 Gabriel Ponniah, Editor In Chief "The ArchAngel of Austin" Austin Alternative Screen Scene Animalis Fabula is taken from the latin for “animal story”
Over the American Thanksgiving weekend of 2021, The World Animal Awareness Society and WA2S Films put on a show for Austin, TX. The Animalis Fabula Film Festival, a celebration of “the best filmed stories about or including animals,” screened dozens of films over the course of three days at the Galaxy Theatre. A diverse mix of shorts and features, animation and live action, narrative and doc, the breadth of approach of the festival fare was matched only by the equally diverse origins of their productions, including work submitted from South Korea, France, New Zealand, Croatia—the list goes on. At the festival’s conclusion, awards were presented to the cream of the crop, and audience members (myself included) left the event with three days worth of knowledge and inspiration in tow. But who am I? A fair question that I’m happy to answer. My name is Gabriel Ponniah, and I had the privilege of serving as #AniFab’s resident critic this year. Some of you reading this may remember me from the festival, lurking in the lower rows, notebook at the ready. I even had the privilege of speaking with many filmmakers in attendance, and I hope that those wonderful conversations will shine through in the reviews to come. But fear not, if you missed out on this year’s festivities, for it’s now my job to review the experience on the whole for both attendee and absentee alike. And who knows—maybe I’ll see a few more of your smiling faces when next we come together to watch more animal stories. Enjoy. Gabriel Ponniah, Editor In Chief "The ArchAngel of Austin" ATX Screen Scene  Filed By: Gabriel Ponniah, Editor In Chief ATX Screen Scene The Covid-19 Pandemic has irrevocably shifted the way in which we engage with media, whether by accelerating existing trends towards insular binging of streamed content or creating novel release windows for theatrical films. One such instance of the former was exemplified by the Netflix documentary Tiger King, which relied upon wild characters and shock value to saturate a market of viewers cooped up inside, trading the coronavirus for a worsening case of cabin fever. It’s fair to say that most people “like animals,” and content like Tiger King caters to those well-meaning individuals who turn up for big cats on screen, even if they’re ignorant of the difference between environmentally conscious and environmentally exploitative programming. Growing up, Tim Harrison was one such fan of these animal stories, as he explains as the subject of Mike Webber’s documentary feature The Conservation Game. AniFab 2021 showcased a wide breadth of work from different filmmakers of different backgrounds at different stages in their creative journeys, but one project loomed large over the whole ordeal—and for good reason. The Conservation Game is a grown-up, no-nonsense docu-exposé of the highest order, succeeding where Tiger King failed at introducing its viewership to the corrupt and cruel world of the exotic animal trade without forgetting who its real victims are. Webber, an accomplished, veteran filmmaker whose credits extend back some 30 years and reach as far up the distribution food chain as 20th Century Fox and Lionsgate, finds a personal angle to this story in the form of Harrison’s childhood idol Jack Hanna. As he dives headlong into his investigation, he shows the way forward for anyone out there whose love for animals led them to inadvertently support systems which treat those same animals so inhumanely, a group I count myself among. The spirit of investigative journalism on display here sets The Conservation Game apart from its contemporaries. While there’s much to praise with regards to the film’s fleet-footed writing and editing, helping viewers effortlessly navigate dense material without losing engagement, the highest highs spur from its subjects’ driving passion in pursuit of their righteous cause. It’s exhilarating to watch Harrison and company do battle, strategizing in litigation meetings or face-to-face with their adversaries during covert confrontations. There was no shortage of fist-pumping cheers in the theatre when Jeff Kremer, Facebook-tiger-photo-fingerprint-finder extraordinaire, accepted the challenge ahead. The Conservation Game skillfully leverages every available tool at the filmmakers’ disposal in service of their agenda. Webber and company shoot staged reenactments of events to illustrate their process. He guides the audience with recognizable tropes like the familiar pin board and twine. Are these elements manipulative? In short: yes, but this approach is more value-neutral than it may appear on the surface. All films have a perspective—an agenda—and the crime is not in promoting such, but rather in doing so in service of harm, doing so in a confusing manner or with insufficient factual support, or not doing so at all, thereby leaving the audience adrift with no life preserver. Any deception that Webber and his team pull here is good-faith argumentation and advances a demonstrably virtuous cause. What’s more: the film makes clear statements of intent with regards to action steps, improving its potential efficacy tremendously. Aside from the straight facts of the narrative, aside from the fingerprints of capitalism that underpin the greed and corruption here shown, the most salient theme I found in The Conservation Game was the notion of challenging one’s heroes. Harrison undergoes a transformation of sorts in the film, having idolized Jack Hanna as a young man, but now having learned all he’s learned, he has to come to terms with the fact that a hero of his childhood was at-best complicit and at-worst actively profiteering off corruption and inhumanity that runs directly counter to his message of inspiration. There’s plenty of this to go around in environmentalism, and in liberal spaces at-large; if you’re conscious of social issues, odds are you’ve been burned once or twice by a high-profile hero who puts their foot squarely into those issues. It’s a hard thing to divest oneself from a figure who represents such positive inspiration after learning of their dubious underbelly, and there’s an honest conversation to be had about the net effects of doing so. Festivalgoers discussed such with regards to the sainted Irwin family—in hushed tones, so as to not incur their wrath (or their fans’). It’s a dangerous game, accountability. The Big Cat Public Safety Act has passed the House of Representatives, and in a move of authentic activism, Webber and company made The Conservation Game widely available online in the hopes of ginning up support as it heads to the Senate. As of writing, it has not yet received a vote. But that shouldn’t indicate a lack of interest, nor of importance, of the issue. While Tiger King 2 didn’t have the same cultural impact of its predecessor, Kate McKinnon’s role in Joe vs. Carole indicates this issue is very much on the minds of audiences in 2022. They would be well-served to see the substance behind the drama, and I can think of no better way to do that than by seeing The Conservation Game. No excuses now.
