A New Age: Animation Evolution and CGI

Times are changing. The hand-drawn, traditionally animated feature of my childhood is essentially a thing of the past. Long gone are the days of rubber hose and hand-painted cels. Yet as much as I opine for resurgence in the popularity of traditional methods, computer animation certainly does have its benefits. Yet, with studios such as Dreamworks and even Disney abandoning traditional animation in favour of technological progress, I have to say I was initially sceptical about its prolific usage and exploitation, and I still like to think the reservations I had are comprehensible.

Until fairly recently, I’ve always considered a two-dimensional, hand-drawn countenance to be far more expressive than that of one digitally crafted. But with features including Tangled (2010) and the award-winning short subject Paperman (2012) showcasing a seamless amalgamation of the artistry of traditional methods with beautifully rendered CG plains, the continual evolvement of the animated genre evidently demonstrates that the old-fashioned methods are far from forgotten, and bear as much significance and expression as before, if not more. Furthermore, with visuals continually improving, the computer-animated film looks set to stay and evolve into something much greater, having already seen substantial progression since its humble beginnings in the early 1980s. Let’s take a retrospective look at some key moments in its history.

 

A New Technology

The potential of computer graphics was considered as early as the 1960s and 1970s, but was not fully realised until the 1980s, when Disney’s 1982 feature Tron hit the silver screen, introducing computer animation to audiences worldwide. At these early stages, computer animation was not about conveying realism, but showcasing its abilities, evident in the colourful, digital environments present in the aforementioned film. Most of the major digital studios were established during this decade, including Industrial Light and Magic (ILM), Pacific Data Images (PDI) and Pixar, the most outstanding player in the field of computer animation.

 

Pixar’s Beginnings

In 1979, a number of researchers and mathematicians were hired by George Lucas in order to establish a research department under Lucasfilm. Initially, their developments were utilised as special effects for feature films. In 1984, animator John Lasseter joined the department and directed a computer animated short entitled The Adventures of André and Wally B, perceived as an early prototypical short characteristic of (albeit far simpler than) Pixar’s subsequent series of shorts. In 1986, Lucas sold the department to Steve Jobs, who gave it the name Pixar (Beck, 2004: 340). Their success in the late 1980s led to further business opportunities; they were contracted to create CAPS (Computer Animation Production System), a digital ink and paint system for Disney, the first use of which was during the final scenes of The Little Mermaid (1989). This feature was the last by Disney to use hand-painted cels, being as this technique was thereafter completely replaced by digital colouring (Beck, 2004: 277).

 

Other Studios

Meanwhile, other studios also experimented with computer animation. While Disney’s The Black Cauldron (1985) included various conspicuous digital effects, their following feature The Great Mouse Detective (1986) has garnered much more recognition over the years. Often incorrectly cited as the first to contain computer animation, Disney’s 26^th animated feature boasts a tense and impressively animated climax inside Big Ben, the many cogs and gears of which were created digitally. The potential for CGI to produce realistic imagery was not realised until ILM’s The Abyss in 1989, in which a creature made of water is juxtaposed with live action characters. ILM saw further success with Terminator 2 (1991) and Jurassic Park (1993), the latter cleverly merging computer animation with animatronics. Amblin Entertainment’s Casper (1995) is notable for containing the first CG protagonist alongside a live action cast, which became the norm in later films such as Stuart Little (1999). The first fully computer animated feature was Pixar’s Toy Story (1995), distributed by Disney. It was an intelligent decision to focus on toys for their first feature, being as the limitations of the technology available at the time prohibited the animators from creating realistic-looking human characters (Kanfer, 1997: 228-230). Initially designed on paper, the characters were subsequently moulded with clay before being created digitally on computer. By the new millennium, CGI films dominated the animated genre, exhibiting a greater potential for the illusion of realism, as evident in the detailed material and clothing found in the likes of Dreamworks/PDI’s Shrek (2001).

 

CGI OD?

More recently, the juxtaposition of animation and live action has developed more so. Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland (2010) contains environments that are entirely computer-generated; even the Knave’s armour is animated. In some instances, however, CGI is notably overused. Alice in Wonderland is no exception to this criticism – while the environments and digital manipulations of the characters are at times darkly enchanting, its prolific usage is altogether rather rich, and as a result foregoes the imitation of realism. The Knave’s horse, for example, is conspicuously digitalised, and the use of a green screen has never been more discernible. Yet the fantasy genre is one which can obviate such a criticism far more easily than others due to its escapist appeal. Recent box office blockbusters such as Baz Luhrmann’s The Great Gatsby (2013) and Tom Hooper’s overrated interpretation of Les Miserables (2012) are diminished somewhat by their distracting and unnecessary usage of CGI, so much so that this attempted mimicking of realism altogether conveys something of a rather adverse effect.

