 Filed By: Gabriel Ponniah, Editor In Chief Austin Alternative Screen Scene As globetrotting as some of these stories may be, one need not travel to distant, exotic hideaways to witness the beauty of animals. In fact, wildlife is, at every moment, all around us. The theatre in which we might observe nature’s most harrowing betrayals or staggering feats of derring-do could be as close as our very own backyards—or closer! “Web of Love | The Courtship of a Garden Spider” takes us up close and personal as we watch a delicate dance, a tightrope walk between life and death, in more ways than one. European garden spiders are common fare in the United Kingdom, from which the short’s director Andrew Salter hails, but with the judicious application of a macro lens, they’re no less fascinating than the stuff you’d see on Animal Planet. Salter credits his lead actor’s performance with guiding the story in a compelling and well-ordered manner, as writing the narration to the footage felt natural after seeing what he’d captured through his excellent photography. What elevates “Web of Love | The Courtship of a Garden Spider” further is the sound. Beyond the impressive visual component, the carefully placed foley effects lent the male spider’s struggle a visceral quality, underscored by, well, the score—pizzicato strings and pointed percussive hits smartly echo the visuals to create an effective whole. It’s a small piece, but this short demonstrates great potential for Salter, an aspiring Zoologist who clearly has good storytelling instincts, as he’s a self-admitted veteran of watching natural history documentaries. With a synergistic blend of image and sound, “Web of Love | The Courtship of a Garden Spider” made my skin crawl, though I’m prone to that, as a mild arachnophobe.
 Filed By: Gabriel Ponniah, Editor In Chief Austin Alternative Screen Scene Animation offers the unique narrative flexibility to align audiences with inhuman, sometimes even inanimate objects. By anthropomorphizing animals, animated films have endeared human viewers to their favorite animal counterparts for decades. What Ben Sinclair achieves on Between Hunters and Foxes is to mesh the above quality with direct and clear messaging, with the hopes of making real change on behalf of all wildlife. Australia was colonized by the British some 300 years ago, and the imperial power brought all the nefarious comforts of home and wrought them upon the land. One such comfort was bloodsport. Englishmen trapped foxes from the UK countryside and, after a harrowing trip across seas upon seas, set them loose in the vastly different Australian ecosystem. As if that weren’t enough, their greatest threat accompanied them on the journey: brainwashed dogs hunted these foxes as part of an antiquated and cruel hunting tradition that persists to this day. While nowhere near as pervasive or accepted as in decades past, trophy hunting for the ultra-rich continues in historically exploited regions deemed exotic by elites: Africa and Australia. Creator Ben Sinclair renders this tragic story in gorgeous painterly style, evoking the harshness of settings while cleverly applying restraint where necessary. He strongly characterizes the various sides of the conflict, and demonstrates superb control of physics while creating evocative images that stick with the viewer. It’s so much a visual piece, that one wonders if a narrative telling of the same basic concept could’ve made for an even more impressive final product, but what the short sacrifices in elegance it makes up for in clarity. And who among this short’s audience could reasonably call Between Hunters and Foxes inelegant? The symmetry between those canine footprint shots alone is just wonderful. Rah-rah championing of the Melbourne Hunt Saboteurs aside, though the praise is well-warranted I’m sure, Between Hunters and Foxes is one of the more visually impressive, direct, and compelling animated shorts to screen at AniFab. While the animation batch of entries was crowded with quality films to be sure, Sinclair and company have a product of which they can be justly proud.
