Staying in the Game

There's nothing that can tell you where or when career opportunities will arise. Some times you're not ready for them and some times someone else will tell you you're not ready. In either case, there's something to be said for hanging in there (baby) and developing the skills that would have gotten you the job.

In 2004, when there were only a few weeks left to go on my job directing animation on "Blue's Clues," a friend gave me the tip that Scholastic had just organized their own in-house studio to handle a big series order of their new show "Maya & Miguel." The show's producer, who was from Los Angeles, had to quickly familiarize herself with New York's animation talent pool and staff the show from scratch. I got a cool reception from her at my interview because my digital animation experience wouldn't be useful for her X-Sheet-based traditional production model of sending all the animation overseas. She asked me if I had any experience with X-Sheets. I told her I had timed some sheets for a direct-to-video project at Michael Sporn's studio that had been animated out of house. How long I was assigned to the sheets? Three or four weeks, I replied. That wasn't enough experience, so instead she offered me the opportunity to take a storyboard test. In looking through the model packs of characters and backgrounds, and a sample of a finished board, I realized the job wasn't going to be a good fit. I didn't have the skills to draw the cinematic angles with complex perspectives that seemed to be in every scene. Slightly disappointed, I politely declined and thought that was the end of it. No harm done. It would be someone else's great opportunity.

After "Blue's Clues" ended, I was lucky enough to land a few months of freelance work right away. During that time a producer of an 11-minute preschool TV pilot rang me up and asked if I had any experience doing X-Sheets. Déjà vu. Not setting my expectations too high, I gave him the same answer I had given the "Maya & Miguel" producer, but in this case I was hired on the spot. The pilot turned out great and now I had 11 minutes of sheet directing to my credit.

A few months later, I got another call from "Maya & Miguel." Former MTV Animation producer Machi Tantillo had replaced the previous producer on the series and she needed help checking X-Sheets before the shows could be sent overseas. I was hired to check a half-hour episode and tried to go above and beyond what was asked. When I presented my work, series director Tony Kluck noticed my extra effort. He was particularly happy with the eyebrow and eye acting I had added. They gave me several more episodes to check and even offered me a full-time job as the show's assistant director. In the end, I didn't take that position (or a similar job on Scholastic's other series, "Clifford the Big Red Dog") because I accepted a directing position on a Flash series for Cartoon Pizza.

It was more than gratifying to go from being unqualified to qualified within a six-month period, and to know that I got there by hanging in there and proving I could.

Just on the Horizon

Leonard Maltin's "Of Mice and Magic" remains one of my favorite books ever written about animation. Where else can you read entire histories of the animated output of Famous Studios, Terrytoons, Columbia/Screen Gems, UPA, and so on. When Howard Beckerman assigned our History of Animation class this book, I had no idea that I'd end up reading it 25 times (no exaggeration) or that it would provide decades of inspiration as the most useful research tool in my library.

"Of Mice and Magic" leaves off in 1986 when the most recent news item was the success of "An American Tale." As hindsight shows us, just on the horizon was "Who Framed Roger Rabbit?," the '90s Disney renaissance, "The Simpsons," Nicktoons, Cartoon Network, the modern preschool explosion starting with "Blue's Clues," and the edgy groundbreaker "South Park" followed by the ongoing success of the Adult Swim line up.

In 1986's "Of Mice and Magic" Pixar is not even a gleam in John Lasseter's eye, nor is Lasseter even mentioned. Disney is the only company that can make a financially (or even creatively) successful feature with the possible exception "The Yellow Submarine." Dreamworks doesn't exist. There is no Bill Plympton, Don Hertzfeldt, Spike and Mike Festival, or MTV Animation…yet.

In the frozen-in-time end of Maltin's book, there are virtually no signs of hope that this second "golden age" was imminent. And, even when it began to arrive, as late as 1992, I still had instructors at SVA tell me there was no work available in animation. The 1986 "Of Mice and Magic" allows us to compare everything past, present, and future to what is considered The Golden Age of Animation, and while that standard of measurement will not go away any time soon, it is no longer the only comparison point. Now we have the 1990s animation boom to examine, which trickled into this decade despite the dot-com bubble burst, the terror attacks on 9/11, and the economic collapse.