 

Final Thought

Despite the occasional overindulgence in computer animation however, its prolific usage is understandable and perhaps should be praised more so than it is criticised. Evidently, in little more than thirty years animation has transgressed over the threshold of a new age and gone beyond, to the extent where certain digital environments are almost indistinguishable from reality. When viewed in perspective, with further improvements inevitably around the corner, the animated film’s so-called ‘new age’ digital environment has only just begun to be constructed.

 

For further info, check out these sources:

Beck, J. (ed) (2004) Animation Art. Fulham: Flame Tree Publishing.

Kanfer, S. (1997) Serious Business: The Art and Commerce of Animation in America from Betty Boop to “Toy Story”. New York: Da Capo Press.

‘Your Typical Female’: An Observation of the Depictions of Women in Animated Film

This will be my final piece on representation for a little while. Personally, I see this as a slightly more cynical accompaniment to my 'Melting the Stereotype' post concerning the depiction of female characters in Frozen (2013). It's far from my best piece but it's nonetheless worth a read for anyone interested in mainstream animation and gender roles (who the hell isn't?!!!).

‘How does animated film demonstrate the evolution of the societal perception of women?’ is a question I’m almost certain you’ve never asked before. But the answer is actually rather interesting. No, really. Some observations alluded to in this article may surprise you, but what may surprise you most is the fact that you have probably never noticed them. Oh, they’re subtle, but all movies contain messages, underlying ideologies reflecting attitudes of society, plenty of which censorship has attempted to erase from history, and pretend they never happened. Take, for example, the crude representations of African Americans in cartoons from the mid-20^th century (covered in a previous post). Warner Bros’ infamous and much sought-after ‘Censored Eleven’, a collection of banned cartoons that would now be considered racist and offensive, is one such example of this censorship, and how society’s attitudes have evolved over time. Yet, while race is a significant issue that accompanies modern-day releases of cartoons/animated films of this time, other prejudices are overlooked, mostly because they are not as substantial or offensive. Rather, the representation of gender is far more subtle, since the stereotypes they convey are far less conspicuous, but they still indisputably exist. In fact, it may surprise you just how recently people’s opinions of women and their roles have altered (that is, if they have changed significantly at all…).

Now, I’m no prude, nor does this subject even bother me much. I merely find it quite interesting. And no, I haven’t scoured every last animated movie to derive some meaningful thesis on the presentation of women; this merely serves as an acknowledgment, if you like, of this presentation (or misrepresentation). First, let’s look at Disney. I’ll begin with this shock revelation (hold onto your hats!): There are only three animated features in the Disney canon that feature a female protagonist pitted directly against a male antagonist, and succeeding. Wow. Isn’t that just… wow. Okay, so it might not sound that horrifying, but out of a total of more than fifty animated features, this surely delineates some kind of message about society, doesn’t it? The three movies in question happen to be Mulan (1998), Home on the Range (2004) and The Princess and the Frog (2009). I should point out that I refuse to include Pocahontas (1995) since the eponymous character never physically comes into contact with villain Ratcliffe, not to mention the fact that the climax is pretty abysmal anyway. That means that the first time a female character was depicted directly opposing a male character was as late as 1998! And the villain, Shan Yu, was also particularly formidable. So, yes, Mulan, it appears, was not just a hero of China, but a hero of female empowerment. Okay, maybe that’s a stretch, but you’ve got to admit it sounds awesome.

Still not impressed? Well, let me tell you (brace yourself, are you ready for this?): Whenever a female protagonist is pitted against a female antagonist, it is often the case that a male lesser character or deuteragonist will step forward and vanquish the foe for them. I know. You’re not convinced. You need examples. Well, it just so happens I have some on me: Lady and the Tramp (1955) sees Lady unable to tackle the vicious rat (whose gender is unknown) intent on harming the baby, being as she happens to be tied up, and who steps in to save the day? The Tramp! Yes, the eponymous male triumphs. Still unconvinced? What about Sleeping Beauty (1959)? Princess Aurora can’t defeat Maleficent (obviously, because she’s sleeping for one thing), so the handsome prince steps in, and becomes the hero of the picture in accordance with the traditional fairy-tale. Okay, so this was unavoidable but my point remains valid. The prince, a male lesser character, is the hero (despite inexplicably becoming completely mute for the last half an hour of the feature). And what about The Little Mermaid (1989)? During Ursula’s (extremely brief) reign of terror, it is Prince Eric who takes the helm, quite literally, and drives the wrecked ship into the powerful villainess, thus defeating her, while Ariel, our heroine, struggles helplessly while being taunted by the sea witch. And despite an apparent subversion of these roles in the likes of Mulan, we still see women in a less-than-heroic stance in subsequent features. Even in Tangled (2010), a film praised for its surprisingly strong female protagonist, it is the male love interest, Flynn Rider (or Eugene Fitzherbert), who cuts Rapunzel’s hair, eliminating the malicious Mother Gothel.

