Behind the Creation of 'Jibaro’ in ‘Love, Death & Robots’

Whether you're a fan of "Love, Death & Robots" Season 3 or not, one cannot deny the explosive talent of Alberto Mielgo. Yes, the director behind Season 1's "The Witness" returns with "Jibaro," once again bombarding the audience with overflowing aesthetics that leap off the screen.

Alberto Mielgo is a dazzling star in animation, clinching the 2022 Oscar for Best Animated Short Film with his latest work, "The Windshield Wiper." Beyond continuing the stylistic legacy of "The Witness" in "Love, Death & Robots," Mielgo uses minimal dialogue and visual segments to expound on the contemporary definition of love. Each person's love, he posits, is like raindrops on a windshield, each swipe revealing a different shape, only truly savored by those immersed in it.

During his Oscar acceptance speech, Alberto Mielgo implored the audience to give adult animation a chance, asserting it as a form of art deserving of love and attention. He sees adult animation as having existed since the early works of American animation master Tex Avery — raw, perhaps, but crafted for adults. Despite the roughness, Disney and Pixar later engaged in intricate visual development, birthing classic images tailored to family audiences and global success.

The popularity of "Love, Death & Robots" has shifted the perception of animation from an exclusive medium for families and children to a realm where the musings and fantasies of adults seamlessly blend with surreal and vivid visuals.

"Jibaro" in the third season, while not an entirely novel story, taps into the ancient Western legend of the Siren. The jewel-clad Siren, representing the Greek half-human, half-fish sea nymph, entices sailors with her enchanting song towards reefs or dangerous waters.

The short film is devoid of dialogue, yet this doesn't hinder the interpretation of the story. A deaf warrior discovers a mysterious piece of gold by the river, awakening the Siren covered in gold and jewels. She releases her anger upon the knight's comrades with piercing screams, driving them into a frenzied charge towards the enchantress, resulting in mutual slaughter. The deaf warrior escapes due to his inability to hear, piquing the interest of the sea nymph. As the story unfolds, their passion and tension escalate, leading the knight and the Siren to chase each other, ultimately ending in mutual destruction driven by greed and revenge.

According to Alberto Mielgo, only some stories are about saving the world or narrating the heroic journey. Heroic figures don't necessarily undergo growth; in reality, they might become worse individuals, devoid of any lessons learned, even losing everything. In "Jibaro," the deaf knight and the Siren fall outside the confines of heroism, lacking a clear-cut definition of good or evil. Audiences may find themselves favoring one, perhaps initially perceiving the woman as a monster, only to sympathize with her later.

In contrast to the perpetual loop of uncommunicative relationships depicted in "The Witness," "Jibaro" resembles a sensual relationship between predators, drawing mutual attraction from flawed reasons. Alberto Mielgo appreciates characters existing in the gray area. Beyond the plot, this short film is undeniably a genuine work of art. Unlike Mielgo's more minimalist and stylized impressionist expressions in "The Witness" and "Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse," "Jibaro" leans towards realism, with the beauty of light and shadow fully embedded in the physical rendering framework, akin to a lifelike painting.

Alberto Mielgo has long desired to portray the organic beauty of natural environments, believing that the colors and compositions in a forest are far more intricate than urban landscapes. He describes the challenge of depicting a tree — a mesmerizing struggle as each leaf possesses its shape and color, creating marvelous refractions and reflections as light permeates.

Regarding texture, Alberto Mielgo and his animation studio, Pinkman. TV merges hand-drawn images with computer-generated ones, layering various textures together. Reminiscent of medieval illustrations that incorporated precious metals for embellishment, when soldiers traverse the forest, the natural tones and textures complement the metallic reflections of the soldier's armor, juxtaposed against the dazzling metallic design of the nymph.

"Jibaro" is an otherworldly love letter to texture, a vivid and slightly eerie masterpiece. Technically intricate, the film simulates interactions with water, splashes, armor, and jewelry and computes their states upon collision with water. This is highly challenging, but Alberto Mielgo aims to push these technical and visual boundaries, propelling art to its limits. Given its condensed nature, the creators have more freedom to explore these techniques.

Essentially a 3D film, "Jibaro" requires substantial modeling for most scenes, including the complete forest, with traditional 3D lighting and rendering in post-production. However, the film incorporates many 2D elements, and the appearance of the characters is simplified despite looking realistic to the audience. Drawing and rendering are entirely based on the physical correctness of light. Alberto Mielgo leans towards eliminating unnecessary details to create a better, more enjoyable visual experience.

Though technically more complex, Alberto Mielgo doesn't believe in deliberately increasing production difficulty to advance technology. The technology and appearance of "Jibaro" are entirely in service of the story, a primary guideline. Aside from scenes and characters, the film's sound design is impeccable. The experience of the deaf knight sharply contrasts with his comrades in the camp. When the camera is with him, the forest eerily falls silent, occasionally disrupted by a deep, distant rumble. Compared to the song of the Siren and the screams of the dying and their horses, he lives in an unusual world.

The photography style of "Jibaro" accentuates this intense and unsettling feeling. While vibrant, coordinated, and glossy visuals attract the audience's gaze to charming scenes and aesthetics, the film's intense, ever-shifting camera shake induces a disorienting effect, meaning the viewer becomes a part of the narrative.

In terms of camera work, the cinematography simulates the fatigue and defocus of an observer, with not a second allowing correct focus on a frame. In real life, concentrating during action or combat is indeed challenging. The director wanted to incorporate these elements into the film to convey this sense of pressure to the audience.

"Love, Death & Robots" has once again brought adult animation into the mainstream spotlight, but this doesn't necessarily imply an intention to broaden the audience in the future.