The Chicago Critics Film Festival happened this week, and though I only made it on Saturday I caught what was most important to me: the new don hertzfeldt short, Me.
There was a short documentary in the festival last year, A Beautiful Purpose, about a bipolar disorder support group where someone asked the question “Do you miss being able to *feel* music?” I knew exactly what they meant. I think the Hertzfeldt short film World Of Tomorrow was one of those beautiful things I connected to during mania that will always have heightened emotions involved for me. It moved me deeply when I saw it on the big screen at Fantastic Fest (where, others pointed out to me later, I was manic) and I re-watched it countless times at home, and sent it to everyone I knew, insisting that they watch this beautiful thing that would change their lives forever. It was one of those things for me that I originally perceived with total sensory overload, to the point where even today when I watch it I can still *feel* those lights, colors, and voices, and the music, with a sort of extra, missing sense. Which I guess vibes with the movie perfectly. Here’s the thing—I still think World Of Tomorrow, watching it today, is an almost objectively perfect short film (many agree), and to borrow a line from the film, though I was mad at the time, I loved it as though we were both originals.
I was highly anticipating the new Hertzfeldt short at Fantastic Fest 2015 while ascending into my episode based upon how much I’d loved his It’s Such A Beautiful Day trilogy of short films, which I watched at the Music Box with Don present right around the time of my divorce, which also felt other-worldly. While that trilogy, about a man named Bill who suffers a mysterious illness that causes him to reflect on his life while he is mentally and physically deteriorating, is profoundly depressing, I find the premise of the World of Tomorrow trilogy infinitely (pun intended) more depressing. In this trilogy of sci-fi animated shorts, Hertzfeldt presents the idea that not only is joy in life fleeting and its memory painful, but that in the future, people will attempt to, for some reason, prolong this experience forever. Our future clones, designed to preserve our lifespan, will suffer many signs of mental deterioration—and they will ultimately spend most of their lives drilling down to some emotional core memory that they have never experienced, yet long to feel. At least Bill was once really alive!
Yes, Hertzfeldt made a trilogy out of World Of Tomorrow, too. The other two entries in the series can’t and don’t match the brilliance of the original (many agree), and how could they? I wouldn’t want them to, or if they did, I’d probably be watching them in an infinite loop forever. The other two episodes are still painfully funny and emotive in moments and I would still recommend watching them if you’d like to see the story arc, as it is, reach its depressing yet satisfying logical conclusion. I’ll never pretend to have an analytical enough mind to keep track of all the numbered clones and what exactly the final plot point is, but I got the emotional gist of it. The clone of David in the end is giving up all of his memories—including basic motor skills like walking—in a journey to discover the one memory a clone of Emily left him years and years ago. All the pop-up-ads and promises of his future brain, and even his basic health, were not enough to overcome some nagging feeling that he once loved someone and felt something that was original.
Which brings me to, Me! Me is Hertzfeldt’s most nihilistic and disturbing film yet. It’s difficult to describe, and I don’t want to spoil it—spoiling a Hertzfeldt film basically lies in spoiling the imagery, and there is one particularly disturbing image that he holds on the screen for quite awhile, dangling it before you while haunting music plays. Gone from this film are the humor and glimmers of hope. I’m sure the whole film is not meant to be analytically interpreted, but the main thrust I got from it was that it was taking Don’s nihilism even further, in that within humanity lies its own seeds of destruction, and despite some potential (some perhaps beautiful potential, that last image and music seem to hint) it is almost destined to do the wrong things and drive itself into extinction. There’s not really any characters here, there’s archetypes; not so much a plot as destructive cycles. It was brutally depressing in a lot of ways and I felt like the only redeeming image was the disturbing one in the end, which seemed to say life can sometimes be beautiful and we waste it, in a way. Which I guess is what most of his movies say.
I love how much Hertzfeldt has always surprised me. I used to think I didn’t like short films (cue irony now that I’m working on a film festival that mostly screens shorts films that continue to amaze me). I wasn’t ever a huge fan of animation—but Hertzfeldt has always bowled me over in how much emotion he can evoke from making one simple line move (particularly in the eyes). I never think myself a fan of classical music, but he always makes me realize the epic, lively beauty it has. As someone who sometimes still watches his shorts on repeat when I feel emotional and am trying to understand the world, Hertzfeldt hits just the right note—he doesn’t shy away from the general painful banality of life, but he reminds you there’s still some hope and humor there. Me is not something I’ll likely add to this re-watch repertoire, but I’m glad he took his nihilism to a logical conclusion, with such an effective result.