There are rare occasions when female characters are depicted as strong and not presented as mere objects of affection, however. Treasure Planet (2002) and Wreck-It Ralph (2012), for example, contain some pretty strong female characters: most notably Captain Amelia and Calhoun, respectively. However, both these characters unfortunately later succumb to the same fate as your typical female; yes, that’s right – they find love! Aww. How demeaning. One of the most notable examples of more positive portrayals of women is Atlantis: The Lost Empire (2001), which contains a surprisingly substantial collection of feisty females, who appear as tough as the male characters, and sometimes tougher. Princess Kida, for example, is evidently stronger and more athletic than protagonist Milo Thatch. The film also features a fairly formidable (and memorable) female villain in Helga Sinclair. However, it must be noted that although these characters are undeniably fierce, they are nonetheless overshadowed by a mostly male cast. Sure, Helga is powerful, but Commander Rourke is more so, so much so in fact that he winds up responsible for her demise, which is unusual to an extent since it depicts one villain defeating another. Furthermore, regardless of her strength, Kida is captured and remains inactive for the duration of the climax, much like Princess Aurora. What’s more is that, despite (as Kida puts it) Milo’s ‘diminished physique and large forehead’, the weedy protagonist later becomes the saviour of Atlantis. How about that? Power to the geeks!

Even Pixar’s females suffer the same fate (think A Bug’s Life and The Incredibles in particular). The majority of their characters are also male, and it was not until their thirteenth feature Brave (2012) that they finally had a female protagonist, Princess Merida. And it must also be noted that this feature devolved into something of a weak and feeble effort. No strong, empowered women are to be found here, contrary to what the film’s title and initial premise suggest; just a spoilt Scottish brat whose tantrums wind up working in her favour. Encouraging, isn’t it? No film company is to blame, though some may argue that the media in its entirety contributes to this predominantly negative ideology. Disney/Pixar aren’t alone. Dreamworks Animation also consists of predominantly male characters. Even Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas (2003), a film which contains numerous promising strong female characters, including love interest Marina and the goddess of chaos Eris, boils down to a less-than-gripping climax as the conflict between male hero and female villainess dissolves into a weak and frankly forgettable finale. The truth is that the majority of films, and not just animated ones, abide by a specific ideology, and follow a certain gender-governed regulation implemented by society’s collective mind. This rule stipulates that women are to remain the fairer sex, ever helpless, bound by the shackles of an ignorant patriarchal society, essentially rendering them forever dependent on men to raise them from impoverishment and rescue them from peril, or at least this is what these animated films would imply. But we know for a fact that this is not at all the case… right? Where this rule came from is inconsequential with regards to this small collection of observations, but regardless of where it came from, it exists, and sadly still prevails, albeit, some might say, to a lesser extent. I, personally, am sceptical of whether the utilisation of this rule has in fact been diminished any. If it has, however, we have films like Mulan to thank for its rare positive portrayal of a more ‘authentic’ and independent woman.

… And, in order to support this sentiment, shall we just overlook that it was in fact Mushu, Mulan’s male dragon sidekick, who officially defeated Shan Yu? Yeah, I think that would be best.

Felix’s Fact File: Animation Pioneers (3)

J. Stuart Blackton

 
Born in Sheffield in 1875, J. Stuart Blackton discovered his ability to draw at a young age. When he was ten, his parents emigrated to America, where he eventually secured a job with the New York World, writing and illustrating. Meanwhile, he performed onstage alongside conjuror Albert Smith, as a cartoonist.

 

Following his success performing at an 1896 benefit concert, he was asked to create three films for Edison’s Black Maria studio. The films were subsequently shown at Proctor’s Pleasure Palace later that year. The film Sketching Mr Edison perhaps earned him the most recognition, and inspired him to enter the film industry.

 

He returned to making animated films, including The Enchanted Drawing (1906) and Humorous Phases of Funny Faces (1906), in which he featured onscreen playing the part of the cartoonist. Blackton is seen as one of the most significant pioneers of animated film, in that he utilised certain styles and techniques that became commonplace in the animated film in subsequent years.

 

In 1897, Blackton co-founded Vitagraph with Albert Smith, which later became a major film company. He played the lead role in The Burglar on the Roof (1897) and helped establish a studio in Flatbush, for which he directed a number of famous titles.

 

In the 1920s, Blackton returned to England, where he produced and directed the first ever colour feature The Glorious Adventure (1922), and The Virgin Queen (1923).