  Filed By: Gabriel Ponniah, Editor In Chief ATX Screen Scene There’s something going on in Korea. For the last few decades, the US has slowly integrated Asian fare into its media diet. Japanese anime has nearly outgrown its status as fringe-interest among American audiences, and the otaku of the States surely now rival Japan’s in number. South Korea, meanwhile, has contributed the well-documented Korean Wave phenomenon. The global popularity of Korean media—K-pop, K-dramas, Korean cinema—has increased significantly since the 1990s. From “Gangnam Style” to BTS, from Parasite to Squid Game, the force of the K Wave is felt even at the highest echelons of western culture. Enter: PotenDogs. This project comes to AniFab by way of director Dahl Lee, whose past such credits stretch back over 20 years. Lee is clearly adept in the short episodic space, having created literally hundreds of bite-sized episodes across a handful of shows. Even PotenDogs, submitted as a 134 minute feature, is described on the project’s website as 36 episodes at 7 minutes apiece. Understanding the project’s origins proves helpful in evaluating where it succeeds as well as where it falls short. PotenDogs builds a vibrant fantasy world grounded in contemporary struggles. In combining elements of Planet of the Apes and Black Panther, the filmmakers introduce us to our articulate canine heroes, Podognet, as well as their resentful counterparts, Goldfang. The former work towards peace between dogs and humans, while the latter takes the ‘Killmonger’ approach, vowing revenge for centuries of mistreatment, even keeping humans as animals in a role-reversal reminiscent of the 1968 sci-fi classic. Years of experience yield a polish that outshines most of its festival competitors, as the fluid animation, sprawling cast of characters, and sizable runtime make for a fully realized product. Years of Korean citizenship, too, contribute heavily to PotenDogs’ themes. The marginalization of dogs in Korean culture is the primary subject of the project’s scrutiny, but classism—the bread and butter of favorite son Bong Joon-ho—receives a similar treatment. Whether allegorically between the human and canine characters, or directly in the disparity between humans of differing backgrounds, the poisons of pronounced economic stratification seep into the minds of South Korean artists and American audiences alike. The context of PotenDogs’ production, however, goes both ways. The same animated serial experience that creates its workmanlike sheen works against the project as a film. It’s ambition is epic, but at times it tends to overreach. For example, the musical component, while well executed in individual moments, feels out of place for a story like this, leading to some awkward diegetic confusion. An overreliance on defecation humor seems in bad taste—no matter the intended audience. Pacing and structural issues rear their heads. The stakes have a television sense about them and fail to escalate at a rate required of an engaging three-act story. While on the micro scale, the animators have a clear knack for character, building subtext through mannerisms and action as well as detail-oriented set-piece design, on the macro, the movie feels its length. At more than two hours, it was the longest film to screen at AniFab. But these certainly didn’t dissuade festival-goers nor the AniFab jury, as PotenDogs received honors for Outstanding Achievement in Animation, as well as Direction in Animation for Dahl Lee. Lee’s acceptance speech, which he recorded ahead of time to be played at the awards ceremony, was among the emotional highlights of the festival experience. He used his time to detail the struggle he and his fellow filmmakers have faced in distributing PotenDogs, citing the alleged anti-human messaging as the grounds on which the South Korean government has sought to stifle their film. The speech resonantes with the dark side of the Korean Wave—a state mandated cultural machine which subjects artists to draconian restrictions and carefully culls the Korean image from a wider base of content, selecting only that which serves the state interest and discarding the rest. Something’s going on in Korea, but it’s in the West where that something might proliferate.
 Filed By: Gabriel Ponniah, Editor In Chief ATX Screen Scene From Japan comes the artistic medium of Emakimono: a narrative painting rendered in inked images and calligraphy across a long, horizontal scroll. As far back as the 8th century, artists told beautiful tales on silk handscrolls, sometimes looking to nature for inspiration. It’s one such scroll from the late-12th to-early-13th century which inspired veteran animator and Academy Award Nominee Koji Yamamura as he created this nursery rhyme, Polar Bear Bears Boredom. The film consists of a single shot, slowly scrolling across a marine landscape. Along the way, the rhyme introduces us to a fine stable of creatures and their distinguishing, often alliterative traits: the whale is wonderful, the seal is sleepy, the manatee and mama-bear marry again—and so on. The inspiration for the piece bears the title “Bird and Beast Character Caricature,” and Yamamura’s playful descriptors here connect with the caricature tradition of the late Heian and early Kamakura periods. Underscoring the film’s oceanographic journey is a jaunty tune featuring a lively group reading of the central poem. It’s a delightful concept which possesses the subtle intricacy of rhyming in both English and Japanese. The seven minute short unfurls with all the languid energy of its titular character, content to delight in the stylized ocean world, allowing the animators’ craftsmanship room to breathe. While it’s perfectly suited to engage the imagination and senses of young children, the project’s culturally resonant execution is enough to capture the interest of more mature viewers as well.
 Filed By: Gabriel Ponniah, Editor In Chief ATX Screen Scene Continuing to work its way around the globe, the #AniFab repertoire arrives in the middle east with this submission from Israel. My Invisible Friend playfully depicts a dog on a journey to rescue his burnt-out owner from his boss. Along the way, it intersects with concepts like labor, exploitation, class, and media, but never allows itself to get bogged down in dissecting these, preferring instead to tell a simple, heartfelt story. While the simplicity of the story and emotional beats works to endear the audience to the project, the pacing leaves something to be desired. This could certainly be a result of technological constraints, or the skill and capacity of the animation, but the result is the same. Several beats linger too long, well past the point at which the audience understands the point and begins to feel understimulated. Perhaps expanding the story while streamlining the plot would not only make for a more robust storytelling experience, but allow the film to build to a more resounding conclusion. In My Invisible Friend, we see the importance of animal companions as defense against the harshness and injustice of life. The title, of course, plays on the dog’s surreptitious journey to its owner, but also comments on the way in which our pets are always with us, whether we can see them or not. There are good bones to this story, even if it doesn’t quite meet its potential in execution.
