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Why is Hayden Donnell the way he is? (Photo: Get It to Te Papa)
Why is Hayden Donnell the way he is? (Photo: Get It to Te Papa)

Pop CultureOctober 18, 2018

A love letter to my childhood tormentors: The Big Fresh Vegetables

Why is Hayden Donnell the way he is? (Photo: Get It to Te Papa)
Why is Hayden Donnell the way he is? (Photo: Get It to Te Papa)

In episode two of Get It to Te Papa, a Lightbox Original made by The Spinoff, Hayden Donnell goes in search of the animatronic veges that instilled both delight and horror in ’90s kids across the nation.

Watch Get It to Te Papa on Lightbox here.

My memories of the Big Fresh Animatronic Fruit and Veges are fragmentary at best. I have foggy visions of huge, swaying food sentinels peering down as my mum made a beeline for the free bread rolls inside Glenfield Big Fresh. But the feeling of seeing them remains as vivid and piercing as it was 20 years ago. Every time I beheld what I now know to be the “Goodness Family”, I was overcome by stomach-churning mixture of awe, wonder, and existential terror.

Why though? The Goodness Family’s impact was probably heightened by another sight that haunted me in my youth. I remember watching an old cartoon where a talking apple was captured by baddies who tied him to a log of wood, which they then set to rotating above a fire.

The scene was played for laughs. The apple was quipping as he cooked. I couldn’t understand his mirth. My young mind returned over and over to the pain he must have been in, slowly roasting above that open fire, licked again and again by tendrils of flame and yet refusing to die.

This character may have been an apple, but he had human characteristics. Surely he would feel as we would.

As comedian Angella Dravid told me, encountering the Big Fresh Animatronic Fruit and Veges felt similar to seeing a dental ad featuring “teeth with teeth”. In the minds of most adults, teeth with teeth are throwaway fun. But to Angella, they’re the sick court jesters of the dental realm; freakshows no different to a human with a mouth full of humans. Their sentience is a curse.

Were the Big Fresh Animatronic Fruit and Veges so unlike a tooth with teeth, or a humanoid apple that remains unburned? Their mouths were set to perma-grin; their gigantic bright bodies constantly swayed to the sound of upbeat country music. But their unearthly happiness felt unnatural and unearned, untethered to the terrible reality of their situation.

Former Big Fresh employee Kerryanne Nelson told me the Big Fresh Animatronic Fruit and Veges were often left on at night. Employees would arrive in the morning to the fruit and veges’ watching down with unblinking smiles, having creaked side to side for hours in the sterile dark.

If those fruit and veges could’ve found a way to break their endless inanimate silence to speak to those early morning workers, what would they have whispered: “I’m happy to face another day”, or “kill me now”?

These horrors would never pass through the mind of an adult, numbed as we are to the grotesqueries of commerce, and they would never be able to be truly articulated by a child. But children are not yet trained to ignore and dismiss the commonplace weirdness of life. And so I believe we who were children in that very short era of New Zealand history – the ’90s – saw the Big Fresh Animatronic Fruit and Veges in a way no older person from that time could. It was a sight that left us forever changed.


Related:

Remembering Big Fresh, New Zealand’s greatest supermarket of all time


The thing is, the people who made the Big Fresh Animatronic Fruit and Veges never intended any of this. Bill Harris, who designed them, saw them as a bit of fun – a marketing gimmick that caught on for a few years. He loved them, but they couldn’t speak to him on the same level they did 12-year-old me.

The people who own them now appreciate them for reasons mostly divorced from their history. Nicole Stewart, the co-owner of Auckland second-hand store Junk and Disorderly, rightly views her pristine set of Big Fresh Animatronic Fruit and Veges as amazing collectors items. But she doesn’t pick up on their emotional resonance in the same way someone who entered Big Fresh as a child would.

Anthony Blundell cares for his set Big Fresh Animatronic Fruit and Veges on a wavelength comparable to mine. But his affection for them is based on what they mean to him today rather than what they meant decades ago. The full set of Big Fresh Animatronic Fruit and Veges sitting atop Blundell’s business, Kaipara Kumara, have become beloved landmarks in his small hometown, Ruawai. They’re tourist attractions, and a source of pride for local kids. Separated from their original context by decades and distance, they still have a special power. Blundell calls them Wows, because that’s what people say when they see them for the first time.

Maybe his is the most authentic use of the Big Fresh Animatronic Fruit and Veges today. The Wows, as they’re now known, are a portal back to a more innocent time, when bread rolls could be free, and supermarkets could inspire all the emotions of a carnival ride. Sometimes that was fear, sometimes happiness, but no matter what, it was always special and memorable.  

I will always be grateful to Blundell for loaning us one of his prized Wows. We spent $2000 shipping the Big Fresh Animatronic mushroom to Te Papa – a hugely disproportionate amount of our show’s budget, and possibly more than our director José was paid in total. It was worth every penny.

Read more about Get It to Te Papa and its genesis in Hayden Donnell’s brain right here.

Get It to Te Papa is a Lightbox Original, made by The Spinoff. Episodes 1 and 2 premiere on October 16th at midday on Lightbox.

 

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The Giraffe of your dreams/nightmares.
The Giraffe of your dreams/nightmares.