 

He returned to America in 1923, where he directed several more films before Warner Bros bought Vitagraph in 1926. He retired, and became bankrupt as a result of the stock market crash in 1929. He died following a car accident in 1941 in Hollywood.

 

For more info, check out these sources:

Who’s Who of Victorian Cinema – http://www.victorian-cinema.net/blackton

BFI/Screenonline – http://www.screenonline.org.uk/people

Promo Video (Early Version)

The result of a long, dull afternoon... Apologies for the sound and picture quality. This is an early version of some potential promotional material (although I did in fact make it out of sheer boredom). It's kind of a 'promo prototype'. Enjoy!

Crumbs! Danger Mouse is Back!

He’s amazing! He’s fantastic! He’s Danger Mouse! In 2015, the world’s greatest secret agent, and Penfold, the world’s most hopeless hamster, spring into action once more after 20 years off the air. But does the cult following the one-eyed white wonder left behind truly justify a comeback?

 

Oh ’eck! The CGI revival strikes again. Yes, Cosgrove/Hall’s favourite animated rodent and his faithful but incompetent sidekick are to return to our TV screens after being commissioned by the BBC. Now seems as good a time as any to take a look back at the original series. Was he really as amazing as we all thought?

 

Danger Mouse began in 1981, initially with a batch of short ten minute episodes. Though amusing, these episodes didn’t really exploit the show’s full potential. It felt as though the writers were still finding their feet. By 1982, and the premiere of the second season’s 20 minute episodes (split into segments for broadcast), the show’s humour was fully realised, without being condescending for younger viewers. Danger Mouse appealed to all audiences, with episodes such as ‘Custard’ showcasing a silly, surrealist and very British humour. In retrospect, the second season was perhaps where the series peaked. While subsequent seasons were still very well-written, knowing this, a revival sounds less than promising.

 

The seasons that followed saw a mix of 10 and 20 minute episodes between 1983 and 1987. Although they were amusing – some of them downright hilarious – the latter entries in particular appeared to be somewhat less engrossed in the surreal and fast-paced humour characteristic of the programme at its peak. The final two seasons of 1991 and 1992 really conveyed how tired and familiar the show had become. The animation quality had improved, but the humour was decidedly lacking. The series bowed out on a surprisingly low note with the disappointing ‘The Intergalactic 147’, which saw the planets transformed into coloured balls for an elaborate snooker game. Much like the game itself, this episode was insipid (sorry, snooker fans).

 

Yet, even in the worst episodes, there were at least a few laugh-out-loud moments. Perhaps the quality of individual episodes didn’t matter so much. Rather, it may have been the familiar characters and the chemistry between them that encouraged a following. David Jason was perfect in the role of the white wonder, while the late Terry Scott truly encapsulated the cowardly comic sidekick. But they won’t be around for the new series, and this may detract from the show’s overall appeal as a result.

 

Regardless, whether we want them to or not, next year our intrepid duo is to be awakened by the call of duty once again. It wouldn’t be fair to criticise a show before seeing it. Until then, I’ll reserve judgement. In the meantime…

 

“Penfold… Shush!”

Tuneful ‘Toons: Animation and Music

One often neglected aspect of animated film is the use of music, both pre-existing and original, when in fact this represents one of the most vital ingredients for success. Music and animation are in many respects separate media, and yet dependent on each other at the same time. Since the late 1920s, the cartoon has boasted sound synchronisation as one of its most prominent appeals. One of the most famous examples of this is Steamboat Willie, the first cartoon with sound synchronisation, released on 18^th November 1928. Written and directed by Walt Disney and Ub Iwerks, the short combines simple rubber hose animation with traditional melodies, such as Turkey in the Straw.

Other animated shorts of the same period utilise sound in the same manner, so much so that little distinguishes the films of one studio from those of another. Most often in these films, sound synchronisation takes precedence over storytelling, as is the case with the first Looney Tunes cartoon Sinkin’ in the Bathtub (1930), which follows protagonist Bosko in pursuance of his girlfriend Honey. Essentially a copy of your typical music-driven rubber hose animation of the era, the cartoon is hardly unique. Nonetheless, at the time, the potential of the merging of sound and picture was only just being recognised, and thus paved the way for future experimentation. Indeed, it could be stated that these early experiments served as a precursor of things to come.

