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Walt Disney knew. Animated
characters don't just move, they move for a reason. "The mind
is the pilot," he explained in a famous memo to art teacher
Don Graham. "We think of things before the body does them."
And so, in 1932, Graham began to instruct the small band of
Disney animators in the dynamics of movement and character motivation.
His twice-a-week classes became part of Disney lore and, in
the opinion of many historians, were a major contributor to
the studio's early feature-length successes. Under Graham's
guidance, the animators refined an approach that would become
known as the "Illusion of Life." Disney's animated characters
would be funny -- but they would also have heart.
Today's animator is more likely to arrive at the employment
office tapping on a keyboard than carrying a sketch pad. He
may not need to actually draw characters very often, but he
must be able to manipulate them on the screen. We shouldn't
put too fine a point on it, but it is accurate to say that
the computer animator flexes a different set of muscles than
the traditional animator. Pixar Animation Studios lists "acting
ability" as the number two talent the company values in its
animators, behind "story telling ability." Ability to draw
is, for Pixar at least, number five on the list, while it
was number one on Walt Disney's 1932 list of preferences.
An animator needs to know a lot about acting, but he doesn't
need to know everything about it. He doesn't need to know,
for example, how to make himself cry on cue, which is something
that actors must do from time to time. If an animator starts
crying at his desk, he won't be able to see to animate. He
needs to learn some basics about acting, among them:
(1) Acting is doing.
(2) "Anticipation", in acting terms, is a bad thing.
(3) Emotion is the result of thinking, as is movement.
He needs to learn that a scene is in fact a negotiation and
that there is an arc to every emotion and movement. He should
be familiar with status transactions. (Read Keith Johnstone's
book, Impro.) But he
does not need to do the kind of classroom emotional work that
actors do, searching for emotional triggers, sense memories
and the like.
Animators are frequently encouraged by their instructors,
directors and producers to read books on acting and to enroll
in acting classes. That's fine advice, except that professional-level
acting classes are generally oriented to actors, not animators.
That means that an animator who strolls into such a class
must decipher for himself which part of the training is appropriate
and necessary. If the teacher isn't sensitive to the particular
needs of animators, the learning experience may be frustrating
for all parties concerned.
Acting classes are a historically recent development, dating
back only to 1897 when Constantin Stanislavski began his workshops
at the Moscow Art Theatre in Russia. It was Stanislavski,
under the influence of Freud and Pavlov, who fathered the
naturalistic, psychologically-based acting techniques actors
use today. Before the invention of those formal classes, acting
looked a lot different and was learned mainly through a process
of apprenticeship. The aspiring actor would attach himself
to a theatre company, pulling curtains, moving props, carrying
spears in crowd scenes and generally sitting at the master's
knee. Acting teachers, from the start, have been dependent
on this same self-starting initiative on the part of the student
actor.
I was hired in 1996 to teach acting to the character animators
at Pacific Data Images in
Palo Alto, California, a cutting-edge animation powerhouse
that was in pre-production for its first full-length animated
feature, "Ants", for DreamWorks. During my first meeting with
the lead animators and Training Department execs in PDI's
red brick hushed, high-security building, I explained that
though I had taught acting to professional actors for twenty-five
years, I had never focused exclusively on animators and would
therefore face a learning curve of my own. To the credit of
the PDI creative team, I was invited to experiment, and we
soon commenced weekly classes in PDI's large carpeted conference
room.
I quickly discovered that not all of the animators in that
first group liked to get up and act in scenes from plays the
way aspiring actors do. To be sure, there were a few who displayed
a genuine flair and initiative for performing and could probably
carve out a second career on Broadway, but it was readily
apparent that if I were to involve everyone in the class on
an empathetic level, I would have to find new approaches.
One could not teach acting to computer animators the way one
teaches acting to professional actors.
The classes at PDI evolved into group-participation improvisations,
lectures on acting and analyses of various live action films.
Woody Allen was already under contract to star in "Ants",
so there was keen interest among the animators to analyze
his particular brand of humor. We screened several of Allen's
films, and I contrasted his comic persona with that of another
genius, Charlie Chaplin. Whereas Woody is the ultimate pessimist,
Charlie was the ultimate optimist. To understand one is to
understand the other. We studied Chaplin's masterpieces just
as if "The Gold Rush" and "Modern Times" had been produced
last year instead of seventy years ago, mining them for principles
of comedy and points of empathy. We discussed the art of acting
in depth and at length, exploring what Artonin Artaud meant
when he said that "actors are warriors of the heart." And
some of the animators were inspired enough to accept scene
assignments, rehearse on their own time outside of class and
present scenes in class!
In one memorable session, we screened a clip from the movie
"The Miracle Worker." Annie Sullivan (Ann Bancroft) teaches
a young Helen Keller (Patty Duke) to eat her food with a utensil
and not with her fingers. Helen, blind and deaf since birth,
resists the effort to the point of pain, and Annie keeps returning
to first base, forcing the spoon back into Helen's hand. Food
is thrown all over the room, chairs are toppled, skin is bruised
and torn as the characters do battle worthy of Greek titans.
Finally, after seven full minutes (!) of non-stop action,
Helen Keller takes her first bite of food with a spoon. It
is an intensely satisfying cinematic moment, one any audience
can empathize with, and it presented some terrific object
lessons for the PDI animators. First, it demonstrated how
an audience's attention can be held by physical action alone.
Second, it confirmed the connection between thought and action.
The intentions of the characters in the scene are clear and
are expressed physically.
My work with PDI's animators ended when full production on
"Ants" began, and I won't know until the first screenings
how they applied the acting lessons. For my part, however,
I was transformed by the experience. Teaching acting to animators
is, in many ways, even more satisfying than teaching it to
actors because what animators do is closer to magic. An actor
is halfway interesting just because he is a person and he
walks into the room; animators, by contrast, have to create
the illusion of life out of nothing at all -- a blank page
or computer screen. As CGI technology evolves, acting training
for animators will necessarily become part of the basic curriculum
-- on site and in schools. Animators must be engaged by their
instructors on an empathetic and active level. Walt and Don
would understand.
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