 Filed By: Gabriel Ponniah, Editor In Chief Austin Alternative Screen Scene Every dog guardian is familiar with the experience of watching their pet dream. As little paws aspire towards a scamper, or a yelp ekes out in the dead of night, humans can’t help but imagine their furry friend is off chasing squirrels in dreamland. But what if they’re not dreaming, but stuck in a nightmare? What if delighted yips are actually cries of distress? What is a dog’s greatest fear? Such is the premise of the narrative short Nightmare of the Dog. The dog in question, Maggie, was in attendance at AniFab, and received compliments on this, her first screen credit. In the film, Maggie’s titular nightmare is revealed to be a combination of two famous dog anxieties. First, her owners leave the house for no apparent reason (we might imagine this is her perception of work or errands, those pesky human constructs). Next, an intruder arrives, and Maggie must defend the home on behalf of her lost owners. The simple elegance of the premise combined with a thorough knowledge of film language make for an excellent little short. Dutch angles, lighting cues, and all manner of basic-yet-effective techniques come together to tell a synergistic story. While it’s certainly no opus, it does its job quite well, and could perhaps be expanded upon in the future, building on the strength of the premise and execution. Plenty of children’s media has anthropomorphized live-action canine performers, and Nightmare of the Dog eschewed the guache mouth-animation so pervasive in the subgenre by telling a completely visual story—a lesson any future works ought heed well.
 Filed By: Gabriel Ponniah, Editor In Chief Austin Alternative Screen Scene Children marvel, and adults reel, at the latest innovation in digital neurochemical exploitation: TikTok. While there’s a knack to getting the algorithm to separate wheat from chaff, one popular niche on the platform, proximate to the slice-of-life genre, is that of professionals working jobs. Digging deeper reveals the sub-subculture of screen printing. There’s something inherently engaging about watching a craftsman simply be proficient at their given work, and I myself have fallen down a rabbit hole or two learning the minutiae of different inks, surfaces, and processes to realize a graphic design. What I did not expect, however, was for two such designers to turn around and introduce me to the world’s most endangered marine mammal on the planet—then don their sea legs and try to save it. The Last Vaquita sees brothers Ed and James Harrison journey from their native UK to join the appropriately-named Sea Shepherd (if manatees are “cows of the sea,” then perhaps vaquitas are sheep?) in waters west of Mexico on its mission to save the porpoise from extinction. The Harrisons are graphic designers and screen printers by trade, and their unlikely alliance with ocean conservationists began with a passion between the brothers to harness “the natural curiosity that people have as children,” inspiring them to create a series of prints on endangered species. That pursuit leads them aboard their vessel of choice as they work both at home and in the field (read: ocean) to achieve their goals. The brothers’ understanding of graphic design principles makes for arguably one of the sleekest-looking documentaries at AniFab, complete with seamlessly integrated 2-D graphics, standalone or superimposed over b-roll. Their unique angle at the subject is everything: their printing acumen adds a unique twist to the familiar conservation doc tropes that, admittedly, grow tired when shown back-to-back-to-back in festival screening blocks. Their visual instincts lend the project a polish few others possess. And their background as respectful enthusiasts—not experts–actually works in their favor, allowing themselves to function as audience surrogates in teaching about the vaquita as they themselves learned of its situation. It’s not the most technically exhaustive study of wildlife, and it may place style over substance from time to time, but The Last Vaquita sets out to tell a specific story through a unique lens and does so beautifully. It makes creative use of familiar material, doesn’t overstay its welcome, and brims with a genuine passion for making a difference through art. What’s not to love about that?
 Filed By: Gabriel Ponniah, Editor In Chief Austin Alternative Screen Scene In short stories, every word is precious. In the best short stories, each sentence advances the narrative, and most pull double duty—characterizing, foreshadowing, commenting thematically, all while moving the plot intractably forward. The best short films, then, apply the same approach to the conventions of the medium; no shot is wasted, no line of dialogue extraneous, and if possible, this economy of runtime can even extend the story beyond the bounds of beginning and end. Escape Velocity demonstrates a superb command of this principle. The film takes us alongside a treacherous journey through a lava lamp landscape for one interplanetary explorer, as he is pursued by a vicious creature. With ample intrigue as an adventure tale, it carries us to a satisfying end as our hero escapes danger, before ripping the rug out from under our emotions. The denouement recontextualizes the entire film, revealing that this was not an aborted mission, nor was that any mere creature. Instead, we learn that our protagonist and the creature once enjoyed the sacred bond of pet and parent, and the weight of sadness we feel alongside our astronaut’s hits us right in the gut as we slowly replay the film in our minds. What once was a harrowing adventure now reads as a pained attempt at reconciliation, and the abject heartbreak at its failure. Hungarian writer/director Tamás Rebák describes himself as being “obsessed with sadness and melancholy,” and while that shines through in his writing, his artwork deserves equal mention. The visual style of Escape Velocity stands out among its AniFab peers, wildly imaginative and conceptually sound. Coupling this with his very own “The Tale of Iroh” rug pull makes for an incredibly effective short film. And further still, this dynamic which requires reimagining the story anew comments on the challenging relationship between man and nature which so many fellow festival submissions choose for their primary theme. For these merits and more, the film was recognized for Outstanding Achievement for Animation, Short at the AniFab awards ceremony. It’s a wonderful, economical short film with broad appeal, while also aligning with the environmental ethos of its contemporaries. Double duty, indeed.