One of the most notable uses of music in animation is Disney’s Fantasia (1940), a near-perfect spectacle demonstrating the very best of music and animation combined. Presented in a formal, theatrical manner by Deems Taylor, and backed by an orchestra conducted by Leopold Stokowski, the feature showcases eight segments set to such classical pieces as Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker Suite, Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring and Beethoven’s The Pastoral Symphony. Showcasing stunning visuals, beautiful animation and flawless presentation, the experimental extravaganza successfully transforms sound into visuals, consequently conveying music through imagery; a true work of art. In 1999, Disney released a rather weak follow-up, Fantasia 2000, a feature which, while notably attempting to secure the essence of the original, failed due to both its lack of vigour and sincerity, with Taylor replaced by an unnecessary array of celebrity cameos. In addition, the running time is surprisingly short, while the concepts for the segments range from the simplistic to the downright obscure. Put simply, it just doesn’t compare to its predecessor.

A far more entertaining musical experience is the 1948 package film Melody Time, a forgotten gem which presents various segments set to contemporary 1940s music. Although far less substantial and grand than Fantasia itself, the film nonetheless stands on its own. Amongst the most memorable segments are Bumble Boogie – a jazz-infused 1940s interpretation of Rimsky Korsakov’s Flight of the Bumblebee, and a tuneful retelling of The Legend of Johnny Appleseed. Unlike the previous package films of the 1940s, every sequence is a success.

The animated short also developed in terms of music utilisation. Initially, as the owners of a publishing company, Warner Bros bought the early Looney Tunes cartoons of the 1930s to exploit their songs, implying that early cartoons were essentially elaborate music videos. After a while, Warner Bros established the Merrie Melodies cartoons, which focussed more so on musical numbers, enabling them to compete with Disney’s Silly Symphonies. Living up to its initial purpose however, the Warner Bros cartoon continued to lampoon the likes of Fantasia in music-driven shorts such as A Corny Concerto (1943), in which Elmer Fudd appears in the role of Deems Taylor. Their efforts, though most often in the style of light-hearted parodies, were themselves praised for their juxtaposition of visuals alongside pieces of classical music. Amongst the most notable examples of music-inspired cartoons are Rabbit of Seville (1950) and What’s Opera, Doc? (1957), arguably Chuck Jones’ crowning achievement. Even as cartoons entered the 1940s, often cited as the ‘golden age’, popular music continued to be used in the background. Carl Stalling, who composed music for the Warner Bros shorts, had a particular fondness for the use of pre-existing music. In addition, the directors’ decisions to have the onscreen characters performing contemporary music also made them appear more accessible to audiences.

To this day, certain classical and contemporary pieces are still used in animated features and TV shows. The cartoon has even popularised a great number of these pieces. In fact, it could be argued that their usage has become so prolific, that the pieces themselves have become reminiscent of the cartoons in which they were featured. Try thinking of Camptown Races without thinking of Foghorn Leghorn, or the William Tell Overture without thinking of a classic cartoon chase sequence. Music has changed animation profoundly in many forms, providing and reinforcing humour, pathos, tragedy and joy, amongst a vast array of other emotions. It’s as expressive as the visuals, serving as a vital accessory to the animated film, amplifying what we see onscreen and ensuring that it hits all the right notes.

‘It Never Happened’: Animation and Censorship

Animation is, if anything, a medium of expression, and an uninhibited one at that. Consequently, cartoons have, in recent decades, come under fire for containing offensive material. Obviously, due to political correctness and, well, basic moral principles, a lot of these cartoons have since been censored. While some have been subtly edited, others have, frankly, been cut to shreds. Some even remain banned from public viewing, which has notably attracted some opposition from animation fanatics. The question is, are these films finally ready to be released from the vaults?

Racial stereotypes in cartoons are perhaps more prolific than you might think, as are the film cuts. MGM’s His Mouse Friday (1951) sees Jerry the mouse cake himself in soot to disguise himself as a tribal cannibal. The cartoon remains available; however the dialogue of the cannibals themselves has been muted. Disney’s Make Mine Music (1946) has never seen a completely uncut video or DVD release, being as it allegedly contains ‘gun violence’. This example is particularly baffling as there are many subsequent features in their canon that contain far more violence.

These are but a couple of examples, however; cartoon censorship goes far beyond that. One cannot discuss the subject of censorship without at least alluding to Warner Bros’ ‘Censored Eleven’, a collection of cartoons banned from distribution and home video release due to their heavy inclusion of racial stereotypes. A few years ago, Warner Bros apparently voiced their intentions to release them from the vault, but as of today they are yet to see daylight. Their censorship in contemporary society is perhaps understandable. Sunday Go to Meetin’ Time (1936), directed by Friz Freleng, contains probably some of the more conspicuous and offensive examples of racial stereotyping, boasting mammies and minstrels galore. On the other hand, some of these cartoons are regarded as being amongst the best the studio ever produced. Coal Black and de Sebben Dwarfs, Bob Clampett’s acclaimed 1943 swing-driven parody of Snow White, despite its censorship, continues to be upheld as one of Clampett’s masterpieces. It’s therefore unsurprising that these shorts are in high demand amongst animation enthusiasts.

