Filmography Worship: Ranking Every Don Hertzfeldt Film
Written by Andreas Babiolakis
Filmography Worship is a series where we review every single feature of filmmakers who have made our Wall of Directors (and other greats)
If you love animation and treat the medium as more than just a distraction for children, then you have likely come across the name and works of Don Hertzfeldt. A California native who studied at the University of California, Santa Barbara, Hertzfeldt quickly found his niche: minimalist, traditional animation that would never strike any false notes. Inspired by multiple filmmakers, including Steven Spielberg’s knack for finding the emotions that unite us, David Lynch’s dive into the unknown via absurdity, and Stanley Kubrick’s continuous push of both himself and the cinematic medium, Hertzfeldt has only reinvented himself and his storytelling time and time again, to the point that he is now an influence for others. Hertzfeldt accomplishes all of this with scraggly, stick figure drawings, and he strictly opposed the use of digital filmmaking until 2015 (two decades into his career). He handles most, if not every, aspects of his films, from directing, writing (or improvising), animating (yes, painstakingly animating films long and short entirely by himself), sound design, and so much more. In a climate where cinema is inundated with artificiality, money making schemes, and a loss of its spirit, an auteur like Don Hertzfeldt is beyond refreshing, and has been for thirty years now.
Hertzfeldt was a natural, winning awards for his student short films like Ah, L’Amour and Genre when he just reached adulthood. His first major breakthrough, Rejected, predated viral meme culture at the start of the true internet age and was shared via word of mouth and P2P software to the point of defining comedy and the impending dread of the twenty first century ever since (I first discovered this film back in 2000 via a friend when I was eleven years old, and my taste never looked back). Despite creating a buzz and an identity that was sought after, Hertzfeldt never caved in to capitalist, consumerist pressure, refusing to make cartoons for corporate entities and the like despite their many requests (and, you’ll find, he has been repetitively ripped off ever since, by brands including Pop-Tarts, who, like most businesses, has no idea why Hertzfeldt’s films resonated, and released pale imitations that only proved Hertzfeldt’s point in Rejected).
Hertzfeldt distributes his own films under his Bitter Films brand, and has vigilantly represented his films — even those student works that most other directors would shun once they’ve made it big — via constant remastering and preservation. Even if he neglected his work, the test of time would most certainly keep his masterpieces alive, with his feature film, It’s Such a Beautiful Day, and science fiction short film series, World of Tomorrow, being crowned major achievements in animation (and cinema as a whole) by many publications (including Films Fatale). Hertzfeldt’s blend of tabula rasa illustrations (so we can plant ourselves in the shoes of the stick figures we see), black, absurd comedy (allowing us to find humour in the abnormal together), existential nightmares (so we recognize we aren’t alone), and the depression of facing the end of our lives (and knowing that our memories are all that make us human, and we’re nothing without them) is a singular experience. Animation was always a limitless artform, but it takes someone like Hertzfeldt to truly prove what this means.
I’ve rounded up nearly all of Hertzfeldt’s projects below and placed them in order; I don’t think he ever released a bad film, so let’s consider the lowest entry his “least good”, despite how much entertainment or purpose I still find in it. I’m excluding the project “Intro”, which is nothing more than the introduction of the World of Tomorrow films on their official physical release, because it doesn’t make sense to have here despite how frequently Letterboxd users will log it to just have more films under their belt (if I had to include it, consider it last place, because it’s literally just an introduction, albeit a quirky and neat one). Otherwise, I won’t let duration or purpose prevent me from including anything else, because it’s a testament to how Hertzfeldt can work with any capacity and by any means. Whether it’s a minute and a half or a full hour, he can project something truly significant, moving, and perhaps even life changing. Here are all of the films by Don Hertzfeldt ranked from worst to best.
