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| Barry Purves holding the Tchaikovsky puppet for his film Tchaikovsky – An Elegy. Source: http://puppetsandclay.blogspot.com/2011/08/lo-ultmo-de-barry-purves-plume-y.html |
“Not just in the movement,” he goes on, “but in the storytelling, the use of colour, and sound, and so forth. I find ballet and opera and theatre to sometimes be so painfully honest and truthful—and, yes, they are not realistic in the slightest. I think this is about being aware of the limits, the process, and yet that something transcends the technique. I love how in galleries you see the visitors straining forward to look at the brush strokes.”
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| A still from Next. Source: barrypurves.com |
One of the most recognized auteurs in the stop motion industry, Purves’s award-winning short films began with 1990’s Aardman-produced Next—which, in a remarkable feat, succeeds in telling the complete works of Shakespeare in five minutes. He continued with 1993’s Academy Award-nominated Screen Play—which tells the “Willow pattern story” through Kabuki—the stunning, BAFTA-nominated retelling of Homer’s Iliad, Achilles, and his most recent film, 2011’s breathtaking exploration of Tchaikovsky through the composer’s music, as well as excerpts from his diary and personal letters, in the titular film Tchaikovsky – An Elegy. They are the titles of only a select few amongst Purves’s filmography—a profound elevation of the stop motion medium—many of which are studied in animation courses all over the world, as well as having been discussed at length in books by authors Paul Wells and Clare Kitson, as well those by masters of the craft such as Ray Harryhausen and Aardman co-founder Peter Lord.
Aside from his personal projects in the stop motion medium, Purves has also worked on feature films such as The Wind in the Willows, Tim Burton’s Mars Attacks!, and Peter Jackson’s King Kong, as well as television series such as Rainbow, Chorlton and the Wheelies, The Pied Piper of Hamelin, The Wind in the Willows, Rupert Bear, Postman Pat, Bob the Builder, Toby’s Travelling Circus—of which he directed fifty-two episodes—and BBC’s Twirlywoos, on which he was the supervising director of 100 episodes.
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| Barry Purves sitting on a theatre set. Source: barrypurves.com |
“It doesn’t matter to me if they are films for children or adults,” says Purves. “I put the same amount of work into them. I guess every frame matters in my films, and that can perhaps mean an intense viewing experience…you can’t blink in my films.”
This economic approach to filmmaking has culminated in a many dazzling and dense frames of animation—at times beautiful, whether aesthetically verbose or trim, at others shocking, while still others are otherworldly, illusory tapestries, breathed to life by Purves’s rough-hewn sensibilities.
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| A still from Screen Play. Source: barrypurves.com |
If the effect of the “Barry Purves” breed of animation were to be named, it is—quite simply—in perfect harmony with his own assessment: in watching his films, one can’t blink. And yet so immersive are Purves’s dreamscapes that such a respite is one strangely unwelcome, and the thing that allows his work to transcend beyond the mere sum of any given one of his project’s components.
In our interview, Purves discusses his outlook on animation and art as a whole—in everything from his approach to “art as artifice” to the nitty-gritty details of crafting strong and vulnerable performances through the medium of something beyond oneself, such as a puppet. He also contemplates the evolution of his career—including the point he’s reached in his career now—as well as what projects he’d like to undertake as his final, crowning achievements. Furthermore, he speaks about how his film’s critical successes have changed his outlook on his work, his thoughts on the space stop motion has yet to be explored, as well as on performances in CG animated films versus those in stop motion.
You can read our interview below in full.
A.H. Uriah: Hello there, Barry! Thank you so very much for doing this interview! It’s a great honor to have you here, and to feature you—one of the most influential animators of the last few decades, a true pioneer in the medium—and your groundbreaking work on Stop Motion Geek!
In a recent mini-documentary about you and your work, “What is a puppet? Barry Purves between animation and theatre,” you say, “I love the idea that something artificial is use to tell the truth. It’s this device of artificiality that really obsesses me, and animation is such an artificial thing.”
Can you elaborate on this idea that “art is artifice”—across all mediums, though specifically when it comes to animation and theatre? How has this philosophy driven your approach to your work, whether in stop motion or theatre?
Barry Purves: Yes, I worry that animators strive to recreate reality, whereas I think animation should liberate us from reality. Not just in the movement, but in the storytelling, the use of colour, and sound, and so forth. I find ballet and opera and theatre to sometimes be so painfully honest and truthful—and, yes, they are not realistic in the slightest. I think this is about being aware of the limits, the process, and yet that something transcends the technique. I love how in galleries you see the visitors straining forward to look at the brush strokes. I could write a book about all this…
A.H.: To quote something you said in the most recent post on your blog—entitled The Swimmer after the 1968 film of the same name starring Burt Lancaster—you said, “He [Lancaster] is a device through which we learn what the film maker wants to talk about – this is the theme of most of my talks at the moment.”
In another blog post you name this year a “very challenging” one where often you’ve had to rely on the kindness of others on your cultural trips, although you’ve still chosen to give talks at various festivals and universities.