Warner Bros’ reluctance to unearth these shorts is understandable. It’s a brave move on their part should they choose to proceed, being as their release raises a highly controversial issue – the debate as to whether these cartoons can be viewed as products of their time, or whether they should remain buried due to their offensive material. Although none of these cartoons are available on home video, the Looney Tunes Golden Collection, intended for the adult collector, has been known to showcase cartoons featuring racial stereotypes, though admittedly these depictions are far more sporadic and insubstantial than those present in the Censored Eleven. Notably, Volume Three contains a brief featurette hosted by Whoopi Goldberg, explaining that while these depictions are wrong, to erase them is to deny that they ever occurred. Subsequent releases see Goldberg replaced with a disclaimer displaying a similar message. Despite this, the subject of the distribution of more offensive cartoons, in which racial stereotypes are more prominently represented, remains a controversial one. Yet surely the ideology proposed by Goldberg and the disclaimer likewise applies in this context.

It’s a profoundly controversial debate, one whose eventual outcome will not appease everybody. Of course, distributing these films unedited would likely prove problematic, particularly if younger audiences were exposed to them. However, I’d personally like to think that we, as a society, are mature enough to put things in perspective and look back on these films historically, as products of their time. By keeping these cartoons concealed from public viewing, we are essentially denying that these caricatures were ever created, and that, in my opinion at least, is equally wrong. I believe and understand, of course, that this censorship serves a moral purpose, but I also believe that this censorship is also somewhat problematic. As long as these stereotypes remain entombed in the vaults, nothing prohibits us from blindly claiming they never existed. Is that not, in itself, morally questionable?

Felix’s Fact File: Animation Pioneers (2)

Emile Cohl

 

Emile Cohl was born Emile Eugène Jean Louis Courtet in Paris, in 1857. Originally making a name for himself as a caricaturist and writer in the 1880s, he later began work as a writer for the Gaumont Film Company in 1905, and subsequently progressed to directing films.

 

He later began to create animated films, partly due to the influence of the American J. Stuart Blackton, famous for his pioneering work in the field, including the groundbreaking Humorous Phases of Funny Faces (1906).

 

Cohl’s materials were varied, from simple line drawings to puppets. He even created a character of his own, Fantoche, a puppet, and established the very first cartoon series, The Newlyweds and their Baby (1912-1913).

 

His stick figure animation Fantasmagorie (1908), for which he is perhaps most well-known, is widely perceived to be the first complete animated film, containing 700 photographed line drawings. He developed a unique style which saw his drawings change shape and manifest themselves as something unexpected or unusual.

 

Between 1908 and the early 1920s, Cohl produced more then 250 films whilst working for Gaumont and the Éclair Studio, amongst others. These include The Puppet’s Nightmare (1908) and The Museum of Grotesques (1911). Only thirty-seven survive in archives.

 

Unable to keep up with animation trends, he left the film business, returning to France, where he died of pneumonia, in addition to other complications, in 1938.

 

For further info, check out these sources:

 

Find a Grave: http://www.findagrave.com/cgi-bin/fg.cgi?GRid=7651&page=gr

 

The Bioscope: http://thebioscope.net/2008/02/17/emile-cohl/

Power and Perfection? The Stereotype of the Disney Prince

An oft-discussed aspect of animated film is the role of women, and there has been particular focus on the Disney Princess franchise. Since the very beginning, the princess has raked in the riches for the ever-enduring studio, thriving off the adulations and imitations of little girls, who likewise aspire to be both beautiful and beautified in the hope that they may one day attract a handsome prince. It’s unsurprising, of course, that this has sparked some controversy over the years. Indeed, the female of the species is almost always presented as fey, weak and feeble, with little going for her besides her attractive features and decorated attire, while the male perpetually represents a strong, powerful, flawless vision of masculine perfection… Or does he? I beg to differ. In fact, by focussing on women alone, we have, as a society, collectively conceived a rather myopic view of a much more far-reaching problem, encompassing both male and female genders.

The truth is that the male suffers almost as much stereotyping as the female; it just goes unrecognised as it isn’t universally perceived to be negative. Take Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937), the first and fairest of them all. Let’s face it – the prince is hardly a memorable character, despite being the hero of the picture. He’s handsome, yes, but he’s plain, bland and completely devoid of personality, with little distinguishing him from the prince seen in Cinderella (1950). Nearly a decade after the latter, little had changed. The prince in Sleeping Beauty (1959) even becomes entirely mute for the final climactic scenes, which ironically see him take the helm. It’s not until 1989’s The Little Mermaid in which we finally see a prince who at least has some more distinct physical attributes, not to mention an at least semi-developed character, albeit something of a shallow one. The first prince who actually proved to be quite interesting was eventually realised in Beauty and the Beast (1991), mostly due to his extreme character flaws, although it must be said that his human reincarnation leaves a lot to be desired. Yes, upon closer inspection, it does indeed seem that the male hero is almost as flawed a design as your average Disney princess. And nobody seems to care.

