Sometimes the Teacher, Sometimes the Student.

I've been extremely busy with work lately (knock on wood!), but, no matter how busy I get, I try to make time to have breakfast, lunch, or coffee with friends, contacts, or colleagues as often as possible. When I'm in a busy patch, I like to line up two or three meetings in a row, almost like speed dating. In a way, it's break in the middle of a tough work week. Last week I had lunch with a former student and then coffee with another.

The coffee meeting was with a student who had graduated about four years ago and after being told by some in the industry that there was little opportunity for work at the time (which I can say was not really true), he decided to get a master's degree and wait things out. Unfortunately, the economy only worsened during the two years he spent getting the degree and in the two years since, he has had no success breaking into the biz.

This former student had done some hard work looking for leads online and pursuing internships, and he even joined a networking group of other young artists searching for jobs. In addition, the master's degree allowed the student to pick up valuable 3D animation skills that will serve him well. But, students certainly don't do themselves any favors in ignoring that this is a people business. Getting a job in animation is not as straightforward as getting a job at K-Mart and this only becomes more obvious in difficult economic times.

I wish I could have been there four years ago when the student was told that it was not a good time to find a job in animation. Not only was this information wrong, it's barely relevant. Yes, there are better and worse time to graduate and enter the animation industry. BUT, we have NO control over that. We arrive when we arrive. Who among us feel that they graduated or entered the job hunt at the most ideal time? So the key ingredient is not the luck of the draw (economy-wise) but your own determination to work in this business at the exclusion of all other options. In an unstable industry, we provide our own consistency by having the passion to stick it out. A career in animation is not something that happens to you, it's something you choose to pursue in any way you can.

The next meeting I had that afternoon was a lot of fun. In the first I was firmly in my teacher role, but one coffee later I was the student. Sparked by a lecture I gave to animation producer John Catapano's class at SVA only a week earlier, one of the students arranged an informational meeting with me. This summer course tends to have older students, already established in some career and looking to make a change or expand their horizons. I love speaking to classes because I'm exposed to great people I might not have met otherwise. The student who arranged to meet with me turned out to be an accomplished illustrator and author of many lovely children's books. In fact, she scored her first children's book right out of RISD, something she admitted to not fully appreciating when it happened. While she had questions for me on a project she planned to tackle, I found myself with just as many questions about pitching children's books.

Much like my earlier meeting, where I reminded my former student of a lesson I'd already given in class, my second meeting reminded me of what I should be doing: If I was serious about scoring a children's book of my own I would need to make a full dummy (mock up) of the book to pitch. I have six children's book pitches under my belt, but I have never made a full dummy book to present an idea. Instead I always relied on one or two pieces of art and a short manuscript. That isn't enough, she said, "a book has to stand on its own." She was telling me something I knew, but I'd managed to ignore. My lack of success getting a children's book off the ground speaks to that. And then she read from the notes she'd taken at my lecture: "I don't talk myself out of anything I want to accomplish," I'd said, a theme that had passed from coffee to coffee that day.

Legacy and Responsiblity

*above image from Mr. Warburton's first children's book, 1000 Times No.

Some time back, there was a controversy in the animation blogworld when it was announced that Brad Bird's next project was going to be a live action film. Brad Bird is but one man, but, because of his singular talents, others assigned him the responsibility of being animation's savior. Post-"Ratatouille," when Bird's career led him away from animation, he was seen by some as betraying the community.

These misguided attitudes remind me of a great exchange between Bart and Comic Book Guy in the season-eight episode of "The Simpsons," "The Itchy & Scratchy & Poochie Show," after the debut of the soulless character Poochie:
Comic Book Guy: As a loyal viewer, I feel they owe me.
Bart Simpson: What? They've given you thousands of hours of entertainment for free. What could they possibly owe you? I mean, if anything, you owe them.

So, because Brad Bird made some of our favorite TV and theatrical animation, some of us think it means we have a right to complain if he should decide to continue his career as he sees fit. I can't think of more juvenile and misguided industry opinion to hold. Be it Brad Bird or someone just out of school, each artist has a right to pursue his own path. It strikes me as absurd that there are artists who hold such warped opinions, assuming that they have a say over a stranger's most important creative choices. I have a rule of thumb that I use when I am tempted to second guess somebody else's life choices: I wouldn't know what someone else should have for lunch so why should I choose someone's career path?