Pop CultureOctober 17, 2018

Giraffe Town is the perfectly creepy game for Halloween

The Giraffe of your dreams/nightmares.
The Giraffe of your dreams/nightmares.
While fakers are playing so-called big budget horror spectacles like Call of Duty Black Ops 4 Zombie mode and Call of Duty Black Ops 4 Black Out, Adam Goodall knows where to find the best and most meaningful scares: a little place called Giraffe Town.

Silent Hill 2 has six endings, but the only one I’ve seen is called ‘Dog’. In this ending, James Sunderland – the game’s protagonist, who’s come to Silent Hill after receiving a letter from his dead wife and experiencing all manner of supernatural bullshit – uses a ‘Dog Key’ to open the door to the Observation Room in the Lakeview Hotel. Behind the door, James finds a Shiba Inu manning a control panel, barking into a headset. The Shiba’s having a real good time. James points at the dog, moans, “So it was all your work!” and collapses to the floor. The Shiba Inu barks a cute carnival tune as the credits roll.

I’ve never experienced the Dog ending first hand; I skipped the PlayStation generation and never got around to Silent Hill 2. But I watched the Dog ending probably a hundred times on Youtube when I was a useless teen. You can still watch the video that I probably watched, published in 2006, right here. The reason I mention it now is because it was the first thing I thought of when I finished Giraffe Town, the eccentric new game from indie developer Samer Khatib.

The Silent Hill series is a pretty big influence on Khatib’s games. One of his earlier games, Potato Thriller, opens with a lengthy riff on the endless, looping corridor that forms the backbone of PT, Kojima Productions’ notoriously spooky teaser for the ultimately-cancelled Silent Hills. Giraffe Town is even more obvious about it: you play a Giraffe with slippery feet who lives in a town called ‘Samer Hills’.

Giraffe is depressed. He’s depressed about his slippery feet, which make it next-to-impossible for him to control his movement, so he mostly stays inside and watches TV. But he’s inspired to leave the house when his idol, a pop star-giraffe named Love, says that she’s going to be meeting her fans on The Other Side Of Town. Giraffe resolves to walk to The Other Side Of Town and meet Love in person. “Why not?” he says. “Why can’t I go? What’s holding me back?”

The odyssey that follows is often horrific. Threatening figures call Giraffe at his house and tell him to stay home to prepare for “the portal of the beast”; giant billboards hang in the nothingness warning of a Giraffe Murderer; every Game Over is punctuated by a pretty cheap jump scare. Even Samer Hills gets hostile, growing foggier and foggier as Giraffe gets closer to The Other Side Of Town. It’s a design choice I recognise not from the Silent Hill games – again, we were a Sega Master System house – but from the extremely underrated 2006 Silent Hill movie. It was spooky then, too. But Giraffe Town drinks deep from the same well as Silent Hill 2’s Dog ending, though, complementing – and sometimes undercutting – that horror with absurdity.

Giraffe meets a series of quirky characters as he walks through Samer Hills: a clown named Tunnelz who has an ulterior motive, a small, weirdly human-shaped dog named Big Dog, a man who proudly proclaims he has “the only character in this game with different facial expressions.” With their uncanny designs and long, drawn-out pauses between each line of dialogue, Khatib sets you up to expect that this character is going to be the horrific one, the one that makes you jump or does something really really horrible.

Instead, these characters give Giraffe helpful information and useful tools. They give him pep talks, too, telling him to never give up and that he deserves to find Love and happiness. These scenes are incredibly sentimental, but earnestly so; they wouldn’t feel out of place in Toby Fox’s Undertale or Grace Bruxner’s small ‘museum games’ like Alien Caseno. They turn Giraffe Town into a charming, sincere story about a giraffe navigating his depression, finding ways to deal with his lack of self-worth and fear of the world around him.

Khatib translates the support that these characters provide into the sections of Giraffe Town that you have direct control over. In the first section, you have to edge Giraffe along thin sections of road dangling over nothingness, judging each push of the analogue stick so that Giraffe doesn’t slide over the edge and lose his chance to meet Love. In later sections, Giraffe’s verbs change with the tools and confidence-boosts he’s received – he can run, then he can jump, then, in a strange late-game twist, he can shoot.

That Newgrounds comparison stuck with me throughout Giraffe Town’s final hour. Giraffe Town loses its focus during that last stretch. Late-game puzzles, like a maze full of faceless, endlessly-respawning ghosts that took me an hour to beat, can be so capricious and exacting that they really test our interest in Khatib’s interest in exploring the value of perseverance and getting back up when you fail. I couldn’t even get past the final boss battle. I watched the game’s grand finale on Youtube.

That grand finale wraps everything up in an overly cute way, too. A couple of tidy, wink-wink callbacks dominate the action, and the whole thing has a Newgrounds-era edginess to it: animals with guns, swearing and fighting creatures with gross Jhonen Vasquez-esque designs. Both elements sit uneasily alongside the emotion-driven storytelling that came before.

Giraffe Town fizzes out at the end, but it’s still a surreal, oddball collage of genres and influences. It’s a fascinating work from a fascinating new developer, switching restlessly between Silent Hill atmospherics, internet-culture glibness and an off-kilter, unexpectedly honest character study. It’s the perfect game for Halloween 2018, small, spooky and destabilising you at every turn. It’s totally one of a kind.