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.

Courage

What is the state of the animation industry in the Big Apple area? If we take the recent departure of Tom Warburton to L.A., Patrick Smith's acceptance of a long-term teaching post overseas, the soon-to-be heading west PES, and the smallest amount of series work in production since 1992, then this can leave one to conclude our recovery is still some time in the future. While it's easy to feel the loss of the three big talents named above, it's important to remember the large talent pool that remains. And, the good news is that one of our best and brightest has recently returned after spending a couple of years living in Europe. He comes back with a new film in the can and two more in production. Ladies and gentleman I am speaking of none other than NY animation legend, the Academy Award Nominated John R. Dilworth.

Many may know him as the creator of the terrific long running Cartoon Network series "Courage the Cowardly Dog," but more people should be aware of his wonderful independent films. My connection to John stretches (pun intended) back 17 years. We first met when he was the substitute teacher at my SVA Intro to Animation class, which was normally taught by John's sometime collaborator Mark Heller. It was 1992 and as a new student I had no idea who John R. Dilworth was. Looking very much like John Turturo, Dilworth zipped into class riding on a swivel chair and paddling the air with imaginary paddles. Needless to say, he got our attention. He ran his most recent cartoon, telling us that we were among the first to see it. It was called "Psyched for Snuppa," and featured characters written by Michael Pearlstein that would later be transformed into the series "Sniz and Fondue." That series would be animated at the Ink Tank and was featured on Nick's anthology show "Kablam!." But, the characters were never more alive and funny than when they were in John's hands. I thought the short was one of the most exciting pieces of animation I'd ever seen.

John was deep in his hero-worship of John Kricfalusi period. I guess "Johns" have to stick together. "Ren and Stimpy" was still a hot new show, and our class was just as excited about it. He showed us clips from the series and made us students analyze every creative element in the animation, right down to the soundtrack. It was the first time I had ever thought about every single ingredient that makes up a successful piece of animation and I have to admit that I was probably more intimidated by the exercise than I was inspired. After the two classes we didn't want Dilworth to leave and I made a silent pledge that I would show him the first animated film I completed at SVA to get his feedback. But, when that film proved a great disappointment to me, I chickened out.

My next encounter with John was two years later during my Junior year at SVA. Mark Heller had hired me to work for his then-partner in a stock footage company. The company regularly supplied stock footage to SNL, David Letterman, etc. Unfortunately, the boss turned out to be so erratic and irrational that he actually added a $50 bonus to my first check just for putting up with him! Yet, after one more week, I'd had enough abuse and I decided to give my notice to his partner, Mark Heller. When I arrived at Mark's place, John Dilworth was there to let me in. The two shared space in those days. Mark soon joined us and I ended up giving them both a blow-by-blow version of the horrible two weeks that led me to give my notice. John didn't say one word during my long story, but he listened to every word. When I was finally finished, John spun around in his chair and said, "Well after a story like that there's only one thing to say... (then he pointed towards the door and shouted) GET THE FUCK OUT!" Of course, he was kidding, and we all shared a good laugh. I left determined that I would show him my thesis film the next year to get his input at an early stage. But, again... I chickened out.

When I made my first independent films I was pretty headstrong about doing things my way, so thoughts of showing my works-in-progress to someone like John Dilworth was out of the question. He might change my idea, I worried (foolishly). Last week, John and I met for lunch at Molly's Pub (a favorite haunt of Howard Beckerman, for all you animation groupies out there), and after a long enjoyable lunch he asked me if I was working on any new films. I hadn't planned to talk about it, but on his prompt I told him the story of my next film, "Keisha Katterpillar." His eyes lit up and he immediately knew just how to improve it. His main suggestion was on the moment where Keisha clears her bed of stuffed animals––something she did thinking it might make herself grow up in a hurry. I was going to have her simply shove the dolls off her bed. John gently protested: "Would she really do that? Have you seen little kids and their dolls? Wouldn't she put them away very carefully and with great respect?" As soon as he said this I knew he was right. But, John wasn't finished, he also gave me a great idea to improve the ending, again coming from getting inside the character's head to find the most appropriate outcome.

I was blown away by John's ability to think this way. Sure, I knew he was brilliant. How could the filmmaker behind "The Dirdy Birdy," and "The Mousochist," not be brilliant? But, I hadn't been sitting across from him when he hatched those ideas. Watching John go through his thought process gave me even more respect for his gift. Upon returning home I made John's suggested revisions and sent him a copy of the animatic along with my design set-ups (shown above). This time I'm not going to chicken out. I'm going to show John every stage of this film and ask for his feedback. It took me 17 years to work up the courage (pun intended again!) to enlist John's advice, but as they say, "better late than never." And, if I may dare speak for the NY Animation community, "Welcome home, John!"

