Why, in the face of all evidence, does it seem so possible to the viewer that the cooker from ‘A Grand Day Out’ will ski across the moon forever, never running out of credit?
The cooker in ‘A Grand Day Out’ carries on its face a reminder that it will soon cease to operate. Yet it seems unaffected by this semi-mortality. Is it the possibility of reactivation that makes it bearable, or is it the constant memento mori that brings acceptance?
The cooker in ‘A Grand Day Out’ protects the Moon from the actions of visitors—but only if those visitors pay to activate it. It is a sort of outsourced conscience. Is it any wonder it finds the role unfulfilling, and seeks joy elsewhere?
The cooker in ‘A Grand Day Out’ cannot see its dream clearly at first: it has to deliberately tune into it. So must we all.
The cooker in ‘A Grand Day Out’ seems to struggle on anything but the flattest terrain with its tiny wheels. Skiing, for the cooker, is not mere whimsy: it is freedom.
The cooker in A Grand Day Out might have been trapped in a permanent tableau of ineffectual violence—but Wallace chooses to insert another coin, without hope or expectation of reward, and it is redeemed.
Acting by force, the cooker in ‘A Grand Day Out’ doesn’t succeed in fulfilling its duty or taking what it thinks it needs. But by seeing clearly what it has and what it desires, it is able to achieve both happiness and forgiveness.
When will we get a proper sequel to A Grand Day Out, following the original main character (the cooker), instead of all these Wallace and Gromit spinoffs
The happiest character in fiction is the cooker from A Grand Day Out, skiing joyfully across the moon and being left alone.
Sick of activists policing my imagination and stifling my creativity by suggesting that basic levels of research and literacy might improve my writing