Secret of Kells by Marcus Bryan

Animated films should cater for children before adults, at the very least presenting adult themes behind a thick veil of childish wonders. They should concern themselves with talking animals and princesses, not Celtic pagan mythology and periods of Irish history that would seem obscure even to the older sections of their audience. They should be focused on entertainment before artistry. They should, more often than not, contain a comedy sidekick. It’s probably for these reasons that The Secret of Kells grossed less than £700,000 in its original cinematic run, pocket change in comparison to the mountains of cash raked in, year on year, by the Pixar and Dreamworks juggernauts. It is also for these reasons, though, that it’s hotly-tipped to finally lift Pixar’s stranglehold over the Best Animated Feature Oscar. The most immediately striking thing about The Secret of Kells is the style of its animation. The staccato movement and the way the film blends foreground and background, characters and scenery, into larger patterns may seem bizarre initially, but soon the striking visuals become compelling in their oddness, and show themselves to be inseparable from the story the film is trying to tell. The plot revolves around the creation of the Book of Kells, a 1200-year old, hand-scribed and lavishly illustrated Bible, one of Ireland’s greatest historical treasures, but the film is, at its core, about the conflict between art and politics. The precocious Brendan rebels against his Uncle, who is preoccupied with the more practical task of building a wall to protect Kells from Viking invaders, by venturing into the forest with the enigmatic fairy Aisling, and spending his time helping the visiting Brother Aiden complete his unfinished manuscript. This short summary does not do justice to the effect of the film, however, which confounds the viewer’s expectations at every turn. It’s obligatory duel with a monster takes place in a strange realm outside of time and space, and the climatic battle is played for melancholy rather than exhilaration. Though it may not be to everyone’s taste, those who occasionally worry that Michael Bay is slowly killing off intelligent cinema will find their remedy with The Secret of Kells.