 Filed By: Gabriel Ponniah, Editor In Chief ATX Screen Scene The adversarial relationship between humans and their animal counterparts is integral to the more hard-hitting, investigative pieces at AniFab, but never is it quite so fun as in the animated short Neighcromancy. The film is a two-hander, pitting its driven, champion jockey against an overworked, dead racehorse whose eternal sleep is made none too restful when its tormentor resurrects it for another race. The film is representative of the exploitation of animals. The cruel, arrogant jockey who defies the natural order for personal gain, is ultimately rendered impotent by the horse, who throws off the shackles of its oppressor en route to freedom. It’s a wish for justice, where in reality, the story more often ends where Neighcromancy begins: with the dearly departed worker having been run directly into the ground by the boss. Horses, given their prevalence as beasts of burden throughout human history, make for a particularly ripe metaphor, as any fans of 2018’s Sorry to Bother You know well. It shouldn’t surprise audiences mired in the effects of late-stage capitalism to encounter media in which even death is no respite from the inherently exploitative 9-to-5. Cloak that struggle in a horseracing metaphor, judiciously apply delightful tropes and exaggerated visual language, and the result is an entertaining animated short with a message to boot.
 Filed By: Gabriel Ponniah, Editor In Chief ATX Screen Scene Conventional wisdom would have us believe that dogs are man’s best friend, but the documentary film Cat Daddies disagrees. As viewers are introduced to various men from different regions and walks of life, all united by an uncommon love for their feline friends, they run the gamut of emotions from laughter to tears. But the true genius of the film lies in that while executing these individual stories with sentimental precision, the doc still manages to comment on an underlying social phenomenon: the conflict between the semiotics of cat ownership and hegemonic masculinity. The film follows a sprawling cast of characters: an eligible bachelor influencer who chose his cat over his love life, a station of brawny firemen who dote on the local firehouse feline, an honest-to-god cross country trucker and his stylish road trip companion, a stuntman and his wingman (wingcat?), an unhoused undocumented immigrant and his lucky lifeline—the list goes on. What’s remarkable here is the dichotomy between the ostensible “manliness” of the subjects and the unexpectedness of their tender relationship with their cats. How does the archetype of a traditionally masculine firefighter or truck driver jive with the crazy-cat-lady connotations of fathering a feline? Or in other cases, how does someone whose livelihood is built around presenting an image of strength, i.e. an influencer or stuntman, reconcile his love for his cat with his job and personal brand? It’s these questions and more that were clearly gnawing at director Mye Hoang when she set about making this, her first documentary feature. The Dallas, TX native directed her debut narrative feature nearly a decade ago after graduating from Southern Methodist University in her hometown with a BA in Cinema, but Cat Daddies demonstrates Hoang’s ability to work effectively in either space. In a Q+A segment at AniFab, she mentioned that her experience on this project has led her to prefer documentary filmmaking to narrative. Perhaps it’s the allure of uncovering stories in the wild, or the raw truth to her subjects in Cat Daddies, but the medium afforded her no less creative input. Hoang and company originally sought out subjects on Instagram, building a cast around the idea of exploring the oddity that is male cat ownership and its social implications. Since the beginnings of internet culture, the pervasive cuteness of cats has dominated engagement, and this trend continues straight through the ubiquitous adoption of social media in the United States and abroad. Indeed, social media plays as much a role in the selection of subjects for Cat Daddies as it does in the lives of its subjects; the brand maintenance of Tora the Trucker Cat and Keys (AKA “Goal Kitty”) actively factor into the livelihoods of their owners. But beyond the economic, Cat Daddies examines the social—particularly the romantic. Several subjects mention their cats in the context of finding a partner, and some go further in suggesting that it’s precisely the ownership of the cat which attracts members of the opposite sex. In a rejection of hegemonic masculinity, the doc demonstrates that men who ignore traditional, often harmful behaviors in favor of caring for their cats (a traditionally female action directed towards a traditionally female-owned pet) possess a security about themselves that is in fact more attractive than strict adherence to the status quo. Don’t believe me? Ask Megan. As originally conceived, Cat Daddies was meant to examine this phenomenon through those two lenses: the economic and the social. But Hoang, a veteran filmmaker, remained open to the happy accidents and meandering leads that can elevate good art to great. While David and Lucky were not part of the initial vision for the film, Hoang and company discovered their story during production and pounced on it. Through David, Cat Daddies gets its emotional lynchpin. His struggle allows Hoang to comment on the inhuman way America treats its unhoused and undocumented, and demonstrates the resilience supported by animal companions in the face of a cruelly mismanaged healthcare system. Perhaps the most powerful piece of b-roll I’ve ever encountered reintroduces David’s thread midway through the film, as a young white woman, eyes glued to her device, ignorantly hoverboards past an unhoused New Yorker resting on a stone fixture, while a bright LED American flag is reflected through an adjacent window. It’s almost too perfect. It’s no surprise, then, that the emotional rollercoaster of Cat Daddies engendered tremendous audience response. Hoang faced no shortage of questions from audience members, as her film’s screenings were well-attended straight through the weekend. Cat Daddies received the AniFab award for Outstanding Achievement in Documentary Filmmaking at the festival’s conclusion, and has springboarded onto other stops on the festival circuit. It’s among my favorites of the batch. It’s smart, clean, funny, hopeful, and heartbreaking. But I could be biased—I’m a cat person after all.