*ASIFA-East is planning an evening of John R. Dilworth shorts. Stay tuned for more details!

Why Ask Why?

At the New York panel event to launch my new book, Amid Amidi advised the audience to ask themselves, "Why do I want to have my own TV show?" It's an important question for any would-be creator to answer because your motivation can help determine whether or not you should expend your energies toward that goal. As creative people we have a choice of where to spend that most precious of resources—time. The options we have and the distractions that might pull us away are innumerable. But if we ask ourselves "why?" before beginning a creative project, we might find a clear reason to see the project through and eliminate all the other possibilities.

It's just as important that we ask "why" we want to make an independent film. I've made two films with the sole motivation of wanting others in the industry to take me seriously as a viable creator for a TV series. Not surprisingly these are my least successful films. Neither one connected with an audience nor did they win the validation I was seeking.

When I made the film "Good Morning," I wasn't setting out to make a breakthrough indie film, see it aired on Noggin or accepted into the Hiroshima International Animation Festival, but that's what happened with this heartfelt film. I was coming out of melancholy period in my life and something from inside drove me to make that film. When I started it, the film was only going to be something to share with my wife. The first eight seconds were animated while she was busy in another room and I couldn't wait to share this animation with her. Showing it to anyone else was an afterthought.

My wife recently made a film and had a similar experience. While she's a creative person with diverse talents, she wasn't planning on making a film, let alone a 50-minute documentary over a two-year production time, but that's just what she ended up doing. Why? What was her motivation to devote so many hours, days, and weeks, as well as pour personal expense into this project? And, what motivated her to stay the course through each thankless and unglamorous stage that stood between her and the finished film?

She hadn't set out to make this film or any other film. But, when she saw a couple of performances by the all-female sketch comedy group, and met with the group members she felt compelled to document them and their work. She didn't know what she'd end up with; it was simply something she wanted to do.

When I first saw her picture lock, it was a very emotional moment. Besides my personal connection to the filmmaker and her sacrifices to make this film, I was deeply moved by the experiences of the four members of the troupe. On the simplest level, it's the story of a group of creative people trying to reach a goal and how the industry—and life in general--can put up endless obstacles. At the end of such journeys, very few look back from the vantage of wild success, but as creative people there is victory in being in the game and in knowing that there is another project, film, or pitch in us.

[I'm thrilled that a festival audience will soon have the chance to see my wife's film, "Desperate for a Laugh" at its official world premiere at the 6th Annual Big Apple Film Festival (BAFF), taking place on November 3-7 at the Tribeca Cinemas in New York City. ]

An old idea/A new film

*above images showing some emotional moments from my new film-in-progress.

One of the things I cherish most about working from home is that it allows me more time on personal independent projects. Right now I'm teaching a class at NYU called Intermediate Animation Production, and the goal is that students complete a one minute film over the 15 week term. Over the summer I got the idea that it might be fun to make my own film alongside the students. The weekly homework reviews would give me deadlines to hit and ensure that I'd have new finished film by December. I'm hoping the students get a kick out of giving me notes, too! And, I don't doubt that the feedback could prove instructional for the class as well as helpful to my film.

For the film, I selected an old idea of mine called Keisha Katterpillar. The simple story concerns the titular character's hurry to grow up and get her butterfly wings so she can be just like her older brother Karl. The catterpillar/butterfly scenario is well-traveled territory, but my approach is to focus on Keisha's resourceful imagination to show how she thinks her problem through to try and achieve (what we know is) the impossible. And, through Keisha's problem, show how her family comes together to be there for her.

It was very enlightening to revisit the old material. For one, there was a lot of extra dialogue and description in the script that I was able to trim (something that would have helped my last film!). Frequent readers of this blog will know that I'm a big advocate of self imposed rules on an independent film. Rules help speed up the process of elimination and this is important because what to leave out shapes what to leave in.

A couple of important rules immediately sprang to the surface as I prepared a storyboard. The first rule I made was to limit the film to four scenes or acts with only four backgrounds or locations. Although, I might change my mind, right now I'm thinking that there will be no camera work/pans/zooms, etc. And, no cuts either. I plan to animate the transitions between scenes and keep Keisha's position consistent in the bridge between each scene. This further emphasizes her as THE character. I also used a round window shape in the first scene to reappear as a bathroom mirror or family portrait in subsequent scenes. I'm hoping this repeating bit of the layout further helps further anchor the transitions.