But, this post is not really about Brad Bird. The New York animation community just bid adieu to one of its most celebrated members—Mr. Tom Warburton, who is off to the next chapter of his career in Los Angeles. Most know him as the happy-go-lucky guy who created Cartoon Network's long running series, “Codename: Kids Next Door.” Warburton began his career in animation in 1990, lending his talents to such studios as Buzzco Associates, Inc., Jumbo, J.J. Sedelmaier, and Curious Pictures, before landing his own pilots, series, and children's book. While one could admire him just based on his accomplishments, to know him is to know that his contribution to New York animation goes far beyond that.

In a very real way, Warburton can't leave, because his influence and example are here to stay. Here's a man who honed his skills, developed as a writer and an artist, and understood the importance of building valuable relationships in the community. And no matter how successful he became (and I consider having a six-season run on Cartoon Network to be a sign of success), he ALWAYS had time for the rest of us. And it was as if the busier he got, the more fun he made it look. His confidence encourages others to pitch shows, write a children's book, and to (most importantly) handle all the pressures of this business with grace.

A key aspect of Warburton's personality can be seen in how he prepared his successful TV pitches. Most creators develop what they hope is just enough to entice an executive to take a chance on their show. Warburton couldn't stop there––he made lavish pitch books filled with punchy text and colorful illustrations bringing his shows to vivid life, long before any executives pulled the trigger. His natural setting is to NOT hold anything back. I think this shows his trust in his own talent and his belief that to try with all your might is its own reward.

Most significantly, when he succeeded, it was a gain for the entire New York animation community in the form of one of the longest running productions in local animation history, employing many talented artists and nurturing dozens of new comers.

Much like Brad Bird, Tom Warburton was not responsible for single-handedly supporting an animation scene. But, there's no denying that he is a symbol of what is possible in New York for someone as open, enthusiastic, ambitious, and talented as he. If I could take the liberty of speaking for the New York animation community for a moment, I'd like to say to him, "Tom, who?" Just kidding. I'd say, "Mr. Warburton, you left your mark on this town and we're all the better for it. And, you'll ALWAYS be a part of our family. We'll just have to settle for your blog and Facebook updates for our Warburton fix. Now, go on...kick some L.A. animation ass, and make us proud all over again."

My Lunch with Howard

It may not be as famous a title as "My Dinner with Andre," but it has a ring to it. Howard Beckerman and I have been meeting for lunches since he was my thesis advisor at the School of Visual Arts 15 years ago, and boy, are our stomach's full!

Former ASIFA-East president (and current PBS Kids Vice President of Children's Programming) Linda Simensky has repeatedly mentioned her own debt to Howard, saying that his casual and funny way of public speaking informed her style. While I know just how Linda feels, I can go even one step further: I wanted to BE Howard Beckerman.

Not only is he an incredibly nice man and terrific teacher, he has accomplished so many of the things I had hoped to achieve in my career. First off, he is a writer. He wrote articles published in various animation and film magazines, a text book "Animation: The Whole Story," and authored several terrific animated shorts including "Boop-Beep," "The Trip," and "Jack The Giant Killer." He is a teacher, a long-term executive board member of ASIFA-East, and worked for legendary studios such as UPA and Paramount as well as heading his own successful independent animation studio for many years (with his talented wife, Iris).

When I look at Howard's life and work I can see his influence all over my career path. As we all know, a school such as SVA costs a pretty penny, and it naturally leads one to ask if a costly four-year animation program is worth it, especially since there are so many alternative ways to learn this craft. Without SVA, I would not have been introduced to Howard Beckerman. Words cannot describe how encouraging he was in my formative years. I was not the best artist in the room, but instead of giving me up as a lost cause, he kindled my interest in writing and storytelling. His sensibility of gentle cleverness inspired my thesis film and also my first post-school film, "Snow Business." I think by nurturing my writing side, Howard actually challenged me to play catch up with my other skills. After all, how could one realize the ideas in their head without being able to put them down on paper?

