Tom Sawyer, Huck Finn & Twain Himself Meet Satan in the Zany 1985 Claymation The Adventures of Mark Twain

“But who prays for Satan?” Mark Twain asked in the auto­bi­og­ra­phy left behind as he exit­ed this mor­tal coil on the tail of Halley’s comet, whose 1835 appear­ance coin­cid­ed with his birth.

It’s a good ques­tion.

Had he instead asked who clay­mates Satan, the answer would have been clearcut.

1985 saw the release of The Adven­tures of Mark Twain, the world’s first all clay­ma­tion fea­ture film, in which Satan starred along­side Tom Sawyer, Huck­le­ber­ry Finn, Becky Thatch­er, and Twain him­self.

Direc­tor Will Vin­ton, father of the Cal­i­for­nia Raisins and Domi­no Pizza’s ill-fat­ed mas­cot, The Noid, drew on some of Twain’s best known work, cob­bling togeth­er a sto­ry in which the fic­tion­al kids stow­away aboard an air­ship Twain plans to pilot into the comet.

The Satan sec­tion above comes cour­tesy of the author’s final, unfin­ished nov­el, The Mys­te­ri­ous Stranger. The ani­ma­tion is top notch, but hoo boy, it’s hard to imag­ine a vision this apoc­a­lyp­tic get­ting a G‑rating today.

Vin­ton him­self resist­ed the rat­ing, not want­i­ng to be lumped in with more reg­u­lar kid­die fare. It per­formed dis­ap­point­ing­ly at the box office despite great crit­i­cal response from such lofty realms as The New Repub­lic.

Is it real­ly so sur­pris­ing that fam­i­lies flock­ing to the Care Bears Movie steered clear of one fea­tur­ing a shape-shift­ing, free-float­ing mask, who ter­ror­izes the chil­dren in the film (and pre­sum­ably, the audi­ence) by con­jur­ing an enchant­i­ng lit­tle clay king­dom only to rain mis­for­tune upon it. We’re talk­ing smashed coffins, grief-strick­en clay moth­ers wail­ing over the bod­ies of their young, help­less vic­tims being swal­lowed up by cracks that appear in the earth.

Where’s the Hap­py Meal tie-in there!?

It’s reas­sur­ing to know that the exis­ten­tial hor­ror was indeed delib­er­ate. As Vin­ton told James Gartler in an inter­view with Ani­ma­tion World Net­work:

“… it was just such a bizarre char­ac­ter, to start with.  In fact, I haven’t seen a char­ac­ter quite like that in almost any­thing else – some­one who has this pow­er but no feel­ing one way or anoth­er and just sort-of tells it like it is regard­ing the future of human­i­ty.  We want­ed it to be about meta­mor­pho­sis, visu­al­ly, and make that a big part of sequence.  He trans­forms and grows up and down from the earth and appears out of noth­ing­ness. The design of the char­ac­ter came from an ear­ly draw­ing that Bar­ry Bruce did, where a jester was hold­ing his face on a stick.  I thought it was a real­ly inter­est­ing way to play it.  I end­ed up doing the voice of the Stranger with a female per­former.  We want­ed it to be almost androg­y­nous, so she and I did it togeth­er and made a point of not try­ing to hide it, even.”

I’m not sure the per­son or per­sons respon­si­ble for the the­atri­cal trail­er, below, got the memo…

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Nor­man Rock­well Illus­trates Mark Twain’s Tom Sawyer & Huck­le­ber­ry Finn (1936–1940)

Mark Twain Pre­dicts the Inter­net in 1898: Read His Sci-Fi Crime Sto­ry, “From The ‘Lon­don Times’ in 1904”

Play Mark Twain’s “Mem­o­ry-Builder,” His Game for Remem­ber­ing His­tor­i­cal Facts & Dates

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

Jared Diamond Identifies the Real, Unexpected Risks in Our Everyday Life (in a Psychedelic Animated Video)

Jared Dia­mond is a true poly­math. He got his start research­ing how the gall blad­der absorbed salt and then moved on to oth­er fields of study – ornithol­o­gy, anthro­pol­o­gy, lin­guis­tics. His wild­ly diverse inter­ests have giv­en him a unique per­spec­tive of how and why our species evolved. His Pulitzer Prize-win­ning book Germs, Guns and Steel makes a pret­ty con­vinc­ing argu­ment about why Europe — and not Chi­na or South Amer­i­ca — end­ed up dom­i­nat­ing the world. The answer, it turns not, has every­thing to do with geog­ra­phy and lit­tle to do with any kind of cul­tur­al supe­ri­or­i­ty.

