Mark Reviews Movies: THE SPINE OF NIGHT

Follow on Facebook | Follow on Twitter | Become a Patron

Review by Mark Dujsik | October 28, 2021

Whether or not one does or is even meant to understand the obviously deep mythology established by writer/directors Philip Gelatt and Morgan Galen King, The Spine of Night is still a visually striking and thematically rich experience. It's easy to imagine Gelatt and King have worked out every angle of their animated fantasy world, from its geography, to its history, to its assorted players and factions and tribes and empires, and to its timeline from creation to apparent apocalypse. We only get a sense of these matters, but isn't that all any person gets of the long history of the world and beyond in the relatively miniscule time he or she has?

That's the narrative philosophy of the filmmakers' screenplay, which is less a straightforward plot and more a series of tales, connected by certain items and figures as generations pass between brief episodes. The frame of this narrative involves two storytellers: Tzod (voice of Lucy Lawless), once the fearless and magical leader of a tribe from a swamp, and a mysterious character known only as the Guardian (voice of Richard E. Grant), whose story is one of isolation and despair. Sitting together in a cave at the top of a tall mountain, they exchange stories—their own and ones of which they have learned—and wonder of and mourn mysteries about human nature, war, magic, and the gods who abandoned this world so long ago.

It doesn't sound like much, and in reality, the story here, which is linked but skips over significant events, isn't much, either. From the start, as a mostly naked but unrelenting Tzod climbs that mountain and endures the increasing chill of the summit and comes across the ancient ruins of some forgotten city, it becomes apparent that Gelatt and King, working with some incredibly talented animators and artists, don't really care if we fully comprehend what's happening here. The mystery is half the point, especially as the tale expands to the origin of humanity and a series of cycles—birth (and re-birth), death, war, gods, the children of gods, knowledge, the horror of some ultimate truth.

The arresting visuals serve as the other half. The key to them is a mix of realistic backdrops, which contain such detail that one might be tempted to stare at their intricacies and lighting illusions (Gelatt and King certainly give us that time, whether they meant to or not, since the stories here are so rudimentary in terms of plot), and the use of rotoscoping for the characters.

It's an old technique, of course, although one that has been used infrequently in the century-long history of animation (Certain filmmakers relied on it, and we can see Gelatt and King's inspirations here)—and seemingly abandoned entirely since the decline of hand-drawn techniques. In it, animators trace over live-action footage, either by hand or by means of computers (in this case), in order to better replicate movement (It also saves a bit on time and money, but that's a secondary concern for those interested in scheduling and budget).

The effect of that technique here is, in its own way, as successful as the meticulously realized background art. The character art here is fairly simple—basic lines and single colors within those borders—although the design does provide some effective touches, such as the bird masks of a tribe of gliding warriors, the bones and straps adorning Tzod's limbs, the Guardian's wrinkly visage looking like a leathery skull, and how the army of the villainous Ghal-Shur (voice of Jordan Douglas Smith) changes in uniform and weaponry as the time marches forward with their ongoing conquest.

As basic as the look and style of these characters are, we can feel their weight in motion. That has a considerable impact on those long treks, the suffering of a group of slaves carrying the villain's stone pyramid on their shoulders, and the various instances of brutal, bloody combat, which offers no solace to limb, torso, or head. The illusion of the technique gives these characters an equal sense of the real and unreal (It helps, since so many of the main characters possess one note and the dialogue is almost knowingly stilted). In this world of magic and necromancy and technology of a particularly fantastical nature, that illusion goes a long way in giving the film a sense of aesthetic cohesion.

As for the story, it matters, although only in broad strokes. We hear Tzod's tale of woe—her tribe slaughtered and herself abducted by Lord Pyrantin (voice of Patton Oswalt), who wants her land for his father's expanding empire. That's when Ghal-Sur enters, with knowledge of a magical bloom that possesses great power—and that Tzod currently has in her own possession.

Decades pass, and characters who seemed important have already been killed or die in the interim. Ghal-Sur finally obtains that mystical power. Lands fall. People are massacred. It matters in the moment, but as generations pass and the Guardian explains of humanity's great war with the sons of gods, all of this death and destruction starts to seem entirely inconsequential.

That's the point here, and it's built into the film's episodic storytelling structure, as grand battles and imposing figures fade from life, into the realm of myth and rumor. Obviously, The Spine of Night isn't a particularly pleasant or encouraging tale, but through its thoughtful narrative and impressive artwork, the film is an arresting experience.

Back to Home

Buy Related Products