Directing Animation

BY DAVID B. LEVY

© 2010 by David B. Levy

All rights reserved. Copyright under Berne Copyright Convention, Universal Copyright Convention, and Pan American Copyright Convention. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the publisher.

Published by Allworth Press, an imprint of Allworth Communications, Inc., 10 East 23rd Street, New York, NY 10010.

14 13 12 11 10 5 4 3 2 1

Cover design by David B. Levy

Cover illustration by Bill Plympton

Interior design by Kristina Critchlow

Page composition/typography by Sharp Des!gns, Lansing, MI

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

Levy, David B., 1973-

Directing animation / by David B. Levy.

p. cm.

Includes index.

ISBN 978-1-58115-746-8 (pbk. : alk. paper)

1. Animation (Cinematography)—Vocational guidance—United States. I. Title.

NC1765.L47 2010

791.43’34—dc22

2010025104

ISBN: 978-1-58115-746-8

eISBN: 978-1-58115-775-8

Printed in the United States of America

DEDICATION

Iwas born with a career hero. Picture MAD MEN’S Don Draper without the booze, cigarette smoking, womanizing, and deceitful dual identity, with only good looks and a talent for advertising remaining, and you have my dad. To further separate him from Mr. Draper, my dad not only invented campaigns, as a talented artist he also sketched them. This means I grew up on the day-to-day stories of his life as one of the big apple’s real-life MAD MEN. He spent his career in advertising as a top art director, which is sort of like that industry’s version of an animation director. Despite all of my dad’s amazing success in the industry—from graduating from Cooper Union to working as a senior art director at such agencies as Benton & Bowles, Grey Advertising, and J. Walter Thompson—the real challenge in many of his work stories was the difficulty of maintaining working relationships. This included collaborating with copywriters, assuring account people, and pleasing agency presidents—none of which could be accomplished solely with a magic marker and a pad of paper. Not only did i take that lesson to heart, it also inspired the writing of this book thirty-six years later. Thanks, dad.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

INTRODUCTION: AS TEARS GO BY

CHAPTER 1: ANATOMY OF AN ANIMATION DIRECTOR

CHAPTER 2: WHAT I REALLY WANT TO DO IS DIRECT

CHAPTER 3: BAPTISM BY FIRE

CHAPTER 4: DIRECTING ANIMATION FOR INDIE FILMS

CHAPTER 5: DIRECTING ANIMATION FOR COMMERCIALS

CHAPTER 6: DIRECTING ANIMATION FOR TELEVISION SERIES

CHAPTER 7: DIRECTING ANIMATION FOR FEATURE FILMS

CHAPTER 8: DIRECTING ANIMATION FOR THE WEB AND BEYOND

CHAPTER 9: THE PEOPLE FACTOR

CHAPTER 10: HAPPY TRAILS

APPENDIX: ANIMATION DIRECTOR’S RESOURCE LIST

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

INDEX

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

How do you solve a problem like Maria? How do you thank someone who has taken you from crayons to perfume? And how many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop? I don’t profess to have the answers to these questions, but, thankfully, they don’t appear elsewhere in this book, so we can just ignore them. According to the cover, this is a book about Directing Animation, and who am I to disagree?

One doesn’t direct animation in a vacuum (for one thing it would be too noisy and too distracting with all the dust bunnies constantly circling overhead). To direct animation is to collaborate with a host of artists, writers, creators, producers, and production staff of all stripes on a daily basis, sometimes while drinking coffee and sometimes not. And while coffee might be optional, extending a hearty thanks to all the fine folks who lent their years of expertise to this book is not.

First off, I’d like to tip my hat to some of today’s top indie animation directors who participated in this book. A hat-full of thanks to Cordell Barker, Signe Baumane, Don Hertzfeldt, Marv Newland, Janet Perlman, Bill Plympton (who also provided the cover illustration!), and Michael Sporn. My most commercial thanks to commercial directors Mike Overbeck, PES, J. J. Sedelmaier, and Dave Wasson. A series of thank- yous to TV series animation directors Jeff Buckland, Ian Jones-Quartey, Robert Marianetti, David J. Palmer, Sue Perrotto, Rob Renzetti, David Wachtenheim, and Tom Warburton. Full-length thanks to feature directors Paul Fierlinger, Yvette Kaplan, Nina Paley, Andrew Stanton, and TatiaRosenthal. And, last, but not least, a World Wide Web full of gratitude to Web animation directors Xeth Feinberg, Dan Meth, and Amy Winfrey.

