Salvador Dalí & Walt Disney’s Short Animated Film, Destino, Set to the Music of Pink Floyd

In 1945, Walt Dis­ney and Sal­vador Dalí began col­lab­o­rat­ing on an ani­mat­ed film. 58 years lat­er, with Dalí long gone and Dis­ney gone longer still, it came out. The delayed arrival of Des­ti­no had to do with mon­ey trou­ble at the Walt Dis­ney Stu­dios not long after the project began, and it seems that few laid eyes on its unfin­ished mate­ri­als again until Dis­ney’s nephew Roy E. Dis­ney came across them in 1999. Com­plet­ed, it pre­miered at the 2003 New York Film Fes­ti­val and received an Oscar nom­i­na­tion for Best Ani­mat­ed Short Film. Now, fif­teen years lat­er, we know for sure that Des­ti­no has found a place in the cul­ture, because some­one has mashed it up with Pink Floyd.

Unlike The Wiz­ard of Oz, which has in Pink Floy­d’s Dark Side of the Moon the best-known inad­ver­tent sound­track of all time, the sev­en-minute Des­ti­no can hard­ly accom­mo­date an entire album. But it does match nice­ly with “Time,” Dark Side of the Moon’s fourth track, in length as well as in theme.

Though in many ways a more visu­al expe­ri­ence than a nar­ra­tive one — if com­plet­ed in the 1940s, it might have become part of a Fan­ta­sia-like “pack­age film” — Des­ti­no does tell a sto­ry, show­ing a grace­ful woman who catch­es the eye of Chronos, the myth­i­cal per­son­i­fi­ca­tion of time itself. This allows the film to indulge in some clock imagery, which one might expect from Dalí, though it also includes clocks of the non-melt­ing vari­ety.

Only with “Time” as its sound­track does Des­ti­no include the sound of clocks as well. All the ring­ing and bong­ing that opens the song came as a con­tri­bu­tion from famed pro­duc­er Alan Par­sons, who worked on Dark Side of the Moon as an engi­neer. Before the album’s ses­sions, he’d hap­pened to go out to an antique shop and record its clocks as a test of the then-nov­el Quadra­phon­ic record­ing tech­nique. The tran­si­tion from Par­sons’ clocks to Nick Mason’s drums fits uncan­ni­ly well with the open­ing of Des­ti­no, as does much that fol­lows. “Every year is get­ting short­er, nev­er seem to find the time,” sings David Gilmour. “Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scrib­bled lines.” Though Dis­ney and Dalí came up with much more than half a page of scrib­bled lines, both of them prob­a­bly assumed Des­ti­no had come to naught. Or might they have sus­pect­ed that the project would find its way in time?

You can watch a doc­u­men­tary on the Dis­ney-Dali col­lab­o­ra­tion here.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Sal­vador Dalí & Walt Disney’s Des­ti­no: See the Col­lab­o­ra­tive Film, Orig­i­nal Sto­ry­boards & Ink Draw­ings

Dark Side of the Rain­bow: Pink Floyd Meets The Wiz­ard of Oz in One of the Ear­li­est Mash-Ups

The “Lost” Pink Floyd Sound­track for Michelan­ge­lo Antonioni’s Only Amer­i­can Film, Zabriskie Point (1970)

Pink Floyd’s “Echoes” Pro­vides a Sound­track for the Final Scene of Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

The Rise and Fall of The Simpsons: An In-Depth Video Essay Explores What Made the Show Great, and When It All Came to an End

As an Amer­i­can man in his thir­ties, I can, if nec­es­sary, com­mu­ni­cate entire­ly in Simp­sons ref­er­ences. But how­ev­er volu­mi­nous and close at hand my knowl­edge of the Simp­son fam­i­ly and their home­town of Spring­field, it does­n’t extend past the 1990s. Most of my demo­graph­ic can sure­ly say the same, as can quite a few out­side it: take the Irish­man behind the Youtube chan­nel Super Eye­patch Wolf, author of the video essay “The Fall of The Simp­sons: How It Hap­pened.” We both remem­ber tun­ing in to the show’s debut on Decem­ber 14, 1989, and how it sub­se­quent­ly “trans­formed tele­vi­sion as we knew it” — and we’ve both lament­ed how, in the near­ly three decades since, “one of the best and most influ­en­tial TV shows of all time became just anoth­er sit­com.”

