is conveyed by deformation, by phonetic and physical gestures and the dissolution of boundaries. In Martin Arnold‘s “Alone: Life Wastes Andy Hardy“, Judy Garland’s singing voice dilates, frame by frame, to the point of turning into a protolanguage of emotion and the subconscious, accompanied by physical stuttering and lurching. In “Aria”, Piotr Sapegin carries this body language forward to the point of self-dissolution of his puppet character “Madame Butterfly”. With a high level of drama, his tragic heroine tears herself open through layers of fabric, cotton wool, and wire, all the way to her puppet skeleton. The soul becomes visible not as a thing, but in the performance of her gesticulation to the music of Giacomo Puccini. Manipulation of time and physicality – two top disciplines. In opera. In animation.

Animation is used to create complete worlds out of nothing: drawn, digitally, or as a miniature set. Like this, it also expands opera stages in animated film and in the opera hall. Space created in this way can transform in seconds. It affects characters, reacts to them, becomes the outside to their inside, or turns into an actor itself. From time to time, social or political reality eats through the cocoon of artificiality, thus using it for the articulation of unspeakable brutality such as Lewis Klahr has done. In Erich Wolfgang Korngold‘s “Mariettas Lied“, by means of reduced animation, it contrasts photographic backdrops and flat figures with an unsettling piece about Jewish composers fleeing the Holocaust.

Today’s technical possibilities of video mapping, however, allow for precise interplay on real opera stages. The human ensemble interacts with artificial characters, the stage is overdrawn virtually and turns into a projection screen for moving, graphic visualisations of sound and emotion, while animation slips seamlessly into the roles of effects, architecture, design, costume, and character. Suzanne Andrade and Paul Barritt aka 1927, for instance, creatively transfer artistic eclecticism of the 1920s to “The Magic Flute”.

With regard to title and origin, Keiichiro Shibuya’s “The End – The Vocaloid Opera“ makes an almost prophetic claim: After almost exactly 400 years of opera history and the cemented consent between stage and audience to use artificiality as a key to a different reality, this fully computer-generated opera from 2012 apparently disposes of everything human by means of animation. The protagonist, ‘Vocaloide’ Miku Hatsune, is just a digital code. Neither touchable such as a puppet character or a drawing, nor a substitute for an existing human voice. Emotion in pure form and without gravity – the total fusion of opera and animation. But in the end, it is human-made.

Since 2016, ITFS and the Stuttgart Opera have been building bridges between opera and animation together. The success of this cooperation is no coincidence, as animation is of increasing importance to the Stuttgart opera house.

In 2015, Anna Matysik created a short film on the internationality of the Stuttgart Opera ensemble, titled “The Flying Opera House”. For this, she used the trio “Soave sia il vento” from Mozart’s opera “Cosi fan tutte”. In 2017, the Stuttgart Opera cooperated in the production of the short film “Death of a Fruit Fly”. The film team drew inspiration from a choreography in the opera “Orpheus in the Underworld”. Daniel Kluge lent his melodious voice to the eponymous fruit fly. For the premiere of its new production of “Don Pasquale“ on March 25, 2018, the Stuttgart Opera created a six-minute animated film together with Ludwigsburg Studio Seufz, which is part of the opera performance and, to the overture, shows the protagonist’s life so far. Costume designer Teresa Vergho collaborated closely with Studio Seufz on this project, with the animation aesthetically quoting from 1970s art movements. Further cooperation took place with Ludwigsburg students and graduates.

Mutual workshops – in 2017 with British animation and stage artist Paul Barritt, and in 2018 with other animation artists – as well as the live screening of the opera “Rigoletto“ on Schlossplatz as a special in connection with an ITFS Festival Focus, are top examples for the productive interaction in order to win over audiences as well as artists for the linking of two art forms. Thus, the partnership between the Stuttgart Opera and the ITFS with its Opera & Animation programme section is prepared to continue being a love story come true.

Authors

André Eckardt (Freelance Curator, ITFS) & Thomas Koch (Communications Director, Staatstheater Stuttgart)

The world has been turned upside down since March. Big events had to be cancelled. Cinemas and restaurants had to close. Public life has come to a standstill. The art and creative industry have been hard struck, and the impact of the coronavirus pandemic cannot yet be expressed in figures; reliable conclusions on its outcome and consequences are not yet possible. The film industry, especially film festivals, are severely affected. Public togetherness is our life, to meet in person in a dark, mysterious space where we watch the events on the big screen with fascination, to engage in public discourse about the art of film afterwards.

