Saturday 24 September 2016

Down and Out (An Animated Conversation)


Peter Lord and David Sproxton's Conversation Pieces (and by extension, Nick Park's Creature Comforts) had their roots in an earlier series, Animated Conversations, which was commissioned by the BBC in the late 1970s.  Animated Conversations was the brainchild of BBC Producer Colin Thomas and BBC graphics head Bill Mather and, much like Conversation Pieces, revolved around audio recordings of real-life situations which were then reinterpreted using animated figures. Outside of its Aardman connections, the series as a whole remains something of an obscurity, so I do have The Lost Continent animation blog to thank for doing a considerable chunk of the research for me on this one.  The series consisted of six short films (according to Derek Hayes' official website - Lost Continent claims there were seven, but maybe the pilot short, Audition, isn't included as part of the official total), these being Albion by Derek Hayes, Archi-Type by Henry Lutman, Filling Time by Andy Walker, Bill Mathers' own Hangovers, and two contributions from Lord and Sproxton, Confessions of a Foyer Girl and Down and Out.  According to a few other sources, like this retrospective on the history of Aardman, the BBC ultimately declined to broadcast the two Aardman shorts.  Did anyone else's contributions fare any better?

Down and Out takes place inside the lobby of a Salvation Army hostel and follows the efforts of a homeless pensioner to communicate his predicament to the staff on duty.  Unlike the visually experimental Confessions of a Foyer Girl, Down and Out remains firmly grounded within the realism of the situation, the emphasis being on bringing the central figure to life in a manner that conveys the loneliness and quiet desperation implicit in the dialogue.  Down and Out is an unusually pathos-driven slice of Aardman; it is apparent from the pensioner's uneasy shuffle upon entering the hostel that this is a man with no literal or figurative place in the world. He appears painfully exposed in the open space of the lobby, which seems cold, grey and impersonal, the various motionless figures clustered along the sidelines affording him no acknowledgement.  Lord and Sproxton demonstrate right off the bat their knack for creating visual narration through the understated movements and mannerisms of their characters, which are meticulously implemented, with each subtle little twitch, tremble and hand gesture adding immeasurably to the humanity of the characters, and to our understanding of the troublesome realities merely hinted at by their words.

The pensioner states that he has come from the hostel across the road on the understanding that he requires a ticket from this particular hostel in order to get a meal in their cafeteria.  As the man at the front desk attempts to make sense of what he is saying, it becomes apparent that the pensioner may have had the doors closed on him by the unseen hostel across the road - at one of the most illuminating points of the conversation, he asks the Captain on duty, "Who did you ring?" and insists that, "I've never done them no harm, none of them."  With each of his statements essentially amounting to a pitiful, disconcerted plea ("I'm disabled, in a way", "I can't cross the roads...bad nerves"), he is in every respect an outcast, struggling desperately to articulate his despair and ultimately failing to make any kind of connection.  The extent of his dislocation is emphasised in a particularly harrowing moment when the man at the desk consults the Captain and the pensioner turns and wanders off on his own around the lobby, apparently unable to keep a firm footing in wherever he stands for long.

The film ends, inevitably, with our perpetual castaway being escorted out the door, having been told that he does not need a ticket from them in order to access the cafeteria in the hostel across the street (although the underlying predicament goes unresolved).  As the hostel staff discuss what might have caused the confusion, the focus remains upon the pensioner, and the film adds one final image of him lingering at the doorway, making one last feeble attempt to set foot inside once more but ultimately turning and shuffling dejectedly away.  It is a haunting conclusion, showing a man cut off on both sides; unable to go back the way he's come but blatantly not desired in his current location either, all he can do is slip away silently into oblivion.


Availability: Included on the Aardman Classics DVD.

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