So how did it hap­pen? To under­stand what made The Simp­sons fall, we have to under­stand what put it at the top of the zeit­geist in the first place. Not only did the coun­ter­cul­ture still exist back in the 1990s, The Simp­sons quick­ly came to con­sti­tute its most pop­u­lar expres­sion. And as with any pow­er­ful coun­ter­cul­tur­al prod­uct, it was just as quick­ly labeled dan­ger­ous, as any­one who grew up describ­ing each week’s episode of the show to friends not allowed to watch it remem­ber. Yet its “rebel­lious satire” and all the con­se­quent vio­la­tions both sub­tle and bla­tant of the staid con­ven­tions of main­stream Amer­i­can cul­ture (espe­cial­ly in its purest man­i­fes­ta­tion, the sit­com) came unfail­ing­ly accom­pa­nied by “com­e­dy ground­ed in char­ac­ter and heart.”

The fact that The Simp­sons’ first gen­er­a­tion of writ­ers might well revise a joke twen­ty or thir­ty times — cre­at­ing the count­less moments of intri­cate­ly struc­tured, mul­ti­lay­ered ver­bal and visu­al com­e­dy we still remem­ber today — did­n’t hurt. But even if cur­rent writ­ers put in the same hours, they do it on a show that has long since lost touch with what made it great. While each of its char­ac­ters once had “a very spe­cif­ic set of con­flict­ing beliefs and moti­va­tions,” they now seem to do or say any­thing, no mat­ter how implau­si­ble or absurd, that serves the gag of the moment. Celebri­ty guest stars stopped play­ing char­ac­ters spe­cial­ly craft­ed for them but car­i­ca­tures of them­selves. Plots became bizarre. “The only thing that The Simp­sons was a par­o­dy of now,” says Super Eye­patch Wolf bring­ing us to the present day, “was The Simp­sons.”

While the show has been self-ref­er­en­tial­ly acknowl­edg­ing its own decline since about the turn of the mil­len­ni­um, that does­n’t make com­par­isons with its 1990s “gold­en age” any less dispir­it­ing. One thinks of the com­ic strip Calvin and Hobbes, anoth­er gen­er­a­tional touch­stone, whose cre­ator Bill Wat­ter­son end­ed it after just ten years: it still finds an audi­ence today in part, he says, “because I chose not to run the wheels off it.” The Simp­sons, by con­trast, now draws its low­est rat­ings ever, and it would pain those of us who grew up with it as much to see it end as it does to see it keep going. But then, “enter­tain­ment isn’t meant to last for­ev­er. Rather, it’s an exten­sion of the peo­ple and places that made it at a par­tic­u­lar moment in time.” The Simp­sons at its coun­ter­cul­tur­al best will always define that moment, no mat­ter how long it insists on run­ning beyond it.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

27 Movies Ref­er­ences in The Simp­sons Put Side-by-Side with the Movie Scenes They Paid Trib­ute To

The Simp­sons Take on Ayn Rand: See the Show’s Satire of The Foun­tain­head and Objec­tivist Phi­los­o­phy

The Simp­sons Present Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven,” and Teach­ers Now Use It to Teach Kids the Joys of Lit­er­a­ture

The Simp­sons Pay Won­der­ful Trib­ute to the Ani­me of Hayao Miyaza­ki

Thomas Pyn­chon Edits His Lines on The Simp­sons: “Homer is my role mod­el and I can’t speak ill of him.”

