Much has already been said about this piece, but I am currently reading "Sanatorium Under the Sign of the Hourglass" by Bruno Schulz--a Polish Jew (author, artist, teacher) indiscriminately killed buying a loaf of bread by the Gestapo during the Second World War. After completing "The Street of Crocodiles" in 1934 and "Sanatorium [...}" in 1937 (currently rumored to be the Quay Brothers' next and third feature film after "Institute Benjamenta" and "The Piano Tuner of Earthquakes"), along with the lost manuscript of "The Messiah", the hallucinatory imagery of the books, where metaphor almost supersedes its subject, is captured exquisitely by the Brothers. My recommendation, having seen this film in two versions of the Brothers Quay collected short films, is to get the Region 2 BFI collection from Britain if possible. It features a more comprehensive body of their works in general along with excellent interviews and commentary (i.e. down to discussions regarding the logistics of working with thick layers of dust on the elaborate "Street of Crocodiles" set, while maintaining the illusion of seamless movement in single-frame animation). Parts of it are like a film course in themselves, regarding topics such as lighting, set building, and ball-joint armatures. Even in other Regions, it's worth getting a special player for the BFI Collection, if you are a serious fan or creator of stop-motion animation, art, experimental or surreal filmmaking.

I've seen this three times, once in 35mm, once in 16mm (or through a dim projector bulb) and once on video. The first time it impressed me, short as it is, as one of the best horror films I'd ever seen, if not the best. The second and third time, to my disappointment, it didn't work very well because I couldn't see it properly. Some of the detail is gossamer-fine and must be seen in a clear print on a theatrical screen (or perhaps a large-screen TV) to be seen at all. The film is elusive enough anyway. Like many of the Quays' films it takes the viewer inside a world of cracked dolls and pieces of antique machinery, where the dolls are victims of totalitarian control. Of the Quays' short films I've seen, this is the most disturbing. It's best seen, I think, apart from the others, as I first saw it. The other major ones are of a piece with it and become somewhat redundant taken in a group. The slighter ones are also somewhat tedious. The general meaning of this is clear enough, but the exact topical application, if there is one, and if it isn't explained by the quotation given, which I didn't recognize, is obscure to me. I also wonder how serious the filmmakers are when they use, and use up, their style and technique on music videos. I prefer to think of this film as I came to it originally, as one of a kind. It's an unnerving experience.

This is truly one of the creepiest movies around. The gloomy atmosphere builds and builds until you can barely stand it. There's something about it that reminded me of the helpless childhood nightmares we've all had, even though all you're seeing is animated junk. I've known several people who were unable to view it all the way through.

This is an incredibly powerful work. Using stop-motion animation, the brothers Quay produce a dark, claustrophobic universe of animated detritus. The events of this universe seem to have meaning, but that meaning is altogether withheld from the viewer.