Back in 2013, Dia­mond spoke at The Roy­al Insti­tu­tion about how we think of risk in the first world ver­sus those who live in remote New Guinea. The RI has tak­en a por­tion of that hour and a half talk and set it to some glo­ri­ous ani­ma­tion. You can watch it above.

Ear­ly in Diamond’s career, he was in the jun­gle with his New Guinean guides. He found what he thought was a per­fect spot to pitch camp – under a mas­sive dead tree. His guides refused to sleep there, fear­ing that the tree might fall in the mid­dle of the night. He thought that they were being over­ly para­noid until he start­ed see­ing things from their per­spec­tive.

Every night you’re in New Guinea sleep­ing in a for­est, you hear a tree fall some­where and then you go do the num­bers. Sup­pose the risk of that tree falling on me tonight is 1 in 1000. If I sleep under dead trees for 1000 nights, in three years I’m going to be dead. … The New Guinea atti­tude is sen­si­tive to the risks of things you are going to do reg­u­lar­ly. Each time they car­ry a low risk but if you are not cau­tious it will catch up with you.

Dia­mond then extrap­o­lat­ed this real­iza­tion to mod­ern life. He notes that he is 76 years old and will sta­tis­ti­cal­ly speak­ing prob­a­bly live anoth­er 15 or so years. Yet if the risk of tak­ing a fall in the show­er is rough­ly the same as get­ting brained by a dead tree in the jun­gles of New Guinea (1 in 1000), then Dia­mond fig­ures he could kill him­self 5 ½ times over his the course of those 15 years.

“And so I’m care­ful about show­ers,” he says in the full video of the talk. “I’m care­ful about side­walks. I’m care­ful about steplad­ders. It dri­ves many of my Amer­i­can friends crazy but I will sur­vive and they won’t.”

Peo­ple in the first world are ter­ri­fied by the wrong things, Dia­mond argues. The real dan­ger isn’t ter­ror­ism, ser­i­al killers or sharks, which kill a very, very small per­cent­age of peo­ple annu­al­ly. The real risks are those things that we do dai­ly that car­ry a low risk but that even­tu­al­ly catch up with you – dri­ving, tak­ing stairs, using step lad­ders.

You can watch the full inter­view, which is fas­ci­nat­ing, below.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Jared Dia­mond Explains Haiti’s Endur­ing Pover­ty

The Evo­lu­tion of Reli­gions: A Talk by Jared Dia­mond

“Pro­fes­sor Risk” at Cam­bridge Uni­ver­si­ty Says “One of the Biggest Risks is Being Too Cau­tious”

MIT’s Intro­duc­tion to Pok­er The­o­ry: A Free Online Course

Jonathan Crow is a Los Ange­les-based writer and film­mak­er whose work has appeared in Yahoo!, The Hol­ly­wood Reporter, and oth­er pub­li­ca­tions. You can fol­low him at @jonccrow. And check out his blog Veep­to­pus, fea­tur­ing lots of pic­tures of vice pres­i­dents with octo­pus­es on their heads.  The Veep­to­pus store is here.

Walt Whitman’s Poem “A Noiseless Patient Spider” Brought to Life in Three Animations

How can a mod­ern edu­ca­tor go about get­ting a stu­dent to con­nect to poet­ry?

For­get the emo kid pour­ing his heart out into a spi­ral jour­nal.

Dit­to the youth­ful slam poet­ess, wield­ing pro­nun­ci­a­tion like a cud­gel.

