Wander To Wonder

Do you ever wonder what became of your childhood friends? Not just the ones who lived on your street or the ones you went to school with, but the ones whom you might once have felt even closer to, as an infant, watching their adventures on TV? British children’s television of the Seventies and early Eighties was a dizzying phenomenon, bringing together a collection of highly creative individuals with almost no oversight, and heavily influenced by psychedelic drug culture. The programmes that emerged were frequently unintelligible to adults, but thrilled young viewers. Nina Gantz’s BIFA-winning and Oscar-shortlisted short film imagines such a film and observes the fate of its characters – or rather, the miniature human actors playing them – after the sudden and unexpected demise of its creator.

The body lies rotting on the floor, resembling JG Ballard’s Drowned Giant, never spoken of directly yet dominating every aspect of life. An attempt has been made to cover it up with numerous scraps of paper, including some of the letters sent in by young fans of the programme. The three performers vary in their attitudes to their fans, but all seem to recognise that they represent the best hope of rescue. As a consequence, they persist in speaking to camera, trying to keep the spirit of their programme alive, unaware that nobody can see them. This ritual comes to represent an effort to hold on to civilisation, though their less civilised attitudes – which may well have been there all along – are more and more apparent.

Alongside children’s television, one of the great triumphs of the medium in that era came in the form of post-apocalypse fiction, and the marriage of the two is a treat. Gantz understands her material well and one can believe that her programme would have been a success, despite its awkwardness and amateurish appearance. She also understands the context of production, both material and social. There is deeply problematic sexual behaviour on set, treated with a tired cynicism by the others. There is also a frantic effort to conceal masculine insecurity behind the myth of the great white hero, the cave man archetype seen in many films of the era. The food that the performers have been able to scavenge in the creator’s home is running out, and they must begin to look further afield. Ultimately, they will have to face the great unknown beyond the front door.

The model work is magnificent, from the appropriately terrifying design of the TV characters to the careful distinctions in style between that world and the apparent reality of the one in crisis. This perfectly complements the film’s juxtaposition of deadpan humour, existential terror and necessary brutality. Its also has its sweet moments, especially in the affection that the performers clearly retain for their deceased benefactor, and in star Mary’s (Amanda Lawrence) attitude to the hoped-for, unseen children out there in the dark. Musing on the tragedy of the human condition with bittersweet stop-motion and gratuitously post-watershed language, Wander To Wonder may be a bit baffling to those who didn’t grow up with this stuff, but it’s a lot of fun regardless.