An Analysis of Paperman (Disney Short Film)

     As strange as it sounds, in John Kahrs’ Paperman, the key plot device is the the gentle breeze. It is this gentle breeze that gives life to the corporate paperwork of our main characters George and Meg, causing it to flutter and soar in the wind. A gush of breeze first causes a chance encounter between George and Meg at a train station. She is the woman of his dreams, and he is completely enticed by her. Then, the breeze assists him in reuniting with her at the end of the film. The papers serve as an understated metaphor, perhaps to say that love is the highest form of human existence that brings colour to our monotonous, mundane nine-to-five existence. It is the magic in these papers, after all, that quite literally pushes him out of his boring office desk job to seek out the person he is passionate about. These papers bring a raison de être back into his life. The sentient actions of inanimate objects, which are the papers in this film, remind me of the opening sequence of the fluttering feather in Forrest Gump and even the classic The Red Balloon.

The story is told entirely in a monochrome pantomime. These are interesting creative choices as the slightly washed-out monochromatic tone gives a sense of his achromatic life. One can tell that he’s a man of few words, as he doesn’t have much to say. His life is dull and he’ s stuck.  Another reason for the monochrome style is that, as per director John Kahrs, he wanted to set the film in the 1940s and was inspired by the black-and-white photography of New York City taken during that time. The pantomime theatrical stylisation is interesting as it makes the actions of our characters bigger than life, exaggerating their expressions, to ensure there is a change in emotional value charge in every frame which keeps the audience rapt and at the edge of their seats till the very end. However, the story is still simple and accurate, which is what makes it a relatable fantasy for the audience.

There is incredible detailing in the performance design. In the film, the eyes of the characters speak to each other, perhaps more than their body language or expressions. The films begins as George stands in with droopy shoulders, awaiting his train. When the paper flies into him hitting his shoulder, and the Meg runs past him to grab it, his expression suddenly changes. He gets visibly fidgety and begins to play with his hand, opening and clenching his fist nervously. He isn’t the only one that has noticed her; she adjusts her hair and looks at him from the side of her eyes charmingly. But he doesn’t get to see her face up close, till the paper flies once again and strikes her face. George gently lifts it off the paper, and she starts to giggle looking at it. He turns to look at the paper on which has a smudge of a bright red lipstick, but by this time she has already boarded the train. The lipstick is the only coloured element in the entire story (perhaps to say that the only colour in our dull existence is the colour of love), and is a not-so-subtly-concealed exposition which will pay off later when love begins to find a way to reunite them after the midpoint.

Dejected by a possibility of what could’ve perhaps relieved him from his loneliness and broken him out of his rut, he now sits at his office desk disappointed. His boss places an entire stack of papers on his desk, standing over him and intimidating him. He looks almost a little like the boss from The Incredibles in terms of face cut and his poker face expression (Disney is known for recycling its animations and character designs, and John Kahrs worked on the animation for The Incredibles). George looks outside the window and notices that Meg is right in the building opposite. He decides to get her attention, and in a post-classical montage, we see George folding his work papers into airplanes and shooting it across the sky aiming for the Meg’s window. No luck. He sees her leave the room and walk outside the building. This is the midpoint of the story, which incidentally also coincides with the midpoint of the film exactly three and a half minutes into its duration.

In a dramatic breathing shot, we see George cross the street with passing traffic in order to seek her out. This raises the emotional stakes for him further. The audience gets an identifiable insight into his passion for her. His blocking is almost like non-comedic slapstick. What is most fascinating is the way that his lean, almost malnourished figure, sways and moves unsteadily as if he doesn’t quite have a grip over his life or impulses. Every movement of his has an extremely strong line of action, which gives him animated character and life. Upset after losing sight of Meg, George grabs a paper plane on a mailbox and throws it aggressively in the air. He walks with drooping anger, having given up all hope. The plane floats in the air and reaches a dilapidated building aisle, where there is already a pile of paper planes. This is the Deus ex Machina moment. The planes unexpectedly gain a life of its own by an act of God. It is these planes that quite literally pushes him closer to her. They seem to have an intelligence of their own.

Paperman follows the entire Eight Sequence, Three Act screenplay structure in a concise, yet emotional, 6-minuter. This is done by ensuring that there isn’t a shot or beat in the film that doesn’t move the plot forward. There are times when multiple things are revealed at once. Case in example is the opening scene itself, where the protagonist’s inciting incident is revealed which sets him on his journey. According to the Producer Kristina Reed, John Kahrs was inspired to make this film from his time at Blue Sky Studios living a lonely life in New York City. As Martin Scorsese says, the personal is the most creative, and so John Kahrs adapted his own personal angst and loneliness into a deeply relatable film. This is a rarity in the animation medium, as most films are self-constructed worlds set in a vacuum, and not grounded at all with a certain kind of reality. This is also what makes this short successful, because it puts an observational lens on the complexities of loneliness and romance. While the film is a fairly typical, predictable meet-cute, it’s the way that the story is told that makes it an engaging, poetic watch. As they say, there is no bad story, only bad storytelling. 

The technology that went into the film was bold and unique too. Disney, for the first time, merged hand-drawn 2D animation with 3D CGI within the same character. The characters are modelled and textured in 3D, and then merged with illustrated line work in a program called Meander to create the final render. This creates a feeling of classical Disney animation, except with a sense of volume given to the characters. This was done as both John and the producer Kristina felt that line artists/traditional animation techniques had incredible ability to put so much expression in just a single line; that is, by just turning an eye or lifting a lip up a little bit. With CGI it’s really difficult to achieve that and the audience gets separated from the actual art. They wanted to work with the simplicity and expressiveness of traditional animation. The film follows traditional animation principles such as line of action, stretch-squash, ease-in-ease-out and anticipation-reaction. As animation pioneer Norman McLaren says, animation begins where live-action ends. I would argue that this film starts with reality and takes off from there.

The editing is entirely post-classical. There is no continuity of time in many sequences, especially in the sequence at the beginning where Meg boards the train. The transitions are mostly cuts, and the film doesn’t have long mise-en-scene takes. This is perhaps to set a rapid pace and rhythm to the story. The film opens as slow, picks up and then slows down again during the midpoint when George spends a considerable amount of time finding Meg. They have used point-of-view shots and close ups, to emphasise the emotions of the characters. Since the film is George’s story, we see a lot of the story from his point-of-view. A low-angle shot is used at the end on Meg, to make her look larger than life and angelic almost. In terms of sound, there is minimal use of diegetic foley, such as paper rustling and train pulling off the station. This allows the audience to get immersed in the drama. The recurring theme music begins very simply, not getting its cue as much from the performances as the magical papers. Every time the papers gain a magical life of its own, music picks up in full glory. The recurring simplicity of the notes make is hummable, and almost like an ear worm.

In terms of character design, both George and Meg have similar body structure. They’re both tall and slender, and this is probably a tool for emotional mirroring. The opening shot shows only George in frame, showing the imbalance in the composition and therefore symbolically communicating his lopsided social life. When Meg comes into frame, the woman now counterbalances him. Their design has been done in a way that they both stand out in a crowd. Neither of them really fit into this imaginary world. With such detail and thought gone into this film, it is no wonder that the film received an Oscar in 2013, and was presented before Wreck-It-Ralph. What is surprising however is that this film was John Kahrs’ debut short. He had earlier worked on the animation of Tangled, Ratatouille, The Incredibles and Monsters Inc, hopping between Disney and Pixar productions.

All in all, this film is fantastic study material. It is what I’d like to call a ‘perfect short’ on every front. I enjoyed watching the film, but more so analysing it.