When I began my career with Michael Sporn, Howard was freelancing for Tony Ciao's nearby DMA studio, so we frequently met for lunch. Our relationship once based on the student/teacher scenario now became a valued friendship of peers. Together with my job at Sporn's studio, those lunches made me feel like I was now a part of the industry. As a result, I still make a point to meet up with former students for lunch or coffee whenever they ask me. I know how important it is to feel connected, and at no time is it more important than in the first few years of a career.

Last week, Howard and I met for lunch at Molly's Pub near SVA. I showed him four new gags I drew for consideration at the “New Yorker.” I learned that, for a time, he had also submitted gags to the magazine. And, just like me, he eventually had to stop because of other commitments. Our lives and careers are really a series of choices. Despite our ambitions and abilities, we don't have infinite time or energy to branch out in too many directions at once. Some plans don't stay with us for the long haul. Life and a bit of luck steer us toward what is most important.

There are many kinds of hero worship in this industry. I know from personal experience that I clung to Walt Disney and Chuck Jones hardest in those years before I made real life connections. As a world animation community, we'll always have those heroes in common. But, it's not until you start to make your own important relationships that your true heroes emerge.

It’s almost a cliché that your heroes are bound to disappoint you. You may like someone's art but that doesn't mean that you would also connect with that person one-on-one. Howard Beckerman is that rare mixture of talent, class, and kindness. Why not allow a little Howard into your life? Pick up a copy of his warm and informative book, "Animation: The Whole Story."
http://www.amazon.com/Animation-Whole-Revised-Howard-Beckerman/dp/1581153015/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1247072296&sr=1-1

I may have started with Walt and Chuck, but that was only because I hadn't yet met Howard.

Ignoring the Poison Mentors

When I started working at Nickelodeon, my first experience on a series production, I was struggling to master my job and stay on schedule. So I came in early for a few days to get a leg up on the work. One of those mornings, an animator 10 years older than me came by my desk and warned me how foolish I was to give the series extra time and effort. In his eyes, the company didn't deserve it and if I continued to do this, I was a sucker. I decided not to call him out on being early himself and instead explained that I was only putting in a little extra time until I got a handle on the job. He still shook his head as if I was making a huge mistake. Then he said some very unkind things about the production and its leaders. He was a very bitter employee who quit the production very soon thereafter.

Another employee kept taking me out for coffee to complain about the production, ranting that nobody knew what they were doing. These encounters made me sad because I had started this job with such excitement. Although I was new to this production and only two and half years into my career at that time, I had the suspicion that the anger and frustration I was hearing had little to do with the series. There is no single way to react to any workplace situation. I found that in most cases the problems had to do with the individuals own inability to properly communicate or collaborate with others. A more rational person would have understood that because the production was one of the first digital in-house animated series in its first season, it was still working through its natural growing pains.

I remember a meeting with the creators/producers where the bitter employee who liked to take me on those "coffee walks" exploded into a rage over being asked to move a couple of characters a few pixels to the right. He slammed his palm on a TV monitor and shouted at the creators. There was no good reason why the characters couldn't be nudged over so this employee's reaction was way out of proportion. In fact, he quit the production a few weeks later.

Since my time on this series, I've worked on a half dozen more while also having the benefit of hearing about work conditions on other series produced elsewhere. The conditions at this first series stack up very well against the best situations I have personally experienced or heard about. More evidence that these negative people were primarily projecting their own inner demons on the young and well-meaning production. Certainly there have been conditions in this town that have been worth such a negative reaction and beyond, so by no means I am suggesting that every situation can be made workable simply by holding a good attitude.

The bottom line is that despite the efforts of these misguided mentors, I didn't become disenchanted with the production. In those important first weeks, I was too busy learning my job, which included my first experience working on a Mac. I tried to be a sponge soaking up all the technical and creative nuances of the show, which were taught to me by the many talented and terrific artists on the staff. By the end of those eventful first two weeks, the producers called me into their office and surprised me with a $100 a week raise. It was such a victory over negativity, and it showed me that (under agreeable circumstances) each employee can define his or her own experience on a job.

Begin the Summer with Bill Plympton's "Dog Days"

I admit that I was skeptical upon receiving Bill Plympton's new DVD shorts compilation "Dog Days." The collection (packed with bonus features such as animatics, pencil tests, commentary, and sponsored work) features Bill's seven independent shorts made between the years 2004 through 2009. I was skeptical, in part because like many animation folk, I run the risk of taking Bill's films for granted. He has done so much excellent work for such a long time and has received so much success in return that it's easy to overlook his last five years of shorts and make the assumption that his best work is long behind him.

