I had the privilege of attending the SVA event with Ralph Bakshi to celebrate the release of Unfiltered, a book written by Jon M. Gibson & Chris McDonnell, chronicling fifty years (and counting) of one of the most important animation filmmakers of all time. At the start of the same week everyone was busy kneeling at the altar of Ollie Johnston, the last surviving of Disney’s fabled 9 Old Men that passed away on Monday. The industry celebrated Johnston’s life with one glowing eulogy after another. The closest thing I read to a critical examination on Johnston came from Michael Barrier and Mark Mayerson who posted essays questioning the meaning and influence of The 9 Old Men. In summary, they suggest that 9 Old Men were designated as such not just for their animation excellence, but also because of their loyalty to Walt, especially during the strike of 1941. Early in their career, the 9 Old Men stood on the shoulders of giants such as Fred Moore, Bill Tytla, Art Babbit, and Norm Ferguson (to name but a few) and these are the names that defined a medium. Nobody can deny that the passing of Ollie Johnston is the end of an era. I totally understand and appreciate what that means to this community.

On the other hand, any on-line post about Ralph Bakshi is going to attract more criticism and outright hatred than it will praise. Over his nine feature films, Ralph did the unthinkable, and to a large segment of the animation community; the unforgivable. By sheer force of will, he dragged animation out of the realm of G-rated family fare, and brought animation into the modern era. The fact that Ralph still irks the conservatives in our business over forty years after Fritz the Cat says a lot about this unique man and his work. With SO much criticism, the importance of Ralph’s work makes itself clear. Why so much praise for Ollie Johnston, a man among nine and a righteous keeper of the status quo, and why so much criticism of Ralph Bakshi for being a maverick, an individual, and having the audacity to do something new? Criticism tells us something important; Ralph Bakshi, is the more important artist.

Are Ralph’s films perfect? Hell no. They are sometimes sloppy, incoherent, or even downright unsatisfying. In other words, they are crackling with life, energy, and spontaneity. Any animation artist today that yearns to be a filmmaker doing important work should realize Ralph Bakshi for what he is; the roadmap to individual expression and achievement in a medium that, by its very nature, so often dilutes individuality to render all its artists anonymous. You don’t have to like Bakshi’s films to get the message. Unfortunately, all too many in this animation community, not only want to throw out the message but, also the messenger. I truly don’t get it. Why should artists worship the status quo? How can we be artists if we do that? I don’t suggest not appreciating the 9 Old Men or their illustrious peers and predecessors, but it might help to recognize that their achievement was a technical one, albeit something that breathed life, emotion and reality into this medium. A filmmaker such as Ralph Bakshi dared to focus on subject, and drag animation to new places such as urban decay, sex (instead of fairy tale romance), and volatile race relations. Come to think of it, I have a criticism for Ralph too: I wish he’d been able to make even more than 9 feature films.

Do yourself a favor and watch Fritz the Cat and Heavy Traffic, which are both readily available on DVD. Then, pick up the baton and carry the spirit of Ralph’s work to the next level. Maybe even sprinkle a little Ollie Johnston in there for good measure. A spoonful of sugar might help the medicine go down.

One of the burdens of this age of limited animation is an automatic tendency to split characters into levels, animating only bits and pieces of a character while the rest of the character holds. Don’t get me wrong, I think full animation carries its own curse (where nothing ever stops moving. Think Rock-a-Doodle). Somewhere, there should be a happy medium. Its important to note, in this age of flash-bashing, that held animation levels were invented long before there was flash. Cell animation pioneered this factory friendly technique over eighty years ago. Flash or no flash, animators, particularly those making independent films, have to make a conscious effort to not automatically slick-ify their production values to the point of making a product undistinguishable from the latest show on Cartoon Network or Nickelodeon.

