Film critique by Adrian Perez (Lonely Wolf International Film Festival)
Henk Pringels' debut animated opus, “Man in a Can”, is an enigmatic visual tale that stirs echoes of Tarkovsky’s “Stalker” and finds kinship with the allegorical reveries of “The Little Prince”. In just over 21 minutes, Pringels takes us on a mercurial journey, teasing us with Kafkaesque enigmas, while never wavering in the film's aesthetic beauty.
Opening in an arid oasis, we witness a man’s journey towards an anomaly: a building, incongruous and standing defiant against the desert’s desolation. Shades of J.G. Ballard’s “The Drowned World” come to mind, as the man's interactions with the building imbue the narrative with a palpable sense of post-apocalyptic dread, albeit with a surreal twist. Pringels seems to ask, what are our true necessities in a barren world? And, rather courageously, answers with the sound of silence.
Drawing from his rich background in theatre, Pringels effectively uses mise-en-scène to underscore the thematic elements. His choice of color, often vibrant against the bleak backdrop, is evocative of his paintings, each frame suffused with emotion. There is a moment, a whisper of Buñuel perhaps, when the film’s dream-like structure pulls the rug from beneath our feet, a sleight of hand that transports us from the arid expanses of the desert to the sun-kissed beaches of Kenya. Pringels’ animation style, coupled with the dream within a dream narrative, plays a brilliant homage to Winsor McCay's “Little Nemo in Slumberland”, where the lines between reality and dream blur until they're almost indiscernible.
“This is independent filmmaking not just at its finest, but at its most inventive”
Moreover, the film’s concluding promise, offered tenderly to a loved one, anchors the ethereal narrative to the corporeal realm. It’s a touch of Proustian sentimentality - a yearning for the irretrievable, for the moments that pass us by in the ephemeral dance of existence. This meta-consciousness of Pringels, a theatre critic turned animation filmmaker, calls to mind the reflective cinema of Charlie Kaufman. It’s a first-time filmmaker grappling, rather poetically, with the interplay of different art forms and mediums.
And isn’t that the heart of cinema itself? A cauldron where varied forms - literature, theatre, painting, and music - converge to give us a glimpse of the human experience. In “Man in a Can”, Pringels takes on the daunting roles of director, writer, and producer, and offers a piece that is as thought-provoking as it is visually arresting. Every frame of the animation pulsates with his interdisciplinary approach to storytelling, a testament to his studies at the Academy of Visual Arts in Ghent and his rich tapestry of experiences.
As the credits roll, it becomes clear that this is more than just an animated film. “Man in a Can” is an exploration of the human psyche, a reflection on our intrinsic need for connection, even in isolation, and an ode to the ephemeral nature of existence. A remarkable foray into filmmaking, Pringels crafts an exquisite, contemplative gem that warrants multiple viewings.
In sum, “Man in a Can” is a mesmerizingly philosophical dive, a sublime reverie painted with the broad strokes of animation, and a promising start for Pringels in the world of cinema. This is independent filmmaking not just at its finest, but at its most inventive.