For decades the trajectory of the traditional animation artist was supposed to be a suffering creature, one who toils away for a lifetime in obscurity, working on other people's projects, and perhaps taking a victory bow in his last years. When Bill arrived on the animation scene in the mid-1980s, he followed a far less traveled path: the animation artist who is not only devoted to his craft but also organizes his commercial life to work on independent projects, becomes known in the industry as a singular brand, and through an uncanny gift for business and self-promotion achieves fame and success for his efforts.

One factor that unfairly weighs against any serious discussion of Bill's work is the fact that he's still producing work. Animation artists are quick to share an opinion on the work of living artists in private over drinks, but very few of us are willing to publicly offer intelligent commentary. It's far safer to write about what Freddie Moore liked to eat for lunch at the Disney commissary than it is to offer serious discussion on the latest Plympton short. That's a real pity because, while there have been a few misfires, several of Bill's films from 2004 to 2008 have been among his best work.

I am tempted to describe Bill's recent commissioned work, the music video "Mexican Standoff," as one of those misfires in that it can appear to be an average work. But as soon as I think that, I correct myself: Average for whom? The film is full of innovative camera angles, daring animation, and enough style and ideas for 10 films. I wonder if one price Bill has paid for his productivity might be that we've become accustomed to his ordinary excellence. If we had never seen a Bill Plympton film before and started with "Mexican Standoff," we might be asking, "Who did that terrific animation?" But, the value of the "Dog Days" collection is that it answers that injustice by forcing the viewer to look at this five-year period of Bill's work as a whole.

"Dog Days" features such excellent films as "Guard Dog" (the first in his dog series), the children's film "The Fan and the Flower," the experiment in animated film noir "Shuteye Hotel," and the faux newsreel charmer "Santa: The Fascist Years." Two other dog films round out the program and (taken as a trilogy) it's interesting to see how Bill applied different techniques on each film in that series. The drawing style seemed to tighten up in the second film, only to loosen up in the third. Viewing the three films in a row, I noticed that the held poses which helped make the first dog film so much fun (remember the poses struck by the karate bird?) were largely abandoned in the sequels. I miss that level of confidence (or experimentation) in the subsequent dog films, although I'd add that "Hot Dog" stands on its own as an enjoyable film. The fourth and least successful Dog film, "Horn Dog," was not included in this compilation.

Like any series, the Dog films face the danger of becoming a one-note joke, growing staler with each outing. While the first two dog sequels still offer up laugh-worthy gags, they just don't have the mojo that powered the original film. Bill reveals on the DVD commentary track that "Guard Dog" was inspired by his observation of a dog barking at a helpless bird in Madison Square Park. I think the film that resulted showed that spark of creation based in personal experience and truth. The inspiration for the sequel films may owe less to true experience and more to knowing that audiences liked the first dog film, and that lack of authenticity is hard to shake.

Don't get me wrong, I don't presume that Bill's sole motivation on the Dog films was to capitalize on the first film's success. I think the idea of creating a successful recurring character is what has kept this series alive. The series format (which requires a character-based approach to storytelling) is uncharted water for Bill, leading one to conclude that the challenge of succeeding in this new arena might be a major source of inspiration, much like the challenge of making a successful animated feature motivates Bill towards that goal.

At this point in time, Bill Plympton is far from the new kid on the block, but he is also far from being irrelevant. One of his continuing gifts to this community is demonstrating how, despite unprecedented success, he is able to stay artistically hungry. "Dog Days" offers ample proof to believers and non-believers alike.

"9.99" and Animation for Adults

There never seems to be a loss for New York-based animation topics to write about and this Monday is no different.

In September 2008, ASIFA-East began its season of events with a special panel spotlighting NYC-based independent animated features. The panel was made of up Bill Plympton, Emily Hubley, Tatia Rosenthal, Dan Kanemoto, and Michael Sporn. Noticeably absent was Nina Paley, who had been invited, but was out of town. Much of the panel discussion, moderated by Amid Amidi, centered around funding and distribution instead of the creative challenges of making an animated feature. Given the difficulty indie animated features have in getting distribution and a theatrical release, I think that focus was justified. Anyone can start an animated feature, but far fewer have the tenacity or talent to pull one off, and even less will be able to score a theatrical release. The problem is two fold. On one hand, animators are used to making small films, of which they own the complete copyright. Some animators transitioning into features bring that same need for control they enjoy with their shorts. The problem is that for a feature film to reach a wide audience (beyond the world's animation community), it requires funding and distribution partners, and that results in losing or sharing ownership of your film.