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

How Master Japanese Animator Satoshi Kon Pushed the Boundaries of Making Anime: A Video Essay

To casu­al view­ers, most Japan­ese ani­ma­tion (at least apart from the ele­gant work of Hayao Miyaza­ki and his col­lab­o­ra­tors at Stu­dio Ghi­b­li) can look like a pret­ty unso­phis­ti­cat­ed and even dis­rep­utable affair, char­ac­ter­ized by crude flashi­ness, con­vo­lut­ed sto­ry­lines, and bizarre, sopho­moric humor. All those things do, of course, exist in the realm of ani­me, but only because every­thing does: if Japan’s ver­sion of ani­ma­tion often ris­es above those of oth­er cul­tures, it does so as a result of that cul­ture regard­ing ani­ma­tion as sim­ply cin­e­ma by oth­er means. And any cin­e­mat­ic form will inevitably pro­duce diverse vir­tu­os­i­ty: to see how a mas­ter Japan­ese ani­ma­tor can have a sen­si­bil­i­ty com­plete­ly dif­fer­ent from that of Miyaza­ki, look no fur­ther than Satoshi Kon.

“Even if you don’t know his work, you have cer­tain­ly seen some of these images,” says Every Frame a Paint­ing’s Tony Zhou in the series’ video essay on Kon’s work, which includes the inter­na­tion­al­ly acclaimed films Per­fect BlueTokyo God­fa­thers, and Papri­ka.

“He is an acknowl­edged influ­ence on both Dar­ren Aronof­sky and Christo­pher Nolan, and he has a fan base that includes just about every­one who loves ani­ma­tion.” The essay shows us how those two West­ern live-action auteurs, among Kon’s oth­er fans, have bor­rowed his images for their own sto­ries, just as Kon, in turn, drew a great deal of inspi­ra­tion from a sim­i­lar­ly unlike­ly source: George Roy Hill’s 1972 cin­e­mat­ic adap­ta­tion of Kurt Von­negut’s nov­el Slaugh­ter­house-Five.

More specif­i­cal­ly, Kon drew inspi­ra­tion from the film’s inven­tive and sur­pris­ing cuts from one scene to anoth­er, a for­mal reflec­tion of its chronol­o­gy-and-geog­ra­phy-jump­ing pro­tag­o­nist’s state of being “unstuck in time.” Through­out his decade-long fea­ture film­mak­ing career, Kon “was con­stant­ly show­ing one image and then reveal­ing that it was­n’t what you thought it was.” Kon died in 2010, hav­ing “pushed ani­ma­tion in ways that aren’t real­ly pos­si­ble in live action, not just elas­tic images but elas­tic edit­ing, a unique way of mov­ing from image to image, scene to scene.” His accom­plish­ments live on not just in his own work, but in all the ways the cre­ators who admire it con­tin­ue to adapt his inno­va­tions for their own, even in the tra­di­tion­al­ly “respectable” forms of cin­e­ma.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Art of Hand-Drawn Japan­ese Ani­me: A Deep Study of How Kat­suhi­ro Otomo’s Aki­ra Uses Light

The Phi­los­o­phy, Sto­ry­telling & Visu­al Cre­ativ­i­ty of Ghost in the Shell, the Acclaimed Ani­me Film, Explained in Video Essays

The Exis­ten­tial Phi­los­o­phy of Cow­boy Bebop, the Cult Japan­ese Ani­me Series, Explored in a Thought­ful Video Essay

How the Films of Hayao Miyaza­ki Work Their Ani­mat­ed Mag­ic, Explained in 4 Video Essays

The Ori­gins of Ani­me: Watch Free Online 64 Ani­ma­tions That Launched the Japan­ese Ani­me Tra­di­tion

A Salute to Every Frame a Paint­ing: Watch All 28 Episodes of the Fine­ly-Craft­ed (and Now Con­clud­ed) Video Essay Series on Cin­e­ma

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Studio Ghibli Releases Tantalizing Concept Art for Its New Theme Park, Opening in Japan in 2022

