Peur(s) du noir

This compilation of short animated films in one movie begins with the narrator stating their deepest fears from a various places. Shot mostly in black and white with animation, the film can be dark, funny, evil, and thought-provoking at times but it lacks connection to the relations with the other short films. While I enjoyed the college student's romance with a troubled college girl, I wanted to find out more. Then there is the girl afraid of the samurai in Japan. The boy whose friends and uncle go missing and a crocodile in the mix. I don't have a favorite at the moment. They all seem to be both chilling, dark, and even light at times. I do find this film interesting for the most part. The six different directors and their visions of fear taking over is quite a unique premise but there are some issues regarding translation and connecting them all together like a giant puzzle that hurts the film.

After seeing Fear(s) of The Dark I think I can safely say I was as, or more, affected than I have ever been after watching a film. Not since the horrific denouement of Haneke's original Funny Games do I think I have even come close to being as physically shook up as I was after seeing this film. A collaboration between six graphic artists and animators, I suppose if it must be distilled into the crudest possible collision of reference points it could be summarised as Stephen King meets Waking Life (Richard Linklater's 2001 film composed of rotoscope animation vignettes) yet that doesn't come anywhere close.

The artists who have visualised nightmares for this project are Philadelphia native Charles Burns, ubiquitous to graphic novel fans due to his masterly disturbing book Black Hole; former Liquid Liquid bassist Richard McGuire; Belgian resident Marie Caillou; Christian Hinckler (better known by his pseudonym Blutch), and Italian Lorenzo Mattotti. Interspersing these animated tales are kaleidoscopic dancing patterns which are, through their hypnotic abstractions, perhaps the most visually mesmerising sequences in the whole film. These patterns are set to the vacuous middle-class fears and worries of a bourgeois woman, and the insubstantiality of her worries sets a theme which extends throughout the film. None of the fears represented in any of the narrative threads are viable. They are all tales of terror which one wouldn't have been surprised to find lurking in a battered Goosebumps paperback in the late nineties. This doesn't matter, though, because the film's power lies in its incredibly paced orchestrations of image and sound.

After a joyously Gothic title sequence in which the film's name flashes on the screen at least five times (in a barrage of words reminiscent of Godard at his most poetically despotic) we are presented with an introduction to Blutch's storyline, which extends throughout the film. A hellish figure dressed in the clothes of a 18th century dandy roams a barren landscape with a pack of ferocious canines, hunting down unsuspecting victims and then proceeding to violently rip them apart (the last of which is a remarkably gory sequence). Ironically, considering the content of these scenes, Blutch's animation style is most reminiscent of either Raymond Briggs (In the constant shimmering of his charcoal textures) or the Walt Disney studios house style (In the fluidity of his characters' movements).

Charles Burns and Lorenzo Mattotti present two sequences which are most reminiscent of scary bed-time stories, both being narrated in first-person. Visually, though, they couldn't be more different. Charles Burns' is, as you might imagine, the most like a moving graphic novel. The art is unmistakeably his, very clean-cut black lines without any grey, and the pictures tell the story of a conscientious student who embarks on a love affair with a girl which descends into an insectoid hell in a methodical, coherent style. Mattotti, on the other hand, tells the story of an eerie beast terrorising a small pastoral community in a free-and-easy sketchy style, with images that swim in and out of view like a dream.

This is not the best representation of a bad dream within the film, though. That accolade goes to Marie Caillou, who presents to us an Oriental phantasm. A macabre inversion of a Studio Ghibli fantasy which gets more surreal as it proceeds, a young girl is tormented by dangers both real and imaginary. Not since The Mystery Man talked to Bill Pullman at the party in Lost Highway has a nightmare been so well orated on screen and it had a large majority of the audience locked in a collective terror.

While Caillou's segment had an undeniable effect on the viewers, the last sequence, by Richard McGuire, is perhaps the most powerful of them all. Employing nothing but block black-and-white shapes to tell the story of a man who is haunted in a house by a mysterious woman, for the most part of his segment he eschews all non-diegetic music. The audience is thereby made extremely sensitive to every single movement made by the objects on screen and so the slightest motion, such as a hat-box dropping to the floor, causes the heart to skip a beat.