I hadn't intended to make yet another children's film, but there is something in this story that is still calling to me five years later, so the timing seems right to give it a try. And, I've been encouraged by the success of my other recent children's films. In October I'm going to attend The Chicago International Children's Film Festival where two of my films were accepted into competition: "Owl and Rabbit Play Checkers," and Iwanna Wanda in "Don't Wanna Brush." The latter is my newest film made for a client who hired me after seeing my other recent children's film, "Good Morning." These children's films have been a joy to make, a major creative challenge, and have opened up a lot of great commercial opportunities. While nobody has an exact road map of what they should do next, I'm beginning to think that I'm spending my creative energies in the right place.

Commercial Calamity

During my research for a third animation book I'm writing, I came across this cautionary tale about a local commercial animation production. Commercials are one area of animation where I have almost no experience, and stories like the one below make me grateful for that.

An animator started on a commercial and (on the first day) discovered there was no storyboard, no animatic, and the animation director (a live action director that had never worked in animation) was out of town and out of touch. The problems that transpired in the days that followed are what you might imagine. There was no guiding vision for animators to follow. What they tried on one day would be overruled the next. And not only was there no process in terms of storyboards and production pipeline, the producer at the helm bowed to every client note and demand––pushing it all to the animators to pull off a miracle, at one point even asking them to re-animate the entire job from scratch in less than a week. And, best of all, no matter how many times the animators tried to explain their needs to the producer, he never once listened. I can't think of worse animation work-place scenarios sans physical violence or verbal abuse.

The above example is all the more shameful because the short turnaround time of an animated commercial greatly depends upon an efficient production process with all goals clearly defined to steer a crew to a proper finish. When the basic needs of the crew are ignored, they can't possibly do their best, and their morale will suffer along with the work. A commercial schedule does not allow for the luxury of time to sort this all out. A production has to have a running start and be fast reacting to any hitches along the way. Producers and Directors share a responsibility not only to the work, but also to the workers. Yes, the finished animated product must speak for itself, but the battles fought and lost by the crew in the example above are ones that need not happen in the first place. Instead of trying to reinvent the wheel (which is itself a common production process mistake), this commercial job existed as if there was no such thing as a wheel. Somewhere a Geico caveman is crying.

I wonder how many producers or directors would admit to being the obstacle that they might be. If you are one of these producers, would you want a builder to build you a house without first making a blue print? Or to start building a frame without pouring a foundation? Would you want someone with no experience in plumbing to connect your toilet? Someone with no knowledge of wiring to ready your house for electricity? You get the point, right? So, if all these things are painfully obvious, how could you allow a production without a process? How could you ask a crew to start animation without an animatic? How could you ask them to animate without clear direction? And, how could you allow a client to give any note they wish at any stage of the production regardless to how it may impact the deadline or costs? How can you hire animators and animation artists for their expertise but, at the same time, ignore all their expert advice on how to make the production run smoother? And, how could you ask the animation crew to work with all these handicaps and pull off a miracle? Now go stand in the corner and think about what you've done.

Book Week

Note: above image was the logo from my first pitch to score a network deal.

We're mad as hell and we're not going to take it anymore! That was the original title for my new book, but the publisher convinced me it might be a good idea to have the word "animation" in the title, and so it became "Animation Development: From Pitch to Production." And, since the book hits shelves on Tuesday September 8, it's much too late to change our minds.

In all seriousness, is there anyone among us who doesn't believe the system for pitching and development is seriously flawed? Even the development executives interviewed for my book know this is so, admitting that the way networks green light and develop animated ideas into pilots and series is too slow. Well, that's a start, but its certainly not the only problem. Not only is the process by which networks review and develop projects slow, it's also often expensive, wasteful, and rife with the wrong people in charge––giving the wrong notes, making the wrong decisions, and otherwise getting in the way of the process in any number of ways. Oy!

So what is the appeal? Why should anyone want to stick their head into the network lion's mouth and pitch a project? In the world of pitching and development, even the best scenario is filled with potential pitfalls. In 2007, I landed my first development deal for a preschool project I created called "Fiona Finds Out." It was sort of a preschool "Myth-busters," allowing the home viewer to learn and play along as Fiona (a pint-sized Owl with an inquisitive mind) and her friend Buster (a flighty bat who believes if it looks like a duck it's a duck, without waiting to see if it walks like a duck or sounds like a duck) debunked preschool sized myths such as: Is there a monster under my bed? Will I grow a watermelon in my stomach if I swallow a watermelon seed? Etc...