First off, I would like to thank you for the vulnerability and transparency you exhibit on your blog. It is truly inspiring to hear how you continue to take the plunge to follow your passion for stop motion, theatre, and teaching even in hard times.
Can you tell us a little about your talks, as well as your personal takeaways from them (ANIMARKT being the most recent)? What effects—both in respect to how you’ve seen your talks impact others and the effects those who have heard and coordinated your talks, as well as with those who you mention having to “rely upon”—have such opportunities had on you, personally?
BP: Yes, Burt Lancaster in that film is the device through which the film maker lets us see the other people. This device is often an outsider, or a mythical character like Mary Poppins.
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| A still from Rigoletto. Source: barrypurves.com |
I love festivals and I always come away excited and a little depressed. I worry that what I feared so much has finally happened—that I have become an observer, not a participant of the craft. I see so many great films, and am so grateful for such exciting feedback, but it upsets me that I am not being creative.
The worst thing is for me to feel that people think I have run out of ideas. Not in the slightest: I think I am now at my most creative, my most insightful, but my most frustrated. I’m aware my career is fading but I want one last big film before I’m done. I love festivals as the audience get to see films on the big screen…as they should be seen. I hope that doors might be opened for such events.
A.H.: The impact your career in animation—now spanning over forty years—has made across the whole animation industry is quite astonishing, to the point where today your work is taught to students all over the world in many animation courses, as well as having been analyzed in many books on animation (namely those written by Ray Harryhausen, Clare Kitson, and Paul Wells).
How has the knowledge that your work is being studied in animation courses—where every aspect of your films are scrutinized and, in a way, form the foundation for the next generation of animators’ understanding of the craft—impacted your approach your work? How does it impact the way you view yourself and the films you’ve worked on?
BP: I’m unaware when or if the films are studied, but I am very pleased that they are. I would hope big studios are aware of the films, but I fear they’ve never seen them. I would hope that they stand up to scrutiny, as I put enough planning and preparation into them. It doesn’t matter to me if they are films for children or adults, I put the same amount of work into them. I guess every frame matters in my films, and that can perhaps mean an intense viewing experience…you can’t blink in my films.
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| A still from Achilles. Source: barrypurves.com |
I have heard that on a certain recent big feature, one of my films was shown as reference—it would have been good to have the phone ring and been offered a job on that film. But I guess my films have a few rough edges due to small budgets, no reshoots, and having to shoot so much a day—they do not have the finesse of the big features and perhaps feature producers can’t see past that. But one thing I do know, however much I apologize for my films, is that there is a wealth of reasonably intelligent and innovative ideas in them. I’d love it if producers or theatre producers and such would recognise that a good idea is a good idea—whatever the medium—and that such ideas can be applied to other art forms. I would so love to collaborate with other artists in different media, taking the experience and artists I have worked with into new areas.
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| A still from Gilbert and Sullivan – The Very Models. Source: barrypurves.com |
A.H.: Considering your personal stop motion films are so overwhelmingly lauded by critics and have received upwards of sixty prestigious awards, it’s hard to imagine a time when there wasn’t a corner of the stop motion medium that belonged to Barry Purves, and was defined by your style.
However, with your films being as unconventional—and, at times, controversial—as they are, was there ever a point before your films began to receive the attention and accolades they have where you questioned the kind work you were doing, and whether you shouldn’t make something...well, different? Do you ever question the kind of work you’re doing today, whether in theatre or film?
BP: Good question.
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| A still from Tchaikovsky – An Elegy. Source: barrypurves.com |
No, I’ve never doubted the integrity of the films, and by comparison to artists such as the Quays, my films are quite straight laced. I don’t see the films as controversial—it is the medium that is perhaps generally seen as a bit prudish, essentially aimed at children. As long as I feel I’ve done something in my own voice, as it were, then I’ll be happy. Of course, this is all about the audience, and I think of the audience in every frame. I cannot understand the thinking of young artists wanting to be the next so and so. I can not understand borrowing anyone else’s styles or ideas.
A.H.: Where do you think there’s a space for stop motion to yet be explored in the television and films of today?
BP: Adults, adults, adults, more cultural things. Taking risks, not being afraid of culture, whatever that may be. Darker things. Dark can be commercial. Probably the most successful theatre of recent decades has been Les Miserables—a three hour historical and political epic with much suffering and only a couple of jokes, and without a talking animal in sight, and yet it sells out around the world. People come out in tears having had the best time. I worry that animation is in its own bubble. I’d love to flirt more with the other arts.
A.H.: To go back to your most recent blog post, you mention The Swimmer as being “A very brave film and a raw performance from Lancaster in nothing more than a pair of shorts.”
I think many critics of film and animation would agree with me when I say that you do an exceptional job both at making films that are brave and which feature extraordinarily raw performances. In a way, you mark creating such performances as your end goal in “What is a puppet? Barry Purves between animation and theatre,” saying, “My role as a puppeteer, as a director of actors, as the storyteller is to tell the audience what these characters are thinking.” To quote Tchaikovsky: An Elegy: “How can I express those sensations so difficult to define that one experiences when composing a piece of music, that musical confession?”