Think of some­one tru­ly hard to reach, a reluc­tant read­er per­haps, or maybe just some­one (doesn’t have to be a kid) who’s con­vinced all poet­ry sucks.

You could stage a rap bat­tle.

Take the drudgery out of mem­o­riza­tion by find­ing a pop melody well suit­ed to singing Emi­ly Dick­in­son stan­zas.

Or appeal to the YouTube gen­er­a­tion via short ani­ma­tions, as edu­ca­tor Justin Moore does in the TED-Ed les­son, above.

Ani­ma­tion, like poet­ry, is often a mat­ter of taste, and Moore’s les­son hedges its bets by enlist­ing not one, but three ani­ma­tor-nar­ra­tor teams to inter­pret Walt Whit­man’s “A Noise­less Patient Spi­der.”

Orig­i­nal­ly pub­lished as part of the poem “Whis­pers of Heav­en­ly Death,” and includ­ed in the 1891 “deathbed edi­tion” of Leaves of Grass, the poem equates the soul’s des­per­ate strug­gle to con­nect with some­thing or some­one with that of a spi­der, seek­ing to build a web in a less than ide­al loca­tion.

Two of the ani­ma­tors, Jere­mi­ah Dick­ey and Lisa LaBra­cio launch them­selves straight toward the “fil­a­ment, fil­a­ment, fil­a­ment.” Seems like a sol­id plan. An indus­tri­ous spi­der indus­tri­ous­ly squirt­ing threads out of its nether region cre­ates a cool visu­al that echoes both Charlotte’s Web and the rep­e­ti­tion with­in the poem.

Mahogany Browne’s nar­ra­tion of Dickey’s paint­ing on glass mines the stri­den­cy of slam. Nar­ra­tor Rives gives a more low key per­for­mance with LaBracio’s scratch­board inter­pre­ta­tion.

In-between is Joan­na Hoffman’s spi­der­less exper­i­men­tal video, voiced with a wee bit of vocal fry by Joan­na Hoff­man. Were I to pick the one least like­ly to cap­ture a student’s imag­i­na­tion…

Once the stu­dent has watched all three ani­ma­tions, it’s worth ask­ing what the poem means. If no answer is forth­com­ing, Moore sup­plies some ques­tions that might help stuck wheels start turn­ing. Ques­tion num­ber five strikes me as par­tic­u­lar­ly ger­mane, know­ing the ruinous effect the teenage ten­den­cy to gloss over unfa­mil­iar vocab­u­lary has on com­pre­hen­sion.

Ulti­mate­ly, I pre­fer the below inter­pre­ta­tion of Kristin Sirek, who uses her YouTube chan­nel to read poet­ry, includ­ing her own, out loud, with­out any bells or whis­tles what­so­ev­er.

A noise­less patient spi­der,
I mark’d where on a lit­tle promon­to­ry it stood iso­lat­ed,
Mark’d how to explore the vacant vast sur­round­ing,
It launch’d forth fil­a­ment, fil­a­ment, fil­a­ment, out of itself,
Ever unreel­ing them, ever tire­less­ly speed­ing them.
And you O my soul where you stand,
Sur­round­ed, detached, in mea­sure­less oceans of space,
Cease­less­ly mus­ing, ven­tur­ing, throw­ing, seek­ing the spheres to con­nect them,
Till the bridge you will need be form’d, till the duc­tile anchor hold,
Till the gos­samer thread you fling catch some­where, O my soul.

 Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hys­ter­i­cal Lit­er­a­ture: Art & Sex­u­al­i­ty Col­lide in Read­ings of Whit­man, Emer­son & Oth­er Greats (NSFW)

Orson Welles Reads From America’s Great­est Poem, Walt Whitman’s “Song of Myself” (1953)

Mar­i­lyn Mon­roe Reads Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass (1952)

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

How Can I Know Anything at All? BBC Animations Feature the Philosophy of Wittgenstein, Hume, Popper & More

How did every­thing begin? What makes us human? What is the self? How do I live a good life? What is love? We’ve all asked these ques­tions, if only with­in our heads, and recent­ly a series of BBC ani­ma­tions writ­ten by philoso­pher Nigel War­bur­ton and nar­rat­ed by a vari­ety of celebri­ties have done their lev­el best to answer them–or at least to point us in the direc­tion of answer­ing them for our­selves by not just telling but wit­ti­ly show­ing us what great minds have thought and said on the issues before we came along. Most recent­ly, they’ve tak­en on that eter­nal conun­drum, “How can I know any­thing at all?”

