Tall Tales, the audiovisual collaboration between Thom Yorke, Mark Pritchard, and Jonathan Zawada, is not just a film - it's an experience. At once meditative, abstract, and emotionally resonant, this 52-minute journey defies traditional structure in favor of something far more immersive and evocative. It's the kind of art that seeps into your subconscious and lingers for days, demanding reflection.
Premiered for one night only, Tall Tales is a visual album in the truest sense. Each of its twelve segments flows into the next, marrying Yorke and Pritchard's haunting sonic landscapes with Zawada's surreal, often dystopian digital imagery. The result is a hypnotic dreamscape that speaks to themes of isolation, environmental decay, technological alienation, and the fragility of human existence - without a single word of dialogue.
Yorke's music has always thrived on unease, and here, his vocals are more like ghostly echoes - fragmented and buried beneath layers of glitchy textures, ambient washes, and sparse rhythmic pulses. Mark Pritchard's production is nothing short of masterful, guiding the soundscape from delicate ambient passages to dark, pulsing electronic sequences with effortless cohesion. The sonic palette is rich, dynamic, and deeply emotional, even when it's minimal. In many ways, this feels like the logical continuation of Yorke's solo work (Anima comes to mind), but darker, more experimental, and less tethered to traditional song structure.
Visually, Tall Tales is breathtaking. Jonathan Zawada creates entire worlds with a unique digital aesthetic - somewhere between a futuristic simulation and a decaying VR dream. Each vignette introduces a new setting: endless deserts, underwater cities, barren wastelands, glitching humanoid figures. The color palettes are often muted and cold, punctuated by bursts of vivid surrealism. There's a haunting beauty to the emptiness of it all, as if the viewer is exploring the ruins of a world that once was.
What makes Tall Tales so effective is its ability to evoke emotion without relying on narrative or characters. It works like a memory or a feeling you can't quite name - melancholic, yet calming; desolate, yet beautiful. There's a certain comfort in its strangeness, a reminder that art can move us even when we don't fully understand it.
It's also worth noting how immersive the theatrical experience was. Seeing this on a cinema screen, with a proper sound system, was transformative. The spatial audio mixes wrapped around the audience like a blanket of sound, and the visuals, projected at full scale, felt overwhelming in the best possible way. It was less like watching a movie and more like being transported to another dimension.
Tall Tales is not for everyone. Those expecting a conventional story or even a linear structure may come away confused or underwhelmed. But for those open to abstraction, this is a rare and rewarding gem. It's the kind of art that encourages stillness, contemplation, and feeling - something increasingly rare in our overstimulated world.
In an age dominated by endless content and short attention spans, Tall Tales dares to slow down and let silence, sound, and space speak for themselves. It is uncompromising in its vision, haunting in its execution, and utterly unforgettable.