When you watch an ani­mat­ed film, you vis­it a world. That holds true, to an extent, for live-action movies as well, but much more so for those cin­e­mat­ic expe­ri­ences whose audio­vi­su­al details all come, of neces­si­ty, craft­ed from scratch. Walt Dis­ney under­stood that bet­ter than any­one else in the motion-pic­ture indus­try, and none could argue that he did­n’t cap­i­tal­ize on it. When they found­ed Stu­dio Ghi­b­li, Hayao Miyaza­ki and the late Isao Taka­ha­ta — in the fine 20th-cen­tu­ry Japan­ese tra­di­tion of bor­row­ing West­ern ideas and then refin­ing them near­ly beyond recog­ni­tion — took Dis­ney’s delib­er­ate world-build­ing a step fur­ther, painstak­ing­ly craft­ing a look and feel for their pro­duc­tions that amounts to a sep­a­rate real­i­ty: rich, coher­ent, and, for the mil­lions of die-hard Ghi­b­li fans all around the world, immense­ly appeal­ing.

In a few years, those fans will get the chance to enter Ghi­b­li’s world in a much more con­crete sense. Dis­ney’s insight that his audi­ence would beat a path to an amuse­ment park based on his stu­dio’s movies led to Dis­ney­land, Dis­ney World, and their glob­al suc­ces­sors, two of which, Tokyo Dis­ney­land and Tokyo Dis­ney Sea, now rank among the five most vis­it­ed theme parks in the world.

The area of the Japan­ese cap­i­tal already offers an acclaimed Ghi­b­li expe­ri­ence in the form of the Ghi­b­li Muse­um, but in just a few years the city of Nagakute, a sub­urb of Nagoya, will see the open­ing of Ghi­b­li’s own ver­sion of Dis­ney­land, a theme park filled with attrac­tions based on the stu­dios beloved films.

Sched­uled to open in 2022 on the same plot of land used for the 2005 World’s Fair (where the house from My Neigh­bor Totoro was then built and still stands today), Ghi­b­li’s theme park will greet vis­i­tors with a main gate rem­i­nis­cent, writes Kotaku’s Bri­an Ashcraft, of “19th-cen­tu­ry struc­tures out of Howl’s Mov­ing Cas­tle as well as a recre­ation of Whis­per of the Heart’s antique shop.”

It also includes “the Big Ghi­b­li Ware­house, which is filled with all sorts of Ghi­b­li themed play areas as well as exhi­bi­tion areas and small cin­e­mas,” a Princess Mononoke vil­lage, a com­bined area for Howl’s Mov­ing Cas­tle and Kik­i’s Deliv­ery Ser­vice called Witch Val­ley, and the Totoro-themed Don­doko For­est. Will Stu­dio Ghi­b­li’s theme park rise into the ranks of the world’s most vis­it­ed? Nobody who has yet vis­it­ed their world, in any of its man­i­fes­ta­tions thus far, would put it past them.

Stu­dio Ghi­b­li has released some basic con­cept for the new theme park. You can get a few glimpses of what they have in mind on this page.

 

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How the Films of Hayao Miyaza­ki Work Their Ani­mat­ed Mag­ic, Explained in 4 Video Essays

What Made Stu­dio Ghi­b­li Ani­ma­tor Isao Taka­ha­ta (RIP) a Mas­ter: Two Video Essays

Watch Hayao Miyazaki’s Beloved Char­ac­ters Enter the Real World

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

What Made Studio Ghibli Animator Isao Takahata (RIP) a Master: Two Video Essays

Among the many acclaimed ani­mat­ed films of Stu­dio Ghi­b­li — and indeed among recent Japan­ese ani­mat­ed films in gen­er­al — those direct­ed by the out­spo­ken, oft-retir­ing-and-return­ing Hayao Miyaza­ki tend to get the most atten­tion. But even casu­al view­ers over­look the work of the late Isao Taka­ha­ta (1935–2018), the old­er ani­ma­tor for­mer­ly of Toei with whom Miyaza­ki found­ed the stu­dio in 1985, at their per­il. Though he most often played the role of pro­duc­er at Ghi­b­li, he also direct­ed sev­er­al of its films, first and most mem­o­rably 1988’s Grave of the Fire­flies, the sto­ry of an orphaned broth­er and sis­ter’s strug­gle for sur­vival at the very end of the Sec­ond World War.