The already philo­soph­i­cal­ly inclined will have rec­og­nized this as the foun­da­tion­al ques­tion of epis­te­mol­o­gy, that for­mi­da­ble branch of phi­los­o­phy con­cerned with what we know, how we know, and whether we can know in the first place. Many famil­iar names in the his­to­ry of phi­los­o­phy have stepped onto this field, includ­ing Lud­wig Wittgen­stein, with whose thoughts this series of extreme­ly brief explana­to­ry videos begins. It lays out his anal­o­gy of the bee­tle in a box, where­in each per­son holds a box con­tain­ing what they call a “bee­tle,” but nobody can look inside anoth­er’s box to con­firm whether their idea of a bee­tle aligns with any­one else’s.

In Wittgen­stein’s view, says actor Aidan Turn­er, “there can’t be more to the pub­lic mean­ing of a lan­guage than we’re capa­ble of teach­ing each oth­er, and the pri­vate ‘something’—the ‘beetle’—can’t have a role in that teach­ing, because we can’t get at it.” The next video, in ask­ing whether we should believe in mir­a­cles, brings in Scot­tish Enlight­en­ment thinker David Hume, who thought that “if we fol­low the rule of pro­por­tion­ing our beliefs to the avail­able evi­dence, there will always be more evi­dence that the eye­wit­ness accounts were mis­tak­en than not.” Hume’s pre­de­ces­sor George Berke­ley makes an appear­ance to weigh in on whether any­thing exists—or, more pre­cise­ly, whether any­thing exists besides our minds, which con­vince us that we expe­ri­ence real things out there in the world.

Final­ly, the series lands on a method we can use to know, one sci­ence has relied on, with seem­ing suc­cess, for quite some time now: Karl Pop­per’s idea of fal­si­fi­ca­tion. “Rather than look­ing for sup­port­ing evi­dence, Pop­per argued that sci­en­tists go out of their way to refute their own hypothe­ses, test­ing them to destruc­tion,” leav­ing those that remain, at least pro­vi­sion­al­ly, as knowl­edge. Though none of these videos exceed two min­utes in length, each one, dense with both philo­soph­i­cal and pop-cul­tur­al ref­er­ences, will leave you with more knowl­edge about epis­te­mol­o­gy than you went in with—assuming they don’t leave you dis­be­liev­ing in knowl­edge itself.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

140 Free Online Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es

What is Love? BBC Phi­los­o­phy Ani­ma­tions Fea­ture Sartre, Freud, Aristo­phanes, Dawkins & More

What is the Self? Watch Phi­los­o­phy Ani­ma­tions Nar­rat­ed by Stephen Fry on Sartre, Descartes & More

How Did Every­thing Begin?: Ani­ma­tions on the Ori­gins of the Uni­verse Nar­rat­ed by X‑Files Star Gillian Ander­son

What Makes Us Human?: Chom­sky, Locke & Marx Intro­duced by New Ani­mat­ed Videos from the BBC

How to Live a Good Life? Watch Phi­los­o­phy Ani­ma­tions Nar­rat­ed by Stephen Fry on Aris­to­tle, Ayn Rand, Max Weber & More

How Can I Know Right From Wrong? Watch Phi­los­o­phy Ani­ma­tions on Ethics Nar­rat­ed by Har­ry Shear­er

Col­in Mar­shall writes on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Watch Interplanetary Revolution (1924): The Most Bizarre Soviet Animated Propaganda Film You’ll Ever See

In 1924, Zenon Komis­arenko, Youry Merkulov and Niko­lai Kho­dataev pro­duced Inter­plan­e­tary Rev­o­lu­tion, which might just be one of the strangest Sovi­et pro­pa­gan­da films ever pro­duced.