  Filed By: Gabriel Ponniah, Editor In Chief ATX Screen Scene Conservation, like any cause worth advocating for, concerns what we pass onto the next generation. The ultimate goal of fighting climate change amounts to leaving a better world for our children, and for the children of our animal friends. We all share this blue planet we call home, and for the sake of our collective continued lineage, we must protect it. The Legacy makes this point by focusing on a specific cause: a father inspiring passion in his son with the help of Mexico’s whale sharks. Brimming with pathos, The Legacy devotes most of its energy towards this generational effort. Filmmaker Gerardo del Villar is obviously experienced with whale sharks, having worked closely with the animals on previous projects, and shares a cherished bond with the creatures—one which he hopes to impart onto his son. In seeking out a way to swim closely with these massive animals without contributing to the destruction of their ecosystem or risking their harm, del Villar finds a guide and dons SCUBA gear along with his son for this inspiring experience. And the shark, to its credit, inspires awe and wonder at the same time inspiring respect for the danger large animals pose to humans, and the boundaries we must heed in pursuing the beauty of nature. For all its hopefulness, The Legacy is far from perfect as a documentary. Firstly, it lacks a solid narrative throughline to justify its length, and its execution in the interview segments makes the messaging cumbersome. But even if the structure was sleek and fluid, and even if the film’s impressive visual coverage was matched by more substantive content, the high-minded idealism of The Legacy ought to be scrutinized. Del Villar, early on, waxes poetic on the value of life experiences over material wealth, an admirable hierarchy. The world, however, isn’t quite so simple, and more often than not, lack of material wealth poses a major barrier to accessing those life experiences. It would appear that del Villar and company aren’t too encumbered by this lack, given the abundance of equipment, cinematic and aquatic, the production demonstrably utilizes. What’s more troublesome is the fact that the film’s featured moment, in truth its most dramatically compelling shot, demonstrates an ignorance worrisomely reminiscent of the aforementioned experience-over-material statement. Del Villar exposes his son, a minor, to a potentially-life-threatening hazard on a documentary shoot, and had this been produced with corporate oversight, I shudder to think of the paperwork this stunt would’ve incurred, and more to think of how narrowly this innocent 20 minute short avoided tragedy. The Legacy is born of good intentions, but in his passion for nature and his love for his son, the filmmaker has missed certain considerations which prove detrimental to the integrity of his work. Perhaps such worries are negligible when dealing with family, or perhaps they’re subservient to the thrilling moments which are sure to stick with the participants as long as they live. Nevertheless, great risk and great reward constitute the value of these life experiences, and one cannot be ignored on behalf of the other.
 Filed By: Gabriel Ponniah, Editor In Chief ATX Screen Scene What do pharmaceutical companies, honeybees, and the Oakhurst neighborhood of Decatur, GA have in common? A lot more than you might initially think, according to the investigative documentary Buzzkill. In 40 minutes, the film explores the dark machinations behind a saccharine mural and a swarm of local beekeeping activists determined to expose an insidious sham. In 2016, Bayer (of Aspirin fame) sponsored and directed the crass painting-over of a community mural, arousing more than a little suspicion from local Decatur beekeepers. The move was ostensibly part of Bayer’s “Feed A Bee” initiative, aimed at raising awareness of and combatting colony collapse disorder (CCD), but for seasoned professionals such as those in Oakhurst’s beekeeping community, Bayer is understood not as a friend to bees, but an existential threat to their survival. As the environmentally conscious well know, bees provide an integral service to broad ecosystems via pollination, but when colonies mysteriously lose a precipitous number of workers, they risk collapse. This loosely-defined phenomenon has been given the umbrella name of CCD since 2006, and although such blights have occurred sporadically throughout the history of beekeeping, an alarming prominence of CCD and related colony declines since the 90s has become the chief worry among today’s apiarists. Perhaps most worrisome is the uncertainty behind the cause. Despite lack of consensus, one prominent candidate comes to mind. Buzzkill suggests that Bayer’s neonicotinoids are the culprit behind CCD. While the optics surrounding pharmaceutical companies have been disastrous of late (see: Purdue and the opioid crisis, ongoing deficiencies of the American healthcare system, etc.), this time it’s agricultural and not medical products catching ire. Bayer’s first neonicotinoid was developed in the 80s, and has since become the most widely used pesticide in the world. As links between the chemical and CCD mounted alongside EPA pressure, Bayer differed responsibility to farmers and hid behind a hollow public service announcement. And how did they cover their tracks? With paint. Seemingly in lockstep with the onslaught of CCD, Georgia has risen to prominence in American culture. The spiritual descendants of OutKast and Goodie Mob have made Atlanta into Hip-Hop’s center of gravity, capturing the cultural zeitgeist of a nation. In November 2020, Georgia’s decisive election results helped Democrats take the Presidency and Senate, redefining the geographical balance of power in American politics. Buzzkill describes Decatur and its Oakhurst neighborhood in question as activist-oriented, praising the community’s engagement, but acknowledging its drawbacks. Not unlike AniFab’s own Austin, TX, it’s a blue dot in a sea of red; and not unlike Austin, it’s easy for individual causes to get lost in a sea of activism. Nonetheless, the spirit of the community is demonstrably vigorous. In spite of a seemingly-obvious villain in Bayer, and a David of beekeepers fighting a corporate Goliath, this issue presents all manner of intersections and knots which make for a frustrating activist experience, but a rich and intriguing film. Bayer may well be killing bees, but as a Georgia Tech Ph.D (Go Yellow Jackets) states in her segment of Buzzkill, there are tradeoffs: pesticides kill bees, but they’re necessary to farmers seeking to protect crops from other insect pests which pose an existential threat to others’ food and their livelihoods. The same vigor behind the beekeeper’s cause turned to hatred and vitriol when directed at the artist who was contracted to paint the mural; she was so upset by the ordeal that she credited the mural fallout with part of her decision to move to the west coast. The increased activism in Decatur owes a debt to the area’s gentrification, as one can’t help but wonder how many Black families were pushed out of Oakhurst since the 90s to make way for these predominantly white beekeepers. Harassing the workers who, yes, shot a plastic PSA and uprooted the wildlife around the mural isn’t so much a win for accountability as it is shooting the messenger. As is often the case, these issues are intersectional, and untangling them is rarely a matter of mere common sense. Still, the effort on behalf of the bees is admirable and important, intersections be damned. While Buzzkill leaves much to be desired on the pacing and editing fronts, its arguments are strong and well-researched, and the filmmakers demonstrate their persistence as far as North Carolina. And the gains here shown are real: the Bee City USA distinction for Decatur is an example of genuine grassroots change which may only be marginal as a lone drone, but powerful indeed if proliferated as a swarm.
