Why Rated-G isn't an excuse for poor craftsmanship

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?

Referenced and Recommended Reading/Links

¹The Simple Sweetness and Sincerity of Wallace and Gromit

²The Mythology of Classic Disney

³”It Gets Better,” Love Pixar

⁴Smell Like a Monster

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• Wallace and Gromit and the Curse of the Were-Rabbit – review by Roger Ebert

• Cookie Monster audition tape for SNL

• Ricky Gervais and Elmo – off camera bantering

• The Kid’s are All Right: Ramona and Beezus – by Dennis Cozzalio

The Simple Sweetness and Sincerity of Wallace and Gromit

Wallace and Gromit are arguably the two most delightful characters in the history of animation. Between the previous sentence and this one I paused thoughtfully and stared into space and thought of all of the other animated characters I have ever met, and I gave full points to Bugs Bunny and high marks to Little Nemo and a fond nod to Goofy, and returned to the page convinced that, yes, Wallace and Gromit are in a category of their own. To know them is to enter a universe of boundless optimism, in which two creatures who are perfectly suited to each other venture out every morning to make the world into a safer place for the gentle, the good and the funny.

– Roger Ebert in his review of Wallace and Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit

If there was ever a series that was rare in its utter sincerity and sweetness, Nick Park’s Wallace and Gromit is one I couldn’t recommend enough to children and adults alike. 

My first encounter with the British stop-motion characters – Wallace the hapless inventor and Gromit the intelligent and silent dog – was back in 2005 when both starred in their first feature length film, Wallace and Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit. I went to see it with one of my best and closest friends at the local theater that specialized in independent, foreign, and non-wide release films that otherwise blared at other local complexes. Since it was before matinee, we happened to be the one of the older bunches in the theater as Park’s film reeled across the wide screen. 

From what I can remember, it was an absolute pleasure seeing Wallace and Gromit go about their usual business as the Were-Rabbit terrorized a town in its rabbit-like mannerisms. Not only was the stop-motion astounding, but the creativity and narrative were off the charts. The Rube Goldberg like contraption that tips Wallace from his bed into his trousers, followed by putting on sleeves, a vest, and buttering his toast – this was nothing other animation studios like Disney, Pixar, or Ghibli had ever imagined or even come close to depicting. This was Nick Park at full throttle with the creative bunch of Aardman Studios, and the entire lapse of remaining minutes was nothing short but a roller coaster of ingenuity, hilarity, and adventure. 

My memory of Were-Rabbit is fond not only because of the film itself, but because of the emotions I felt and how utterly enjoyable it was. I remember at one point, when Lady Tottington turned around with two watermelons held to her bosom and asks (a transforming) Wallace, “how to you like melons?” – we both burst out laughing like no other, so much that a kid asked their mom “mommy, why are those two laughing so much?” and she responded “just ignore them, honey.” In short: this pretty much summed up my first experience of Wallace and Gromit, and established Aardman Animations as one of my favorite animation studios to date for many, many reasons. 

What makes Wallace and Gromit so unique, so charming, so inventive, and so undeniably sweet? First, I think it’s important to classify the three major animation studios that are well-known in the American domestic and internationally:

• Disney has always been about the magic and the fantastical (any Disneyland veteran will instantly confirm this with anyone). Their most well-known and well-received films – which include the obvious Snow White and The Little Mermaid – have mostly been adaptations of classic fairy and folk tales from collections of the Brothers Grimm, Charles Perrault, and Hans Christen Anderson. The core appeal of these films includes their happily-ever-after conclusions, musical numbers, bubbly side characters, and easily palatable animation aesthetics (good and evil are very distinct entities, and drawn in such a way that the audience can easily identify who to like and who to hate).
• Pixar broke away from Disney traditions by simply investing in high-quality, limit-pushing technical mastery and heartwarming, engaging stories. Arguably, their premiere film Toy Story cemented what the studio was all about from the very beginning: breakthrough, technique, direction, wide appeal, and story, story, story. After fifteen years it’s nice to see that the studio – up until this point – has favored originality and constant constructive criticism over conservatively safe creative stagnation. While this may change in the near future (and I surely hope not), I’ve always been fond of Pixar for their aspiration towards quality and the genuine belief in the public’s desire for greater expectations of film, and especially of animation. I just hope Lasseter and the rest of the gang are smart enough to not pull a Michael Eisner or a George Lucas in their future decisions. 
•  Hayao Miyazaki’s and Isao Takahata’s Studio Ghibli is world renown for films like Princess Mononoke, Spirited Away and arguably the most famous, My Neighbor Totoro. What all these films share is their directly non-Western narratives, depictions and aesthetics – almost the polar opposite of what their Disney contemporaries aspired towards. The greatest emphasis is on the details of the environment, and how almost everything – from a falling dragon to how two young girls react upon seeing a forest spirit – is drawn and inspired from how humans and nature can harmoniously coexist (recently, while watching bits from Ponyo, one of my brother’s friends commented, “everyone seems so at peace with what’s happening around them despite the events being completely unnatural. In fact, it’s almost as if they went ‘oh hey look, ancient sea creatures… ok.’”)

