Fuck Aye ..plays air hurdy gurdy

Great video The actual name is L'Animateur

Here is the Author's description on StopMoShorts:

Way back in June 2006, some of the Haiku Challenge keywords were Tree, Apple, and Fall. That led me to the Adam and Eve story. Reflecting on what it is to be a stop-motion animator today led me to the main character - you've got to be a fool to do it, but you also have this godlike power to create characters and worlds.

A travelling Fool takes his puppet stage to a desert planet. In this retelling of the myth, eating the apple is an essential step towards changing from puppet to human, and part of his plan from the beginning. The French title was chosen because in addition to the meanings of the English word it also refers to a Compere or Master of Ceremonies, which seemed to fit the role of travelling showman.

The film was rushed to make the deadline for Annecy, and has more technical faults that there is space to list, but was fun to do all the same. It was set to recorded music by Earthly Delights, who conduct medieval dances, rather like bush dancing or square dancing, in Canberra, Australia. John Garden composed it and plays the Hurdy Gurdy, which felt exactly right for the puppet stage.

The Stiltfrog puppets are latex build-up over wire, about 4 inches tall. The Fool has a cushion foam body, latex build-up hands, and a foam latex head. Adam and Eve are Sculpey over epoxy putty, then foam latex puppets. It was shot on a Nikon D70 which developed flicker, and was replaced by a D50 which flickered from the start, though not as much. Compositing was done in Mirage, with a couple of planet shots put together in Lightwave.

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o' the puddin-race!
Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy o' a grace
As lang's my arm.

The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin wad help to mend a mill
In time o' need,
While thro' your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.

His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An' cut you up wi' ready sleight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like ony ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!

Then, horn for horn,
they stretch an' strive:
Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive,
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve,
Are bent lyke drums;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
"Bethankit!" 'hums.

Is there that owre his French ragout
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi' perfect sconner,
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view
On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him ower his trash,
As feckless as a wither'd rash,
His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro' bloody flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!

But mark the Rustic, haggis fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread.
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He'll mak it whissle;
An' legs an' arms, an' heads will sned,
Like taps o' thrissle.

Ye Pow'rs wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o' fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer,
Gie her a haggis!