We don't know what will create the next golden age, but our industry is stronger than it was in 1986. For one thing, Disney is no longer the only company that can make a successful feature. (In fact, it has something to prove with its upcoming "Princess and the Frog.") In 2009, the animated feature is now an institution, something as durable as the action film or the romantic comedy and usually out-earning both at the box office. On TV, even if you're not a fan of Seth MacFarlane's block of animated prime-time shows, they keep the public seeing animation "for adults" on a nightly basis. Programming is no longer limited to movies theaters and TV, and the internet is no longer just a place for free exposure. Atomfilms.com pays animators to make films it can distribute or broadcast on its website. I'm wrapping up a series of paid shorts made for an iTunes podcast. And, let's not forget the indie animated feature revolution; not only have individual artists such as Bill Plympton and Nina Paley made features, but low-cost animated features are also being made and distributed worldwide to theatrical release. Compare these factors to what looked possible in 1986 and you might conclude that we're sitting pretty for the advent of the third golden age.

But then again, "sitting pretty" is never the way to make something happen. Just because we chose to work in this industry doesn't entitle us to a smooth ride. Our livelihoods and career satisfaction are ours to make. We do this by being aware of the possibilities and taking our future into our own hands. The health of our industry does not live in the headlines of "Variety," it starts at your desk.

Limited Animation vs. Drawing Movement

Michael Sporn wrote a great post last week about limited animation and it got me thinking about my feelings on the subject. The limited animation I love (Dr. Katz, The Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle, South Park) tends to rely on incredibly strong writing and/or soundtracks. When the right balance is struck, its hard to imagine these shows any other way. I certainly wouldn't want Dr. Katz to move like it was directed by Richard Williams. I don't need Dr. Katz to move at all.

My personal beef with limited animation began long before Flash came along. As an animation student, it was really disheartening to see so many of my classmates splitting their characters up into separate levels so they could do the least amount of work. Seldom did they split layers so to emphasize only one specific movement, which would be a justified use of the technique. They split up a character because it was a time-save, and it supplied the feeling that they were using professional studio techniques. After all, this was how commercial studio jobs were done, so why not work that way?

In the days of cel animation you could split up a character only so many times. After four or five cel levels a character would grey down the artwork so much that the scene could turn to mud. Now, when many think of 2D, they automatically think of Flash. In this program (or in any digital 2D animation program) we have unlimited layers. We can split up a character into a project or symbol that contains hundreds of individual bits of art. And this is the system that has taken over as the main way 2D animation is produced for TV and the web. And it's hard to argue with the economic benefits. Such a production system is ideal for both in-house and virtual studio production lines.

So what is my beef with limited animation? Or in particular, with most Flash animation? I find it incredibly dull to watch. There are no surprises. There's only a rigid character puppet made up of pieces that hinge at set anchor points. In short, when you animate with a puppet such as this, you are not only NOT DRAWING, you are specifically NOT DRAWING MOVEMENT. In worst of Flash animation, the animator makes poses and then adds mathematical tweens calculated by the computer. The result is as dull as it sounds.

The series of shorts that I'm making for Sesame Workshop requires me to work very quickly. I am completing each 30 second animated spot in one week's time. This breaks down into one day to build a storyboard animatic (including writing the spot!), one day to design the characters/background layouts, two days to animate, and one day to color/composite. With such a time crunch you could think that my only option would be to animate with Flash puppets, but I refuse to do so.

Instead, I draw everything directly on my cintiq. This saves a need for scanning and processing the scans. I draw in photoshop where I can select a nice pen tool that recreates the feeling of traditional drawing. And because I AM DRAWING, I can DRAW MOVEMENT. This means that I have a real shot at these spots looking visually exciting. When you draw, the process itself is spontaneous. Something magic can happen when you put pen to paper (or cintiq, in my case). I'm often surprised at the choices I make as I go. That keeps the process fun for me and on a fast paced schedule like this, having fun is very important.