Flash or After Effects lets us make films in our living room sans paper, cells, and especially a clunky expensive Oxberry camera. My latest film, Good Morning, cost me next to nothing to make, while my film from ten years ago, Snow Business, cost 10,000 bucks! However, while these programs allow one to make a film without the prohibitive steps and cost of yesterday, they also tempt us into taking shortcuts that compromise our creative vision. Flash and After Effects encourage animators to “puppet” their characters to limit the amount of new art that needs to be created. Puppeting is just today’s version of limited animation. If Flash puppeting had been available in 1959, it would have been used to animate the limited animation classic Rocky and Bullwinkle.

Still, the shame of Flash or After Effects in the hands of the independent animator is that it lets one so easily sink into limited animation doldrums. While such a production style would be understandable in a TV product where deadlines and budget is tight, it doesn’t make sense for the independent animator to embrace such limitations unless they would best do the project justice. Most of the time, we animators take these shortcuts out of laziness or restlessness to get the end product as soon as possible. Instead, we ought to be making the appropriate choice of animation styling, whatever that might be, so that our projects might reach their full potential.

Anyone who’s worked in Flash or After Effects has to know that the programs themselves should not be blamed. Both programs allow the artist to the replicate hand drawn animation techniques of yesterday, with none of the drawbacks of past production. I’m currently working on a new film, Owl and Rabbit Play Checkers. The original character art (NOT shown here) was created in a flat flash friendly style, using Illustrator, back in 2004. When I made the decision to animate this film in 2008, I opted for a much warmer hand drawn feeling (see above). The new styling was achieved by drawing directly into a wacom tablet in the same technique I used for my film Good Morning. I’m not puppeting my animation. I’m drawing every frame, even though sometimes I may time the drawings on 3s or 4s. The result is very expressive and lets me really get into the acting. This is all the more important because this is a two character film and the success of it all depends on really establishing the differences between these characters.

As for laziness? I suffer from that as much as any animator…but, I’ve figured out a way to make handrawn animation work for me in just as quick a manner as puppeted animation. The secret is not such a secret. This technique allows me to animate with a finished line. There’s no going back to pencil drawings later and cleaning them up to find the polished ink line. I’m not worrying about that. If lines get a little loose or intersect that's okay. This may sound lazy (and maybe it is), but the result is full of life and all the happy accidents that can only come from the human touch. There’s no scanning, because I’m drawing directly into photoshop. The color technique I’m using is also fast and direct, coloring loosely in photoshop with a simulated crayon brush. I don’t need my animation to look like Cartoon Network. When Cartoon Network pays me to make a pilot for them, then, I’ll worry about that problem. For now, I’m making an independent film, and I find half the fun is discovering and slaying whatever obstacles might be in the way so that, in the end, the film wins.

Assy McGee, a show that I’ve been directing for the last year, premiered on Cartoon Network’s Adult Swim on Sunday 12:30 AM, on Sunday April 6. It was my first foray into directing for an “adult” audience, after a career mostly spent in children’s/preschool projects. It was a welcome change and the more cinematic attributes of older programming have already begun to influence my sensibility on a new independent children’s film I’m working on (more on that in a subsequent post.)

TV animation gets a bum rap from just about everybody. It is usually measured against what was lost, while I would argue it should instead receive credit for what it preserved. It kept industry alive, allowing decades worth of animation artists to earn a living in their occupation of choice. Yes, TV animation is a different model than what came before. There’s a greater reliance on scripts and soundtracks over the demands of animation, which by sheer cost, is always kept at a minimum. Still, who among us would deny the importance of script (or story) and soundtrack in any successful animation made in the last 75 years? To criticize TV animation for its dependence on strong scripts and soundtracks is akin to criticizing trees for having leaves.

It’s hard for me to think of Assy McGee without comparing it to MTV’s Friday (which, was a short lived 8 episode animated series produced in NY in 2006-2007). Here’s how MTV got it wrong with Friday and Adult Swim got it right with Assy McGee. Note: I don’t doubt MTV’s ability to find success anew in animation, and I certainly hope they do.

MTV Friday’s:
Step one:
Green light a show based on (semi-popular) series of movies. This will automatically give the show urban edge and recogniziblity in the marketplace. Right?

Step two:
Ensure failure by making the show a soulless creator-less venture, a product of committee.

Step three:
Hire an amazing crew of artists and production personale.

