Animation

The nominated Oscar shorts come in three categories — and a lot of subjects, styles and temperaments. It’s further proof that an award dictated by length needn’t be bound by anything else.

In the live-action category, a mixed bag of approaches — some inspired by classic literature — are burnished by inspired performances. Lee Knight’s “A Friend of Dorothy” may be a tad on the nose about the cultural and emotional impact of a lonely London widow on a closeted teenaged boy. But leads Miriam Margolyes and Alistair Nwachukwu practically shimmer with humor and warmth. “Jane Austen’s Period Drama,” a loving tweak of the writer’s oeuvre from Steve Pinder and Julia Aks (who also stars), is essentially a one-joke calling card to make feature comedies and it should do the job. Its cast is exactly the sprightly ensemble needed to land its what-if laughs.

Two others just miss the mark in terms of bringing their tensions to powerful resolutions yet benefit from who the camera adores. Meyer Levinson-Blount’s “Butcher’s Stain,” centered on a flimsy accusation against a friendly Palestinian butcher in an Israeli market, undercuts its gripping story with lackadaisical filmmaking and an unnecessary subplot, but lead Omar Sameer is commanding. The black-and-white future shock “Two People Exchanging Saliva,” directed by Natalie Musteata and Alexandre Singh, is an uneven Euro-art bath of unrealized intimacy and casual violence — kissing is punishable by death, slapping is currency — but is given exquisite tautness by the elegant, unrequited swooniness of stars Zar Amir and Luana Bajrami.

A scene from “Jane Austen’s Period Drama,” nominated in the live-action short category.

(Roadside Attractions)

Then there’s my favorite, Sam A. Davis’ likely winner “The Singers,” from Ivan Turgenev’s short story, which pays off handsomely in bites of soulful warbling that briefly turn a barroom’s den of anesthesia into a temple of feeling.

Most of this year’s documentary nominees deal with the grimmest of tragedies, as in “All the Empty Rooms” and “Children No More: Were and Are Gone,” which address the remembrance of children brutally killed. The former film, from Joshua Seftel, follows CBS correspondent Steve Hartman and photographer Lou Bopp on an essay project into the bedrooms of kids gunned down in school shootings, their private worlds heartbreakingly preserved by their families. The latter short, directed by Hilla Medalia, witnesses Tel Aviv’s silent vigils for Gaza’s children, protests marked by posters with beaming faces, and sometimes met with open scorn. These are dutiful, sobering acts of mourning — Seftel’s is the probable awardee. You may wish they were more than that, however, considering the issues (guns, war, political intransigence) that created the devastation.

Combat is what drove award-winning photojournalist Brent Renaud, killed in Ukraine in 2022. But his brother Craig’s memorializing of him, “Armed Only With a Camera,” is oddly uninvolving, more an excerpted flipbook of Brent’s far-flung assignments than a meaningful portrait of excelling at a dangerous job. A more affecting real-world dispatch (and my pick, if I could vote) is “The Devil Is Busy,” directed by Christalyn Hampton and dual nominee Geeta Gandbhir, also up for the feature “The Perfect Neighbor.” It observes a day in the operation of a carefully guarded, female-run Georgia abortion clinic as if it were a newly medieval world’s last chance healthcare outpost, getting by on grit, compassion and prayer. You certainly won’t forget security head Tracii, the clinic’s heavyhearted knight and guide.

A scene from “Perfectly a Strangeness,” nominated in the documentary short category.

(Roadside Attractions)

Your chaser is Alison McAlpine’s appealing, aptly titled “Perfectly a Strangeness,” sans humans, but starring three donkeys in an unnamed desert happening upon a cluster of hilltop observatories. The whir of science meets the wonder of nature and this charming, gorgeously shot ode to discovery (both on Earth and out there) makes one hope the motion picture academy sees fit to recognize more imaginative nonfiction works going forward.

Animation, of course, thrives on the thrill of conjured worlds, like the one in Konstantin Bronzit’s wordless (but not soundless) desert island farce “The Three Sisters.” It owes nothing to Chekhov — though there are seagulls — but much to a classically Russian sense of humor and a Chaplinesque ingenuity. Elsewhere, you can watch the overly cute Christian homily “Forevergreen,” from Nathan Engelhardt and Jeremy Spears, about a nurturing tree, a restless bear and the dangerous allure of potato chips. The message gets muddled but this eco-conscious journey is charming.

It’s tough to predict a winner when the entrants are this strong, but John Kelly’s “Retirement Plan” feasts on wry relatability, as Domhnall Gleeson narrates a paunchy middle-aged man’s ambitious post-career goals, while the cascade of deadpan funny, thickly-lined and mundanely hued images stress a more poignant, finite reality. In its all-too-human view of life, this is, entertainingly, whatever the opposite of a cloying graduation speech is.

A scene from “Retirement Plan,” nominated in the animated short category.

