Andy Glynne: Animation from a Documentary Filmmaking Perspective
To round up the last of my presentation posts, I’ll be discussing a filmmaker’s work who’s caught my eye in the last couple of weeks: Andy Glynne.
Glynne, by his own self-admission, is not an animator (claiming the best he can do is draw stick figures) (Serra, p.299). However, his background lies in documentary filmmaking, in conveying “inner experience” hidden from view. He leads a production company called Mosaic Films, one that specialises in animations and documentaries that encourage people to “ask questions”, and learn about the wider world they live in (Creative Europe Desk). Glynne spoke about his inspiration for coming up with Animated Minds, citing that after watching Hidden, a Swedish documentary from 2002, he was fascinated how animation could convey a story both anonymously but also how well they captured the story being told (Serra, p.295).
In the last post, I touched upon the pros and cons of animation, of how abstract and free it is to capture reality whilst being just as difficult to produce, both in time and resources. But Glynne looks deeper into the purpose of animation and documentary together, moreso than the production limits or the “gimmick” of being able to convey reality in fiction. For him, there must be three “preconditions” for a project to be met before uniting these two opposing forms of film (ibid, p.302).
Firstly, the narrative and story. Can animation bring something to the narrative to help engage the audience? If the audience are engaged and want to go on a journey with the subject of a documentary, then a connection of spectatorship has been established (ibid, p.301).
Secondly, context. There isn’t any point of animating someone’s daily life when one could simply just record it, animation doesn’t serve any real purpose. On the other hand, if the subject matter deals with an orphan who wants to stay anonymous, animation could help facilitate that story.
Lastly, a contract must be made, between the filmmaker and the audience, in regards to the truth of the film. No matter what form it’s told in, the events presented in the film are true. If these three conditions are not met, then what would be the point of making an animated documentary when another, more suitable form, may be better to use for the subject matter.
Having provided all this context for Glynne, I’d like to discuss about Animated Minds. This is a 2003 series directed by Glynne for Channel 4, which looks into the experiences of people who experience mental health distress. Over 100 people were interviewed, but Glynne narrowed it down to several people which would benefit best from animation (ibid, p.296).
In my presentation, I plan (or planned, depending on when you’re reading this) to only cover one episode in the 8 minutes. However, I’d like to cover another episode and illustrate the bespoke approach Glynne has opted for each person.
The Light Bulb Thing
Let’s start off with the episode called The light bulb thing, a story about a woman called Hannah who experiences bipolar disorder, or extreme mood swings from euphoria to depression.
Across the series, sound design is paramount: Glynne notes he likes to focus on the testimony being delivered by the interviewee, and at no point should any other audio elements, such as music or sound design, overpower or overshadow the testimony in any way (Serra, p.300). By definition, depression is a state of feeling sad or anxious (NHS). Part of this involves the idea of heightened senses, a greater awareness of your surroundings and your own emotions (Lit, 2017). The sound design does a great job of illustrating this point. The typing of the keyboard, the sounds of the escalators, the ruffling on the train are loud, prominent, begging for attention, yet not overpowering the narration Hannah provides. The music is sombre, and as the film gradually progresses, becomes slightly more eerie, like a mood swing has taken place. This is particularly notable around the 1:20 mark, between the scene of Euphoria in the street lights to the immediate scene after where Hannah begins to feel anxious and sad.
Visually, the film has what Hannah herself describes as a “Pippy Longstocking” art style (Chamberlain). The characters are colourless and loose, allowing for some expressive faces. The texture of the animation feels noisy in a way, pencil graphite and rough outlines cover the backgrounds and characters. The lighting for the most part is dark, and you can feel a real contrast between the rooms and the light sources within them, giving off a mood of tension and anxiety.
Hannah is more often than not animated with body language that reflects a nervousness towards her surroundings. She turns in all directions, looking very hard at every corner of her environment. Her eyes are constantly looking towards other people, wide-eyed in as if she’s anxious. On the train, she darts towards the pole, suggesting discomfort being too close to other people. The only real moment she feels loose and free is under the street lights, she swings her head round in glee and dances across the street. This is a stark contrast to the ending sequences, where her movements feel timid, restrained.