Step four:
Second-guess every stage of production. Re-write episodes. Re-record actors. Make committee changes that weaken the product with every passing minute.

Step five:
The amazing crew of artists and production staff work tirelessly to salvage the show.

Step six:
The network cancels the show after airing only a small handful of episodes. Project over. Pretend the whole thing never happened in the first place.


Assy McGee
Step one:
Start with a quirky creator-driven show co-created by Carl W. Adams and H. Jon Benjamin, and a head writer/executive producer Matt Harrigan.

Step two:
Write scripts that actually start out funny. Make changes that make it even funnier. Repeat during the whole production process.

Step three:
Record excellent actors that take said script and plus it ten-fold by improvising new material and embellishing the rest.

Step four:
Hire a crew of amazing artists and production personale. Working as the NY crew, we had animators: Justin Simonich, Dagan Moriarty, Danielle Keenan, Adam Rosette, Meredith Gran, and Mira Scharf. Background design by Adrian Urquidez and Bob Levy (my dad! See BG image above). Character design by Jason McDonald. Add to this group incredibly talented artists and production staff in Watertown, MA, including; creative director Andre Lyman, business manager Carrie Snyder, producer Julia King, Bob Keough (storyboards/animatics), Matt Durso and Cara FitzGibbon (storyboards & animation revision), Adam Swanson (additional props/character/bg design), audio editor Abe Stein, and editor and visual effects Vanessa Pyne.

Step five:
Encourage creative contributions from every member of the crew.

Step six:
Air the show to a major advertising campaign, including official sponsorship by Toyota’s Scion. Toy line on its way. There’s going to be an Assy McGee bank. Guess where the coin goes?


Coda:
Is Assy McGee a perfect show that will please everyone? Nope. And, nor is it trying to be. Creatively, Assy McGee teeters the balance between coherence and utter incomprehensibility. That’s a pretty powerful mojo to power any work of art or piece of commerce. I would argue that unlike a product made by committee, Assy McGee has something that is rarely associated with TV product: spontaneity.

Missed the premiere? Watch the episode now at: http://www.adultswim.com/video/index.html

I recently began a new chapter of my career as a TV animation writer for scripts and development. I don’t venture to guess how much this might come to dominate my career. I’m still directing series, making films, teaching, etc. However new I might be to development and script writing, I find I’m turning to some old tricks to make it work. My first strategy is making creative time during captive time. By captive time, I mean time spent traveling; sitting on the subway, and (at the moment) sitting on a plane during a return trip from Arizona. Instead of tuning out with my ipod, I write in my journal, jot notes on a script, and scribble thoughts on post-its.

My father, Bob Levy, was the art director who single-handedly conjured up the long running series of Crest toothpaste cavity creeps (“we make holes in teeth) campaign (see image above.) While I was growing up, my Dad still had his original conceptual drawings for the series stuck to his home-office walls. My Dad is my industry hero because of his seemingly supernatural ability to brainstorm ideas and solve creative problems. He believes in letting the ideas flow out without stopping to judge them or edit them in any way. The point is to get them down on paper first. Later, he’ll sift through a pile and start picking out the key ideas, the ones that stick. Chuck Jones called his writing meetings with key collaborators like Mike Maltese, “yes sessions.” But, I think it’s important to bring that same yes-energy even when creating on your own. Perhaps even more so.

Writing to order is a really fun challenge. When I write for my own films or pitch projects I can indulge in a relatively full creative freedom. Writing on assignment is about bringing your own sensibility to the table to help birth something else for someone else. I think when it’s done right, it need not lack a personal touch or genuine inspiration. John Lennon wrote “A Hard Day’s Night” as an assignment. Ringo Starr had coined the phrase and the Producers chose it for the title of The Beatles all-important first film. The song Lennon dreamed up captured the true spirit of the band at that exact moment in their development. It was honest, real, while still being made to order.

I owe this writing stage of my career partly to pitching. To pitch is to try to prove how a project is both personal to its creator and at the same time universal in the market place.