15. Billy’s Balloon
I find Billy’s Balloon (the last of Hertzfeldt’s student films) to be amusing in a cynical way, as the titular child is continuously abused by his red balloon: perhaps a metaphor for coming-of-age. It’s the one time I find that Hertzfeldt’s timing feels a bit off (he usually knows exactly how long an awkward pause should be, or when an abrupt cut should occur) and Billy’s Balloon feels a bit repetitive or prolonged. Nonetheless, it still provides laughs (mainly via Billy’s glazed over look throughout the short), and Hertzfeldt working without dialogue is a treat whenever he does so, as you are required to pay even closer attention to his illustrations and their little details that help them come to life.
14. Lily and Jim
I don’t have Lily and Jim super high on this list, but I think that this third student film of Hertzfeldt’s is a nice experiment to see how he can turn what could have been a live action short into an animated rendition of truth. It’s something he would nail later on. Lily and Jim is a neat experiment, though, as we have to play the part of being a friend to both characters after their disastrous blind date. There are hints of Hertzfeldt’s idiosyncratic style of dialogue here which is interesting enough to explore.
13. Wisdom Teeth
In between the release of the separate parts that would make up It’s Such a Beautiful Day was the random, painful, jarring short film Wisdom Teeth: an exercise in patience and tolerance. As we watch a character try to pull out another’s tooth (instead he finds an endless thread where the payoff is delayed, and delayed, and delayed, and…), it is clear that this short is a bit of a joke on the audience: one who is used to getting their way upon first request. I find that if you allow yourself and your anticipation to be a part of the joke, then Wisdom Teeth is a good, self aware, meta short about attentiveness and expectation (especially given what we do get in this bizarre short). I find that it’s possibly Hertzfeldt’s least liked short, but I also find it misunderstood.
12. Ah, L’Amour
Hertzfeldt’s very first student film, Ah, L’Amour, is a statement on the ways of shitty men who try to pick up women. It goes without saying how primitive and archaic this short is, but that almost adds to its legacy because of the childlike innocence that is attributed to this short: it feels like a guarantee that a kid would know how to behave better than a grown man. Shot on 16mm like his other student films, Ah, L’Amour involves its animator (obviously Hertzfeldt) as he begins to lose his mind while trying to “correct” his drawings. From the age of eighteen, Hertzfeldt was already exhibiting the relationship between the artist and his work: something most animated films try to erase, as to create this illusion of existence. If anything, Hertzfeldt’s acknowledgement of creation instills a greater sense of purpose or the lack thereof: we’re all here and are alive, but why?
11. Genre
My favourite of Hertzfeldt’s student shorts is Genre: a cheeky portfolio of what a poor, cartoon rabbit goes through when it is forced through the conventions of various film genres (a clear commentary on the limitations of pigeonholing works to meet the criteria of genre expectations). Genre possesses the strange sense of humour that would define Hertzfeldt’s career afterward, including the self awareness of the animator being present. In Genre, he already “runs out of ideas”, which is clearly mentioned in jest and is fortunately not true, seeing as Hertzfeldt went on to become one of the most inventive minds in animation history.
10. Welcome to the Show/Intermission in the Third Dimension/the End of the Show
It might seem strange to include the introduction, intermission, and conclusion to a touring festival of short films created by Hertzfeldt and animation legend Mike Judge (King of the Hill, Beavis and Butt-Head), but Hertzfeldt’s three shorts cannot be ignored. They’re obviously a riot, carrying on the kind of comedy that Rejected placed Hertzfeldt on the map for just shortly before this festival. They also embody statements on the film industry, the festival circuit, and so much more, including satirizing the frigidness of introductory due diligence, the push for gimmicks (3-D glasses, in this case), and much more. There’s a passion and love for film throughout these jabs; otherwise, they wouldn’t work as nicely. Hertzfeldt understood at this point that his voice can carry to the next generation of animators, and used his lectern wisely (for love, and for revealing truths).
9. The Meaning of Life
I’d argue the ending of Rejected was the start of Hertzfeldt’s quest to place his existential reservations on screen, but the first film to fully digest this concept was The Meaning of Life: a twelve minute observation of how humans evolve — yet devolve — as a species and society over time. There is a generational urge to shrug off whatever panics the youth of today have, as we are forced to grow jaded, uninspired, and dull, as a means of best serving the system we created for ourselves. We’re cogs of a machine that isn’t working for us as individuals or collectively. The Meaning of Life is as dark as Hertzfeldt typically gets, but there’s barely any dialogue to go off of (although we do have an alien language that we cannot make sense of linguistically, and yet we understand every word). Not only was it a sign of what was to come in Hertzfeldt’s career, but it is also a short that stands really well on its own two feet.