I’d also like to thank (but mostly apologize to) all the animators (and other staff) who taught me much more than I taught them. The lessons we learned together still haunt my nightmares, invade my dreams, and sometimes interrupt my lunch. Most importantly, they reside in this book for all to see, snicker at, and poke with a stick.

A shout out to industry pals Elliot Cowan, Dayna Gonzalez, Linda Simensky, and Justin Simonich for sharing experiences, insights, and the common cold.

Special thanks to David J. Palmer and Blue’s Clues for giving me a first opportunity to direct and to Carl W. Adams, Andre Lyman, and Carrie Snyder for trusting me to direct a series for Cartoon Network’s Adult Swim called Assy McGee, hereby ensuring that my resume could never be read with a straight face again.

Finally, special thanks to my wife, Deborah M. Staab, who not only read this book before you did, but also suggested I write it in the first place. If you pick up any tips from Directing Animation, it’s all her fault. And now it’s time for me to slip on my old-timey director’s outfit, complete with riding crop, jodhpurs, boots, beret, and megaphone. Whether or not you’re ready for your close-up, Mister DeMille, it’s time for lights, camera, action.

INTRODUCTION

AS TEARS GO BY

It’s mighty helpful to have a good sense of humor and a level of patience that will allow you to deal with all sorts of ludicrousness.

—J. J. Sedelmaier, TV and commercial animation director

A drawing from my in-progress independent short, Keisha Katterpillar. I’ll second that emotion.

There’s no crying in baseball, but I’m living proof that salty tears may be shed in the typical fast-paced day of an animation director. It has been said that in the movie business, one works on something until it’s right, and in TV, one works on something until it’s Friday. To date, most of my directing experiences have been on Fridays, working on episodic animated television series. And on one job, one fateful day, emotions came to the fore and the pressure was building to a head. One animator only delivered a half day’s work for a full day’s pay, one battled every note, one slept at his desk, one decided to not show me any work for two weeks, one was used to his previous director finishing all his work for him, one over-thought everything and worked too slowly, one would not improve his work to meet the increasing standards of the production, one worked off-site (preventing him from benefiting from the natural cross-training that goes on when working in-house), and one was only excited to work on a few moments in each sequence. Oh, and one little piggy went to market, one little piggy stayed home.

Most of them were great people and good animators. Obviously I’ve oversimplified each into a problem because, while not all directors’ stories will be so extreme, it is typical for any crew to exhibit shades of some or all of these behaviors or traits. Also, as excellent as the production was, this was not everyone’s dream job. Some were marking time and bored. As a director you need to reach all the members of your team (even if they are sitting on a very high shelf). Each day is a challenge and an opportunity, to light a fire of enthusiasm or discover the root of a problem in order to help someone achieve his or her best work.

With this particular team, some of the animators and I got on the same page rather quickly, but others turned out to be riddles I could not solve. Those situations took their toll, frustrating me to the degree where I might stand defeated in the hall for a moment to catch my breath before facing the rest of the day.

This was my first time directing on a series, and I hadn’t developed management finesse at this point. Compounding the problem was a poorly managed design department, which was responsible for creating all the characters, props, and background art my team needed to animate. There were more then six months padded into the schedule to allow the design department to complete its work before my team would need these elements. Instead of the art being six months early, it was routinely late. In some cases my animators waited for days or weeks to get the files they needed. Worst of all, in the design department’s haste to get to the finish line it made frequent mistakes; characters would be the wrong color, missing parts, or labeled incorrectly.

On this production, the plan was to allow everyone on the crew a chance to work together, and this meant reshuffling the animation teams every so often. In our production structure, there were two teams of eight animators. Each team was led by an episode director, and all worked under the supervising animation director. At its best, this plan kept us on our toes, ensuring that everyone would have the benefit of learning from everyone else. I enjoyed getting a chance to work with all the animators on the production. At its worst, it passed problem animators back and forth between the two teams. Sometimes when it seemed I had reached maximum efficiency with my team, we would trade personnel, starting the team-building process all over again. One problem I had trouble dealing with was overseeing animators who had worked under the other episode director; he had the bad habit of completing the work of slow animators, to the point where they got slower and he stayed later and later in the office. When they became my animators they expected the same.