 Filed By: Gabriel Ponniah, Editor In Chief ATX Screen Scene It’s tempting, when thinking about the awesome force of nature, to look at the towering flora and fauna which humble and ground our place in the world, but such inspection can be equally rewarding in the opposite direction. As much as our world around us is filled with struggle and intrigue, so too are the worlds orders of magnitude smaller than our own. “MicroKansas — Tribulation” sets its sights on the fascinating goings on of the Great Plains ecosystem, focusing on the drama unfolding right outside your door. The macro photography on display here is wonderful, offering unique views of insects, small reptiles and amphibians, and the like. But make no mistake—the crowning achievement of this film is the remarkable opera of the garter snake and its defiant meal of choice. Not unlike the famous chase sequence as an iguana attempts to outrun a nest of vipers in Blue Planet II, this showcase of a frog escaping what appears to be a slow and certain demise in the belly of this snake is riveting. It’s the kind of material that inspires a hearty fist-pump at the word “cut!” The four-and-a-half minute short contains enough intrigue to hold the attention of an invested audience, and its presentation is remarkably professional given the apparent small scale of the production. It would no-doubt prove familiar to nature documentary veterans, who would almost certainly be interested in seeing the remainder of the piecem, for “MicroKansas — Tribulation” is only the first chapter in KU graduate Bobby Obermite’s larger vision for this project. Hopefully he can build upon this small, but not insignificant success in the future.
 Filed By: Gabriel Ponniah, Editor In Chief ATX Screen Scene Among the more thrilling of the documentaries at #AniFab was Justin Zimmerman’s SMART. The project follows the members of Los Angeles’ Specialized Mobile Animal Rescue Team as they recount their humble beginnings, regale their hopes for the future, but most of all, rescue the hapless pets and strays of SoCal—no matter the size or situation. They’re the last lifeline for many a suffering animal, serving the community in a manner more effective than other emergency response units. Put simply, and to make an animal-themed allusion to a certain serpentine sequel: “when all else fails, they don’t.” The SMART team, helmed by charismatic leader Armando “Nav” Navarrete, perform acts of derring-do on a day-to-day basis, and the documentary does well to capture the energy of their mission. Once it starts, it doesn’t let up for all 73 (and a half) of its action-packed minutes. In this way, it’s similar to a day on-call with the team—an experience Zimmerman knows intimately. While answering questions at the screening, Zimmerman spoke about his experience shooting the film, and I had the chance to follow up on the discussion with other attendees over dinner. Though a veteran of the doc game, Zimmerman understood there was something different about this project from the start. While this was his first animal-related feature, he took to the challenge like a fish to water (or a horse to the sky). He told the story of an early experience on assignment when he nearly dropped his camera to help the SMART team as they saved a cat from a tree. Such is the effect Nav has on folks: his passion is contagious. Indeed, the standout element of the doc lies in its central character. Justin and I discussed the importance of such over our KBBQ, citing examples like Free Solo as documentaries whose greatness stems from the intrigue and impact of a singular subject. Alex Honnold and Nav share more than just an uncommon affinity for heights. Their dogged pursuit of a dangerous goal is inherently compelling, and SMART smartly centers its narrative around a profile of Nav’s persistence, rounded out with thematically resonant background on his personal life, as well as team testimonials to these ends. Perhaps it’s Zimmerman’s respect for documentary filmmaker Errol Morris (an interesting character in his own right) which sowed this instinct in him. His work certainly follows Morris’ unnarrated example, using various interviews cut together with an abundance of field footage to tell a cohesive story with a light touch. The strength of the doc manifests further, as Nav and his motley crew demonstrate their unique aptitude by staging remarkable save after save, each executed with the reckless abandon required to embark on such risky maneuvers and just enough expertise to see them through to completion. Stitching together all manner of footage—handheld, GoPro, locked-off interviews—lends the project a sense of completeness, assuring the viewer that they’re seeing the totality of SMART’s endeavor, seamlessly negotiated in the editing room. The result: a fun, sturdy, and engaging look into a fundamentally exciting (though understandably taxing) part of LA’s ecosystem. And who knows—Errol Morris’ breakout hit Gates of Heaven helped springboard him to an Academy Award in short order. And like Zimmerman’s SMART, it was his first foray into animal stories.
 Filed By: Gabriel Ponniah, Editor In Chief ATX Screen Scene The love we share for our pets is simple, elegant. It’s freely given and freely received, and even when it isn’t exactly reciprocated (cat owners know this well), the result is no worse than endearing indignation. Love between humans on the other hand, is somewhat more complicated. To express romantic feelings for another is a leap of faith, and one which carries considerable social and emotional risk. So then, it’s no wonder these two loves so often entangle themselves in one another; whose pet hasn’t served as de facto wingman when duty calls? The narrative short Furball imagines this dynamic, but with a twist: we watch a man flounder in pursuit of his neighbor’s affection, all through the eyes of his house cat. Owing to their twelve-to-sixteen-hour daily sleep regimen, cats are often anthropomorphized as lethargic, unconcerned, and judgemental. Any delicate item in a precarious place isn’t long for this world in a cat owner’s house. Their mischievous curiosity is well-documented and therefore used as characterization in storytelling. Here, director Jason Rogerson utilizes this familiar trope when writing Furball’s inner monologue, which provides the short with its light-hearted, quirky tone. While it’s not strictly necessary to move the plot along, it colors the atmosphere while fleshing out the feline lead actor’s performance. Every character has a purpose, and multiple simultaneous threads maintain tension throughout—efficient filmmaking at work. Ultimately, Furball makes for a fun romp told with workmanlike precision. The sturdy narrative employs familiar, yet effective twists, and the editing, pacing, and tone round out the project into a solid six-minute short. It’s no surprise the execution comes with such ease to Rogerson here, as his NYU education and sketch comedy chops have been thoroughly honed over the course of the last decade. Perhaps he’ll again set his sights on the intertwined relationships between humans and their pets into future projects, possibly for his third feature film.