8. On Memory
Acting as a perfect bridge between the World of Tomorrow films — which tackle the fears of being forgotten, forgetting, and the inevitability of mortality — and ME (a short that puts internalized panic on the big screen) is the short film On Memory. Hertzfeldt details a story he recalls about two girls who met Elvis Presley, with one girl growing resentful because the other got a kiss on the cheek by the legend. This story shifts as the short proceeds, with Hertzfeldt admitting that much of what he remembers is false, due to how the human brain operates; memories are not recollections of what happened, but rather recollections of our past recollections, with missing information filled in in order for these stories to make sense. Hertzfeldt himself shifts from being to being throughout On Memory, providing a fun angle to an otherwise heartbreaking realization: we are nothing without out mental provenance, and knowing that there may be a falseness to our own identities is devastating.
7. ME
A film that is so unseen by the time of this list’s publication (I don’t even have any images to include outside of this title card), ME is the equivalent of a visual EP with songs set to images of societal panic and existential desperation. Created with the COVID-19 pandemic, ongoing wars, and systemic and economic downfalls in mind, ME unites all of our separate daily struggles together. We are not alone, but that isn’t going to make our suffering any easier. Perhaps as experimental and abstract as Hertzfeldt’s ever been, ME begs to be rewatched, ingested, and understood on a personal level; in a clever way, its true messages will differ from person to person, turning this collective experience into an individual one ironically. Even thirty years in, Hertzfeldt continues to push himself artistically more than ever before.
6. The Simpsons-Couch Gag
For those who haven’t seen it, including a couch gag from The Simpsons may seem like a stupid thing to do. You haven’t seen Don Hertzfeldt’s sensational version, though: a nearly two minute onslaught on the Flanderization (a term stemming from the show’s very own character, Ned Flanders, who used to be a textured and developed being until he was boiled down to just being a religious talking head) that is killing the series. In this short, Homer Simpson yearns for the past and goes too far with his time device (even back to the Tracey Ullman years); he’s wanting to reach that Golden Age sweet spot (seasons 2 to 8). He now goes too far ahead, hundreds of thousands of years into the future. Somehow (well, due to network greed), The Simpsons is still on the air. Homer is now a floating head with tentacles who cannot stop spouting “D’oh”, and he invites his family to meet at the “kitchen cube”.
He finds pale imitations of his loved ones. Bart cannot stop shouting “Don’t have cow, man” (his once marketable catch phrase), Lisa cannot let go of the phrase “You are Lisa Simpson” that meant something back in the second season (now, she just accepts that “[She] is SImpson”). Maggie — who shouldn’t even be talking — transforms into a corporate slug and commands us to make use of the merchandise. Then there’s Marge, whose hair has become sentient and cultish. Sure, the short feels insane at this point, but them Homer — the only character to be able to break out of his spell — recalls memories; even these alien, unusual versions of the Simpson family possess some semblance of love and purpose, as Marge decrees that she still loves Homer, they acknowledge they are a family, and Marge promises to “never forget” her husband (these parts actually have my eyes welling up, because we know that time has erased this unconditional love, too). Homer zips back to the “present”, finds that his family is beyond the point of saving, and resigns a defeated “D’oh”: acceptance that he, too, is resorted to being a phrase spitting amoeba of what was once a brilliant character, and admittance that The Simpsons will never be good again.
What a daring, unapologetic way to kick off a show whose preceding episode I don’t think most people even remember. To say that Hertzfeldt’s couch gag is one of the only highlights of the series in the past fifteen (or even twenty) years is an understatement. It’s a gut-wrenching realization that the show is a transmogrification of what once was; the series is currently a refusal to die, which results in the spirit and heart of the show withering away instead. We recognize these characters by traits alone, but these are not the Simpsons who once were. Ironically, Hertzfeldt’s creations are closer to the truth — and even the classic era — than most of the episodes that have come out in the past two decades. This couch gag captivated many, but it likely was shrugged off as “weird” or “nonsensical” by countless other viewers. D’oh, indeed.