Peur(s) du Noir is essentially 5 short black and white animations interspersed by segments of a woman droning on about her fears, illustrated with interesting animated black and white shapes (I should note, I watched the film in French, and as my French is not perfect, I did not catch everything she said, but got the general impression that she was your typical anxious overachieving yuppie).

The five shorts all used different animation techniques, but were overall pleasingly creepy. There was a cruel aristocrat and his dogs, an Italian village ravaged by a mysterious beast, a budding scientist and his insect specimens, a Japanese girl bullied by classmates/ghosts, and a refugee from a snowstorm shacked up in a Victorian house. This final short was, I thought, the most effective. It was done in pure black and white, and the only light shed in the house (with wonderfully Goreyesque wallpaper) came from a candle the traveller carried with him in his explorations. This allowed for some great reveal moments, and additionally built up the tension extremely well.

Overall, a must see for fans of art-house animation. If it comes to a cinema near you, take the opportunity to see it, because I suspect it will be difficult to find on DVD.

"Fear(s) of the Dark" is amazing, with its intriguing visuals and stories. It ranks as one of the greatest non-Disney animated films I've ever seen, like "Persepolis" and "Grave of the Fireflies". I'm also fond of the theme music. It's as memorable as (dare I say) the theme from "Psycho".

The film is an anthology of six horror-like stories; two of them briefly play in-between the other four, as if to sort of introduce you to what you're about to see. One of the intros takes place sometime in the 17th or 18th century, with a mysterious villain walking around with ferocious dogs on leashes. Four of them, just like the stories. With this story's grim animation, and a somewhat disturbing ending, it's perhaps my favourite out of all the stories. Blutch, the animator, also gave the villain an evil face that's hard to forget.

I won't write much about the four stories, themselves, but in keeping with the dark atmosphere of the film, they're about demonic possessions, outcasts, death, and exploring the unknown. Each has a different style of animation, and whilst it looks fairly simplistic, overall, it's still enjoyable to watch.

Even though the film is not about making the viewer jump out of their seat with scares, I have to say there were a couple of times where I felt like it. That rarely happens to me when I watch other obvious horror films in recent memory, like "Quarantine" or "My Bloody Valentine 3D". (No bashing involved.)

If there's one complaint I have about "Fear(s) of the Dark", it's that the English subtitles are white, on a black and white film! Wouldn't it be common sense to have them with black outlines, so they don't blend in when the screen is white? I *was* able to make out most of the dialogue, but it was still annoying. Be warned, on that part.

Actually, another little complaint is that a couple of stories could've been longer, because they didn't feel like they were finished. The film's running time is only 85 minutes, so why not? Well, maybe I'm expecting too much from the filmmakers. I dunno.

"Fear(s) of the Dark" is a near-masterpiece. For an anthology film, it didn't feel uneven. The stories all flowed nicely together. If the subtitles are fixed for the DVD, then it's a keeper.

Macabre anthology Fear(s) Of The Dark showcases the animated work of several international designers, comic book artists, and illustrators, all working within the confines of a black-and-white palette.

The first tale, instantly recognisable as the work of celebrated illustrator Charles Burns, tells of an introverted young man who overcomes his shyness to romance classmate Laura, only for his new girlfriend to become host to a freaky mantis-like insect that alters her personality. Burns' unmistakable bold graphic style is brought to life with the use of 3D computer animation.

Next up is Marie Caillou's anime-style ghost story that sees a young Japanese girl repeatedly sedated so that she can finish a freaky dream in which she is menaced by the spirit of a samurai and several Yōkai monsters.

Story number three, by Lorenzo Mattottifrom, revolves around a small French town that is plagued by a mysterious man-eating creature which lurks in the marshes.

Richard McGuire makes excellent use of high contrast light and shadows for the final chapter, which features a traveller seeking refuge from a blizzard in an abandoned house where he is haunted by the ghosts of the previous occupant.

As a fan of bizarre movies, comic art, anthologies and animation, I was quite excited to see this weird little film, but other than demonstrating an interesting range of creative styles and techniques, I wasn't particularly impressed: the wholly unrelated segments are atmospheric but lack narrative cohesion, a severe case of style over substance. A framing narrative, in which a creepy man unleashes his vicious hounds on a series of unfortunate innocent victims has no bearing at all on the tales it bookends, while a pretentious narrator who philosophises between tales as abstract shapes morph before our eyes only serves to bore and irritate.