Grave of the Fire­flies is an emo­tion­al expe­ri­ence so pow­er­ful that it forces a rethink­ing of ani­ma­tion,” wrote Roger Ebert in 2000, adding the pic­ture to his “Great Movies” canon. “When ani­me fans say how good the film is, nobody takes them seri­ous­ly. [ … ] Yes, it’s a car­toon, and the kids have eyes like saucers, but it belongs on any list of the great­est war films ever made.”

No West­ern crit­ic would frame it quite the same way now, with the implic­it dis­claimer about the nature of Japan­ese ani­ma­tion, thanks in no small part to what ani­ma­tors like Taka­ha­ta have done to show the entire world the true poten­tial of their medi­um since.

The quar­ter-cen­tu­ry after Grave of the Fire­flies saw Taka­ha­ta direct four more fea­tures, Only Yes­ter­dayPom PokoMy Neigh­bors the Yamadas, and his visu­al­ly uncon­ven­tion­al, long-in-the-mak­ing final work The Tale of Princess Kaguya. You can get a sense of Taka­hata’s dis­tinc­tive sen­si­bil­i­ties and sen­si­tiv­i­ties as an ani­ma­tion direc­tor in the Roy­al Ocean Film Soci­ety video essay “Isao Taka­ha­ta: The Oth­er Mas­ter” at the top of the post. It gets into the ques­tions of why Taka­ha­ta chose to tell essen­tial­ly real­is­tic, drawn-from-life sto­ries in a form most know for its way with the fan­tas­ti­cal, and how the visu­al exag­ger­a­tions in his films some­how imbue them with a more sol­id feel of real­i­ty.

Just above, “Isao Taka­ha­ta Does­n’t Get Enough Respect (A Ret­ro­spec­tive),” by Youtu­ber Stevem, goes in oth­er direc­tions, explor­ing the direc­tor’s tech­nique as well as his career, life, and per­son­al­i­ty, draw­ing not just from his work with Ghi­b­li but the con­sid­er­able amount he did before the stu­dio’s foun­da­tion as well. Still, Grave of the Fire­flies may well remain most film­go­ers’ gate­way into his fil­mog­ra­phy for the fore­see­able future, not least because of its still-refresh­ing “anti-Hol­ly­wood” qual­i­ties. “Hol­ly­wood will have you believe that heroes are need­ed when times are tough,” says writer on Japan­ese cul­ture Roland Kelts in a recent BBC piece on the movie. “Isao Taka­ha­ta shows us the hum­ble oppo­site, that when times are tough what you need most is humil­i­ty, patience and self-restraint. That’s how one sur­vives.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Insane­ly Cute Cat Com­mer­cials from Stu­dio Ghi­b­li, Hayao Miyazaki’s Leg­endary Ani­ma­tion Shop

Soft­ware Used by Hayao Miyazaki’s Ani­ma­tion Stu­dio Becomes Open Source & Free to Down­load

How the Films of Hayao Miyaza­ki Work Their Ani­mat­ed Mag­ic, Explained in 4 Video Essays

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

The Famous Schrodinger’s Cat Thought Experiment Comes Back to Life in an Off-Kilter Animation


Schrödinger’s Cat is one of the more famous thought exper­i­ments in mod­ern physics, cre­at­ed by Aus­tri­an physi­cist Erwin Schrödinger back in 1935.  The Tele­graph sum­ma­rizes the gist of the exper­i­ment as fol­lows:

In the hypo­thet­i­cal exper­i­ment … a cat is placed in a sealed box along with a radioac­tive sam­ple, a Geiger counter and a bot­tle of poi­son.

If the Geiger counter detects that the radioac­tive mate­r­i­al has decayed, it will trig­ger the smash­ing of the bot­tle of poi­son and the cat will be killed.

The exper­i­ment was designed to illus­trate the flaws of the ‘Copen­hagen inter­pre­ta­tion’ of quan­tum mechan­ics, which states that a par­ti­cle exists in all states at once until observed.

