The trend of “immersification” has expanded its reach, moving from digital renderings of art masters like Van Gogh and Klimt to the world of Aardman Animations. The latest Lightroom experience invites audiences into a floor-to-ceiling projection-mapped celebration of the studio responsible for some of claymation’s most beloved characters, including Wallace, Gromit, and Shaun the Sheep. N othing is safe from the scourge of immersification. So beloved by so many people, and it makes a pretty convincing argument for why Aardman is so important.
The presentation chronicles the history of the studio, tracing the journey of founders Peter Lord and David Sproxton from their early days in suburban Surrey to their collaboration with Nick Park. The exhibit highlights the meticulous craft behind their work—from the creation of Morph to the specific techniques used to form the “eeee” sound in the word cheese. It provides behind-the-scenes insights, including how animators perform scenes themselves before translating them into puppet movements, all while interspersed with clips from their cinematic successes and sequences featuring Shaun the Sheep. Behind-the-scenes insight and dazzling immersive renderings of all your wide-grinned, cheeky northern favourites, it moves between documentary storytelling. Before joining forces with Nick Park and setting in motion a series of events that would take them from Woking to the stars, we get to hear about how Peter Lord and David Sproxton met in suburban Surrey and started messing around with clay.
A core argument for Aardman’s cultural importance is its embrace of the tangible. Early in the show, a clip from the 1989 filmA Grand Day Outis projected at an immense scale, revealing the fingerprints and smudges left in the clay. Director Lucy Izzard notes in a voiceover that audiences still crave imperfection, highlighting the human element that distinguishes Aardman’s work in an increasingly digital world. Every finger print and smudge, at this huge scale you see every lump and bump in the clay.
Despite this, the exhibition faces a fundamental identity crisis. The production struggles to balance its role as a documentary with its status as an immersive spectacle, often failing to fully leverage the technical capabilities of the Lightroom space. While the side screens successfully transport viewers into environments like Shaun’s barn or Gromit’s box during his surveillance of Feathers McGraw, the overall experience often feels fragmented and difficult to follow.
The contrast between the warm, hand-crafted aesthetic of the films and the high-tech immersive environment remains awkward. The show occasionally succeeds, such as during the vibrant display of the Peter GabrielSledgehammervideo or the recreation ofCreature Comfortsbut it lacks the cohesive “wow” factor seen in previous Lightroom installations likePrehistoric Planet: Discovering Dinosaurs. Imperfect, homely aesthetic rub up awkwardly against the technological wizardry of immersive cinema, does that hand-made.
During a visit to the exhibition, a four-year-old attendee named Solomon—who had recently seen the latest Shaun the Sheep movie—summarized the frustration of the pacing. When asked for his thoughts, he repeatedly questioned when the movie would start, observing that the experience felt more like a collection of advertisements. The lack of a clear narrative structure suggests that the production team focused on how to present their history in an “immersive-ish” way rather than how to create a genuinely immersive experience. More impatient this time, almost pleading. “This is it,” I say. “It’s sort of a documentary, he’s right – the whole thing just feels like an advert for Aardman. “When is the movie starting?” he asks again. It’s something incredibly human in an age when things feel so amazingly non-human so much of the time.
Ultimately, while the exhibition is a joyful celebration for fans, it does not significantly elevate the existing reputation of the studio’s work. It remains a visually interesting experience that offers plenty of quaint, funny moments, but it functions more as an over-scaled promotional piece than a definitive or transformative artistic achievement.