5. Rejected
This is where the journey into the works of Don Hertzfeldt started for many: his first 35mm film, and his first project after his student works. One of the first viral sensations online back in 2000, Rejected was passed around as a strange short full of offensive images and jokes, including a fish stick bleeding out of his anus like a fire hose, angry ticks firing out of the nipples of a wandering, screaming weirdo, and a baby falling down an endless flight of stairs. As many of us (I’m guilty as charged) watched this short again and again as kids, its message became more and more true: a rebellion against consumerism in the art industry. Hertzfeldt conjured up these fake advertisements and his continuous rejection, driving him further and further to a point of insanity. He would never make a commercial, but Rejected is his way of saying that he isn’t even the right person to be making them in the first place (despite the many offers he has gotten over the years, of which he has become the one to reject them back).
What transpires as Rejected continues is an animator going insane: having to accept that the only way to keep going as an artist is to make money. Without accepting this himself and selling out, he lets his cartoon characters — now frozen in a pulpy limbo — to resemble his woes instead, as they slowly die one by one. Furthermore, this cataclysmic final act is indicative of the animation industry itself, especially as it was looking at the CGI alternative at the time which has now fully engulfed it, leaving traditional animation to barely exist anymore. Rejected is funny because it pretends that Hertzfeldt doesn’t understand how marketing and animation work; he understands more than you’ll ever imagine.
4. World of Tomorrow Episode Two: The Burden of Other People’s Thoughts
The Burden of Other People’s Thoughts had big shoes to fill following World of Tomorrow, but it does a great job of carrying on the same themes of impending doom, the appreciation of the present, and the erasure of our past that were found in the previous short. It does this while existing just nicely on its own as well. A clone of Emily Prime from even further into the future from the previous film (this time, it’s a sixth generation removed) travels back to try and restore her failing mind and disappearing memories; what was she good at; who did she love; what purpose did her life even carry? There are other Emily clones that are on her tail, fearful that the sixth clone will be lost forever in the past and not continue touring through time with them. While I do think this is the weakest of the World of Tomorrow films, The Burden of Other People’s Thoughts is still spectacular and undeniably moving; to know that we cannot shake off the world that once was before we destroyed it (and, as a result, ourselves) is horrifying. To see Emily discover enough of herself to dance is beautifully bittersweet.
3. World of Tomorrow Episode Three: The Absent Destinations of David Prime
The final part of the World of Tomorrow films (unless Hertzfeldt wants to keep going with them, which I’m not opposed to) places things in David Prime’s perspective this time (the love of Emily Prime’s life, who abruptly died in her lifetime). What transpires is a quest across time, space, and the neurological plane, as David vows to get back to Emily (all while having to delete parts of his memory to download more clues as to how to find her, and while having to avoid clones of himself who want to kill him and stop the David lineage). The longest of the World of Tomorrow episodes, The Absent Destinations of David Prime is over half an hour long, yet not a single second is wasted. It is strangely hilarious and heartbreaking like anything else Hertzfeldt has ever made, but it possesses one unique trait that he’s never quite tackled before this point: being a thrilling story. The final act of The Absent Destinations of David Prime is riveting, as you await the outcome of David Prime’s best efforts (and stick around to see what will happen with the clones). Despite its length, it feels easy to call this short the best animated film of the 2020s thus far (or at least a damn strong contender).