Above are a set of stills from my latest Sesame Workshop film (background art by Adrian Urquidez). I cringe to think what the action would look like had I decided to use a Flash puppet. I really dig distortion in a character. I don't mind if a character goes off model as they move, since movement should be about a feeling (not a matter of mathematics). I wonder if the worst byproduct of all this Flash animation these days is that, through an emphasis on economy and ease, it encourages NOT THINKING. Maybe that's why my brain turns off when I watch it.

Carpe Diem!

During the last two or three years, the lack of consistent work among my generation in the animation industry has been, in some ways, good for us. Between the years of 1997 and 2006, many of my colleagues and I were continuously employed on long running series projects that offered comfortable working conditions, competitive wages, 401K plans, and health insurance. With any luck those good ol' days may come again, but until they do, there's no over looking how these times have transformed many of us for the better.

Take the loosely organized animators that make up the production team known as One-Stuck Duck as an example. These collaborators (comprised of Bob Fox, Chris Timmons, Michael J. Smith, Robert Powers, Claire Scholssstein, Jeremy Sawyer, and Christopher Conforti) have made three films to date with more projects to follow. Rotating directors per project, the rest of this team become that director's crew. I wonder if they would have gotten together to work on these collective indie projects had they enjoyed continued smooth sailing in the job market. Gaps between jobs (as well as the collapse of the Animagic studio and hostile conditions at other studios in town) might have proved an important incentive for these folks to take control of their own creative destinies. Instability has a way of doing that, encouraging the individual to look for answers within.

In the same vein, my friends Justin Simonich, Dayna Gonzalez, and Jason McDonald are enjoying new challenges and career milestones that may not have come their way during long term employment. Over a year ago, Justin Simonich (with Linda Beck), embarked on an groundbreaking documentary project covering the NY animation scene. Dayna Gonzalez added flash scripting for games and websites to her bag of tricks and entered a DC comics contest with art director Mike Lapinsky which, after winning a semi-final round, paid the pair to produce their Batman game. Jason McDonald took his love of all things zombie and channeled it into his continuing web comic My Living Dead Girl, winning international fans while developing his singular voice and vision.

The good years of milk and honey had the indirect result of making us comfortable and soft. Now that the economic conditions have changed so radically, the positive result might be that more of us get off our keisters and spend more time towards self-development. I can attest that the greatest break I had since landing my job at "Blue's Clues" occured when the series finally ended. On a series, you tend to work the same muscle over and over again. It was only after the safety net of steady work was pulled away that I had the flexibility of more time to develop other important skills.

Sure, I'd have a fatter bank account if "Blue's Clues" had continued, but I don't think I'd have proposed or written any books, developed and pitched as many projects, traveled to as many festivals, created as many indie films, or have had the chance to work in areas outside of preschool as I did on projects for Adult Swim and the Fox Network. My current freelance project (a series of 30 second films for Sesame Workshop, with backgrounds by Adrian Urquidez, shown in the four stills above), allow me to work as a writer, storyboard artist, designer, animator, and director. I can't think of a single long-term job that could compete with all that, but if and when I do, I'll be happy to entertain the offer. But, the real message is that the economic downturn has inadvertently created a renaissance of possibility for the individual. Carpe Diem!

October Fests

The two top questions you get from friends and strangers alike at the Ottawa International Animation Festival are:
-What day did you get here?
-Do you have a film in the festival?

My answers to these questions were, "Wednesday" and "No." In fact, I've never had a film play at this festival. The film I entered this year was "Owl and Rabbit Play Checkers." When I went to the festival's children's shorts competition screening, I was watching the category where my film would have played had it been accepted. The children's films that tickle festival director Chris Robinson are far darker and experimental than my film. As a filmmaker, I find it very informative to see how a festival programs. My film would not have fit in with Robinson's vision for this category, and his taste is part of why it's worthwhile to attend the festival in the first place. Programming a screening is like arranging an important dinner party. One has to consider whom is sitting next to whom as well as the desired overall effect.

