Seeing is Believing: Animation and Visual Techniques

Beep, Beep (1952)

It goes without saying, of course, that the animated medium utilises visuals like no other, in order to convey expression and ambiance. Take Tim Burton’s Corpse Bride (Warner Bros. 2005), in which everything is monochrome – even the characters. The character designs themselves, too, maintain the same gothic image through the use of Victorian accoutrements, and exaggerated physiques; the sleek, gaunt, pale-faced protagonist, Victor, and the dumpy, toad-like father of the bride. Typical Tim Burton. Indeed, animation has always been a form of art – the detailed, almost realistic backgrounds of the early Looney Tunes and Merrie Melodies were eventually displaced by more surrealist, stylish backdrops. Background artist Philip De Guard is one such case study: note the early Wile E. Coyote and Roadrunner cartoons, juxtaposed alongside those from the mid-fifties onwards. The rich, realistic orange and brown desert backgrounds were later replaced with much more effective landscapes of purple sand and yellow sky. In this respect, De Guard’s work could easily be construed as innovative. It’s stylish, yes, but it works. It’s entirely possible that subsequent animated features in more recent years have derived much influence from De Guard’s techniques, including Disney’s Home on the Range (2004).

De Guard landscape, from Beep, Beep (1952)

De Guard landscape, from Gee Whiz-z-z-z-z-z-z (1956)

In animation, visual style is essential to the product. Disney’s Hercules (1997) derives its influence from vase etchings and paintings, while Atlantis: The Lost Empire (2001) bears substantial similarity to the art of Anime – note the ‘square’ jaws and fingers of the male characters. Dreamworks’ CG features have in more recent years maintained a ‘squash-and-stretch’ style, aligning their visuals with their films’ comedic, slapstick themes, much in the same vein as the Warner Bros. cartoons of the golden age. Madagascar (2005) is perhaps most notable in this respect; the character designs are quirky, bouncy and malleable, not unlike the designs of slapstick cartoon characters of the 20^th Century. Indeed, while technological developments have altered and modernised the animated film, such details and processes remain unchanged. Take Disney’s 50^th animated film Tangled (2010), the character designs of which are based on two-dimensional models. In a sense, this feature represents the perfect blend of the traditional and the modern, culminating in a charming aesthetic juxtaposing the old and the new – a visually perfect choice for a milestone, commemorating the traditional while simultaneously heralding a new age. Wreck-It Ralph (2012), meanwhile, is a film that depends substantially on visuals to convey its narrative. The old-fashioned, pixelated design of Ralph’s home, the Fix-It Felix Jr. arcade game, boasts simple, purposely crummy animations and geometric characters, while by contrast the Hero’s Duty video-game, into which Ralph trespasses, is highly rendered, brooding and modern.

Perhaps one of the most innovative features to boast the importance of visuals is Fantasia (Disney, 1940), a collection of animated sequences based on (mostly) pre-existing classical works. This film is a masterpiece, not only for its conveyance of sound through picture, but for the individual look and feel of its every segment. The first sequence, based on Toccata and Fugue in D Minor, by Bach, represents the most surreal of the segments. Without meaning to diminish its quality, it bears substantial similarity to your average screensaver of today; innovative, imaginative and purely achievable through the utilisation of animation. The rest of the sequences more or less convey a definite story – Stravinsky’s The Rite of Spring provides the backdrop to the narrative of evolution and the inception and extinction of the dinosaurs, while Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony is used to tell a story based on an array of figures from Greek myth. But the important thing to note is the obvious distinction between the segments’ visual styles; the near-gothic, moody and almost terrifying ambience of Mussorgsky’s Night on Bald Mountain, the delicacy of dainty fairies and fine, detailed backgrounds in Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker Suite, and the bright, colourful, luscious landscapes of the Pastoral Symphony, juxtaposed with its dark latter half upon Zeus’ attack.



Fantasia 'Pastoral Symphony'

Fantasia 'Pastoral Symphony': Spilt red wine connoting danger

This raises an interesting point concerning the use of pathetic fallacy – a technique utilised in a vast array of other media aside from animation, but one which is perpetuated to a far greater extent in all features of this particular genre. Animation has the potential to emphasise darkness and danger more so than any other medium. Take the storm at the climax of The Lion King (1994), and the vivid red sky connoting ‘danger’ towards the final scenes of Tarzan (1999); the gloomy, desolate atmosphere of the vultures’ scenes and Shere Khan chase in Jungle Book (1967), contrasted with its light, vivid and serene conclusion at the man village. It seems obvious, but fiery, red and orange colours connote danger and evil, while deep blue can represent grief, death, fear and, sometimes, tranquillity. As obvious as it might sound to you and me, this facility has been utilised since the early days of film, and represents an incredibly impactful artistic technique.

Fantasia 'Night on Bald Mountain'

Of course, this is merely a handful of examples, serving as an introduction to a vastly detailed and intricate history. There are many other techniques, artists, shorts and features that go unacknowledged here – far too many to acknowledge in a single post. Yet this post not only represents a collection of personal favourites, but it highlights the ubiquity of the use of art to convey emotion and intensity. Some instances are more subtle than others; keep your eyes peeled and it may surprise you.

Gee Whiz-z-z-z-z-z-z (1956)