With these characteristics in mind, it’s easier to see why Nick Park (and by extension Aardman Studios) is so utterly unique in animation and storytelling. 

I’ve recently watched three Wallace and Gromit short films on Netflix – A Close Shave, A Grand Day Out, and most recently A Close Shave – in this order respectively, and now feel confident enough to say this: what is so striking about Park’s animation and directing style is his utter sincerity. There really isn’t anything fantastic or awe-inspiring or jaw-dropping – in fact, the most amazing thing about Wallace and Gromit is how un-amazing and quiet it is as a whole. Sure, you have the Goldberg like inventions, the inexplicable physical feats otherwise impossible in the real world as we know (speeding on a toy train while laying out toy train rails in front of you to make a path? Check!), the uniqueness of each frame and character look that results from careful and painstaking stop-motion clay animation, the dubious “antagonist” that, well, antagonizes with a specific plot point ('ello, Mr. Were-Rabbit) – but beyond all of that hullabulloo and pragmatic nonsense, at the end of the day Wallace and Gromit are just content to have themselves a nice cup of tea with some crackers and Wenslydale cheese. 

Wallace and Gromit is so quiet, so modest, and so simply sweet and sincere that no other popular animation studio – Disney, Pixar, Ghibli alike – has ever thought of pursuing. The closest analogy I could draw for those who are familiar with all three studios (not including Aardman) is this: imagine the little scene in Miyazaki’s My Neighbor Totoro where the two girls are fetching water from the stream. For a few seconds, the camera cuts to a part of the flowing water, where a discarded bottle has become lodged between a couple of small rocks. It’s the sort of attention to detail that many animators (for the sake of time) ignore or choose not to do – yet for those few seconds we see such a detail that says so little yet so much at the same time. Another scene (that I’m sure more are familiar with) is in Andrew Stanton’s Wall•E, where Wall•E picks up a ring holder, takes out the diamond ring – only to throw it away and play eagerly with the box it came in (when I was watching it in theaters, a woman behind me exclaimed “ooh!” before the little robot chucked it away). These small instances of extreme attention to minute details that on average, we take for granted everyday, is what Wallace and Gromit is all about. Stop and smell the roses –would probably be the best quote summation of Nick Park and Aardman studios as a whole. Most amazing is Nick Park’s utter humility and seemingly lacking desire to do more in Wallace and Gromit except more Wallace and Gromit: that is, he simply tiptoes away from the traps of repetitive sequels and creative stagnation that Dreamwork’s Shrek franchise ran into after its first sequel. There is a self-awareness that in spite of the series’ British domestic and international success, there is always something else greater outside the little bubble of the charming duo. 

Even though it is a precious and nostalgic collection and valuable to the company, in light of other tragedies, today isn’t a big deal.

– Nick Park responding to the resulting destruction of Aardman’s storage warehouse after a fire accidentally broke out in 2005. He is referencing the South Asian earthquake in his response.

One of the most touching moments out of the three short films I’ve seen recently is in A Grand Day Out, where Wallace and Gromit traverse via rocketship to a planet presumably made out of a cheese. The planet’s guardian, a box-like robot, wakes up to protect the natural environment and comes across the duo’s spread out picnic; collecting each item for its inventory, the robot comes across a travel magazine focusing on skiing. It becomes inspired, and desires to follow Wallace and Gromit back home to earth; however, due to a misunderstanding, the duo take off, and the robot is stranded on its planet with a few pieces of the rocket. 

In a sad yet sweet moment, the robot takes the pieces, mends them into makeshift skis, and makes due with the little cheese hills – thus accomplishing his little dream of skiing in the snowy alps of earth, albeit slightly modified. 

Comparatively, the two other films after Park’s first short film feature – A Close Shave and The Wrong Trousers – don’t quite hit this lightning-in-a-bottle mark of sad-sweetness, a sort of happy ending without the happily-ever-after, if you will. Don’t misinterpret me though: these two other films do wonders in mixing comedy gold and silliness with ace animation and unbelievably creative achievements while balancing a dubious (even menacing) antagonist whose eventual fate is actually quite satisfactory (and ironically humorous, for the matter); and if I recall correctly, this comedy gold mix was also prevalent in Were-Rabbit, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it was also present in the short film I’ve yet to see A Matter of Loaf and Death. I look forward to getting my hands on the short-short film compilation Cracking Contraptions and seeing episodes of the upcoming (or currently broadcasting?) series Wallace and Gromit’s World of Inventions (in fact, the premise of World of Inventions instantly got me sold on the series; one of my lifelong goals is to tie in science with art, animation and film, and seems like Nick Park (and even Henry Selick, for the matter) is ahead of me in the game already. Why does it seem like stop-motion animators always seem to be the most unique?)

As a closing to this entire tidbit, I will say this: the little robot skiing its way across hills on the desolate planet of cheese will forever be a memorable little scene in mind and memory of film and animation. 

Strangely though, after watching story – I’ve always got a strange craving for cheese. Specifically pub cheese. Coincidence? 

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Additional Links

• Train chase scene in The Wrong Trousers – the audio dubbed for a college student’s project but you can see how inventive the animation and action is. 

• Opening of The Wrong Trousers – you can see the Rube Goldberg inspirations all over this.