Lastly, the colour palette is muted. We get hues of vibrant yellow in the street lights which represent the height of her euphoric state, red for stress and anxiety, a cold blue as she steadily swings towards a state of depression, before ending in grey scale where life almost feels boring and depressive. These colour changes are quite gradual, and complement the narrative well. All these decisions lead to a film with a clear narrative, one that feels cohesive in its design and represents the experiences of bipolar disorder.
Fish on a Hook
The next episode I’d like to discuss is Fish on a Hook, following a man named Mike who faces anxiety and agoraphobia, a fear of being in situations where help may not be available or would be difficult to escape from (NHS).
Visually, the film has a blurry, messy texture. You can see large pixels at times, the colours of many interior rooms are stained, a murky kind of brown, often dark. The line art is thick, sketchy, rough and unrefined, whilst the characters are all largely identical. Only the hair and the form of the body are defined – no clothes, no unique identifiers, perhaps suggesting Mike sees all people the same way in fear.
I’d like to touch on the storyboard. Many of the rooms feel quite tight and small, and Mike is positioned awkwardly in these spaces, often curled up. A multi-plane approach to the camerawork is often used, backgrounds zooming out as we zoom in on Mike’s character, reflecting a daunting sense of worry.
The movement of the character supports Mike’s narration; animation boiling, the art of drawing the same frame multiple times where the line subtly wiggles, is used to convey Mike’s anxiety and fear as his body shudders. When he drags the bags home, his motion is sluggish, slow, and heavy. His arms are pulling back rather than actually carrying the bags, almost like dragging himself home after the experience, like he’s simply tired and worn out.
Lastly, the sound design once again doesn’t overpower, but supports what is being shown and described. You can hear sounds of whirring 51 seconds in, as he potentially overthinks about going to Sainsbury’s. Or around the 1 minute 30 seconds mark, you can hear the footsteps becoming less real. They sound almost synthesised and losing steam as he walks along, as he begins to feel less and less confident in leaving. And yet we still get sounds that do help us ground back into reality, such as the sound of shopping trolleys in the supermarket as a reminder that this is a place we’ve all likely experienced in our own everyday life. As mentioned previously about ideas on spectatorship, giving us a link to places we might be familiar helps us to relate to the character in the way it has done here.
Whilst Glynne isn’t an animator, his work is intriguing. He takes people’s experiences and finds a way to turn it into a digestible narrative to others who do not experience the same things. He carefully crafts both visual and audio elements together to enhance the inner experiences of these interviewees in a way that doesn’t feel too exaggerated. It’s built in truths, just illustrated in a way people can understand these mental distresses.
That covers everything I wanted to present in my research on the genre of animated documentaries in relation to ideas of spectatorship and the spectator behind the screen. Animated documentaries are a fascinating breed of films. They exaggerate enough to illustrate deeper, more personal experiences, yet never feel too far away from the reality we live in.
As I’ve mentioned in the previous post, I’m not a complete stranger to animated documentaries. I’ve had a shot at trying to make one, but admittedly it was more for the satisfaction of using animation rather than seeing what the process has to offer to the narrative. I’d like to have another go at making one that takes advantage of animation to enhance how the story is conveyed. How can I use sound to unite the narration and the visuals? How do I animate the characters to all have different moods? How do I storyboard to emphasise the character’s testimonies? These are questions I’d like to look into as I progress through this course.
Serra, J., Interview with Andy Glynne, Available at: http://doc.ubi.pt/13/entrevista_jennifer_serra.pdf
Creative Europe Desk, ON THE BLOG: Andy Glynne on scandi noir and the power of partnership, Available at: https://www.creativeeuropeuk.eu/news/blog-andy-glynne-scandi-noir-and-power-partnership?fbclid=IwAR1znLpDNmb13QCvd0enUV2LpclMBFbTmUOxrJMCJwtGDa6xek2LAnm4S74
(NHS) https://www.nhsinform.scot/illnesses-and-conditions/mental-health/depression
Lit, E., (2017) When Depression Heightens Your Sensitivities, Available at: https://themighty.com/2017/10/heightened-sensitivity-to-overstimulation-depression/
Chamberlain, H., The Lightbulb Thing, Available at: http://hannahchamberlainfilm.co.uk/the-lightbulb-thing
(NHS), https://www.nhs.uk/mental-health/conditions/agoraphobia/overview/