First, the film is ani­mat­ed using not only tra­di­tion­al cel ani­ma­tion but also col­lage and stop motion, giv­ing the work a queasy, dis­ori­ent­ing feel. A bit like look­ing at a paint­ing by Hen­ry Darg­er.

Then there is the film’s sto­ry. As an inter­ti­tle pro­claims, this is “a tale about Com­rade Con­in­ter­nov, the Red Army War­rior who flew to Mars, and van­quished all the cap­i­tal­ists on the plan­et!!” This already sounds bet­ter that John Carter.

The movie, how­ev­er, is rather hard to fol­low with­out either the appro­pri­ate amount of rev­o­lu­tion­ary fer­vor or, per­haps, hal­lu­cino­gens. Inter­plan­e­tary Rev­o­lu­tion opens with a wild-eyed, ax-wield­ing bull­dog with a top hat – a cap­i­tal­ist, obvi­ous­ly. Oth­er cap­i­tal­ists, with swastikas on their fore­heads, suck the blood from a hap­less mem­ber of the pro­le­tari­at. Then the rev­o­lu­tion comes and a pant­less cap­i­tal­ist demon los­es his mind after devour­ing a copy of Prav­da. Next, the cap­i­tal­ists all board a giant fly­ing shoe and fly off into space. From there, the film gets kind of weird.

You can watch the whole thing above. It’s also added to our list of Free Ani­mat­ed Films, a sub­set of our col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Dzi­ga Vertov’s A Man with a Movie Cam­era, Named the 8th Best Film Ever Made

Watch Sovi­et Ani­ma­tions of Win­nie the Pooh, Cre­at­ed by the Inno­v­a­tive Ani­ma­tor Fyo­dor Khitruk

“Glo­ry to the Con­querors of the Uni­verse!”: Pro­pa­gan­da Posters from the Sovi­et Space Race (1958–1963)

Jonathan Crow is a Los Ange­les-based writer and film­mak­er whose work has appeared in Yahoo!, The Hol­ly­wood Reporter, and oth­er pub­li­ca­tions. You can fol­low him at @jonccrow. And check out his blog Veep­to­pus, fea­tur­ing lots of pic­tures of vice pres­i­dents with octo­pus­es on their heads.  The Veep­to­pus store is here.

Watch Vincent, Tim Burton’s Animated Tribute to Vincent Price & Edgar Allan Poe (1982)

If you put togeth­er a list of the world’s great­est Vin­cent Price fans, you’d have to rank Tim Bur­ton at the top. That goes for “great­est” in the sense of both the fer­ven­cy of the fan’s enthu­si­asm for all things Price, and for the fan’s accom­plish­ments in his own right. Bur­ton’s film­mak­ing craft and his admi­ra­tion for the mid­cen­tu­ry hor­ror-film icon inter­sect­ed ear­ly in his career, when he made the six-minute ani­mat­ed film Vin­cent for Dis­ney in 1982, three years before his fea­ture debut Pee-Wee’s Big Adven­ture.

The short­’s title refers not to Vin­cent Price him­self, but to its sev­en-year-old pro­tag­o­nist, Vin­cent Mal­loy: “He’s always polite and does what he’s told. For a boy his age, he’s con­sid­er­ate and nice. But he wants to be just like Vin­cent Price.” Those words of nar­ra­tion — as if you could­n’t tell after the first one spo­ken — come in the voice of Price him­self. Vin­cent Mal­loy, pale of com­plex­ion and untamed of hair, sure­ly resem­bles Bur­ton’s child­hood self, and in more aspects than appear­ance: the film­mak­er grants the char­ac­ter his own idol­a­try not just of Price but of Edgar Allan Poe, and it’s into their macabre mas­ter­works that his day­dream­ing sends him — just as they pre­sum­ably sent the sev­en-year-old Bur­ton.

