Tale of Tales

Using a mix of puppet, cutout, and cell animation, Yuri Norstein made in Tale of Tales a heartbreaking, tenderly poetic meditation on Russian history as well as one of the most stunningly beautiful animated films ever. Very hard to get, but don't miss a chance to see this film.

Not much to add really to what's already been said before, and so well too. Tale of Tales is one of the finest Soviet animations ever made alongside Hedgehog in the Fog, and one of the most powerful and poignant of the entire animation medium too. The visuals are really striking, atmospherically coloured and impeccably detailed, several of the images are enough to stay with you forever and the symbolic ones are really quite meaningful. Tale of Tales is scored wonderfully too, all of it fits with the visuals like strawberries and cream whether ethereally beautiful in the retrospective moments or hauntingly rousing in the war/battle images. The story and atmosphere are rendered adeptly, the story is structured into three sections, each of them is firmly focused and full of emotional impact and they follow and overlap one another with no signs of jarring or clumsiness. The retrospective moments are nostalgic and poignant, the middle section is just gut-wrenching and the idealism of the final section shows some hope, contrasting beautifully with what's been seen before. Tale of Tales is well-paced, it allows the visuals to breathe and resonate nor does it descend into tedium, and the powerful, affecting and nostalgic atmosphere is incredibly well-done. To conclude, a fine example of a Soviet animation masterpiece and one of the finest examples too. 10/10 Bethany Cox

The human memory does not operate in a straightforward, linear manner. We do not remember events in neat chronological order, nor do we always immediately understand the meaning behind what we are seeing. Our memories are a jumble of seemingly-random but ultimately connected images, sporadically jumping between remembered places and moments, associations triggered by the repeated appearance of deceptively mundane but eerily familiar objects. There is much to be learned from exploring the unfathomable depths of the mind, and Russian animator Yuriy Norshteyn's 'Tale of Tales' strives to do exactly that.

In 1984, in an event held in conjunction with the Los Angeles Olympics, the Animation Olympiad jury attempted to recognise the single greatest animated film of all time. Despite a wealth of worthy candidates, one film was ultimately crowned with the grand title: that film, of course, was 'Tale of Tales.' Two decades later, at the 2002 Zagreb World Festival of Animated Films, the same film was honoured with the same prestigious title, confirming beyond doubt that time has done nothing to dampen its beauty. Norshteyn's masterpiece is a triumph of stunning animation, ambient sound and a stirring classical score. Despite being held in such high regard by so many animation experts, I was surprised to discover how rare and under-seen this film actually is. Only via the internet was I able to watch it, and my hearing about it in the first place can be put down to blind luck. Needless to say, I am infinitely grateful that I did stumble upon the film one day.

'Tales of Tales' is comprised of a number of related sequences, which are interspersed within each other. The film uses several recurring characters, most notably the poet, the little girl playing jump-rope with the disheartened bull, the young boy feeding apples to the crows, the dancers and the soldiers, the suckling baby and, of course, the little grey wolf (voiced by Aleksandr Kalyagin). The meanings behind the film's poignant images are somewhat beyond words, and, even if you have absolutely no desire to try and decipher the rich symbolism, you can still simply sit back and take in the awesome beauty. The sequences involving the dancers are most certainly an allegory for Russia's involvement in World War Two. The vanishing male dance partners, replaced by hooded Grim Reapers who retreat solemnly into the distance, highlight the enormous human losses the Soviet Union suffered on the Eastern Front.

The original title of the short, 'The Little Grey Wolf Will Come,' was derived from a traditional Russian lullaby, which is featured in the film in both instrumental and vocal form: "Baby, baby, rock-a-bye / On the edge you mustn't lie / Or the little grey wolf will come / And will nip you on the tum / Tug you off into the wood / Underneath the willow-root." This title, however, was ultimately rejected by the Soviet censors, and Norshteyn was forced to choose another one. He eventually decided upon 'Tale of Tales,' the title of a poem by Turkish poet Nazim Hikmet, of which the director had been a fan since 1962: "We stand above the water - sun, cat, plane tree (platanus tree), me / and our destiny. / The water is cool, / The plane tree is tall, / The sun is shining, / The cat is dozing, / I write verses. / Thank God, we live!" The film employs an original music score by Mikhail Meyerovich, supplementing his contributions with the classic works of Bach, Mozart and the World War Two era tango, 'Weary Sun,' written by Jerzy Petersburski.

Curiously, 'Tale of Tales' – completed in 1979 – is the most recent film directed by Yuriy Norshteyn. This, however, does not mean that he has not been working hard. Ever since 1981, the director has dedicated most of his time to producing 'Shinel / The Overcoat,' his 60-minute labour of love, adapted from Nikolai Gogol's short story of the same name. Throughout a production period plagued with interruptions and financial difficulties, Norshteyn's ardent perfectionism has earned him the nickname, "The Golden Snail." A release date for 'The Overcoat' is currently uncertain, but, if the magnificent 'Tale of Tales' is anything to go by, we are all in for a treat!

I must discuss the Russian Yuri Norstein's stunning "Tale of Tales". Like the films of another great Russian filmmaker, Andrei Tarkovsky, this film is about memory and nostalgia. The uses of various techniques of animation, primarily cutouts, not only let us see Norstein's memories, but also help illustrate their dream-like qualities. There are events in this film that, taken literally, could not have happened. However Norstein represents these memories metaphorically, thereby making their emotional impact greater than were he to simply illustrate his memories in a straight forward narrative.

There are a couple of moments that reflect the above-mentioned statement that I feel I must include in this entry. I loved the scene where the little boy is standing in the snow eating an apple , looking up at some crows on a tree branch. The boy then appears on the branch, buddies up with the crows and shares his apple with them. This is a great, moving, but non-sentimental image that lets us feel the child's desire for friendship. Just after that, his father, whose Napoleon hat identifies him as a tyrant, yanks him out of his daydream. The little boy at first struggles, but then a little Napoleon hat appears on his head and he marches in file behind his dad. This scene reminded me of the Disney WWII era short "Education for Death", in that it also is about childhood innocence being destroyed by adults conditioning their behavior. But where "Education." was a didactic propaganda tool, "Tale of Tales" simply shows how sad and unfortunate it is for adults to do that to children, and illustrates it in such a poetic way.

This would be the ultimate 3D film experience. I wanted to see this again as preparation for Tarkovsky's "Nostalghia" (1983), which I've long regarded as one of the most amazing films ever made. This, I think, exhibits the same kind of existential meta-melancholy that's somehow deeply rooted in the fabric of the creative process depicted by many of the Russian artists; then, as noted, this has an amazingly perceptive visual eye making it more than a fitting prelude.

It's like entering an infant's dream. Everything is new, nothing is named. What we see is emotion. Color as emotion, motion as emotion, character as emotion. The layered images are stunning, and the eye moves restlessly, zooming in and out on objects and is at times perplexingly active as if it didn't know where it was going, and at times hesitantly passive.

Dreams of a dreamed up being, the maroon light swallowing the thin silhouette-like figures. The minotaur-like figure jumping rope. The wolf, alone in the forest at the fire, taken in by the mysterious light (a sure influence on Polanski and his The Ninth Gate [1999]). This must've been a great influence on Chomet, as well.

This is on par with and in my estimation exceeds "L'Homme qui plantait as arbres" (1988), and a very worthy companion for the best of the Quay Brothers as short animation that reshapes how we see and think, and most importantly, how we dream.