Showing posts with label Mary and Max. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mary and Max. Show all posts

Firstly, I dig your point on how bringing a physical camera to an otherwise animated world adds an element of realness to the fantasy. Knowing that at some point the sets and characters were solid objects that you could shape or take home sounds like the underpinning of every fantasy, be it by a child or adult.


That said, exactly what defines "breathtaking" in cinema is too porous to make valuable sense of, because what makes Mary and Max so appealing to one person may be the exact thing that made me turn the movie off three times before finishing it. It's an ugly-ass movie, inside and out. They've created a consistently-realized world, yes, but one where nothing is pleasant to look at. Everyone has the same distended paunch, the same Peanuts-style squiggle of a frown, and the same ill-fitting clothes. I've personally understood that grotesque art direction speaks more to the director's desire to create a world reflective of the "ugliness" he sees within real life, versus a want to create something breathtaking. Then again, maybe the inner-beauty depiction is breathtaking, to which I'd counter that there's other claymation fare even more capable at portraying the off-kilter and "unpretty" without the crutch of slimy world-building: see Coraline, and The Nightmare Before Christmas as two examples of such.

Really, I take issue with this idea:
As one Web reviewer has already noted, nothing Pixar or Dreamworks could create can touch this painstaking attention to detail, as "the computers couldn't render it, or only ass slow." What's more, these details ooze with character and fascinating imperfection, adding quirk and charm to the film.
I'll concede that CGI is a time-consuming process, but let's not forget that claymation is equally tedious, since -- as pointed out last week -- each object must be built and shot on a reasonable enough scale for the filmmakers to get maximum use from it. Yet while the inherent crudeness integral to claymation is central to said charm, animating three million individual hairs for one CGI creature defines painstaking. Then, once an audience grows accustomed to the baseline level of spectacle, they can look beyond the glitz to parse out the heavier elements of a story. Because of this, I'd argue that it's precisely the level of detail good CG brings that can make for a more emotionally grounded, more "real," experience. The animators paradoxically create something so incredible that it becomes effectively invisible -- something Mary and Max's blunt clay doesn't here achieve.

Writer/director Adam Elliot's 2009 film "Mary and Max" is proof that animation (claymation, in this case) is not always for children. Here, we have a film that deals with some very dark and adult issues, but looks at these issues through Mary, a very lonely young Australian girl, and her pen pal Max, an obese Jewish New Yorker suffering from Asperger's Syndrome. As Mary asks Max some of the most poignant questions in life, we see her adorable ignorance held up against Max's highly analytical and literal outlook on life.

Mary and Max are quite a pair, and through their 20 year-long correspondence, they face the world together--from the despair of isolation and loss to the joy of having everything they'd always wanted. There is much to say about the plot of "Mary and Max," and a number of reviewers I've run across have gone that route, but what really interests me about this film is the choice of claymation as a medium and what Elliot has done with it.

Firstly, I should mention that I have a soft spot for claymation, especially the classic strange, dry British wit found in Wallace and Gromit, for example. Regardless, "Mary and Max" is a breathtaking example of what can be done visually with clay. Though the film has a largely monochromatic color palette, save a bright orange-red that pops up here and there, the level of detail and pragmatism in dealing with "real-world" settings is fantastic. For example:

If you really give this image a close look at full resolution, you will begin to get a sense for the sheer quantity of detail in every scene of the film, both in the foreground and the background. As one Web reviewer has already noted, nothing Pixar or Dreamworks could create can touch this painstaking attention to detail, as "the computers couldn't render it, or only ass slow." What's more, these details ooze with character and fascinating imperfection, adding quirk and charm to the film.

But I think the choice of clay as a medium has deeper implications than the level and quality of detail for which it allows. Traditional animation (and computer animation, for that matter) is characterized by allowing the animator to create an imaginary world in which to set their story. This allows for the animation of anything that can be imagined, because even the most implausible characters, settings, and situations can be represented visually on screen. Contrast this with traditional live action filming, sans CGI or special effects, which requires real people in real places to create the illusion of the fictional characters and their fictional situations.

