‘Sanatorium Under the Sign of the Hourglass’ Review: The Quay Brothers’ Surreal Stop-Motion Fantasia Is a Mouthful, an Eyeful and a Mind-Melt

As a connoisseur of the surreal and the bizarre, with a deep appreciation for the esoteric world of stop-motion animation, I find myself utterly captivated by “Sanatorium Under the Sign of the Hourglass.” This film is a testament to the Quay Brothers’ unparalleled ability to weave together time, space, and mortality in a way that defies traditional storytelling. It’s like stepping into a dream, one that lingers long after you’ve awoken.


In the dimly lit, artisanal realm depicted in “Sanatorium Under the Sign of the Hourglass,” neither time, space, nor life adhere to earthly timetables. Consequently, it’s fitting that this mesmerizing stop-motion journey seems to abide by its unique temporal rules. After nearly two decades, this first feature film from cult animators the Quay Brothers clocks in at a mere 76 minutes. However, as you immerse yourself in its enigmatic narrative, it simultaneously feels like an endless journey and over before you know it – much like a grand dream that quickly fades upon waking.

The complex and mysterious nature of the movie “Sanatorium” might confuse audiences who, once drawn into its intensely dark and gothic storyline, find themselves lost in a fluid narrative that features multiple characters, twisted timelines, and even death that is not final. Viewers familiar with the Quays’ work, particularly their influential 1986 short “Street of Crocodiles,” which was also adapted from Schulz, will be more prepared for the ornate oddities and enigmas in this latest production. Debuted at the Venice Days sidebar this year, this film is set for a wide festival run, limited art-house distribution, and a cult following. The Quays, who are now in their late seventies and have notable supporters like Christopher Nolan, show no interest in mainstream success.

As a cinephile, I find myself drawn into the enigmatic world of Sanatorium Karpaty, nestled at the base of the Carpathian Mountains in 1937 – a year that echoes the publication of a novel with similar title and themes. The movie unfolds within this atmosphere of mystery, not so much through a narrative as through shared themes with Kafka’s work. But to reach this setting, we first navigate an intricate storyline revolving around a questionable auction house. Here, rare items are put up for bid, such as the fossilized bones of a mythical sea siren, the liquid gold of bees, and most pertinent to the film, a “Maquette for the Tomb of a Dead Retina” – an intriguing diorama animated by sunlight filtering through the preserved eye of its former owner. (The film’s grandiose language seems to serve as its own dry joke, adding a layer of sophistication.)

In the Maquette, the story unfolds about Joseph, quietly spoken by Andrzej Kłak, who is a determined young man embarking on a long train ride through an isolated part of Eastern Europe, heading towards the Sanatorium where his ailing or deceased father resides. The doctor in charge, Gotard, reveals that this institution exists in a time-disjointed state, caught between reality and dream-like existence; Joseph may discover his father alive in some dimension, but only through an excruciating exploration of the sanatorium’s intricate hallways. To describe Sanatorium as linear is misleading, for Joseph’s journey becomes increasingly chaotic as he grapples with memories, nightmares, and reality blurring together, while the film’s narrative and visual elements start to repeat and overlap.

Though the storyline of the movie grows increasingly complex, it still elicits a chilling emotional impact. The intense emotions of sorrow, fear, and longing are all vividly portrayed as Jozef descends into the abyss, experienced through the oppressively beautiful animation – delicate, spindly puppet figures in aged shades of pewter and dust, each frame resembling an antique steampunk display, mirrored in a tarnished mirror. The music and soundscapes by Timothy Nelson contribute to this brittle, haunting lullaby effect. The dim lighting and cobweb-like atmosphere demand our full attention, not only on the convoluted plot but also on the intricate, disjointed storytelling. This adds to the film’s eerie quality, as if it were a mysterious artifact plucked from an unknown era or location.

The animation intertwines seamlessly with live-action scenes, creating an otherworldly experience as they are intentionally blurred and distorted, reminiscent of early cinema or vintage adult content. It’s unclear where these sequences fit within the film’s enigmatic narrative structure: Maybe the human characters serve as unsettling, disconnected fantasies for the wooden, clay, and feathered puppets in “Sanatorium”, who appear battered and injured despite their material construction. The Quays’ newest work is so bewildering that reality appears a bit more confusing when the lights come on, and we stumble out of the theater, squinting and blinking back into our familiar world.

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2024-09-02 16:46