At the Movies: Mary and Max
Darn it, Sarah does it again. Takaka’s Village Theatre manager Sarah Kay is very skilled at choosing films that challenge this reviewer’s tastes, presumptions and prejudices.
When I was told that Mary and Max was the latest film for review I was not optimistic. Claymation is not a genre I find appealing, even when I knew the film was based on a heart-warming true story. I was never a Wallace and Gromit fan; how could crudely-wrought lumpy models achieve the kinds of things that I like films to do – engage, challenge, charm and move me? How wrong I was.
I watched award-winning Australian animator Adam Elliott’s masterful Mary and Max with burgeoning respect and amazement. The combination of a clever story, sparkling dialogue and a disarmingly simple approach quickly overcame my prejudice against the genre. I may even search out Harvie Krumpit, the 2003 film for which Elliott won an Oscar.
It is 1976. Mary Daisy Dinkle, “whose eyes are the colour of muddy puddles and whose birthmark is the colour of poo” lives in Lamington Avenue, Melbourne with her alcoholic mother Vera (voiced by soul singer Renee Geyer), disengaged father Noel and pet rooster Athol. Watch the rooster - he’ll excrete a major plot device.
No one is kind to Mary and, like many young children, she is puzzled by some pretty baffling questions – such as where babies come from. She has been told that, in Australia, babies are found at the bottom of glasses of beer. Wondering if that is also true in America, she tears a page from a telephone book at the Post Office and, selecting at random, writes a letter to Mr Max Jerry Horowitz (voiced by Philip Seymour Hoffman) in New York. She encloses a Cherry Ripe chocolate bar as an afterthought.
Max has Asperger’s Syndrome. He is middle-aged, morbidly obese and utterly friendless. He lives with his goldfish Henry The Eighth in an apartment. His mostly blind neighbour is the only person who shows him any compassion. Striving to find some order in a universe that makes no sense to him, he is a tribute to the resilience of humanity. Mary’s letter produces an anxiety attack but, perhaps charmed by the chocolate bar enclosed within, he replies. So begins a friendship that is at the same time unlikely and authentic, trivial and crucial, naïve and wise, doomed and triumphant.
The plot unfolds via the letters that pass between the friends over a number of years. We are also helped along by the voice-over provided by Barry Humphries. The film is a major work of art. The animation is intriguing and convincing, but the film-making as a whole is superb. Mary and Max cannot succeed unless the two main characters engage our sympathies and compel us to identify with them. Elliott has written two characters who will live on in the minds of film-goers long after they have left the theatre.
Melbourne is shot in sepia tones – brown is Mary’s favourite colour – while New York is altogether darker and more malevolent. Despite the appearance of the characters and the seeming simplicity of the story, this is no children’s film. Atmosphere is important: see the film on the big screen, don’t wait for the DVD. The “people” may simply be clay/polymer models but they are superbly directed and photographed clay/polymer models. Elliott never loses his grip on the film – it is tender, poignant, and ultimately uplifting in its compassionate acceptance of the quirks of human existence.
Don’t just think about seeing Mary and Max – arrange your trip to the theatre today. Part of the reviewer’s privilege is being obliged to run the risk of being startled, moved and inspired when no such reaction is expected. It may be a bit early to start talking about Mary and Max as one of the best films of the year but I’m sure I’ll remember it. Don’t miss this film.
Neil Wilson