One filmmaker who did give up the ownership of her film was Tatia Rosenthal, and the results of that sacrifice (along with 9 years of production) was the NY theatrical-run debut of her feature, "9.99," which is now playing at the Sunshine Landmark Theatre on Houston Street. I urge anyone who cares about animated film to see her film and show their support. It's a rare thing for an indie animated feature to secure world-wide theatrical distribution, and its even more rare for such a feature to be truly for adults. Despite Pixar and Disney's limitless resources of money and available talent, they are in the business of making main stream animated features. In North America, this means family/children's films. You won't see Pixar or Disney (or Dreamworks or Blue Sky) making films outside of the box of general audience viewing. That would be a true creative and financial risk, that would go far beyond inventing a new process to animate underwater effects or fur. So, if one want's to see animated features grow up the way live-action films have been doing for the last 100 years, they should stop micro analyzing "Up," and start discussing, "9.99."

Important animated feature films are so few and far between that we could be tempted to like them just to support their existence. Happily, "9.99," stands on its own stop-motion feet and doesn't require your approval. It earns it instead. Something interesting happened as I watching Tatia's film. There's a scene (spoiler alert) where it looks like a father is about to smash his son's beloved piggy-bank with a hammer. The son's bond with his piggy-bank was something that built over the course of the film, culminating with a lovely scene where the boy brings the pig to show-and-tell. The little bank became an object of unconditional love for the boy because the pig continues to smile whether the boy puts a coin in it or not. When the moment comes where his father is set to smash it, I jumped in my seat and heard exclamations from many others in the audience.

"9.99" has many such moments and is populated with every-day characters that make a deep emotional connection without succumbing to cliches. There's the loneliness of the old man, the unhappy father of two young men drifting through life, the sophicating relationship between the boy with the piggy-bank and his father, the super model who inspires and requires total submission from her lovers, the young-man struggling to stay a kid despite the demands of an adult relationship, and the vagabond angel more concerned with his own base needs than he is positively effecting people's lives.

This an ensemble film akin to the live action film, "Magnolia," but managing to score higher because of animation's ability to mix abstract ideas with reality. When frogs rained down in "Magnolia," it was an impossible moment violating an otherwise straightforward film's rules. "9.99," uses animation to its advantage without having to justify its choice to be an animated film at every turn. For and foremost, Tatia Rosenthal wisely uses animation as an editor, since animation is about choices (what to leave in and what to leave out.). In a live action film there is much that is simply just there because of where a camera happens to be set up. When the little boy stares at a wanted action figure displayed in a store window, there is nothing else in the scene that might distract from that moment. While based in reality, "9.99's" makes effective use of surreal and fantastical characters and situations and fully justifies its choice of animation as its medium. And, like all effective storytelling, the medium starts to vanish as the audience becomes engaged.

The worst feature animation we usually see is about movement, not feeling. Tatia Rosenthal described her film as a "one-take production" because of the budgetary limitations, and to my eyes, this became a key strength of the film, which was not able to wallow in the overuse of settles, squashes, movement in arcs, and followthrough that muck up a film like "Coraline." Can't a character simply pick up a salt shaker without a sweeping arc, overshoot, and settle? The answer is ,"yes," and most importantly the elimination of these annoying and unnecessary flourishes might just be what defines the look of "Adult" animation.

The morning after we saw "9.99," my wife and I both woke up with a key shocking sequence of the movie in our head's. We just couldn't shake it. It's now days later and there's still a place in my brain where that sequence sits. I had the same experience after No Country for Old Men, Dillinger is Dead, Betty Blue, Claire's Knee, and any number of other live action films. There will always be a steady buffet of "Kung Fu Panda," "Ice Age," and "Toy Story" to feast on, but at the end of the day those are just empty calories. "9.99," is a meal. See it and have an important animated feature to digest for a change.