Bur­ton and Price’s col­lab­o­ra­tion on Vin­cent marked the begin­ning of a friend­ship that last­ed the rest of Price’s life. The appre­cia­tive actor called the short “the most grat­i­fy­ing thing that ever hap­pened,” and the direc­tor would go on to cast him in Edward Scis­sorhands eight years lat­er. Price died in 1993, the year before the release of Ed Wood, Bur­ton’s dra­ma­tized life of Edward D. Wood Jr. In that film, the rela­tion­ship between semi-retired hor­ror actor Bela Lugosi and the admir­ing schlock auteur Wood par­al­lels, in a way, that of the more endur­ing­ly suc­cess­ful Price and the much more com­pe­tent Bur­ton.

Vin­cent also drops hints of oth­er things to come in the Bur­toni­verse: Night­mare Before Christ­mas fans, for instance, should keep their eyes open for not one but two ear­ly appear­ances of that pic­ture’s bony cen­tral play­er Jack Skelling­ton. This demon­stra­tion of the con­ti­nu­ity of Bur­ton’s imag­i­na­tion under­scores that, as both his biggest fans and biggest crit­ics insist, he’s always lived in a world of his own — prob­a­bly since Vin­cent Mal­loy’s age, when teach­ers and oth­er author­i­ty fig­ures might have described him in exact­ly the same way.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More

Six Ear­ly Short Films By Tim Bur­ton

Tim Burton’s The World of Stain­boy: Watch the Com­plete Ani­mat­ed Series

How Ger­man Expres­sion­ism Influ­enced Tim Bur­ton: A Video Essay

Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven,” Read by Christo­pher Walken, Vin­cent Price, and Christo­pher Lee

5 Hours of Edgar Allan Poe Sto­ries Read by Vin­cent Price & Basil Rath­bone

Col­in Mar­shall writes on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Watch Nina Paley’s “Embroidermation,” a New, Stunningly Labor-Intensive Form of Animation

If you keep up with the ani­ma­tion we post here at Open Cul­ture, you’ll know we have a strong fas­ci­na­tion with tech­niques that require seem­ing­ly inhu­man lev­els of devo­tion to the craft. Ster­ling ear­li­er exam­ples of that include the pin­screen ani­ma­tion of Alexan­der Alex­eieff and Claire Park­er as used to envi­sion Niko­lai Gogol’s “The Nose” and Mod­est Mus­sorgsky’s “Night on Bald Moun­tain.” More recent prac­ti­tion­ers of such severe­ly labor-inten­sive ani­ma­tion include Nina Paley, the self-taught ani­mat­ed film­mak­er who sin­gle­hand­ed­ly cre­at­ed Sita Sings the Blues, the fea­ture-length jazz-scored adap­ta­tion of clas­sic Indi­an myth we fea­tured in 2009.

Since then, Paley has tak­en her con­sid­er­able skills to a form she calls “embroi­der­ma­tion.” It looks how it sounds: like frame by embroi­dered frame sequenced into life. You can get an idea of the process at Paley’s blog. She’s done this project under the ban­ner of PaleGray Labs, “the tex­tile col­lab­o­ra­tion of Nina Paley and Theodore Gray” (whose slo­gan announces their mis­sion to “put the NERD in quilt­iNg and EmbRoi­Dery”). They used it to make Chad Gadya, a three-minute ren­der­ing of a tra­di­tion­al passover folk song. (Below it, you can also see anoth­er embroi­der­ma­tion made by anoth­er artist for Throne’s song “Thar­sis Sleeps.”) PaleGray Labs bills Chad Gadya as “our most ridicu­lous­ly labor-inten­sive ani­ma­tion ever,” which must also make it the most ridicu­lous­ly labor-inten­sive ani­ma­tion we’ve yet fea­tured on Open Cul­ture. Its cre­ation required not only for­mi­da­ble embroi­dery abil­i­ties, but a deft hand with indus­tri­al-strength num­ber-crunch­ing soft­ware Math­e­mat­i­ca in order to cre­ate the process­es that allowed them to ani­mate the stitched fig­ures smooth­ly. If the results cap­ture your imag­i­na­tion, know that you can pur­chase the orig­i­nal phys­i­cal mate­ri­als: “Each unique, approx­i­mate­ly 16” square, unbleached cot­ton mat­zoh cov­er con­tains 6 frames of ani­ma­tion and is signed by the artists,” PaleGray’s site assures us. Per­haps you’d like to con­sid­er stock­ing up ear­ly on gifts for next Passover?