The production’s ever-growing standards should have been a great thing (after all, what’s the point of making a series if you don’t raise the bar each year?), but on our show this meant our supervising director consistently raised the bar in art, design, animation, and chin-ups (okay, that last one is a joke, but it would have been great exercise). A character movement that might have been acceptable the year before was no longer admissible. The downside for me was that this became a moving target, sometimes subject to the whims of our supervisor. My animators and I were never 100 percent certain where that line was going to be drawn, and this led to a certain amount of insecurity. In my case, it led to a lot of insecurity because as a director I was responsible for every animator meeting his or her responsibilities.

If this sounds a little whiny and needy, well, I was. Two years earlier, when I was a new animation director, I was an eager sponge soaking up every comment, note, and suggestion my supervising director had to offer. He had great judgment, a keen eye, and strong acting and storytelling chops. My boss probably thought that as time passed, I needed less encouragement and praise. In reality, two years later, I was a lot needier than I knew. I began to feel uncertain that I could give my boss exactly what he asked for. When he gave his approval for an action or scene, it was sometimes reluctantly followed by, I give up, instead of, Looks good. At those times, I thought I was letting him down personally, but I felt as if I had been let down too. Neither he nor the production had helped me solve my greatest problems with animators and particularly with the design department. I wanted to be taken care of (maybe set up in a nice penthouse apartment), to be released of my burdens so my team and I could have the best chance of success.

What I didn’t realize was that I could have done much more to increase that chance. More damagingly, I unfairly didn’t always accept the decisions made by my boss in those areas. It wasn’t my role to have final say, but I behaved as if I wanted it. Over time, I allowed this to damage my previously healthy relationship with my supervisor. In retrospect, I am deeply embarrassed by this because he had been my champion and my friend. He was the one who had promoted me to lead animator and then to animation director, all within the short span of a year.

The boiling point arrived: our two animation teams were both served by the same production assistant, whose morning duties included walking around with a hard drive on which animators were to store their daily shots for review. This assistant, although a great employee in every other way, had trouble coming in on time. In her absence, the animation director would have to walk the drive around, resulting in a loss of valuable time each morning. I complained to my supervisor, but solving this problem wasn’t his priority. Matters weren’t helped when the other team’s director didn’t complain about the issue. Just as he was used to completing the animation for his team, he didn’t seem to mind also taking on the work of our production assistant. I was frustrated, defeated, and unhappy.

The problem with the production assistant continued to worsen until, eventually, my supervisor was annoyed about it himself. Uncharacteristically, he decided that we should give the assistant the next two weeks to fix this problem, which would bring us to the holiday break. If she couldn’t change the situation by then, we would find a new assistant.

The other team’s director, my supervisor, and I called the assistant into the room and explained the situation. My supervisor did all the talking. I was impressed that he set just the right tone, being supportive without being condescending. He made it clear that it was our hope that she could turn it around. I was witnessing a perfectly handled situation and I was taking mental notes. Then something unexpected happened—the assistant started to cry. The reality of the situation began to hit her and she grew emotional. Nobody said anything for a few seconds. I felt compelled to soothe her, to remedy the situation.

I want to let you know how much we value having you around, and I appreciate all the help and good work you do during the day. The only issue is the lateness problem and I’m certain you can turn it around. We all want this to work out.

After those simple sentences uttered in support (mixed with guilt because in part my complaints led to us taking this action), the assistant went from muffled cries to full-fledged tears. My supervisor said something supportive and encouraged her to take the afternoon and come back when she was ready. After that the meeting broke up. As uncomfortable as the meeting had been, there was still work to do, shows to finish. The assistant came back a couple of hours later and was her usual affable self. In fact, it was the beginning of her remaking. She became a model employee from that point on and I’m happy to say that I have subsequently hired her on different shows and projects I directed.

I could say that everyone lived happily ever after, but that’s not the end of the story. As the day of the emotional meeting drew to a close, it ended with a visit from my supervisor. He was clearly on his way out for the day, bag on a shoulder and zipped coat (I sound like I’m writing for the J. Peterman catalogue), but there was something different about his mood as he stepped into my office and closed the door behind him.

I want to talk to you about today, he said.

Sure, I replied.

An emotional moment for Rabbit in my independent short, co-directed with Robert M. Charde, Owl and Rabbit Play Checkers.

I want to talk to you about what you said in the meeting and how you made her cry. You shouldn’t have said anything, he reprimanded.

I didn’t make her cry. She was already crying. I said what I said because I was trying to be supportive. I didn’t say anything wrong.

But there were real problems we weren’t talking about, deeper problems that were the real issue. For some reason, I decided this was the time for honesty, to get it all out.