Tom Warburton, creator of Cartoon Network’s Code Name Kids Next Door has only pitched 4 times in his life. He’s been successful four out of four times, scoring pilots, series deals, development deals, and most recently a children’s book. That’s a unique kind of success. If I measured my pitching and development career by that marker, I’d be a failure ten times over (ten times representing ten years of pitching without success.) But, then again, what is success? In this business we define our own success. Creating and pitching shows has helped land me 3 directing gigs to date as well as two new jobs as a writer. Over my ten, often frustrating years pitching and missing, I would fantasize that if development executives didn’t buy my ideas, maybe they would engage me as a writer or developer on their own projects. It never happened. Until, one day it did.

The key is to do what you need to do when you need to do it. Make yourself ready for opportunities imagined or unimagined. In a recent lecture to my career class, Tom Warburton advised my students to, “make your own luck.” Despite our very different levels of success, I believe Mr. Warburton and I are talking about the very same thing.

I recently heard about an animation teacher’s meeting in one of the NY area schools. For several years in row, the problem (as explained by the administration), has been that the grades are too high and the quality of the student’s work, too low.

As for grades, no doubt there are some animation teachers that grade far too gently. Such a policy may be a sign of general laziness in teaching. For instance, a teacher that passes everyone won’t have defend a failing grade. If everyone passes, there are no confrontations. No confrontations mean less work and aggravation for the teacher.

As for the quality of the student’s work? I’ve always believed that students that needed school the least made the best students. Just below them are the students that struggle and work their ass off just to scratch out a few successful moments of animation. I belonged to that group. Below that group are the lazy masses of students yearning to be left alone. This group went to art school to escape rules and discipline. For them, school is supposed to be a utopian paradise filled with freedoms, while at the same time owing them a quality education.

Teachers have a choice to either allow the student majority to wallow in that malaise or to shake things up. Again, it’s much easier to just attempt to teach the students that seem to give a damn and ignore the rest. By engaging the students this way, year after year, the teacher is part of the problem, part of the status quo that prevents the school’s program from really teaching the students.

Teachers are not supposed to be best friends with their students. Confrontation is important. Part of a teacher’s job is to rattle the student’s into discovering their enthusiasm. A teacher should set the expectations incredibly high for both quality and quantity of work. Students should not be allowed to move on until they master each stage or lesson. When I’ve taught “Intro to Animation” and “Action Analysis,” students had to make changes/revisions to their work week after week, sometimes extending assignments a month later than was originally planned. All the while these students had to simultaneously keep up with the new weekly assignments. Work compounded on some students, but all improved dramatically by the time of the semester’s end.

During the difficult semester, some students had been close to tears or were otherwise noticeably frustrated. That’s okay. A teacher has to push their class. It’s not enough to give an assignment and then, the following week, express disappointment that the class didn’t work hard enough. That’s not teaching. That’s participating in a passive aggressive war. A class needs a challenging teacher that provides a structure and opportunity that does not exist anywhere else.

On March 11, ASIFA-East held a jury screening for the student category of our 39th annual animation festival. At our festival, the entire community of ASIFA-East members (that come out to vote) make up the jury. Not only does this make our festival the most democratic and fair animation festival in the world, it’s also the only one that opens up its selection process to the general public. Perhaps, most notably of all, there are often a handful of the filmmakers present, suffering through a special kind of hell that only a filmmaker in competition can understand.

The first reality we dealt with at our student jury screening was that we were at least a half hour shy of enough time to watch every single entry all the way through. Even with such a restriction, we were still committed to watching over 2 and 1/2 hours of student films. Perhaps most positively, the films we stop prematurely will let us watch the more worthy films all the way through and keep the audience from getting overly fatigued. Still, it’s hard to NOT to think of your film being stopped as a traumatic event. In total, we called time on 7 films this evening. More than once there were murmurs in the audience reflecting a dissenting opinion. At ASIFA-East, we require one person to motion stopping a film (by shouting out, “TIME”) and then at least one more individual coming forward to second that motion. Instead of that scenario, usually the first uttered “time,” unleashes an echo of support from dozens of jurists too shy to have spoken first. We have our consensus, the film is halted, we vote, and we move on.

