By Ciara LaVelle
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By Kat Bein
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By Travis Cohen
By Carlos Suarez De Jesus
By Monica McGivern
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Nick Park speaks so softly that the tape recorder barely registers him at all. His is a whisper of a voice, the sound of a man who has spent years in isolation talking to no one but himself. Transcribing an interview with him is like trying to decipher a man's private thoughts. Perhaps that is because for the past 30 years, Park has been holed up in a bedroom and, later, a studio, posing tiny plasticine puppets in front of a movie camera, bringing inanimate creations to life a millimeter at a time. The man must have the patience of the dead.
Park has spent years creating minutes' worth of movies, short and feature-length: Two pages of a script can take up to five months to film. For so many of those years, Park has worked alone with only his creations to keep him company: a man named Wallace, his faithful and insecure dog named Gromit, and, now, a farm's worth of chickens dying to escape their dreary confines. And though they speak on screen, it's quite the chore to turn them into conversationalists.
It is then left to Peter Lord to speak up, to postulate and proselytize while his partner sips his late-afternoon tea. Lord was Park's inspiration: When Nick was a child growing up in Lancashire, England, it was Peter's clay-animated characters on the BBC that inspired him to pursue this solitary life. In 1972, Lord co-founded the Bristol, England-based Aardman Animations studio, creating animated programming for deaf children. At the time, Aardman was a sanctuary for animators wanting to create intelligent, thoughtful fare for adults and their children. But theirs was a cottage industry, and the cottage had only one small room. Now, 28 years later, Aardman is in business with Steven Spielberg, Jeffrey Katzenberg, and David Geffen's film company, DreamWorks, which is releasing Park and Lord's Chicken Run this week. The cottage has become a mansion.
"But we're still a rare breed, actually," Park says. "I started making films as a hobby at age 12. I used to see Pete's work on the BBC, and it was the only clay animation that was on there. It was a little character called Morph, who was a sort of Gumby meets Marcel Marceau."
Park, sitting next to his partner in a suite at the Mansion on Turtle Creek, casts a sideways glance at Lord, as though this is the first time he has tossed out this description in front of his partner. Lord raises his eyebrows, tightens his lips into what's either a smile or a grimace, and then begins to laugh. They both do.
"It was a fantastic lesson, because Morph was a sprightly little chap who metamorphoses, and what was always magic and holds people to it was he's not only a little man, but it's clay," Park says. "It's a thing you played with every day of your childhood. It's plasticine, but it's living, and it's magically changing shape. It's pure magic, because you see this thing, and he's actually walking and breathing. He has a soul, and it's just absolutely mesmerizing."
It was only a matter of time before Nick Park and Peter Lord welcomed Hollywood to Bristol. In 1990, Park's first Wallace & Gromit film--A Grand Day Out, which Park began in 1985 while he was a student at the National Film and Television School in England--was nominated for an Academy Award as Best Animated Short Film; his next two shorts starring the dog and his invention-loving master, 1993's The Wrong Trousers and 1995's A Close Shave, won Oscars. But the courtship with Hollywood has been a long process. Katzenberg tried to woo the duo when he was head of Disney, but they believed their films were too personal for a big studio, and they were not interested in making compromises. They felt features would be too "tacky," Lord says.
But Chicken Run compromises nothing. The tale of a group of chickens trying to escape their prison-camp-like farm before they're turned into pot-pie stuffing is at once bleak and joyous. It's The Great Escape with feathered females, Stalag 17 with a rooster (Rocky, voiced by Mel Gibson) instead of William Holden. In the film, one chicken is taken to slaughter because she doesn't produce enough eggs. Her execution is more than hinted at: An axe's shadow and a loud thunk signal her demise. A few minutes later, her carcass is seen on the farmer's dinner table, plucked to the bones. It's a rather daring move for fare being pushed on children: Rarely has animation been so willing to feel real.
"That is the heart of the thing," says Lord. "It is quite bleak for children. No, it's austere in a certain way. The reason I don't think it's bleak is because I think ultimately you feel great coming out of the movie; you feel uplifted. But it has its...Yes, there is death. There's a dark side to it. There's a sinister side to it. I suspect that if DreamWorks had been making it alone, had it been their movie, they wouldn't have made it so much that way. They would have made it softer all around, less sharp edges. But much of this is reflected in the books of Roald Dahl, and I think that's the sort of place we're coming from. Dahl makes these stories that contain violence and savagery, which are for adults, but I think kids like that, and I think it's good for them. I think it makes for a good story, and a happy ending is only worth having if you've been somewhere really bad on the way there."