[Slamdance 2024] SLIDE -- Surreal Portrait of American Folklore Finds Beauty in Grotesque

Review by Daniel Lima

Animator Bill Plympton has been at it for decades, exploring his intensely idiosyncratic and off-kilter style and sensibility through short films, feature-length movies, and even the occasional sketch comedy show interstitial. His latest feature, Slide, is another absurdist work that could only be compared to his own oeuvre, which is to say that it is an incredible, visually captivating film that somehow manages to achieve a poetic beauty both in spite and because of how it bucks convention.

This is the story of Sourdough Creek, a fictional logging town in the American West around the 1940s. When the unscrupulous mayor gets an offer from a movie studio to shoot a film there, he immediately declares that the town will be converted into a resort, with disastrous effects on the local community. As tensions flare and his grip on the locals becomes tyrannical, the only spark of hope comes from a masked vigilante who looks suspiciously like the mysterious guitar player who just happened to wander into town.
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To get the obvious out of the way, this does not look or feel like a polished studio release with an astronomical budget. Part of that is due to circumstance; this is a crowdfunded, independently made, traditionally animated film, with a crew of only about a dozen and an animation team of one. Befitting those facts, the animation here is crude, often animating not on ones or twos but on threes and fours, sometimes forgoing animation altogether. Every cut feels almost violent, and scenes are connected either with dream-like haziness or a jarring suddenness. Some might be taken aback by this, but it certainly isn’t atypical of indie animation, particularly when only one person is doing the work. A cursory glance at Plympton’s previous films shows that this is a predicament he has often found himself in.

His penchant for utterly surreal and abrasive imagery is well-documented, and Slide is no exception. The film filters his somewhat off-putting style through the tradition of American folk art, creating wild, borderline nightmarish caricatures of classic Americana: the enigmatic stranger astride a horse, the raucous and sinful town brothel, the darkness of a forest that hides monsters. Everyone from the most dastardly villain to the most righteous heroes is shown in such an exaggerated fashion that they become grotesque, completely divorced from reality. The way these images are drawn only calls attention to the lack of polish, with rough sketch outlines on every character and every background, as if the project was still only a workprint. At first glance, it’s hard not to find it unpleasant — even ugly.

Once the initial shock wears off, however, it’s clear that this effect is intentional. As unconventional and strange as the film looks, it is ultimately telling a very familiar story using very familiar archetypes. The humble village with an evil baron basking in his power, the girl who dreams of growing beyond the confines of home, the monster in the woods, the musician whose songs are so beautiful they can pacify a bloodthirsty mob. This is classic American folklore, but where a more traditional work would make these well-worn touchstones feel rote and safe, Plympton’s style completely disrupts the audience’s ability to let the film wash over them passively. As challenging as the form is, it forces the audience to see this story not as another conventional Western but as a tall tale — an epic myth that merely happens to be cloaked in the iconography of Americana. The initial response may be to recoil, but once the language of this bizarre vision is accepted, it’s impossible not to be swept up in its grandeur.

How much one gets out of Slide depends on whether one can actually get on that wavelength. As a film attempting to evoke the spirit of myth and folklore, the actual substance is broad and simple. The moral universe of the world is black and white, the characters are thin, the story isn’t inherently compelling, and the humor is sophomoric and easy. The musical numbers — a fitting mix of the American musical tradition including blues, bluegrass, country, and jazz — are all visually stunning, audibly… less so. The entire appeal rests on whether the Plympton touch is enough to coax the audience into accepting this as not merely a low-budget indie but a 20th-century legend brought to life. It’s easy to understand why some might not be able to make that leap, but I personally find it hard to call it anything less than gorgeous.

Slide is screening at the 2024 Slamdance Film Festival, running January 19-25 in-person in Park City, UT and online from January 22-28. 

Rating: 4.5/5​