The Red Turtle
The story, such as it is, begins when a man adrift in a storm washes ashore on an uninhabited island. At first, he forages for food, but after awhile he endeavors to escape. He builds a raft. However, at sea, a large red sea turtle swims below and smashes the boat from underneath. The man swims back to the island. He tries, again and again with an increasingly bigger raft and each time the animal foils his attempts. Then one evening, the man spies the creature on the beach attempting to crawl inland. In a fit of rage, he hits the turtle over the head with a bamboo stick and then turns it upside down, setting in motion a fantasy that will blend elements of Hans Christian Andersen with an already Robinson Crusoe influenced tale.
The Red Turtle is a partnership between Japanese Studio Ghibli and French distributor Wild Bunch. Dutch-British animator Michaël Dudok de Wit is doing the artwork. He received international recognition after winning the Oscar for his 2000 short film Father and Daughter. This is his debut feature. His style is reminiscent of Belgian cartoonist Hergé and his comic The Adventures of Tintin. It’s nice to see there’s still a place for the hand-drawn animation that has been widely rejected in recent years by major animation houses like Disney and Pixar. This production is above all an exquisitely animated gem.
The Red Turtle is an artistic work that is virtually wordless. Except for a few shouts of “Hey!” or cries of “Aargh!” there is no dialogue at all. The illustrations draw explicit attention to naturalistic detail. Beauty lies in the meditation on the flora and fauna – the whisper of the wind through the trees, an approaching rain, the buzz of cicadas in the forest, the rhythmic splash of waves against the sand, seeing the stars and moonlight reflected on the water. Whether it be a flock of birds flying overhead or a cast of crabs acting like cartoon sidekicks, this concentrated reflection on nature never ceases to be calm and comforting.
The Red Turtle coasts on ambient noise and wildlife sounds. Assisting the atmosphere is the sumptuous score of composer Laurent Perez Del Mar. By itself, the music is lushly atmospheric, but when paired with the gorgeous spectacle it occasionally veers to excess as it overly emphasizes the emotional cues. When a tsunami hits, the music swells. The visual splendor is enough. There’s no need to gild the lily. Nevertheless, the exhibition is certainly a delight for aesthetes who prefer mood to plot and a languid pace over action. While The Red Turtle feels like a short expanded to feature length, it’s undeniably pleasant and serene. Its simple joys are pure.