 Filed By: Gabriel Ponniah, Editor In Chief ATX Screen Scene From 1415 to 1578, Portugal enjoyed its Golden Age. During this time, Portuguese explorers discovered an eastern route to India, and became the first European power to begin expanding into a colonial empire. The increase in expeditions through uncharted waters meant many young men never returned home to their mothers and daughters, giving sorrowful meaning to an old Portuguese word derived from the Latin for solitude. In Brazil, January 30th is dedicated to its uniquely melancholic tinge. That word, “Saudade,” is perhaps the only way to describe the situation of the last two Northern White Rhinoceros, mother and daughter, as they face the patient, unyielding approach of extinction. Saudade brings us alongside filmmaker Sandra Duarte Cardoso to Kenya’s Ol Pejeta Conservancy, where rhinos Najin and her daughter Fatu live with caretaker Zack and a 24-hour armed security detail. Poaching is a fact of life for conservationists, particularly in Africa. The inhumane greed which spurs the rich to covet rhino horns or elephant tusks has decimated many populations of endangered animals, and the “Critically Endangered (Possibly Extinct in the Wild)” Northern White Rhinos are one such species. Through breathtaking photography, we see the pained solitude they live in, and we understand the unshakable bond between humans and nature through Zack’s unyielding dedication towards Najin and Fatu. As the film instructs on the horrors of poaching and its specific destruction wrought on Ol Pejeta, a series of headstones tell the tales of so many beautiful Northern White Rhinos brutally taken from this world in service of evil delights. It’s an affective scene alone, but the filmmakers’ use of sound and editing wring yet more tears from the audience. Even still, Saudade manages a hopeful ending, as inspiring grins on young faces breathe hope into the future, that perhaps the younger generation might better preserve, better defend nature and our deep-seated bond with it. The feeling of saudade is principally a longing, but one which often carries a repressed knowledge that the object of said longing might never be had again. We may never again live in a world with Northern White Rhinos, and we are worse for it. But we may yet cling to the hope that future societies, armed with an awareness of and respect for the natural world, won’t incur such a senseless loss again.
 Filed By: Gabriel Ponniah, Editor In Chief ATX Screen Scene AniFab 2021 was brimming with projects which took aim at the pervasive stray problem across the world, so it’s no surprise that even the wilds of western Tennessee are overrun with more dogs than local shelters and pounds can handle. Enter: Amber Reynolds. She and the entire Reynolds clan, heartbroken in the face of rampant mistreatment and euthanizations of dogs in the area, have taken it upon themselves to fight the problem with everything they’ve got. Although tackling the many heads of that problem can certainly feel like a losing battle at times, the family fosters more than enough heart and spirit to keep on keeping on. Amber’s Halfway Home follows its titular wife, mother, and savior to western Tennessee stray dogs as she rescues 19 such animals in a single day’s work. Through her journey, we observe the true breadth of her efforts, including shuttling dogs across multiple states in pursuit of their forever home. What’s most resonant about this among other stray dog stories is the genuine pathos of it all—even the kids are inspired by their mother’s efforts, and show no residence when it comes to getting their hands dirty in the family business. That pathos is felt whether the news is good or bad. Parvovirus rears its ugly head again, its ubiquity in AniFab stray stories speaking to the pervasiveness of the issue; where there are strays, there’s parvo. The filmmakers ensure ample coverage of the day’s events, including the endearing young faces of puppies whose fate is beyond the viewers’ control—beyond even Amber’s. Amber’s Halfway Home won the Audience Choice award at AniFab ‘21, owing in large part to the endearing quality of the film’s subjects—both human and canine. As the Reynolds family continues their work, and their film continues to make the rounds at festivals, there’s a real chance at changing attitudes towards thinking of dogs as property and receiving much-needed assistance to underserved animal communities in rural areas of the country. And hopefully they can save a few dogs along the way.
 Filed By: Gabriel Ponniah, Editor In Chief ATX Screen Scene The biblical apocalypse as laid out by the Christian faith depicts fire and brimstone unlike anything the human species has ever known, and yet our current apocalypse—climate change—is, in practice, much slower and subtler. With FIREFALLS, French filmmaker Ariel Neo wants to catch your attention and reconcile the urgency of the former with the reality of the latter. The short film imagines a convergence of ideas realized in brilliant color through striking imagery. A haggard man tries to evade that rider named Death, while a young girl distributes dead butterflies across the forest. Meanwhile, a mystic tends to their paintings as the doomsday clock ticks towards midnight. In the end, the man is unable to save the child from death’s burning staff, while the clock strikes midnight. Neo describes the project as aiming to blur the boundaries between man, nature and art, while asking the audience: how long can mankind run away from the apocalypse it birthed itself? They’re lofty goals, to be sure, and their ambition is met by Neo’s meticulous attention to detail and brilliant command of symbolic imagery. As a tone poem, FIREFALLS is very compelling; Neo’s background as a painter shines through in her color choice and shot composition, as well as in literal ways like the gorgeous doomsday clock. In fact, most everything in the frame at any given time is clearly a labor of love, and the 52-minute behind-the-scenes documentary is evidence of the tremendous effort that went into an independent production of this kind. One wonders, however, what kind of impact this project makes in pursuit of its ends. Surely there are powerful messages contained in such arresting imagery, but FIREFALLS lacks the clairity which makes the most effective advocacy pieces work. There’s an arena for experimental film of this kind, but by targeting a nebulous evil tenuously attached to the concept of climate change, the film leaves much to be desired insofar as action steps. Cynics could be forgiven for wondering if they’d missed a perfume brand title just before the credits. For those who seek to dissect the visual language in earnest, they could also be forgiven for having trouble parsing the meaning of the dead butterflies and the fearsome snake, as these are our two most obvious natural ciphers. Whether profound or perfunctory, FIREFALLS remains a visual marvel with expertise at most every level—editing, cinematography, production (animals, children, fire, water, delicate and finely curated production design—it’s a burgeoning indie producer’s nightmare). While the story (or lack thereof) is happy to let some viewers fall by the wayside, the intangible impact it may have on a select few from some ethereal level may yet aid in its quest to defeat that pale horse and its rider named Climate Change.