‘Feminism’ is without a doubt a ubiquitous term in contemporary media and society, but ‘masculism’ is a movement generally unheard of. As we edge ever closer to equality, however, it does seem as though representations of men have turned a corner in some respects, in terms of animated film at least. More recent features have seen more interesting male characters, with the likes of The Princess and the Frog (2009) and Frozen (2013) demonstrating that the male prince has the potential to be more than a two-dimensional handsome face. More than anything, they show they have flaws, the latter even presenting us with a rather surprising twist, conveying Prince Hans as a somewhat complex and altogether rather dark character – an inversion, in a sense, of the traditional, lifeless stereotype. So it seems, rather like the princess, the seldom spoken-of Disney prince is likewise undergoing a process of metamorphosis, albeit a subtle one.

Yet, despite this positive development, nobody seems to have noticed, or at least it’s yet to be acknowledged. The reason is obvious though. Over the course of the last century, women in cinema have suffered from stereotyped representations far more conspicuous and derogatory than those of men. But that doesn’t mean these stereotypes of men don’t exist, nor does it mean they should be ignored. We need to break down the overly masculinised, ‘flawless’ male hero by giving him character flaws and distinguishing physical features. It may sound contradictory, but a disempowered male might well prove ironically empowering.

The Curse of the Franchise: A Review of the Sequel

The sequel: Some people hate it; some people are, er, a little more open to the concept. I know very few people who will openly admit to loving it. Most often, of course, it depends entirely upon the type of film that preceded it, and whether or not its plot, preferably open-ended, lends itself to a continuation, and whether its central characters provide enough substance and generate enough interest to justify that continuation. As is often the case, however, sequels are unfortunately produced solely for the purposes of monetary gain. You only have to look at Disney’s dire direct-to-video distribution to see that. The truth is, however, that the majority of theatrically released animated sequels are most often at the very least half-decent, which makes our generally negative perceptions of them all the more unfortunate. The trouble is that they almost always go one step too far. Sometimes more.

 

1. It Ain’t Ogre ‘Til It’s Ogre

Take Shrek, for example, Dreamworks/PDI’s second and arguably best effort. Garnering substantially more interest than its 1998 predecessor, the deliciously dark and criminally underrated Antz, the 2001 Disney-lampooning fairy-tale comedy about a lone green ogre who rescues a princess saw unprecedented success for Dreamworks Animation, lapping up enough appraisals to spawn a 2004 sequel. Albeit less original and groundbreaking than the first movie, Shrek 2 nonetheless represented an enjoyable and hilarious extension of the Shrek universe, as Shrek, Fiona and Donkey travelled to the kingdom of Far Far Away to meet the in-laws. The new characters were memorable, engaging and proved to be surprisingly strong alongside the initial ensemble. Some reviews at the time even praised Antonio Banderas as Puss-In-Boots, claiming he stole the show. In all, this was a worthy sequel, and a welcome addition to Dreamworks’ animated canon. But then their success came to an abrupt end, at least in terms of originality. What made Shrek 2 such a good sequel was that it served a purpose, which is something 2007’s Shrek the Third sorely lacked.

 

While nonetheless sporadically amusing throughout, the film, which concerned Shrek’s attempt to locate an heir to the throne as his substitute, proved uninspired and, at times, cringe-worthy. Not even Eric Idle in the role of Merlin could pull this lacklustre snoozefest from the mire of mediocrity. With bland characters, a bland storyline and a bland script, Shrek the Third, while not the hideous ogre most made it out to be, proved to be, well… bland.

 

And yet the saga continued. Despite having proven that they were essentially out of ideas, three years later Dreamworks released Shrek Forever After, additionally (and thankfully) branded The Final Chapter. The eponymous hero’s fourth (and hopefully final – you never know!) outing saw him make a deal with Rumpelstiltskin, permitting  him access to an alternate universe to get his old life back to how it was before he rescued Fiona. Naturally, and expectedly, due to some overlooked fine print, chaos ensues as Rumpel uses Shrek’s wish to terminate him and become Far Far Away’s new ruler. At first glance, the plot may not appear all that inspired, and I have to admit that the film’s opening scenes hardly instilled me with confidence. Shrek and Fiona’s scenes together had become old and tired, and the humour was decidedly lacking, almost nonexistent, in fact. However, as we were introduced to the alternate universe, I sensed that they’d stopped trying to make Shrek funny, and had instead opted to go for a darker, adventure-based, more serious conclusion to the franchise. While it still paled significantly in comparison to the first two films, it maintained a surprisingly engaging plot and almost dreamlike, enchanting, autumnal atmosphere. All the same, I can’t help but feel that they went at least one Shrek too far. Shrek Forever After wasn’t bad as such – it just didn’t have much of a point.