(Roadside Attractions)

The spindly aged-doll puppetry in the stop-motion gem “The Girl Who Cried Pearls” marks a sly fable of need, greed and destiny, centered on a wealthy grandfather’s Dickensian fashioning of his poverty-stricken childhood in early 19th century Montreal. Filmmakers Chris Lavis and Maciek Szczerbowski find an enchanting balance between storybook allure and adult trickery. Maybe this one steals it?

Whichever the case, the animation that moved me the most is “Butterfly,” from Florence Miailhe, imagining the last, memory-laden swim of Jewish French-Algerian athlete Alfred Nakache, who competed in the Olympics before and after the Holocaust. In the cocooning fluidity of an ocean-borne day, rendered with thick-brushed painterliness and splashes of sound, we travel across flashes of community, injustice, achievement, love and despair. The visual, thematic constant, though, is water as a haven and a poetic life force that feeds renewal.

Currently nominated for multiple Oscars, Chloé Zhao’s “Hamnet” traces how the immeasurable sorrow of losing a child fueled William Shakespeare to write “Hamlet” as a literary effigy to loss. That revered text, which has inspired countless adaptations (“The Lion King” among them), takes on a new form in the hands of Japanese animation master Mamoru Hosoda for his latest fantastical epic, “Scarlet.”

In a career of animated features with thematic heft and deep emotional impact, “Scarlet” may be the director’s most sobering and intense effort to date, not only given the severity of the violence on display, but because it advocates for the sometimes-impossible task of forgiving one’s foes, even when they show no remorse. Here, what’s at stake is one’s very soul. What remains is Hosoda’s investment in parent-child relationships, a recurring subject for him, always explored with compassion for both parties: the child in need of guidance and the parent struggling to be a beacon.

Gender-swapping the play, Hosoda once again centers a heroine (he seems to prefer female protagonists). The 16th century eponymous Danish princess (voiced by Mana Ashida) loses her father, King Amleth (Masachika Ichimura), to a gruesome betrayal. Her unscrupulous, power-hungry uncle Claudius (Kôji Yakusho) murders his own brother to become king. But in his final moments, as Scarlet watches, Amleth pleads a request she cannot hear. Avenging her fallen father — and finding out what he asked for before dying — becomes the young woman’s sole purpose going forward. Rage consumes her.

Hosoda’s body of work consists almost exclusively of movies that take place on two distinct planes, whether those be reality and a digital world (“Summer Wars,” “Belle”) or reality and a magical realm (“Mirai,” “The Boy and the Beast”). “Scarlet” is no different in that regard.

This time, however, he explores an afterlife with its own set of rules. Sensing Scarlet’s resolve to destroy him, Claudius poisons her. Scarlet wakes up in the Otherworld, an endless, arid landscape with an ocean for sky where a dragon roams. The deceased from the past and the present convene here. That’s how Scarlet and Hijiri (Masaki Okada), a paramedic from our present who refuses to believe he’s died, can exist in the same timeline. This purgatory essentially mirrors life: There’s conflict and suffering and if you die again here, you vanish into darkness forever. The goal is to ascend to the Infinite Land, a stand-in for heaven. But Scarlet cares not for eternal peace. She learns that Claudius is here and embarks on a trek to find him and kill him for good.

Hosoda doesn’t dwell on the differences between Scarlet and Hijiri’s realities back in the land of living. Instead, he zeroes in on their clashing worldviews. While Scarlet doesn’t think twice about slaughtering anyone who gets in her way, Hijiri protects life at all costs, so much that one can understand Scarlet’s frustration with him. After a brutal fight, for example, Hijiri bandages her enemies’ wounds with as much care as he does hers.

Multiple battles with Claudius’ henchmen pepper Scarlet and Hijiri’s journey, as does an encounter with the United Nations of this place: a group of wandering nomads from around the world who’ve come together for companionship. Even after death, Hosoda suggests, all people truly hope for is a shoulder to cry on and someone to share their burdens with.

For “Scarlet,” Hosoda ventures into uncharted aesthetic territory. When the narrative is in the Otherworld, fans will immediately notice the look differs from his previous creations. And that’s because Hosoda has opted for photorealistic, computer-generated animation in those sections. The early scenes in Scarlet’s time period are conceived using the more traditional hand-drawn technique.

Still, the characters in the Otherworld, created in CGI, retain qualities of hand-drawn animation, making one hyperaware of the relationship between the figure’s movement and the environment. The mix of visual approaches shocks the eye at first, though it comes to seem fitting.

If probed too closely, Hosoda’s high-concept interpretation of life after death may raise more questions than it can answer (have all of history’s villains been killed in the Otherworld?). But despite any narrative quibbles, the movie deserves praise for its genuine call for compassion. Scarlet’s final encounter with Claudius radiates with the complicated poignancy expected of real, difficult catharsis.

Admittedly, the film’s resolution feels naïve. Scarlet’s good intentions to end wars by way of sheer determination to do what’s right might prove insubstantial in practice. In that regard, “Scarlet” is the prayer of a director who fervently wants to believe in kindness (even for those who don’t deserve it) as the one true road to healing. That’s a tall order these days, especially in this country, but it’s hard to fault Hosoda for the sincere reminder of what could be.