Tusalava (1929) Review: A Wild Trip Back to Animation's Roots

Okay, look, Tusalava from 1929? It's not a Friday night popcorn flick. Not even close. 🍿

If you're into seeing animation before it was even "animation" as we know it, or if you love really early experimental art, then absolutely, give it a watch. But if you need a story, dialogue, or, you know, recognizable characters, you'll probably bounce off this one hard in the first minute. 🤯

This film is wild. It's essentially shapes on a screen, but don't let that fool you. Len Lye, the guy behind it, was doing something really ahead of its time.

The screen itself is split. One side positive, one negative. So you get these mirrored, opposite images moving around. It’s a neat trick, makes everything feel a bit off-kilter in a cool way.

Cinematic perspective: Exploring the visual vocabulary of Tusalava (1929) through its definitive frames.

You start with these tiny dots, almost like single cells. They wiggle. They multiply.

Then they start forming into chains, like little microscopic organisms linking up. It’s kinda mesmerizing to watch them just become something else right before your eyes. You can really feel this sense of things evolving, growing.

Then it gets a bit more… complex. The shapes start looking like something from ancient carvings, maybe tribal patterns. Or just really abstract modern art.

They push against each other. Sometimes they feel like they're having a silent battle, or maybe a weird, abstract dance. One shape expands, another shrinks back, then bursts forward. It’s like a visual tug-of-war, all in black and white.

Cinematic perspective: Exploring the visual vocabulary of Tusalava (1929) through its definitive frames.

There's this moment where a bunch of smaller shapes seem to get absorbed into a bigger one. Or maybe they just merge. It's hard to tell if it's violent or just a natural process. The whole thing feels very organic, like you're watching life under a microscope, but also something more grand, almost cosmic. ✨

The pacing isn't fast, obviously. It’s a slow burn, letting each transformation sink in. Some of the images linger, then suddenly shift. You have to really lean in and watch what each little squiggle is doing. It’s not background noise, you know?

And the ending? It feels like everything finally settles into a kind of peace. A symbiosis, as the description says. Like all the pushing and pulling, all the changing, finally finds its balance. It leaves you with this calm, almost resolved feeling. Pretty cool for something made way back when.

It's not just "random shapes." There's a definite progression, a kind of visual narrative even without a story. It’s an experience more than a movie. You’ll either find it brilliant and thought-provoking, or you’ll wonder what the heck you just watched for ten minutes. No middle ground, really.

Did I notice?

• The flicker on the older film. Gives it a real vintage feel.
• How simple lines can feel so alive. Just lines!
• The way the negative/positive split makes everything feel a bit dreamlike, or like a mirror image gone wrong.
• One particular shape, like a spiky amoeba, that seemed to be the main "character" for a bit.
• The silence makes you focus entirely on the movement. No score to tell you what to feel. 🧘‍♀️

Ultimately, it’s a peek into a different way of thinking about film. A genuine piece of film history. If you're curious, definitely check it out. It won't take much of your time. If you're not, well, there's always something else to watch, right?