The good news is that, over the years, several films that have been stopped early have gone on to win a prize at our festival. If we stop a film, it doesn’t necessarily mean that the whole audience hates the film. It does mean that the jury has seen enough of the film so to evaluate it on the ballots.

At the end of the screening, one ASIFA-East jurist came up to me and said that it was a shame to stop any films early because for some of these filmmakers it might be the only chance to get their film screened. I see that point. However, we proudly offer one open screening per year in which everyone may present a film in a safe, supportive and non-competitive atmosphere. When it comes to our jury screenings, we’re supposed to be critical, separating the wheat from the chaff. If any filmmakers feel that they were denied their one chance at a screening, I would offer that they should make more films, better films, and spend more energy towards getting them screened and into festivals.

At a jury screening, films must quickly earn even their first few seconds of screen time. I personally begin to watch each film with a middle average score in my head and what I first see and hear immediately starts accumulating points positive or negative. Production values, quality of craft, ability to convey an idea or technique, all come across in those first few seconds. In this generation of youtube living room animators cranking out films, we filmmakers entering films at the ASIFA-East festival and squirming through a critical screening of our own film have an opportunity to learn and grow from the audience response that is virtually unparalleled anywhere else.

As democratic as we are, I don’t always personally agree we every film we honor or deny (nor should I.) We are a community of voices choosing what makes it into our festival. I can’t help but recall a jury screening two years ago that included John Canemaker’s “The Moon and the Sun,” (pictured above). The very personal film played all the way through to it’s half hour conclusion without the audience calling time, but clearly some in the audience might have wished too, which I find very perplexing and disheartening. “The Moon and the Sun” didn't place at the festival that year, but went on to win the academy award for best short subject at the 2006 Academy Awards ceremony. No single jury’s taste, however how big the jury, represents the final word on a film or a filmmaker.

This weekend, my film, Good Morning, was featured at the BAMKids festival. This festival, now going on 10 years, is an offshoot of the Chicago International Children’s Film Festival. My little film (clocking in at barely over a minute), played to four sold-out screenings spread over the weekend. Each screening was followed by a Q and A, featuring Bob Charde (Good Morning’s composer), and my ol’ Nickelodeon-era animation pals Jen Oxley and Eric Weil, whose film, “Janie and Jerome in “Light’s Out,” was also featured.

The children’s film festival circuit is a curious affair. First off, it’s amazing to have your film shown to an audience anywhere. The curious part is when you realize the audience is mostly young parents with tiny tots in tow. Try saying that five times. Lurking among the family audience are a handful of industry people, including some network development executives and other international festival directors.

Are there bad films at the children’s film festivals? Sure. Same as Ottawa. At Ottawa the bad films will likely be independent films that are overlong, random, or seemingly pointless. But, an independent film doesn’t have to please you; it can simply just BE. The independent film, may be a narrative, might have a concept or characters or story, but it need NOT to be successful. The independent film has the choice of following any or none of the rules of storytelling. The one rule is, “there are no rules.”

No rules always seemed like a trap to me. I like creative rules on which to build a film’s structure; something that I can push up against or break through at will. Maybe this is why I respond to children’s films or why I have utmost respect for the medium. A great children’s film transcends the label, “children’s film,” and simply stands as great film, period. Immediately coming to mind is Gil Alkabetz “A Sunny Day,” (see picture above. The film's craft is near perfection; great concept & story, great timing/posing/animation, imaginative layouts/continuity, attractive design/color styling, tight pacing/storytelling, bursting with charm/humor, and featuring a killer score/sound design. For more on this film/filmmaker, go to: www.sunny.alkabetz.com

We all know animation is a stepchild to the larger film and entertainment industry. Yet, within this stepchild are other subdivisions. All too many of them are self-imposed. One obvious stepchild is the respectability (or lack of) in the area of children’s films. It ain’t never been cool to make films for kids. How ironic that unlike any other genre of independent animated film, only the “children’s film” has the potential to reach everybody in the audience.