 Filed By: Gabriel Ponniah, Editor In Chief ATX Screen Scene The native Aboriginal people of what we today call Australia have long endured an unjust relationship with the country’s colonial powers, and the incompatibility between the two peoples’ lifestyles comes to a head when discussing the environment. A tenant common across various sects of Aboriginal culture emphasizes the relationship between the people and the land, a bond of such importance that it can be helpful to dissolve the boundary between the two concepts entirely. It’s this relationship that is at the center of Teresa Carante’s short documentary film Uncle Max & Draken. Max ‘Dulumunmun’ Harrison was initiated into the ancient ways of the Yuin culture on the south coast of New South Wales in one of the few corners of the island where such traditions have withstood colonial pressures. His pet dingo, Draken, accompanies him in the documentary, helping to illustrate the concept on which he narrates for the length of the short. Carante tells a visual story of an elder caring for his companion dog while Max regales the filmmakers on the importance of connecting with nature—an efficient way to underscore thematics in this brief, yet effective 4-minute project. Max has written several books that hope to illuminate and preserve the rich and beleaguered culture of which he is a part, and his name commands respect in Aboriginal and colonial Australian circles alike. In Draken, we see the struggles of Max’s people wrought upon the land, that is to say the environment. Dingoes are nomadic, says Max, and the colonizers who put fences around them to maintain the illusion that man is separate from his environment demonstrate a fundamental misunderstanding of perspective and difference in respect—one which mirrors the ways in which colonial powers have mistreated the Aboriginals alongside the dingoes, and not unlike the United States’ ongoing mistreatment of indegenous peoples of North America. The disclaimer that opens Uncle Max & Draken warns Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander viewers that the film may contain images of people who have passed away. When I had the good fortune to ask Ms. Carante about the meaning of that message at AniFab, she described the traditional avoidance practices of those peoples, that they don’t name or share likenesses of those no longer with us out of respect to the dead and to the grieving family of the deceased. The disclaimer underscores a theme which Uncle Max touches on: moving forwards as best we can. He mentions the pain and resentment of his people, festering for 300 years, and how letting go of that pain is essential to living, just as he’s had to do with regards to the pain associated with his eldest son’s suicide. Not long after AniFab 2021, Draken and Uncle Max passed away, rendering the aforementioned disclaimer all the more important to this powerfully moving, gut-wrenching, heartbreaking documentary short. To move forwards in the spirit of Max, we must reconnect with the land, support initiatives on behalf of Aboriginal people, and live Max’s three truths as laid out just before the film’s credits. But with regards to Max and Draken, we must let them and their memory return to the land while remembering their efforts, that we might preserve that from which we all come, and to which we will all, one day, return.
 Filed By: Gabriel Ponniah, Editor In Chief ATX Screen Scene Most every person who has devoted their life and career to the environment can speak to a moment of inspiration. Often from their youth, they describe a fateful encounter with the fabric of life on this planet that inspired them to explore and protect their area of interest—the forests, the grasslands, the sea, the sky. One such encounter forms the basis of Spark Bird. A birdwatcher’s first ever journey. The animated short from Italian filmmaker Laura Pauselli chronicles one girl’s discovery of nature’s wonder. On a droll, cloudy day, our protagonist Emma is enticed to go exploring in pursuit of an abstract light, leading her into a fantastical world she never realized was all around her. After unlocking her interest in birdwatching, she’s finally able to track down the darting orange glow at the town’s highest point, the Fortress, where she discovers it’s no abstract form at all, but rather a bird—her first of many in her nascent birdwatching passion. Pauselli demonstrates instinctive control of light and contrast, and shades well while framing efficiently, as a one-person animated project would already be time-intensive without the added caveat of being only a year into the craft. There’s a Ghibliesque quality about the experience, as she captures the pure innocence of her protagonist’s arc while building a semi-fantastical world contiguous with her own. Her pre-animation background as a character designer, too, is on full display, with amply creative designs for Emma and her feathered friends. While it bears some markers of inexperience (the scale of execution is understandably limited, and a couple beats here and there don’t quite join together smoothly), there’s a lot of impressive instincts on display in Spark Bird. A birdwatcher’s first ever journey. Pauselli has stated her ambitions to continue animating, possibly collaborating in a studio environment. If this film is anything, it’s evidence of her readiness for that jump.
 Filed By: Gabriel Ponniah, Editor In Chief ATX Screen Scene “There’s blood in the water.” It’s not for nothing that this adage is so universally understood to indicate danger ahead. Because if there’s blood in the water, sharks are soon to follow—hungry sharks. A popular nugget of wisdom suggests a shark’s thirst for blood is so powerful that they can smell even a drop from a mile away, but this claim has been largely overblown. And as evidence to that rebuttal, Todd Kortte’s risky diving snafu in his short “Bleeding In A School Of Hammerhead Sharks” demonstrates that these ravenous creatures are perhaps more gentle than their reputation would suggest. When Kortte and company embarked on this diving expedition in the Galapagos, they hoped to strikingly photograph masses upon masses of hammerhead sharks who frequent the current by Elephant Rock. What they did not account for was the eel bite which suddenly turned the clandestine video shoot into a life-or-death affair. After grabbing a bit of reef that encroached on the eel’s territory, Kortte was suddenly putting blood in the water, and it would surely spell his demise, right? Aside from the professional vlog style, as this segment would fit comfortably in any contemporary broadcast nature programming, the strength of the short is in its serendipitous message about the misconceptions surrounding sharks. Kortte’s technical competence is well-documented, and his storytelling sensibilities (possibly honed through his acting career or archival experience) help elevate this piece beyond a basic photography project. It’s as solid as they come, and while I’m glad to have seen this film, I’m happier still that in spite of the alluring dangerous twist, Kortte is still with us, able to make more movies.