As both an animator and a theatre director—someone well accustomed to, in both mediums, crafting a performance through something (or someone) beyond yourself—how can an animator, a performer invisible to the audience except through a puppet or “subject,” strive to create “raw” and “brave” performances?”
BP: Another good question. Thank you.
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| A still from Hamilton Mattress. Source: barrypurves.com |
It must be hard in CG films to create a performance when the process is so fragmented and success depends on a good animation director bringing all the elements together. But to answer your question, maybe the fact that I never really have the chance to do reshoots or rehearse gives a certain edge to my performances. Perhaps that is like being an actor on stage…you can’t really start again, you have to keep going. This results in you working with the puppet, and letting the puppet contribute, letting it be spontaneous. Digital playback allows you to finesse and finesse, but perhaps a little edge is lost in repeatedly doing the shot again.
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| A still from Plume. Source: barrypurves.com |
A.H.: Much of your work—especially many of your breathtaking short films, such as Next and Tchaikovsky: An Elegy—explores artists as well as their art (Achilles being a particularly poignant example of the latter), your examination of whom often involves artists dealing with their inner demons.
What are your thoughts on the so-called “tortured artist”? Is it an idea you subscribe to?
BP: I love the creative process, and that an artist will use his work as a mask, not to conceal, but to reveal. Tchaikovsky probably says more about me than it does about Tchaikovsky. ‘Tortured artists’ perhaps is a little strong, but I suspect we are all a little damaged and that drives us to make sure our stories, our voices are heard, and celebrated. Maybe our voices were never heard, or suppressed—animation and art is a release, and therapy, it really is. We can lose our inhibitions through art. It is the red nose on a clown that allows us to be honest.
A.H.: To return to the subject of your blog, in recent posts it seems you’ve been lamenting the less appealing aspects of the stop motion and theatre industries—namely inconsistent work (or a consistent lack thereof) and of this industry being, let’s say, less than especially lucrative. In one post you say, “On a gloriously sunny evening it’s hard to be down, but heck, i’m worried that this is it. Have I made my last tv series or short film? My birthday is looming and I’ve been reflecting on the last year, which was pretty disastrous professionally and certainly financially and the only real satisfaction came from the unpaid stage production of Ladies in Lavender.”
Once again, I thank you for being as honest and as open as you are in your blog posts.
For other animators and professionals who work in this strange industry—one so strange it can be taxing even on someone of your stature—do you have any advice to offer for how to sustain one’s morale during times where one is out of work? What do you recommend one do during such “low points” in one’s career?
BP: I guess we have all had to stack shelves, or do less than fulfilling work. If you can have another string to your bow, that’s great. I’m not sure I have. I’d love to do more voice-over work or writing to keep me going.
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| A still from Toby's Travelling Circus. Source: barrypurves.com |
For young animators, I would say to be prepared to travel. I think at my age I like my creature comforts and being home, and I have been spoilt as I have worked in studios near to my home for a long time. My theatre work keeps me going, but this is mainly unpaid. I have to confess that a day without being creative is a killer. It nourishes me.
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| A still from Rupert Bear. Source: barrypurves.com |
A.H.: In closing: What’s next for you? What would you yet like to explore in the stop motion medium?
BP: To keep working is the essential, but I have to do a feature, I simply have to. In a way I want to thank all the people I have worked with, or give the young people I have vaguely nurtured something to work on. I want to put this forty years’ experience into a project, rather than for it to just fade away as a bit of a joke. I certainly have the feature scripts—innovative, commercial, entertaining, and very unique. Any producers out there listening?
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| Barry Purves on the set of Twirlywoos. Source: barrypurves.com |
You can learn more about Barry Purves by visiting his website—the platform on which he’s the most active—Wikipedia, Vimeo, IMDb, and Twitter. You can also watch the short documentary about Purves mentioned in the article—What is a puppet? Barry Purves between animation and theatre—by going here.
You can purchase Purves’s highly-rated book “Basics Animation: Stop Motion”—an exploration of the elements of every facet of a stop motion production—on Amazon by going here. You can purchase his second, and equally acclaimed book—“Stop Motion – Passion, Process and Performance,” in which Purves pulls from his experiences making his own films as well as including extensive interviews with industry professionals to provide some insight into the creative process—on Amazon by going here.
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| Barry Purves teaching at ANIMARKT. © Tomasz Kaluzny. |
You can also purchase a DVD compilation of the first six of Purves’s short films—Barry Purves – His Intimate Lives—on Amazon by going here.
You can stay tuned for upcoming interview articles by subscribing to the Stop Motion Geek email newsletter via the “subscribe” button at the top right corner of our homepage, by following us on Facebook @StopMotionGeek, or by following us on Instagram @stop.motion.geek.blog.
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