2. World of Tomorrow
I knew we had something special when I watched the first World of Tomorrow episode (bearing the same name as the series) back in 2015. It is Hertzfeldt’s first digitally animated film (still conducted by hand) because he saw no other way that he could bring his intended concepts to life by pencil, paper, and camera alone. In under twenty minutes, we’re given a dismal yet endless future where anything is created (via the Outernet) and nothing is retained (memories are a precious relic of the past, and can even be exhibited in institutions). Emily Prime is five years old and is visited by her future self as both a meeting and a warning of what is to come. Hertzfeldt recorded his niece playing and rendered the future based on her ideas and babbling: a celebration of the imagination of the youth of today, and an attempt to protect the next generation from being uninspired. The end result is a futuristic realm that feels impossible to create (and yet, here we are: through the eyes of a young child).
World of Tomorrow is both bright and colourful (making Emily Prime’s fascinations feel legitimate) and horrifying (clarifying older Emily’s concerns). Adult Emily longs for a love she lost eons ago (with David Prime, whose mysterious demise is covered in the third episode) and wants to cling on to this memory before the world is destroyed for good (no amount of creations in the Outernet will help). The young Emily Prime cannot fully understand what is at stake, but she is happy to be a part of the ride. World of Tomorrow is as lovely and cute as it is shocking and depressing. It is another science fiction film with forecasted doom on its radar, but it goes about these fears in a different way; losing ourselves and our minds is a far worse death of our souls than living in a wasteland while intact. As if World of Tomorrow wasn’t one of the greatest short films of all time already, adult Emily leaves us with a quote for the ages: “Now is the envy of all of the dead.” Damn.
1. It's Such a Beautiful Day
Hertzfeldt’s last 35mm project is an all-out experiment on what can be achieved with an animation camera, paper, a pencil, and stop motion photography. It’s Such a Beautiful Day was previously released in short film parts: Everything Will Be OK, I Am So Proud Of You, and the third episode which bears the same name as the title of the feature film (Hertzfeldt’s only one) which combines all three parts into an hour-long whole. I won’t be covering each part individually as I feel the feature film compilation marries each segment so beautifully that I cannot fathom separating them at all. We have the story of Bill: an everyday man with simple everyday problems whose story begins to feel a bit abnormal, with facts about his habitual routines and his childhood just not adding up or making sense.
It is quickly revealed that Bill is experiencing a brain illness of some sort (be it dementia, brain cancer, and the like), and we are vicariously witnessing his memories blur, blend, and fade at the same time. To witness a brain dying from the inside is not an easy task, and It’s Such a Beautiful Day manages to find comedy within the tragic. Bill’s losing his memories and sense of self, but he is also able to reinvent himself (or at least Hertzfeldt helps him do so) before he is gone for good; Bill won’t die, he will live until the end of time instead. As Bill’s story becomes murkier and murkier, his condition is blatantly worsening. The magic of having us sob over a stick figure (representing that A) this can happen to anyone, and B) the indefinable qualities of the memories and identities that barely remain in Bill’s mind) is an ode to how powerful Hertzfeldt is as a storyteller.
Despite the limited movements, basic art design, and constrained budget, I still have no problem calling It’s Such a Beautiful Day one of the greatest animated films I’ve ever seen. Its mixture of beauty, horror, comedy, and dread is the kind that many writers have chased since. It works perfectly here, as we celebrate the life of a dying man before he is gone for good (and we make the most with what we have left). The fact that most of this film was handled by Hertzfeldt alone (save for a few voices, editing, et cetera) is astonishing; a release of this magnitude feels like a massive team effort. We get so much out of so little (and yet, even so, you can tell the blood, sweat, and tears that went into each and every frame) because of Hertzfeldt’s knack for extrapolating the indefinable feelings we as human beings possess (as well as the internal monologues we are too scared to share). We all are scared of dying and losing ourselves. We all find things that shouldn’t be funny hilarious. It’s Such a Beautiful Day is also Don Hertzfeldt’s way of saying we must all love what we have right now before it’s all gone (or we are). Cinema doesn’t get much better than this. It is Hertzfeldt’s magnum opus and a masterpiece of the animated medium that must be seen to be believed.
Andreas Babiolakis has a Masters degree in Film and Photography Preservation and Collections Management from Ryerson University, as well as a Bachelors degree in Cinema Studies from York University. His favourite times of year are the Criterion Collection flash sales and the annual Toronto International Film Festival.