 Filed By: Gabriel Ponniah, Editor In Chief ATX Screen Scene Healthcare, for citizens of the United States, has been among the more scrutinized political subjects in recent memory. As the baby boomers reach their twilight years, the oft-maligned interplay of public and private options risks collapse under the sheer volume of the issue, and it’s lower income folks who will be crushed at the bottom of that pile. It’s a problem which extends to every aspect of life for those most at risk. One such manifestation lies at the heart of the documentary The Vet Van, which sets its sights precisely at the intersection of pet ownership and class. As a concept, the Vet Van is a mobile veterinary unit aimed at providing low-cost care to the pets of underserved communities. The documentary revolves around two primary threads: the experience of Lucy and Donny, and that of Tabitha, with a smattering of other individual subjects to flesh out the breadth of the service, and occasional statistics to provide context. Both of the main stories feature at their core a conflict between the price and cost of care, and that conflict either consumes the pet as was the case with Donny and Lucy’s lab Ivy, or spreads further, inflaming tensions between individuals like what happened with Tabitha. The issue here runs deep, and these tensions are real and compelling. Garo provides an intimate portrait of the struggle to do good when seemingly overwhelmed by challenges from every angle. Lucy’s relationship with Ivy is absolutely heartbreaking; in that dog lies her support and catharsis with regards to her abuse and her partner’s illness, while in the vestiges of Ivy’s memory scattered about the apartment lies the pain of her absence. Tabitha stands strong fighting for her dog’s life on behalf of her entire family against the threat of being taken advantage of, while the father of her children is incarcerated. The thoroughness of angles here presented is evidence of directors Sarah Jenks and Lizzie Mulvey’s background as Columbia journalism students, this being their first film. In the same breath, however, both these elements work against the film. While the duo have admirably sunk their teeth into a meaty issue, their inexperience shows in their plotting. Certainly they tackle the conflict between the Vet Van employees and their clients with an instinct towards balanced coverage, but this egalitarian approach means their messaging tends to meander. The piece reads more like an objective news report on a situation than a story, and as a result, it neuters the emotional weight and potential action steps such a work could’ve engendered in its audience. I can only speculate, but I suspect the filmmakers have confused perspective for bias. The result: an issue film that leaves its viewers confused about which issue is the issue, much less how to solve it. Meanwhile, the film’s subjects are caught in this whirlwind, and the filmmakers are unclear as to the intent of their presentation. Garo, for example, is introduced as a beacon of altruism in the fight on behalf of the lives of low-income pets, but is undercut by statements like “...who has no veterinary training,” and the film’s later alignment with Tabitha in framing the conflict between the two. Garo is then shown to be advancing his business operation, and leaves off on a very pessimistic interview note, leaving us to wonder as to his alignment. But it hasn’t traded favorites for Tabitha, because the film assures us of the debt she and her family have incurred to save their dog from Parvo, dropping her in a heartbeat. It stands to wonder if the added stress of even a scant documentary crew could’ve contributed to tensions; the world can seem a whole lot meaner with a camera in your face. This detached, hands-off style may be artistically valid, but it’s ultimately less effective and especially confounding for such an activism-oriented piece. The film is called The Vet Van, and from the outset, the service is framed in an empathetic light; we are in the Van. But when the credits roll, we’re left to wonder not how we can help the plight of underserved pets, but whether the vet van—and indeed efforts of the like, are good at all. The practice of filmmaking is its own best teacher, and telling effective stories takes just that—practice. At minimum, Jenks and Mulvey have proved themselves fully capable in the field and the editing bay, and they have demonstrably good instincts when it comes to ethics, whether shooting for balanced representation or investigating broad phenomena using statistics. If in future work they can dig into the root causes behind some of those statistics, then perhaps they can find a message to champion instead of having to defer to equal time for both sides. The Vet Van, for all its flaws, shows great potential for such growth.
 Filed By: Gabriel Ponniah, Editor In Chief ATX Screen Scene The term “Kiwi” contains multitudes. For the last century, residents of New Zealand have worn the demonym with pride. The word originates in the native Maori language, having been adopted into regular English use about a century earlier still. Among Americans, it most commonly refers to the round, brown fruit whose fuzz is so reminiscent of its namesake that the two began sharing the term as early as the 1960s. But most of all, a Kiwi is an absurd flightless bird not far off from the aforementioned fruit’s description. Remarkable. Endemic to the island nation, kiwi have long shared a bond with the New Zealanders who bear its name as national identifier. As a distant observer, I’ve always had a soft spot for these unique, cherubic creatures. Any fan of the Lord of the Rings films knows well how truly blessed New Zealand is with wondrous natural beauty, and I can think of no more appropriate counterpoint to its vast breathtaking landscapes of towering rock, forest, and grassland than a reclusive, rotund little bird with some of the strangest proportions of any creature on the planet. You can’t help but smile at the thought. As intrinsic as the kiwi to the national identity of New Zealand, however, is the country’s history of colonialism, not unlike its western neighbor and its own troubled relationship with its indegenous populations. The introduction of stoats to the ecosystem decades ago has led to a ravenous invasive predator problem that poses an existential threat to kiwi—and from a creature as insidiously adorable as its prey (though not, perhaps, to the advocate subjects of Growing Up Kiwi). Writer/director Madeleine Brennan leverages her science communication background to take viewers on a comprehensive journey following a young Haast tokoeka kiwi (the rarest of the kiwi) named Almer as he grows to maturity, evading the danger of stoat attacks. For all my prior infantilizing, kiwi are most vulnerable as chicks, but can hold their own as adults. Once grown, their beak, claws, and temperament make them a fearsome foe to any stoat who would challenge them. As such, the researchers depicted in Growing Up Kiwi brave the jungle in search of kiwi chicks, that they might be raised in safety and returned to the wild once they’re sufficiently developed. The filmmaking expertise on display is commendable, as this half-hour featurette could easily slot into wildlife network programming for how competent it is. The story is efficient, the subjects compelling, and the editing clear and precise. Perhaps most of all, the spirit of the Kiwis’ devotion to their kiwi brethren, through nicks and cuts from dense foliage as well as from their rescuees themselves, shines through in the final product. The film received an Outstanding Achievement Award for Student Film and Documentary Short—an accolade well-earned by Brennan and company.
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January 2022
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