If the Copen­hagen inter­pre­ta­tion sug­gests the radioac­tive mate­r­i­al can have simul­ta­ne­ous­ly decayed and not decayed in the sealed envi­ron­ment, then it fol­lows the cat too is both alive and dead until the box is opened.

The Uni­ver­si­ty of Not­ting­ham’s Six­ty Sym­bols YouTube chan­nel pro­vides a more com­plete expla­na­tion. But with or with­out any fur­ther intro­duc­tion, you can watch the off-kil­ter ani­ma­tion, above, which imag­ines the ori­gins of the orig­i­nal exper­i­ment. It was cre­at­ed by Chav­dar Yor­danov for an ani­ma­tion show in Lon­don.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site ear­ly last year.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

80 Free Online Physics Cours­es

When a Cat Co-Authored a Paper in a Lead­ing Physics Jour­nal (1975)

Nick Cave Nar­rates an Ani­mat­ed Film about the Cat Piano, the Twist­ed 18th Cen­tu­ry Musi­cal Instru­ment Designed to Treat Men­tal Ill­ness

Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tions to Quan­tum Mechan­ics: From Schrödinger’s Cat to Heisenberg’s Uncer­tain­ty Prin­ci­ple

Ani­ma­tions of 6 Famous Thought Exper­i­ments

Watch the Original Black Panther Animated Series Online: All Six Episodes Now Available Thanks to Marvel

Last month, I was thrilled to learn of a talk com­ing to my town called “The Writ­ers of Wakan­da.” I scored a (free) tick­et, think­ing that maybe the mas­sive block­buster movie’s director/writer Ryan Coogler might make an appear­ance (or his co-writer Joe Robert Cole), or maybe one or more of the high-pro­file writ­ers who have expand­ed the comic’s world recent­ly, like Ta-Nehisi Coates, Rox­anne Gay, or Nne­di Oko­rafor. Well, either there was some kind of bait-and-switch at work or I naive­ly failed to read the fine print. The event was a pan­el of devot­ed fans of the com­ic hav­ing a dis­cus­sion about their life­long fan­dom, the many iter­a­tions of the char­ac­ter through var­i­ous Mar­vel writer’s hands, and the film’s huge cul­tur­al impact at home and abroad. It was slight­ly dis­ap­point­ing but also quite enjoy­able and infor­ma­tive.

I learned, for exam­ple, that some of the most well-loved and high­ly-praised char­ac­ters in the film appeared very late in the series’ run (which began with the character’s cre­ation by Stan Lee and Jack Kir­by in 1966) and were intro­duced by its first black writ­ers, the “chron­i­cal­ly under­ap­pre­ci­at­ed” Christo­pher Priest and the film­mak­er Regi­nald Hudlin.

In the late 90s, Priest invent­ed the Dora Mila­je, the elite all-female fight­ing force who pro­tect Wakanda’s kings (who each take on the man­tle of super­hero Black Pan­ther once they ascend the throne). Hudlin cre­at­ed the char­ac­ter of Shuri, King T’Challa’s younger sis­ter and the sci­en­tif­ic mas­ter­mind behind his high-tech empire of vibra­ni­um-pow­ered gear and gad­getry. Which brings us, at last, to the sub­ject of this post, the Black Pan­ther ani­mat­ed series, co-pro­duced by BET and Mar­vel, who have released all six episodes on Mar­vel’s YouTube chan­nel. Stream them all above.

Tak­ing its sto­ry from Hudlin’s 2005 comics run, the series is less ani­ma­tion and more “a stop motion com­ic,” as Nerdist writes, “added to the art­work of John Romi­ta, Jr.” This is all to its cred­it, as is its star-stud­ded voice cast­ing, with Ker­ry Wash­ing­ton as Shuri, Alfre Woodard as the Queen Moth­er, Jill Scott as Storm, and Dji­mon Houn­sou as T’Challa/Black Pan­ther. How does it com­pare to the block­buster film? From its first sal­vo of Wakan­dan war­rior prowess in a cold open set in the 5th cen­tu­ry A.D., to its sev­en­ties-African-funk-inspired theme song, to a present-day scene in the White House, with a blus­tery racist army gen­er­al (played by Stan Lee) who sounds like a mem­ber of the cur­rent admin­is­tra­tion, the first episode, above, sug­gests it will live up to Hudlin’s cast­ing of the char­ac­ter as “an unapolo­getic African man,” as Todd Steven Bur­roughs writes at The Root, “open­ly opposed to white, West­ern suprema­cy.”