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Niko­lai Gogol’s Clas­sic Sto­ry, “The Nose,” Ani­mat­ed With the Aston­ish­ing Pin­screen Tech­nique (1963)

Night on Bald Moun­tain: An Eery, Avant-Garde Pin­screen Ani­ma­tion Based on Mussorgsky’s Mas­ter­piece (1933)

Sita Sings the Blues

Col­in Mar­shall writes on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Amanda Palmer Animates & Narrates Husband Neil Gaiman’s Unconscious Musings

Accord­ing to singer, song­writer and crowed fun­der extra­or­di­naire, Aman­da Palmer, there’s an “epi­dem­ic of mild-man­nered British men who say weird shit in their sleep.”

Her hus­band, author Neil Gaiman, is no excep­tion.

Neil Gaiman is a total weirdo when he’s half asleep. in a GOOD way, usu­al­ly. you know all that cray shit he’s been writ­ing for the past 30 years? it has to come from *some­where*. the guy is a fleshy repos­i­to­ry of sur­re­al strange­ness, and he’s at his best when he’s in the twi­light zone of half-wake­ful­ness. he’s the strangest sleep­er I’ve ever slept with (let’s not get into who I’ve slept with…different ani­ma­tion) not just because of the bizarro things that come out of his mouth when he’s in the gray area, but because he actu­al­ly seems to take on a total­ly dif­fer­ent per­sona when he’s asleep. and when that dude shows up, the wak­ing Neil Gaiman is impos­si­ble to get back, unless you real­ly shout him awake.

She’s made a habit of jot­ting down her husband’s choic­est som­nam­bu­lis­tic mut­ter­ings. One paper­less night, she repaired to the bath­room to recre­ate his noc­tur­nal state­ments on her iPhone’s voice recorder as best she could remem­ber.

As some­one who’s sore­ly tempt­ed to get incon­tro­vert­ible proof of her bedmate’s errat­ic snor­ing pat­terns, I won­der that Palmer wasn’t tempt­ed to hit record mid-rant, and let him hoist him­self on his own petard. Revenge does not seem to be the motive here, though. Palmer uses the device as more of a diary, rarely revis­it­ing what she’s laid down. It’s more process than prod­uct.

That said, when she redis­cov­ered this track, she felt it deserved to be ani­mat­ed, a la the Blank on Blank series. (Brain­Pick­ing’s Maria Popo­va urged her on too.) The ever-game Gaiman report­ed­ly “laughed his head off” at the prospect of get­ting the Janis Joplin found text treat­ment.

The finan­cial sup­port of some 5,369 fans on the artist-friend­ly crowd fund­ing plat­form, Patre­on, allowed Palmer  to secure the ser­vices of ani­ma­tor Avi Ofer, who reen­vi­sioned the cou­ple as a New York­er car­toon of sorts. He also man­aged to squeeze in a deft Lit­tle Prince ref­er­ence.

Per­haps his ser­vices will be called upon again. Gaiman reports that his very preg­nant bride is also prone to non­sen­si­cal sleep talk. (“I want to go danc­ing and i don’t want them to take the sheep, Don’t let them take the sheep.”) Turn­about is fair play.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Neil Gaiman’s Free Short Sto­ries

Where Do Great Ideas Come From? Neil Gaiman Explains

Watch Love­birds Aman­da Palmer and Neil Gaiman Sing “Makin’ Whoopee!” Live

Aman­da Palmer’s Tips for Being an Artist in the Rough-and-Tum­ble Dig­i­tal Age

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

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