Despite what I thought was a no-brainer of a creation, the first pitch went terrible. Imagine my surprise when I saw that one of the development execs at the meeting was someone who had also created a pilot that year. Knowing how the network did business, this meant that if she were to green light my project it would put me in direct competition with her own pilot's chance to go to series. And sure enough, she worked hard to poke holes in my pitch during the meeting. Outside of her response, the rest of the execs weren't that warm to the project either. The pitch went over like a lead balloon.

For a couple of months the pitch just sat on the shelf, until I thought to show it another network. I emailed that network's development exec but was shocked to read her response. "I don't want to look at another network's rejects. I don't like being second banana. Why didn't you come to me first?" she asked.

As Charlie Brown might say, "Good grief!" I thought the exec was acting a touch irrational so I decided to write her back some words of reason: "I went to the other network first because I had a long term relationship with them. They rejected my project because they have very specific needs and I had created something outside of that box. I don't believe your network is second banana to anyone. Your network is the one that set the standard all the others follow. I hope you reconsider taking a look at my project. I'd love to show it to you."

Surprisingly, she wrote back immediately: "You're right. Sorry about that. Yes, I'd love to see your project."

I decided to email her all my pitch elements instead of sitting through another bad pitch meeting. A few weeks later she read my materials while on a flight and wrote, "I like this... a lot." She wanted to show it to her network president when he was in town later that month. I asked if she wanted me to be there for that meeting but she felt more comfortable just casually showing the project to the president on her own. I trusted her judgement.

Two weeks later she emailed with the great news that they were offering me a deal and wanted to put my project into shorts (or interstitial development) with the goal of making six shorts that could be aired in-between other programming, a sort of mini series that could test out the viability of my series. I was delighted and quickly engaged the services of a lawyer to negotiate the deal.

While we were waiting for the contract to appear I got a call from the network's L.A. office, where a different exec wanted to speak to me about my project. "I really like this and think it could be great."

I waited for the "but."

"But," (she didn't disappoint) it's a pass because we already have something like it going to series this Fall."

Very calmly I explained that I was confused because at this very moment a contract was being drawn up and my project had been green-lighted by a NY exec under the guidance of the network president. I could see her face grow scarlet even over the phone. "Oh, I'm so sorry. Please ignore this call. My mistake."

The NY-based exec (the one who had green lighted my deal) left me a voice mail apologizing up and down about the misunderstanding with the L.A. office. She assured me that we were still on and that a contract was underway. And, indeed it was. But, what a reminder about the trappings of development in the mean time! A creator's first lesson is to manage his own expectations, to proceed with each stage knowing that it's only real when it's real.

My lawyer negotiated a great deal for me and over the year-long first option period, I wrote all six scripts which were met with approval. My exec called on a Friday and asked me to start contacting some local studios so we could start getting bids on the shorts. We were going to start production soon. But, by Monday (as it so often happens) the wind changed and the same exec called with the bad news that they weren't going to make my shorts after all because the network didn't want a science-based series right now.

The roller coaster ride of this project was over and I appreciate it for what it was. For a year the network paid me very generously to further develop my project and write six scripts. Not a bad thing by any standard. And shortly after they axed my project, the same exec brought me in as a head writer to develop a subsequent series at a giant media company. Even when a project dies, there's still value to the experience––new career notches for the resume.

"Fiona Finds Out" was squashed before pilot but, it was but one opportunity. I'm not naive enough to believe that one day the networks' development processes will be foolproof. The entertainment business has always had its share of short sighted people, more afraid of losing their jobs by making waves than they are passionate to champion what might be the next big thing. But, so what? Somebody is going to breakthrough with the next "SpongeBob," "SouthPark," or "Simpsons," and that someone won't have been scared off by the seeming futility of it all. That someone could be you, and it is the key goal of my book to increase all our chances for a direct hit.

As long winded as this post has been, it's merely the tip of the ice berg on the subject. To expand the conversation, I invite you to join us on September 15, Tuesday at 7 PM at SVA, 209 E. 23rd Street, 3rd Floor amphitheater for a special panel discussion/book signing to mark the release of "Animation Development: From Pitch to Production," featuring panelists: Carl W. Adams (co-creator of Assy McGee), Amid Amidi (cartoonbrew.com), Janice Burgess (creator of Backyardigans), Fran Krause (creator), and Debra Solomon (creator). Hope to see you there!