I thought the festival was superb this year, perhaps the finest of the six times I've attended. New Yawker's were very well represented with two of our own (Jake Armstrong and Steig Retlin) even scoring awards. Congrats also to the following filmmakers who had films in competition this year: Mike and Tim Rauch, Fran and Will Krause, Signe Baumane, Gary Lieb, Kristy Caracas, Tatia Rosenthal, and Jennifer Oxley. And, congrats to Max Porter and Ru Kuwahata for having their pitch proposal selected for the "Pitch This" competition in TAC (Television Animation Conference).

A special treat for me was finally seeing Paul and Sandra Fierlinger's grand new feature, "My Dog Tulip," which won the honorable mention award in the feature category. The husband and wife creative team were in attendance at each of their screenings where they graciously accepted handshakes and gushing compliments. I was very touched by their film, which continues the wonderful tradition of their intimate and intelligent previous works such as "Still Life with Animated Dogs," and "A Room Nearby." Paul reported that the Ottawa audiences received the film far more enthusiastically than had Annecy. On a personal note, Paul reminded me that I had a role in the making of "My Dog Tulip."

"You introduced Debra Solomon to us and one day she happened upon a financier who needed to find a director to make an animated feature. Debra thought of us and we got the phone call, which was a dream come true," Paul recalled.

I hope everyone gets the chance to see this special film. It paints a sophisticated relationship between its lead characters in such a simple, honest, and poetic way. It's a true animated masterpiece, providing what could be the best example yet of the animated feature film as a mature work able to stand alongside the best live action films. How often can we say that about animated features today?


While I have not had success breaking through with a film at Ottawa, when it comes to book signings I am 2 for 2. It was very gratifying that my panel event, "How to be Pitch Perfect in the Imperfect World of Development," was filled to capacity. Special thanks go to my stellar panel (pictured above courtesy of a photo by Richard O'Connor, who has a great 5 day coverage of the Ottawa festival at his blog): Eric Homan, Heather Kenyon, Fran Krause, and Linda Simensky. The conversation really seemed to jell and we got lots of feedback afterwards suggesting it was one of the best panel discussions ever presented at Ottawa. I began the event by half-joking that my book should have been called, "Self-Development," because that is the real message of the book. As an added bonus, my book "Animation Development: From Pitch to Production" sold out at the festival book table.

By the end of the week, I was exhausted from all the festival fun. As great as the screenings were, the best part of the festival is that it gives one the excuse to stop everything and hang out with good friends. I was very happy to enjoy time with Justin Simonich (who was also my roomie!), Chris Boyce, Dayna Gonzalez, Linda and Jeremy Beck, Glen Ehlers, Andy Kennedy, Sean McBride, Jessica Plummer, The Krause Brothers, The Rauch Brothers, Tatia Rosenthal, Jen Oxley, Doug Vitarelli, Linda Simensky, Heather Kenyon, Eric Homan, Birk Rawlings, Eunice Kim, Dan Sarto, Ron Diamond, Candy Kugel, Jake Armstrong, Kat Morris, Alan Foreman, Barry Sanders, Isaac King, Richard O'Connor, Liesje Kraai, Stephanie Yuhas, Susan Godfrey, Art Sir, Pilar Newton, James Murray, Celia Bullwinkel, Amid Amidi, Jerry Beck, and Janet Perlman.

But, my rest was short lived because a few days after Ottawa concluded, my wife and I flew to Chicago where I had two children's films ("Owl and Rabbit Play Checkers," and Iwanna Wanda in: "Don't Wanna Brush") in competition at the 26th Chicago International Children's Film Festival.

After our screening at The CICFF, Bob Charde (my co-director on "Owl and Rabbit Play Checkers") and I were asked to stand up for a Q and A. The kids (ages 2-5) asked:
-Do you like owls and rabbits?
-Why did you make this film?
-Why do they show movies in the dark?
-What day did you make this film?


The parents asked:
-Why can't we see quality children's films like yours on TV?
-How long did it take to make the film?
-What programs did you use to make the film?
-Is this the same theatre where Dillinger was shot?