It is our task as film festival organisers to give visibility to cinematic art, to promote talent unconditionally, to find the right, greatest possible audience. We want to generate publicity for the filmmakers and invite audiences to immerse themselves in a new, unfamiliar world. Film festivals promote public discourse and contribute significantly to a community worth living in.

But how can a film festival maintain its mission when large events are banned, and cinemas have been shut down for weeks?

Momentarily, film festivals have little choice but to fulfil their missions online and generate publicity and attention in a digital world. An entire, alternative structure must be set up within an extremely short time which has to meet the requirements and wishes of funders as well as those of the audience. There is also the filmmakers’ perspective: What effects does this form of online presentation have, what is it like to no longer meet audiences in person, to not be in exchange with them and other industry members, to have little chance with distributors and other multipliers, and on top of this the inferior streaming quality, the reduction to smaller screens?

Filmmakers create their art works under such great pressure and sometimes adverse conditions – is it then really appropriate to show their films in reduced quality, some of them for the first time, and in digital space “only”?

In my view it is not possible to fully transfer public space to a digital world online. The festival experiences made by filmmakers and members of the audience thrive on getting to know and be aware of each other, to get talking, to discuss, to share visions and ideas, gain stimuli, and be inspired by others.

Alternative festival versions can bridge the gap, give an impression of what can be done, and reach a limited public to present the festival and cinematic art to. However, they will not replace the world of a festival taking place in public space. The new impressions, the immersion in as yet unfamiliar worlds. To talk about films and aspects of what has been seen cannot be replaced by online chat rooms, hashtags, or postings on social media channels. Too much is lacking: the murmurs in the audience, the cheering and clapping when the end credits roll, the joint experience, wriggling through seat rows, the snoring of someone in another seat. A refreshing drink in the festival club with guests still strangers to me. Admission and exit procedures continuously taking place at the doors to the many cinema auditoriums. The suspense and excitement during awards ceremonies. I miss the diverse conversations and heated discussions. The random meetings at the hotel’s breakfast buffet or at the coffee booth. The way home – sometimes still lost in thought, sometimes tired or sad, sometimes exhilarated and inspired.

The festival feeling is irreplaceable, and I already long for an end of the pandemic and the opportunity to promote and experience the art of film together. Because cinemas and cinematic art are systemically relevant, and all age groups must have the chance to experience them in a way that is as accessible and low-threshold as possible. Curated film programmes with guests facilitating on-location exchange are becoming more important than ever, because in times of staying apart and keeping our distance our desire for togetherness and a joint experience will get bigger and bigger. We should learn form the present time and observe which alternatives enrich public discourse, yet at the same time not get tired of emphasising that this is not the chance and opportunity to relocate film festivals to the digital world, but that we find ourselves in an exceptional situation where everyone is required to improvise, and alternatives must be created so as to not having to forego events and experiences entirely. Let us consider it as a possibility for continuity, but not as a replacement or advancement.

Author

Svenja Böttger

CEO & Festival Manager Filmfestival Max Ophüls Preis

Animation is often a solitary discipline: frequently, it’s a single artist, maybe with pen on paper, or perhaps two hands manipulating practical puppets in isolation on a stop-motion stage. I often marvel at Lotte Reiniger’s individual work giving incredible life to silhouettes over a hundred years ago. Solo.

As we navigate these bewildering times, the days of COVID-19 and a fractured world, we are overwhelmed. Globally, in the midst of this crisis, we have witnessed families and friends devastated by furloughs and layoffs. We have seen global economies shrink in a matter of weeks, small businesses destroyed and dreams derailed. We watch as the media paints apocalyptic pictures of our future every day; and many of us are not buoyed by a fractured government spreading confounding messages during official press conferences. And where we stand now, saddened and angry, on a global scale, we find ourselves reeling during a seemingly unforeseen pandemic.

Alone. Confused. Isolated. I turn to the world of animation, its prescience, its intuition. It is necessary therapy. I am saddened that we can’t group together in unison right now at needed events like the Stuttgart Festival of Animated Film-ITFS. This would have been the ideal time to assemble to discuss feelings and celebrate intrepid creativity within our industry. But this year we cannot congregate in the Gloria Passage to sing, to drink a toast or to celebrate and debate the plots or styles of animated features and short films. We cannot collectively in person share and plan our next rendezvous in Annecy or Zagreb. And that is crushing.

