As
if our debt to ancient Greece is not great enough (the Olympic games, Pythagoras and Socrates,
to say nothing of a good slice of baklava), consider that this great culture of
mathematics and philosophy also had a key role in the development of the art we
now call animation.
Long before people were arranging series of pictures to be seen through slits
on rotating discs, before stick-figure images were projected for the first time
on a screen, before Disney harnessed an army of animators to work on celluloid
sheets, the Greeks were painting sequential drawings of an athlete in motion on
pottery. Not “claymation,” exactly, but you get the point.
It is tempting to believe that the Greeks, whose appreciation for comedy was
not limited to the plays of Aristophanes, would very much approve our amusement
with Wallace and Gromit, the Plasticine creations of animator Nick Park and a
comic pair who appear to be on their way to a recognition level occupied by the
likes of the Pillsbury Doughboy and Speedy Alka-Seltzer.
Wallace and Gromit are now on screen at the Dobie in “A Close Shave,” Park’s
1995 Oscar-winner for best animated short, and the anchor film of an anthology
from Park’s company, Aardman Animations.
For more than a few, the arrival of this latest half-hour of stop-motion
comedy and adventure was greeted with the same enthusiasm earlier reserved for
Star Wars and Indiana Jones installments.
Granted, the audiences are smaller. But not their enthusiasm.
It is easy to see why.
Most of us came to Wallace and Gromit by way of Park’s second film featuring
the odd and endearing British duo. “The Wrong Trousers,” which won the 1993
Oscar for best animated short, was shown in an anthology at the Dobie a few
years ago. About the same time, PBS broadcast the film along with a half-hour
documentary on Park. The feature on Park was especially absorbing because it
revealed not only details about animation technique but the psychology behind
the creation of his characters. This is especially important, because the
breadth and depth of Wallace’s and Gromit’s appeal resides in the texture and
subtleties of their characters. No roadrunner and coyote these fellows. As has
been written elsewhere, Wallace and his loyal companion resemble nothing so
much as an old couple grown form-fittingly comfortable with one another,
foibles and all.
The brisk business for “A Close Shave” and Wallace & Gromit: The Best
of Aardman Animation could be foreseen in the sales and rentals of videos
of “The Wrong Trousers” and Park’s first W&G short, “A Grand Day Out.” The
Internet now hosts not one but several Wallace and Gromit sites. A creamery in
Yorkshire, reports one of the Internet sources, will begin selling its
Wensleydale cheese (Wallace’s favorite) under the Wallace and Gromit label.
The appeal of Park’s film is readily apparent to anyone who has seen “The
Wrong Trousers” (still, for my money, the best of the trio), and who
appreciates the twin virtues of craftsmanship and economy. The craftsmanship —
which includes the abundant detail of the sets, the imaginative and artistic
use of lighting, the always appropriate scoring by composer Julian Nott, and,
of course, the variety and precision of the characters’ expression and
movements — one almost takes for granted. Give any reasonably talented
animator enough time and he or she can create the world envisioned. The magic
of “The Wrong Trousers” is its narrative skill — how characters and situations
are quickly established, how one bit of business flows seamlessly to the next.
There is no wasted motion, nothing skimped and nothing needlessly lingered
over. In a scant half hour, “The Wrong Trousers” tells a story of family ties,
a mysterious interloper, a daring crime, betrayal — all capped by a dizzying
and hilarious chase on a toy train that suggests both Indiana Jones and Buster
Keaton. Not least: Does there exist in the history of animation a voice more
fittingly perfect for its character than that of the frumpy Peter Sallis as the
cheerfully clueless Wallace?
To see the other Park films in this current Aardman anthology at the Dobie is
to know how he arrived at such an affecting duo as Wallace and Gromit. In
“Creature Comforts,” in which anthropomorphic inhabitants of a zoo rather
gamely attempt polite descriptions of their dreadful living conditions, the
synthesis of personality and movement, voice and body language is hauntingly,
mesmerizingly real. The same holds true for Park’s series of commercials for an
electric utility, in which various animals, speaking in the unscripted tones of
a man-on-the-street interview, extol the virtues of home heating.
We are told that Park may temporarily retire the cheese-loving inventor
Wallace and his silent but canny canine. This is just as well, as it is always
better to eagerly await than to overindulge. (Perhaps they will take one of
those “cheese vacations” Wallace once dreamed of.) No doubt Park will apply the
same fine artistry to new characters and situations. With his growing
recognition and popularity, it seems almost certain that whatever he produces
will be snapped up for distribution in the U.S.
Until then, we can dip from the well with videos. Among their many virtues,
Wallace and Gromit movies bear up under repeated viewings.
And now, does anyone care to join me in bit of Gorgonzola? n
This article appears in June 28 • 1996 and June 28 • 1996 (Cover).