Many animation buffs consider Wladyslaw Starewicz the great forgotten genius of one special branch of the art, puppet animation, which he invented almost single-handedly . . . and, as it happened, almost accidentally. As a young man Starewicz was more interested in entomology than the cinema, but his unsuccessful attempt to film two stag beetles fighting led to an unexpected breakthrough in film-making when he realized he could simulate movement by manipulating beetle carcasses and photographing them one frame at a time. This discovery led to the production of Starewicz' amazingly elaborate classic short THE CAMERAMAN'S REVENGE, which he made in Russia in 1912, at a time when motion picture animation of all sorts was in its infancy.<br /><br />The political tumult of the Russian Revolution caused Starewicz to move to Paris, where one of his first productions-- coincidentally? --was a dark political satire variously known as "Frogland" or "The Frogs Who Wanted a King." A strain of black comedy can be found in almost all of Starewicz' films but here it is very dark indeed, aimed more at grown-ups who can appreciate the satirical aspects than children, who would most likely find the climax upsetting. (I'm middle-aged and found it pretty upsetting, myself.) And indeed, prints of the film intended for English-speaking viewers of the 1920s were given title cards filled with puns and quips in order to help soften the sharp sting of the finale.<br /><br />Our tale is set in a swamp, the Frogland Commonwealth, where the citizens are unhappy with their government and have called a special session to see what they can do to improve matters. They decide to beseech Jupiter for a king. The crowds are impressively animated in this opening sequence-- it couldn't have been easy to make so many frog puppets look alive simultaneously --while Jupiter, for his part, is depicted as a droll white-bearded guy in the clouds who looks like he'd rather be taking a nap. When Jupiter sends them a tree-like god who regards them impassively the frogs decide that this is no improvement and demand a different king. Irritated, Jupiter sends them a stork.<br /><br />Delighted with this formidable-looking new king who towers above them, the frogs welcome him with a delegation of formally dressed dignitaries. The Mayor steps forward to hand him the key to the Commonwealth as newsreel cameras record the event. To everyone's horror, the stork promptly eats the Mayor and then goes on a merry rampage, swallowing citizens at random. A title card dryly reads: "News of the king's appetite spreadeth throughout the kingdom." When the now-terrified frogs once more beseech Jupiter for help, he loses his temper and showers their community with lightning bolts. The moral of our story, delivered by a hapless frog just before he is eaten, is "Let well enough alone."<br /><br />Considering the time period when this startling little film was made, and considering the fact that it was made by a Russian émigré at the height of that beleaguered country's Civil War, it would be easy to see this as a parable about those events. Starewicz may or may not have had Russia's turmoil in mind when he made "Frogland," but whatever prompted his choice of material the film stands as a cautionary tale of universal application. "Frogland" could be the Soviet Union, Italy, Germany or Japan in the 1930s, or any country of any era that lets its guard down and is overwhelmed by tyranny. It's a fascinating film, even a charming one in its macabre way, but its message is no joke.