But, as always, within troubled times, there are glimpses of hope. For me hope continues to be realized by the prospect of animation. Fortunately, for many, this artistic engine continues to churn, even now. Creativity is often spawned by darkness and uncertainty. Not ironically, in isolation where animation often thrives, many artists, especially 2D and 3D animators are delivering incredible individual content. In an inconceivable time when Hollywood is essentially dark, many in the animation milieu have broken through with inspiring works that critique media and our muddled global political system.

I am lifted by the speed with which festivals like Stuttgart have developed online platforms and discussion groups for the virtual community. I am inspired by CalArts students — led by editorial cartoonist Ann Telnae — who have created “Commentary Through Cartoons,” an important confluence of journalism and political observation so indispensable during this time of the pandemic.

Because animation is solitary, it also has the ability to move with the speed of its time, albeit painstakingly, frame-by-frame, but still reflecting and commenting upon culture, politics and the will of human consciousness.

While many festivals begin the necessary and wonderful work of sharing and posting films online, this does come at a price. For the Stuttgart festival this year, I curated four “Best of Animation” programs, gleaned from ITFS’ incredible vault of animation since 1994. But I’m despondent that we don’t get to share it together as a live audience until 2021. The film blocks were assembled over a month before the word “coronavirus” was in our global vocabulary, but in my introductory comments at the time I wrote that I wanted each short program to communally highlight:

“… themes of imperfection and general human vulnerability… these works honor everyday life, burdened or blessed, with a dose of bureaucracy, love, family and pain. The universal toil reflects the artist’s relationship to their political, societal or deeply personal experiences.”

Actually, in many ways, this makes the 2021 Stuttgart Festival of Animated Film program worth the wait. I am excited by the prospect of sharing thoughts and unfiltered analyses about this inexplicable time. I am looking forward to hearing from those who can provide a particularly unique perspective, and to be in an unparalleled festival environment that embraces thought and deep discourse.

We will persevere through the planet’s latest crisis. I am thankful for the creative alliance of animators, working individually, often in isolation but nevertheless fully conscious of the role they serve as artists, creators, and, ultimately, archivists of a beautiful, yet fragmented time in our world.

Author

In his role in brand management and marketing at LAIKA for twelve years, Mark Shapiro worked on the international publicity campaigns for Coraline (2009), ParaNorman (2012), The Boxtrolls (2014), Kubo and the Two Strings (2016) and Missing Link (2019). He currently serves as an entertainment marketing consultant based in Oregon (USA).

Eduardo, congratulations on the selection of your movie “A Costume for Nicolas” for the ITFS Stuttgart “AniMovie” competition. It is a movie that has touched me deeply, and it is also a very unusual movie because the protagonist Nicolas is a child with Down syndrome. How did the idea for this movie come to be – and why did you choose to make it an animated feature?

The movie´s plot has been inspired by the children’s book “Pablo and the Coffin”. But we wanted to give it a twist by including the Down syndrome theme. We wanted to talk about this topic and share it with the audience, but we didn’t want to be obvious. So we thought of different ways to tell our story by placing this topic in conversations. Animation allows you to tell any story and bring it to a wider audience. All the fantasy in Nicolas’ world was created based on the message we wanted to tell. On that basis, we have built the other characters, designed the look of the movie, and looked for our actor to play Nicolas
The movie beautifully plays on the children’s contrasting characters and on the special imagination of Nicolas.

Was it a difficult process for you to immerse yourself into Nicolas’ world and to make it come alive?

Every movie is a challenge because you face things that you have not done before. To make this movie, we visited some schools for children with Down syndrome. We learned a lot about them. About their treatments, their capabilities and their limitations. We discovered that children are much more capable than we think. And we believed in that so much, that we decided that one of them, Fran Fernandez, would play Nicolas. Meeting Fran and talking to her psychologist and her teacher helped us a lot in rewriting our script and doing it better.

I think that gave authenticity to the film and our message.

As a producer of course I am also interested in the question if it was difficult to finance such a film. You are not the producer, but as the director you must have followed this process, too. Can you tell us something about the funding and financing partners? Do you have a broadcaster on board?

My friend and producer, Miguel Ángel Uriegas, did the titanic job of searching for and getting the resources to be able to make this movie. In Mexico there is FIDECINE. It is a government institution intended to support the film industry. They receive hundreds of projects every year, but only two scripts receive funding because resources are limited. We were fortunate they found our story interesting and decided to give us support and resources. The budget was supplemented with private investment and the collaboration of other animation studios: Peek Paax Animation and Mokiki Studios.