Hudlin wrote some of the comic’s most polit­i­cal­ly chal­leng­ing sto­ries, delv­ing into “seri­ous Euro­pean col­o­niza­tion themes.” These themes are woven through­out the ani­mat­ed series, which fea­tures such char­ac­ters now famil­iar to film­go­ers as Everett Ross and the vil­lain Klaw. Cap­tain Amer­i­ca para­chutes in—in a flashback—meets an ear­li­er Black Pan­ther dur­ing World War II, and takes a beat­ing. (“These are dan­ger­ous times,” says Cap, “you need to choose a side.” The reply: “We have, our own.”) The X‑Men’s Storm, for­mer­ly the first most-famous African super­hero, plays a sig­nif­i­cant role. Not in the series, like­ly to many people’s dis­ap­point­ment, are the Dora Mila­je, at least in star­ring roles, and the film’s pri­ma­ry antag­o­nist Erik Kill­mon­ger.

But not to wor­ry. The ass-kick­ing gen­er­al Okoye and her cadre of war­riors will soon get a spin-off com­ic writ­ten by Oko­rafor, and there’s been some spec­u­la­tion, at least, about whether Kill­mon­ger will return (res­ur­rect­ed, per­haps, as he was in the comics) in the inevitable Black Pan­ther 2. In the mean­time, both long­time and new fans of the char­ac­ter can get their fix in this six-episode series, which offers a thrilling, bloody, and his­tor­i­cal­ly fas­ci­nat­ing take not only on the Black Pan­ther him­self, but on the com­pli­cat­ed rela­tion­ship of Wakan­da to the machi­na­tions of the West­ern world through­out colo­nial his­to­ry and into the present.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Down­load Over 22,000 Gold­en & Sil­ver Age Com­ic Books from the Com­ic Book Plus Archive

Why Mar­vel and Oth­er Hol­ly­wood Films Have Such Bland Music: Every Frame a Paint­ing Explains the Per­ils of the “Temp Score”

How to Draw in the Style of Japan­ese Man­ga: A Series of Free & Wild­ly Pop­u­lar Video Tuto­ri­als from Artist Mark Cril­ley

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Pablo Neruda’s Poem, “The Me Bird,” Becomes a Short, Beautifully Animated Film

From 18bis, a Brazil­ian design & motion graph­ics stu­dio, comes this: an ani­mat­ed inter­pre­ta­tion of “The Me Bird,” a poem by the Nobel Prize-win­ning poet Pablo Neru­da. Writes 18bis, “The inspi­ra­tion in the stra­ta sten­cil tech­nique helps con­cep­tu­al­ize the rep­e­ti­tion of lay­ers as the past of our move­ments and actions. The frames depict­ed as jail and the past as a bur­den serve as the back­ground for the sto­ry of a bal­le­ri­na on a jour­ney towards free­dom. A diver­si­fied artis­tic exper­i­men­ta­tion recre­ates the tem­pest that con­nects bird and dancer.” It’s all pret­ty won­der­ful.

Bonus mate­r­i­al: You can watch The Mak­ing of The Me Bird here. And find the orig­i­nal text of the Neru­da poem here. We have more poet­ry put to ani­ma­tion below.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2013.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Poems as Short Films: Langston Hugh­es, Pablo Neru­da and More

Watch an Ani­mat­ed Film of Emi­ly Dickinson’s Poem ‘I Start­ed Early–Took My Dog’

The Ani­ma­tion of Bil­ly Collins’ Poet­ry: Every­day Moments in Motion

Four Charles Bukows­ki Poems Ani­mat­ed

Neil Gaiman’s Dark Christ­mas Poem Ani­mat­ed

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