 Filed By: Gabriel Ponniah, Editor In Chief Austin Alternative Screen Scene When I was a young child, I lived down the street from an older couple who owned a whole mess of whippets. I’m told they’re downright lovely, the dogs and the people, but my distinguishing memory of them is of being knocked over and scuffing my knee, back when the whippets stood as tall as me. My parents apologized for my tears and took me home; the couple and their whippets went about their morning walk. Life went on. Not all such situations pass without incident, as shown in the narrative short Chippy. On occasion, a good dog will make a bad choice, and in this day and age such occasions are ripe with Karenesque potential. Chippy examines a dog bite gone wrong. The film follows a single mother Melissa and her daughter Alison, whose dog Chippy bites Alison’s friend while playing. Later, Chippy is taken by Animal Control at the behest of Alison’s friend’s mother, out of an abundance of concern for the children’s safety. Alison is distraught at this injustice, while Melissa is helplessly crushed by the plight of the single mother. The story realizes writer/director R.D. Womack II’s hopes to advocate for adoption by demonstrating not all dogs who have a single aggressive incident are necessarily aggressive animals (while attempting to show solidarity for the gender gap in media). In 8 minutes, Chippy packs in as much drama as it can muster. The sleek lighting and editing make for a convincing presentation of the copious amounts of acting going on. Indeed, these strong decisions ensure Womack’s point comes across unambiguously, and his intent is admirable. One wonders, though, if the film’s message is encumbered by unconvincing dialogue from overzealous, archetypal performances in wholly unbelievable situations. Alison’s friend is driven into a vindictive frenzy playing tug of war with Chippy in a way no child has ever behaved upon meeting a new dog, and her mother swiftly highroads Melissa in having her neighbor's property surrendered to Animal Control. The film ends with Alison firmly blaming her mother for this misfortune, and a hapless Melissa at her wits’ end, the single white affluent mother besieged by the whims of her ethnically ambiguous neighbors. What’s more, Womack states his intent to explore the dynamic between daughters and mothers that”has been largely ignored by the filmmaking community.” While he’s getting at a very real issue, when the representation is this stale and clearly from an outsider’s (read: man’s) perspective, such progressivism tends to come off as crass rather than supportive, and his statement suggests he himself may be a member of the community doing the aforementioned ignoring. Messaging is essential to storytelling—especially issue films like Chippy vis-à-vis ‘aggressive’ dogs. But even after peeling back the unintentional demographic framing, even after ignoring the tropes and their clumsily intense execution, the message is hardly controversial, even downright simple. At 8 minutes, Chippy may already be short, but it could surely be tightened to 5 in the interest of keeping an audience’s attention. Other films at AniFab have more quickly and more elegantly brought up the perception versus reality of ‘aggressive’ breeds like pit bulls, and perhaps such a breed would have made for a more theoretically streamlined casting choice for the titular role. R.D. Womack II has recently completed his debut feature film When the Wolf Calls, and his ability to get a feature made in today’s Los Angeles is thoroughly impressive. I hope the feature runtime allows him the space for subtlety in his writing and direction. In many ways, Chippy reminds me of the content of Dhar Mann’s—a YouTuber who creates straightforward, stilted Aesops of the modern day, and while I sure have my gripes with his poetics, I can’t disagree with the wholesome spirit behind his endeavor. Despite my criticisms, I think I can extend the same grace to Mr. Womack here.
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January 2022
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