Here you are talking to me about what I did wrong at this meeting. What about the fact that I’ve had to deal with this problem and other problems all by myself? The other director doesn’t say a word. He lets problems fester and ignores them. I’m trying to fix these problems, but I’m all alone in that. And now you’re telling me that I also handled the meeting badly?

My supervisor looked down at the floor and then up at me and said, Well, we’re going to have to figure out a way to work together.

The real message was that this could be the beginning of the end of me working here. I saw my future on the line and my job was now at risk. Deep down I knew where my self-destructive attitude was coming from: I didn’t feel appreciated. My voice was full of hurt as I replied: Or . . . you can tell me when I do something good.

My supervisor understood my message. His eyes welled up and as he put on his hat and reached for the door, his voice cracked sadly, We’ll talk about this more tomorrow.

It was quite a situation: two grown men sharing a moment of understanding out of a real mess of a situation. Sounds like the logline of a sitcom, maybe for a new comedy, One and a Half Directors.

The next day my supervisor called a meeting with the other director and me. He was going to take us to lunch and he wanted us all to be able to talk about anything that was on our minds. Over lunch, the nonsense fell away, replaced by salads, burgers, and Cokes. For the next year we three were a functional unit born out of mutual respect, trust, and open communication.

And now I have my story to remind me what it was like to see my career on the brink of ruin. I now know what happens when I let frustration and insecurity rule my life. Most of all I learned not to let those low moments sabotage an otherwise wonderful experience.

It wasn’t until my next job that I fully appreciated how much my supervisor had taught me about directing. As the director on a Disney Channel preschool pilot, I had to etch frame-by-frame instructions and sketches into hundreds of exposure sheets (also known as X-sheets), animating in my head, marking notes, providing character poses, timing out all actions and acting, as well as coordinating technical things such as pans and camera moves. Even the smallest minutia, such as blinks and settles, are plotted out, with all of this adding up to the blueprint for overseas animators to follow. Most importantly, it has to be correct on the first try. The loss in time and money would be disastrous if anything had to be redone based on a sheet timer’s error.

Working from home, there was nobody to turn to for a second opinion. I had to have all the answers. As I plowed through the work, I called on all the tips on acting, posing, timing, and composition my previous supervisor had taught me. They gave me the confidence I needed to nail the job.

Months later, when the pilot’s footage began to trickle in as QuickTime pencil tests, I was again working with my old supervisor, this time on a spin-off series of the original show we had worked on. Asking me to work with him again was a gesture that proved the wounds had healed.

To demonstrate that this was true for me too, one afternoon I walked into my supervisor’s office and told him about my experience sheet-timing the Disney Channel pilot and that the pencil tests were looking good.

You taught me how to do this, I said. How to get the most out of a pose, where to put the blink, everything. I couldn’t have done this without you and I’m very grateful.

There would be new mistakes to make, but in the meantime I’d earned my first important victory, paving the path to the directing opportunities that would follow. It’s in the spirit of shared experiences—both good and bad—that I would like to open this book.

The author seated in his home studio, working on a freelance project, and probably thinking about lunch. Photo by Debbie Staab.

CHAPTER 1

ANATOMY OF AN ANIMATION DIRECTOR

As the director, your goal is to get your vision up onto the screen, and you can’t do that if your team isn’t behind you. And keep in mind that everyone you work with will need something different from you: Some animators will need very specific timings and direction, and others will knock a scene out of the park with only a list of a few important story points to guide them. The most successful directors, I think, are the ones who can quickly and accurately figure out each teammate’s working style and can adapt to those styles when it would help the team create the best possible animation in the least amount of time.

—David J. Palmer, TV series animation director

A still from Nick Jr.’s Blue’s Room, from an episode directed by five-time Emmy-nominated Koyalee Chanda, who started directing TV at the age of 23. Copyright 2010. Viacom International Inc. All rights reserved.†

An animation director has a very rewarding position with duties that may include shaping the production pipeline, creating the schedule, staffing the production, and managing the workflow while maintaining the crew’s morale. All this is in addition to the main responsibility of creatively directing the entire process of a production, from storyboards to final delivery of animation. Whew!

As an animation director, I’ve made just about every mistake possible and, perhaps, have even invented some new ones. A key theme of this book is animation directors don’t direct animation, they direct people who animate frame-by-frame using pixels, pencils, clay, paper cutouts, cigarette butts, etc. Therefore you might conclude that a director’s ability to work effectively as a crew leader, inspiring and enabling a team to deliver their very best, would be instrumental to