We delighted in showing this short film to our long suffering lady friends, all of whom dealt with our immaturity reasonably well. Lily and Jim, one of Hertzfeldt’s later animations, speaks more subtly, in an extended study in awkwardness. Watching Jim fumble his way through a blind date is like picking a scab. Poke the eviscerated dignity.

I’d feel bad recommending these to anyone who would take them seriously. These short films aren’t an accurate portrayal of life—at least, they don’t tell the whole story. But they are enjoyable for the slice of life they parody. And who doesn’t want to watch boys catch on fire? I know all you ladies do.

The short is simple in both story and style. I love his use of line–the weight and texture, how the figure becomes blocky when he most exerts himself, the fluid movment and stylistic facsimile of life. I enjoy minimalism, the exploration of how little one can say or show to communicate well and deeply, the ability of the mind to create closure (and again I reference Scott McCloud).

Jankovics communicates with elegance and subtlety. I admit, the sound of his efforts–all that grunting and groaning–is a bit annoying to my sterilized sensibilities. The Fonz doesn’t groan. But even so I enjoyed the subtle re-emergence of the beginning grunts in the end credits, because it takes the relatively hopeful end, during which Sisyphus scampers back down his heap of rocks, having actually made it to the top, and changes the story back to the full punishment of hell we know it is: he’s going to do exactly that again and again, an exercise in futility, ad infinitum.

(Camus wrote an essay entitled “The Myth of Sisyphus,” in which he describes his philosophy of the absurd. I want to read that. Maybe soon. It’s in the stack, so we’ll see.)