The Bombs

In the world of bombs, explosions are as common as muck. They don't talk of death; they talk of disintegration. It's part of being a bomb, like the ultimate release, an orgasmic farewell.

All this is nothing compared to their fear of pastry. Throw a custard pie at a rocket shark (police) and it falls to pieces before your eyes. Cakes, pies, pizzas have become the new weapons of mass destruction and this is the story of how a plucky detonator box, called James Bomb, steals a can of film, containing instructions on how to bake these deadly confections, which, of course, the cigar chewing fat bomb, who wants to rule the world, is plotting to obtain by foul means, not fair.

Goce Vaskov's claymation 12-minuter is so inventive and funny that words loop-the-loop inside your head and you can't speak for superlatives. The film is set in gloomy underground rooms, where the life of bombs is conducted with energetic fervour. The plot races off like a kid on a trike with terriers yapping at his wheels.

This is animation with a wicked, dark streak of surreal genius and a sneering anarchic smile on its face.