To be honest, I don’t know the Mexican animation industry very well. I do know the movie “The Angel in the Clock” however, on which you worked as Animation Director. Could you tell us a little more about the current situation of animation in your country?

As an industry, we are growing but very slowly. The important thing is there are many Mexican studios working in different areas. Some work for foreign TV shows, others work in the development of short films; some make films with the objective of having commercial success, and others seek artistic satisfaction. All this allows us to grow and have more versatile and better artists. However, we always have the problem of brain drain. Not all studios can be constant because budgets are very limited. Our studio, Fotosintesis Media, has been very lucky to have artistic and commercial success.

How does it feel that your movie’s European premiere can take place only online due to the current situation with the Corona pandemic?

The most important thing at this moment for all us is to take care of our life and health. About the premiere of “Nicolas” – what interests us is that the movie is seen by people. We want the message to reach the hearts of people in one way or another. I believe the situation we are experiencing is going to change our way of thinking and we will become more conscientious people. I think this is a great opportunity for a movie like “A Costume for Nicolas” to touch people’s hearts. Finally, our movie talks about love and acceptance. It is a universal message.

I wish you and your movie a lot of success and would be delighted if one day we could meet in person!

Thank you! My greatest wish is that the people who watch the movie will have fun, be moved and take a moment to think.

I am sure we will meet soon! Much success for the Festival!
Your friend, Eduardo Rivero

Author

Grit Wiskirchen

“A Costume for Nicolas” is available at OnlineFestival+.

The good news first – animation production is enjoying good health, there are barely any reports on production stops, postponements or cancellations. This is quite different from the situation of its filmic siblings: live action, documentary, daily soap, and series formats are momentarily hard struck and laid low. Those colleagues who can continue to produce are being looked at with some envy by others. In times of social distance, however, they no longer share an office or a studio but are relocated to home offices, where they can carry on working via pipeline access on their computers. Thanks to Zoom, Skype, Team etc. conferences and meetings can be conducted online. So what has changed, apart from it no longer being possible to quickly and unofficially solve questions and problems with one’s colleagues? “Processes take longer”, producers say. Besides, online meetings are perceived as being arduous, and in front of the screen attention spans seem to be shorter as in face-to-face meetings. To deal with this new form of meeting culture is a learning process. It is amazing how much can be done digitally, but we also realise why the personal and human factors are so important in our creative industry. The film industry is a people‘s business.

And here the news that are not so good. Naturally, animation production has difficulties to grapple with, too. “Financing is presently getting harder”, so we hear from the industry. Money is getting scarcer; decision processes are slowing down. Important financing partners such as cinema distributors do not know when their next film release will take place, campaigns are on hold. Not a good time to invest in new projects. Some broadcasters have similar reservations; while currently seeing record ratings, they are struggling with dwindling advertising revenues. Film funding institutions continue to work, but during and after the crisis funds might have to be distributed differently, as a safety net for the film industry. For that matter: in Germany, animation has been somewhat neglected with regard to funding so far. Proportionally, less funding goes to the development and production of animated films, although they are a German export success. It is doubtful if more money will be available for them after the crisis. Also, even before COVID-19 has the film industry been part of a global, digital paradigm shift and in the beginnings of a phase of consolidation. Now, the virus serves to accelerate matters further. What will our sales markets look like after the crisis has been overcome? Will the reception of films change? Will audiences return to the cinemas; will the increased, record-breaking film consumption on streaming platforms persist? Word about the – at first glance – apparent well-being of the animation industry gets around, so that the WGA – Writers Guild of America has recently advised its members to switch to animation, as colleagues there were not as badly affected by the crisis. Apart from a lack of collegiality, this call also indicates a high level of ignorance while being reminiscent of modern-day robber barons. The hubris of believing that any screenwriter could, per se, write good animation plots is appallingly arrogant. With feverish panic, people turn to where no shutdown is apparent. One wonders how long the WGA assumes productions are stopped for if they give their members such strange advice. “Take animation scripts instead of chlorine bleach against corona and in a few years, you’ll be healed”?

The right approach would be to cope with the crisis together and resolve past antagonisms. Perhaps the moment has come to explore new business segments and possibilities of closer cooperation between live action and animation. Because in the end, we are all united in our love for good stories and the medium of film.

Photo: Meetings in the studio in times before Corona
© Eagle Eye Studio

Author

Silke Wilfinger (SilkWayFilms, Munich)