KILL YOUR IDOLSa short review of Ryan
One of the main lessons of Ryan, Chris Landreth’s short computer animated biography of Canadian animator Ryan Larkin, is the same as this season’s other computer-effects extravaganza, Star Wars Episode 3, and that is: child prodigies rarely pursue a constant upward tragectory. Whether it’s a spectacular, violent flame-out like Yukio Mishima, (or Anakin Skywalker), or the more common gradual descent into creepy irrelevance of, say, Saul Kripke, your own is always the toughest act to follow.
Ryan Larkin joined the National Film Board in the 1960’s at age 19, and created three short animations, Syrinx, Walking, and Street Musique, all of which are included as extras on the DVD, along with Landreth’s two other computer-animated shorts, the end and Bingo. All of these are worth seeing; the contrast between Landreth’s work, with it’s dark humour and pomo ironic self-awareness, and the simplicity, psychedelic beauty and personality of Larkin’s work, is remarkable. There doesn’t seem to be a single stylistic or thematic point on which Larkin and Landreth converge. It’s a strange and unfortunate choice of subject matter for Landreth.
The major failing of the titular animated feature, brought to the forefront in the extended documentary, is Chris Landreth’s grating moral tone. Instead of offering us insight into Ryan Larkin, instead it shows Chris Landreth’s uncharitable and indignant impression of his subject, drawn in the shiny mechanical realism of pixel-shaded polygons.
The perspective that Chris brings to his feature is that Larkin’s story could cease being a tragic one if only he would take up Chris’ generous offer to stop drinking and become a brilliant animator again. As if being a brilliant animator is an simple binary property which has merely lain dormant for the forty years of Larkin’s “retirement.” Chris himself clearly has issues with substance abuse, and we’re treated to a short, sepia segment noting the decline of his mother due to alcohol. In the extended documentary, after showing his animation to Larkin, who is understandably horrified, Chris tries to justify his work by claiming that he put his own weaknesses and demons into the film as well as Larkin’s. This is a flimsy cover; while we’re treated to great detail and specificity regarding Larkin’s personal failures and general debasement, Chris’ troubles are only hinted at. And anyways, Landreth’s film cost one million dollars to produce, and as an engineer for Alias-Wavefront, (a Silicon Graphics company), I’m sure he’s doing just fine for himself. To compare his own struggles with Larkin’s is demonstrates even more his own failure to understand the nature and tragedy of young genius.
What Chris fails to understand is that geniuses, just like everyone else, are perfectly within their rights to abandon their talents. Just because you’re born gifted doesn’t mean you have to stay that way; we’re all free to bash our brains out with drugs or drink until we fall down. Larkin doesn’t owe us anything.
And let’s make no mistake, Larkin’s work is pure genius; Walking and Street Musique are both masterpieces of visual art. That’s two masterpieces to Chris’ zero. Give the guy a break.
(If you want to know more, here’s a fairly extensive biography of Ryan Larkin from Animation World Magazine.)