Wallace and Gromit — Floating World

Having just re-watched Wallace and Gromit and the Curse of the Were-Rabbit, I was reminded that rated G films and programs do not need to entail idiotic gags that cater to the stupidest of stupid. Like Sesame Street, Classic Disney and more recently Pixar, Nick Park and Aardman Animation have proven again and again that just because you’re aiming for a G-rating doesn’t mean your jokes can’t be any less intelligent, the scares any less horrific, or the innuendos any less implied – it’s all in good taste, of course.

Why is Wallace and Gromit such a gem of a canon? Quite simply it makes no pretense of being anything more or less than it is – a lovely and adventure-filled universe with the ever inventing Wallace and the master of silent acting Gromit. As I’ve said before¹ Nick Park’s Wallace and Gromit universe is undeniably sweet and unimposing in its presentation, entirely grounded in the reality of the mundane amidst the spectacular. We see Wallace’s outrageous inventions, and he acts as if they’re perfectly normal even when they malfunction (the most he’ll do is shake his hands back and forth in front of his face and go “oh dear…!” if it gets really bad); and as per usual, good old Gromit is there to pick up the pieces after something goes haywire, or if Wallace simply wants some cheese and crackers. This is a universe untainted by true malice, the most negative of feelings arising solely from somebody after something not uncommon, and in the most hilarious manner as well (Victor and his toupee? Check!)

Throughout the entire movie I was laughing hard, amazed (and still am!) by the cleverness and subtle jokes Park and his production team snuck in that makes both children and adults will laugh at, and for very different reasons. This is what a good movie is all about!

So why is it that so many children’s films these days seem so content to sit and stagnate in a pool of screenplay mediocrity? It’s almost as if a majority of animation studios took a cue from Disney Channel, focusing on a false extraordinaire and always on the seeming verge of being prescribed Ritalin. Everyone wants to be Hannah Montana, shiny and bright and in-your-face fun! There needs to be drama, action, something to drive everyone on screen to constantly on a energy high as if the world will stop spinning if they’re not displaying the effects of a caffeine overdose. No one seems to be content with quieter aspects of childhood, the moments where we find a little caterpillar walking on slowly by and begin imagining just what it might be up to.

What makes Wallace and Gromit so exemplary is in addition to the series outright rejecting the A.D.D. mentality that is endemic to most recent American children’s productions, it is inherently good-natured and calm. No one gets too excited, too sad, too angry, too – well, anything. The characters take it all in stride – from being dragged underground by a giant rabbit to two dogs having a aerial dogfight, or even the fact that everyone has over-the-top security for their precious vegetables – nothing quite seems to push anyone into the realm of clichéd or hopeless desperation: we all know it’s going to be all right in the end, just you watch! (also, could you make some tea and crackers while you’re at it?)

The narrative structure of Wallace and Gromit is one of adventure, balancing a Looney Tune’s cartoon spectacle with characters who at most will say “oh dear” when something goes haywire. There are feats only imaginable in the realm of animation (stop-motion animation, for the matter) that defy logic so unapologetically without so much of a wink – well, you’ll just have to accept that Wallace insists on contraptions and machines to perform the most menial of tasks, and that two dogs will take a moment to shuffle through their coin pouches while they’re fighting over a plane ride, because at the end of the day you know they’ll all be sitting down for cheese and crackers.

The only other director-animators I know who are completely at peace with being unspectacular are Hayao Miyazaki and Isao Takahata of Studio Ghibli, and Sylvain Chomet who made The Triplets of Belleville and the upcoming The Illusionist. There’s a distinct calmness to Miyazaki’s, Takahata’s and Chomet’s works that refuses to indulge in instant anything, and refuses even more to cue us into how we should be feeling. The musical scores are not composed to elicit a specific emotion, but beautifully supplement what happens on screen at a given time; there are, at times, when minimalism and silence are the most important sounds for a given scene. Nick Park takes this distinct calmness a step further by framing something otherwise amazing and fantastic into something almost regular, expected and humorously mundane even. Park’s directing technique is not dissimilar to that of Joel and Ethan Coen’s, especially in the duo’s exemplary Fargo in which a intense kidnapping and series of gruesome murders tied to a extensive extortion scheme are somehow hilarious and really, really uncool (the word “yeahhh” will never be the same for me again).

Rated G doesn’t need to be dumbed down. Classic Disney films like Pinocchio and Snow White are as rated G as they come, and there are still scenes that I find traumatizing and disturbing (to date, the donkey transformation scene in Pinocchio still gives me chills)². Pixar has inexplicably established themselves as an institution open to challenge and change³, where the creative process is inherently tied to feedback, feedback, and more feedback. Even Sesame Street has demonstrated exemplary intelligence in broadcasting to primarily children: the PBS programming has repeatedly shown themselves to be updated, intelligent, and sensible in communicating sociocultural, political, and even pop culture aspects with children (the Old Spice spoof⁴ is one of my favorites parodies to date).

I can only hope this sugar-high mentality that many recent children’s films will have at least diluted a bit by the time I end up raising a kid, and hope even more that this stupid 3D enthusiasm will have kicked the bucket. We need smarter, better writers for children, writers who are sensitive enough to know what strikes a chord in both kids and adults alike, and timelessly so. In television, we’ve had Sesame Street, Animaniacs, Foster’s Home for Imaginary Friends (Craig McCracken), and old Spongebob Squarepants (when Stehen Hillenburg was still involved); in film, we’ve got classic Disney, Pixar, Sylvain Chomet, Hayao Miyazaki, Isao Takahata, Henry Selick and Nick Park; in books, we’ve got Lewis Carroll, Beatrix Potter, J.M. Barrie, Dr. Seuss, Roald Dahl, Beverly Cleary, Avi, and now J.K. Rowling – so, anyone else up for the challenge?