![]() ![]() But what is this new form? Does this ‘being’ even have a ‘body’? Do they possess an autonomy beyond their status as a drawing employed for creative purposes, or perhaps purely for profit. The drawing of a human ear, done with a pencil on paper, is suddenly rendered digitally, with ‘the animation’ (the voice of Sunny Lola, layered over with many effects) describing their embodiment as an act of the pencil’s intestines being transmuted into a new form. The birth of an animation in a process of creation which exemplifies the film’s potent swither between materiality and abstraction. Taking place mainly in a shared studio space, a sunlit, white surfaced room occupied by a few young people, a dog, and an artist’s flotsam and jetsam, and in other, more abstract dimensions. On this occasion however, his chosen, primary prism is neither corporate video nor realism but animation. His latest movie, Squish! (2021) doubles down on this long-running concern with metaphysics, and moving images as a framing, distorting facet. In hindsight, it’s like many a great film, a wandered on the crossroads joining cinema as a medium driven by artistic expression and as a business economics, which Tulapop disentangles and reshapes for his 21 st century reflection. Ulmer, Eugen Schüfftan, Billy Wilder and Fred Zinneman) would go onto significant careers as writers, cinematographers, and directors in various strata of the Hollywood machine. It can be also seen as a particularly impressive and unique showreel, as many of its major architects (Robert & Curt Siodmack, Edgar G. People on Sunday (2020) is a reflexive restaging of People on Sunday (1930), an independent German production whose use of non-actors, real locations and de-emphasis on narrative makes it a major, early work in cinematic realism and modernism. Where pleasure and exploration are all transactional. Its counterfeit love story, between an automated hotel rep and equally robotic tourist, asks whether free will, truth and love is sustainable in a world that’s a scrubbed and overdetermined hall of vanity mirrors. A Room with a Coconut View (2018) takes a most often ignored, never mind maligned, genre: of the hotel informational video, and pushes it to satiric and surreal limits. Exploring some of the fundamental quandaries of experience: work, play and freedom with a sharp and puckish sense of their history within this long century of moving images. ![]() Over the last decade, filmmaker and video artist Tulapop Saenjaroen has been stretching cinema and the short form. I am neither a representation nor a replacement. I am a past future imperfect continuous tense. ![]()
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