Adventure Time vs. Anxiety Time

Most everyone agrees that "Adventure Time" by Pen Ward (pictured above, and created for Frederator's Nickelodeon shorts initiative Random Cartoons) was one of the best animated pilots in recent memory. The resulting "Adventure Time" series eventually found a home at Nick rival Cartoon Network after the original network failed to understand the short's potential. I know what you're thinking: Familiar situation. Another case of shortsighted development executives not understanding something good right under their noses. But, in this case, there's one big problem with that theory—development executives were not alone in their concern about the series. In fact, they had unlikely allies: animation artists. Once it became known that Cartoon Network was launching an "Adventure Time" series, I heard many animators remark online and in conversation, "That will be very hard to write," or, "That won't translate to a series." There must have been Nickelodeon executives who felt the same. This begs the question, What about "Adventure Time" made people question being able to make it a series? I think the quickest way to answer that is to first discuss what it had in common with other series.

Since 1991 (and the launch of Nicktoons), TV animation has been mostly a creator-driven affair. The whole point is that each creator will have a unique vision for their series, characters, and world they are creating. The creator-driven series is really a character-driven beast since characters are the reason we keep tuning in to watch episode after episode. On the creator-driven character-based front, Pen Ward had it covered. He had a unique vision that was clearly in support of his main characters, Pen and Jake. On this first criterion, "Adventure Time" is business-as-usual, and that's a good thing!

But, characters are only interesting if stories come from them. In theory, a story line used on "Codename: Kids Next Door" should not work for "SpongeBob SquarePants." Stories need to come from the character's own idiosyncrasies or specific interactions with the other characters or aspects of their world. Of course, there are only a few basic story premises in the world, but within the animated episodic cartoon series there can be an infinite amount of clever variation on those stories. These variations will inevitably come from character. Again, "Adventure Time" fits this mold.

On the surface, Pen Ward's short might seem as if it’s one non sequitur after another, randomly breezing through its plot. In actuality, the characters work within a basic time-tested structure: we meet the characters and get to know them, they become involved in a problem or a quest, they go off on their journey, they encounter obstacles, the hero confronts the villain, the day is saved, and things leave off ready for another adventure to begin. Just because characters have interesting speech patterns or quirky phrases such as, "Algebraic," it doesn't mean that the short doesn't have a structure or leave a path subsequent episodes can follow.

Finally, the short was funny, cartoony, action-packed, skewed towards boys without alienating girls, and was popular with its target audience (kids ages 8-12), while capturing the interest of older viewers. Those are all things that most cartoon-making networks CLAIM to be interested in.

So, what was so different about "Adventure Time" that had some development executives and animation artists doubting its ability to transition from successful short to successful series?

I'm not certain I know the answer to this. Aesthetically, "Adventure Time" had a modern outsider look that had more in common with indie comics than it did with the retro-modern UPA-meets-Cal Arts style that we have seen in shows from "The Power Puff Girls" to "The Fairly Odd Parents." But, perhaps the most significant feature of "Adventure Time" is that its characters live in a semi-surreal landscape inhabited by an Ice King, a Princess, and a Rainicorn (a combination of a rainbow and a unicorn). Oh, and there's a moment of physic connection between Pen and Abe Lincoln on Mars.

Development executives and like-minded animation artists may have noticed that in "Adventure Time" we don't have the NORMAL kid-context for the main character, Pen. Does he go to school? Does he live at home with a family? Most middle of the road cartoons use both as a familiar anchor. In fact, I've often wondered if the boating school that SpongeBob attends wasn't the result of a network executive insisting that SpongeBob have some kind of school experience, even though the yellow sponge was a "adult," living alone and working a full-time job.

On school and home-life, I'm certain that Pen and his crew (in expanding his show to series) must have figured out at least a home base for the two characters, even if it isn't a traditional home. But, the key point of this blog entry is that development executives and animation artists who have expressed doubt about "Adventure Time" ought to know better. All the important shows on television ("Seinfeld," "MadMen," "The Simpsons," etc.) brought a touch of new perspective to otherwise familiar formulas of episodic television. Consider the NEW element in "Adventure Time" to be the creator's vision of a sweetly exciting semi-surreal world of adventure. After that, to corrupt a phrase by Bill Clinton, "It's the characters, stupid."