With clay, however, you are indeed creating your own fantasy world, but by introducing the use of the real camera to photograph your real clay models, a certain degree of tangibility or "realness" is injected into the product. The clay artist is free to create whatever they can imagine, as with animation, but in the end, a real model must be photographed by a real camera, as with live action filming.

Therefore, I'd say that "Mary and Max" does not take place in THE real world so much as it takes place in A real world--one in which the Statue of Liberty is a fat man and houseflies have strangely large, blinking eyes rather than creepy tiny segmented eyes.

Still, one does not need to know that this film is based on a true story to feel resonate it as such. Further, this is a film whose plot is based on a true story and whose setting is based on the real world, and that sort of symmetry is difficult to attain outside of the claymation medium.

"Mary and Max" may be a dark and even disturbing film at times, but the way in which it is executed is hilarious and absolutely charming, adding just the right amount of lightness for an enjoyable viewing experience. In my mind, a live action version of this film would be mostly without this humor and charm and therefore a much bigger pill to swallow, but a traditionally animated version of the film would lose that tangibility and resonance introduced by real clay and real cameras.

So, track this film down, give it a watch, post your comments and opinions, and as always, stay tuned for next week's follow up articles.

How much can you stand to see someone put-upon? More specifically, when it comes to movies, what's your misery threshold?

"Dark." "Edgy." "Haunting." "Gritty." "Subversive." Industry buzz words tailored to describe the illusion that the film you're watching is somehow made all the better through subjecting its characters to random and heartbreaking misery simply for misery's sake. It's a practice no less superficial than giving a comic-book heroine a rape backstory, and is one Adam Elliot's Mary and Max dives wholeheartedly into. Inspired by the director's 20+ year pen-friendship, the story follows lonely 8 year old Mary Daisy Dinkle through 20 years of her own correspondence with her spiritual kin, Max Jerry Horowitz, age 44.

Their world is wholly unpleasant. That picture? That's Mary's alcoholic mother, Vera. Her father works at a tea bag factory, her nose is big and unwanted like the birthmark marring her forehead, and her only pleasures in life are cartoons and condensed milk. Obese, neurotic Max isn't much better. All this nastiness gets enhanced, mind you, through depicting Mary's life in sepia tones, while Max get's black and white. The color red holds some undefined symbolic place in Mary's aesthetic stew, but we aren't missing much by leaving the connection unexplained; whatever Elliot explained would likely be as ham-fisted as every other statement the film tries.

If you guessed that the moral of the story was "we can't choose our lives, but can choose our friends," well done. It was telegraphed from the moment the narrator first described Mary's birthmark as "the color of poo." A lonely misfit who finds some form of joy in the world? Novel, indeed. I will give the movie credit, though. The array of flaming hoops they make our heroes dance through was well-imagined: Mary's parents die, her childhood crush-cum-husband leaves her for another man (he made her wedding dress, if you needed some foreshadowing), and some of her letters open up Max's repressed childhood memories, sending him to a mental institution for eight months. Life is war, and war is hell.

I'll give Elliot further props for choosing claymation. Embedding a serious story in the skin of something benign is a proven tactic for subverting audience expectations, but when you introduce your primary protagonist a having a birthmark "the color of poo" (can you tell how much that annoyed me?), you create a counter-expectation that the rest of the film won't pack too heavy an emotional punch. This very problem forms a through-line for the rest of the film: what exactly am I supposed to take seriously here?

Sure, your story may be about the resillience of friendship in the sake of nearly impossible hardship, but what good is the message if everything else drives people away before they realize it? The reason audiences cherish Pixar movies is because they're clever about their philosophies. If you lose the subtlety that could really let a message simmer within an audience in favor of beating them over the head with it, if you skip even implied rationale for certain aesthetic (and definitely for plot) choices, you come across preciously earnest -- "look at this gritty magical realism! Such suffering!" -- and thus push the audience away from your desired effect.. Dark for dark's sake doesn't work, but Mary and Max does give it a good try.


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