Experimentation

Some of the most common advice given to enterprising artists are statements like “Don’t censor yourself,” “just let your ideas flow freely,” “silence your inner-critic.” It’s a pretty widely-accepted idea that in art, at least in its early stages, avoiding placing limits on yourself is often an important part of the creative process. In George Dunning’s Yellow Submarine (1968), this theme of freedom and anti-conformism might come secondary to other quintessentially Woodstock-era philosophies like the power of peace, love and music. But it’s the idea in which form seems to perfectly accompany message and purpose. Yellow Submarine teaches kids about embracing uniqueness and being unafraid of experimentation, not just in story, but in aesthetic.

John Lennon wrote “I Am the Walrus” as an absurd mix of unrelated and unfinished ideas—taken from some of his own poetry, a nursery rhyme, a Lewis Carol reference, and a dash of nonsense lyrics—partly in the attempt to frustrate critics who liked to over-analyze the Beatles’ music. The song isn’t featured in the Yellow Submarine, but the philosophy certainly is. There is a strong element of spontaneity, a kind of stream-of-consciousness, controlled chaos that runs through the length of the film, not unlike how the Beatles themselves created much of their music. With episodes like The Sea of Time, and the Sea of Holes, the story resembles a child’s dream, and trying to explain it out loud as having some kind of logical structure throughout probably proves just as fruitless and frustrating. In that aspect it reminds me of Time Bandits (1981), a film I wrote an analysis for early in the semester.

Speaking of Terry Gilliam, Yellow Submarine’s avant-garde animation must have at least partly inspired some of the work he would do on Do Not Adjust Your Set and his work with the Pythons just a short time later. The animation is unique, often beautiful, sometimes disorienting, and definitely psychedelic. It isn’t quite like anything that came before, combining the decade’s colorful graphic art with cutout animation and surreal imagery. The thrown-together feel adds to the impression that it’s a film seemingly unburdened by self-censorship.

In many ways—and this isn’t a criticism—Yellow Submarine feels like a film was created in a brainstorming process and then just left there. That’s not true; it’s actually a fully realized,  strangely beautiful, enjoyable film. But the sense of controlled chaos is fitting for a children’s animation sprung from the Summer of Love, and all the philosophies we associate with the era. It’s a story about freedom to enjoy music, art, and life without succumbing to the bummers that are the blue meanies. And unlike a lot of other works that tell kids to “just be yourself” or “just enjoy life” it seems justified in giving that advice, because it’s very creation seems loyal to the same idea.