Okay, I made up that last question. But, I am happy to report that two festival scouts from rival festivals tracked us down in the theatre lobby, inviting us to submit to their festivals. And, best of all, a children's book agent asked me if I'd like to represented by her agency. When you make a film you don't have a clue as to how it will be received or what good consequences might follow your efforts. So, it sure is nice when you get a nibble or two of interest.

I explained to the young audience (during the Q and A) that Bob and I make films to share with others and, although it takes a very long time to make a film, we know that at some point the film will be done and ready to present to an audience–– just as we were delighted to do this day. And, that's the most rewarding part of all.

Actionable Advice

One way I judge animation career advice is by asking, "Is it actionable?" In other words, "Can I use the advice for inspiration or (more importantly) to create a plan?"

I just enjoyed a nice lunch with some old friends, "Super Why" and "Blue's Clues" (both pictured above) co-creator Angela Santomero and her vice president of production and development Wendy Harris. That afternoon Angela gave me two nuggets of wisdom that helps define what is "actionable advice." When talking about the creative and business strategies of her company Out of the Blue Enterprises LLC, she explained how she "tries to stay out of her own way." I found this to be an important insight into how she might have accomplished so much. By understanding that she finds success if she stays out of her own way, she's showing awareness that success is hers to make. She's not at the mercy of the ever-changing entertainment industry climate. Instead she's going to do what she wants to do and the only thing that could possibly stop her is herself.

After that piece of actionable advice, Angela shared a gem of a story with me that is clearly planted in the inspirational side of the equation. She recalled how during the earliest stages in the creation of "Blue's Clues" she happened to show her development materials to someone and they told her it looked, "cute." She was aghast, responding, "This isn't cute. It's going to change the world." Of course, the word "cute," can be very complimentary but in this context it didn't begin to describe the vision Angela had planned for the series. Her aim was to change preschool television forever, and with hindsight we can see that she and her creative partners succeeded.

What I got out of her story was the personal passion one should have for their creations. It's not enough to create a product to order or simply with the insight as to what the buyers are looking for at the moment. The most important part of a pitch is that it represents something the creator is incredibly excited about. Once again, actionable advice from a very smart and successful individual. Thanks, Angela!

Perfection vs. Mistakes and Slickness vs. The Human Touch

I recently interviewed Bill Plympton for my next animation book. We were talking about directing when he revealed an important part of his filmmaking approach: "I love mistakes. Mistakes are cool. They add a personal touch." He continued, "I want to have a good time making a film, but when it's done I move on to something else and get the next one out there."

In other words, accepting mistakes is not only an integral part of Bill's filmmaking approach, it also allows him to enjoy the process and to be uber productive. He mentioned Richard Williams as his polar opposite, somebody who had sought to make the "perfect" film.

But, most of us animation people know that in the Mt. Olympus of Animation Heroes there is room for both approaches and everything in-between. There's lots of examples out there. Chuck Jones directed brilliant shorts with a very structured process that entailed him making most of the key drawings himself. Bob Clampett's approach gave his animators more freedom, inviting more spontaneity into the production. Both directors produced great work, the difference being that Chuck's method discouraged mistakes and Bob's method invited them inside and gave them a cup of coffee.

Cartoon Brew recently posted a collection of animated shorts made for They Might Be Giant's new children's music CD. Among them is a gem of a film called "Electric Car" (click title to watch video) made and directed by Ru Kawahata and Max Porter, a married couple working out of their home studio. Today, instead of discussing the pro or con of mistakes, it might be more relevant to phrase it as whether the human touch is visible or not.

On one hand there is the Pixar CGI model, which works to achieve a look that shows no traces of the artist's hand, even though some of today's best artists work on their films. This "perfection" has grown its own polar opposite and that can be seen in the type of low-fidelity work that Ru and Max are honing with their films. In their vision, the texture, warmth, and rough edges of cloth and cardboard are presented in all their charming glory. The end result is a celebration of 2D space along with the old school ways of adding depth through multi-plane levels. For more low-fi work of the highest quality check out any film by PES.

So pick your poison: mistakes or no mistakes, slick or low-fi. There's room for everything and we've only just begun to see ways that they might be combined for good effect.