 

While I’d hardly say any of the Shrek films are particularly ‘bad’, the latter two features presented a significant drop in quality. The plots weren’t nearly as engaging and the humour was lost or cheapened to nothing but lowbrow toilet humour. They were still fairly decent, yes, but paled so much in comparison to the first two movies that they risked tarnishing the very name of Shrek. But the Shrek movies aren’t alone. Dreamworks can’t resist sequels, it seems. Madagascar (2005), which was no more than a mediocre affair in the first place, spawned two follow-up films, while Kung Fu Panda (2008) and How to Train Your Dragon (2010) also followed suit. You can hardly blame Dreamworks for their dependence on sequels. Animation is a business, and like anyone, they need to make a profit, although it is far more refreshing to see something original.

 

2. Sequels That Cut No Ice

 

Another franchise that springs to mind when discussing declining quality is Blue Sky’s Ice Age. The first movie, about an unorthodox group of prehistoric animals trying to return a human child to his ‘herd’, had at least glints of greatness. It fell short of being a masterpiece, but nonetheless maintained an engaging, funny and at times heartfelt story. Its sequel, Ice Age: The Meltdown, though not exactly the worst I’ve ever seen, felt a little light on all counts, so much so that it barely qualified as anything more than ‘average’. The follow-up sees the three friends Manny, Sid and Diego escape the valley in search of refuge from an imminent flood. Along the way, they meet two opossums, Crash and Eddie, and their ‘sister’ Ellie, a mammoth who believes she is also an opossum. While Ellie’s backstory had more serious, emotional undertones, it seemed somewhat incongruous amid the rest of the film’s rather comical atmosphere. In fact, the idea that she genuinely believed she was an opossum was just completely unbelievable (and yes, I am fully aware that I’m complaining about a lack of realism in a film about talking mammoths). In retrospect, the follow-up was decent but it was as though they were trying a little too hard to be creative. In all, it left me feeling a little cold (pun intended).

 

However, the film I hold wholly responsible for giving the Ice Age series a bad name is their third outing, Ice Age: Dawn of the Dinosaurs. I understand that it’s an animated film, and that realism is hardly at the top of their list of priorities, but COME ON!! Were they that hard-pressed for ideas that they had to resort to a film that featured dinosaurs? I appreciate, as well, that they were fully aware of what is essentially a major anachronism, being as they at least acknowledge their extinction in the film, but that doesn’t make it any better! I could barely deal with a mammoth thinking it was a possum. Now I’m supposed to believe dinosaurs are alive?! I suppose it could have been worse. Anachronisms aside, it’s still somewhat enjoyable. Ish. Although there is a noticeably increased focus on side character comedy relief Scrat, which, let’s face it, is never a good thing. A further sequel followed… Let’s move on, shall we?

 

The Ice Age films, when viewed collectively, amount to little more than a mediocre set of films, which is especially a shame since the original was in fact very good. Even its sequel had its moments. But then, from that moment onwards I’d personally like to pretend that the last two films didn’t happen. As it turns out, there’s also one final instalment due for release in summer 2016 to look forward to. Yay.

 

3. The Toys Are Back In Town

 

As is evident so far, while I’m generally rather lenient when it comes to sequels, I’m not a huge fan of the franchise, and, I think, with good reason too. However, I’m willing to make a few exceptions. As I’ve said before, if the film serves a purpose, I have no problem with it. Recently, Pixar, once renowned for their originality, have been going sequel-crazy. Some are of the opinion that this is partly due to the influence of Disney, having purchased the company in 2006. Since, the studio has released their first ‘dud’, Cars 2 (2011), and Monsters University (2013), a rather ordinary and forgettable prequel, and I can’t say I have high hopes for the upcoming Finding Dory either. But 2010’s Toy Story 3, I’m delighted to say, exceeded my expectations.

 

Having grown up with the first two movies, released in 1995 and 1999 respectively, I have to admit I was rather anxious when I heard there was to be a third instalment. The first film, Toy Story (1995), was a phenomenal success. Based on the idea that toys come to life when nobody’s around, the world’s first computer-animated film focussed on the misadventures of a cherished cowboy doll named Woody. Jealous of new arrival Buzz Lightyear and the attention his owner Andy gives him, Woody soon lands himself and Buzz in jeopardy with the neighbourhood bully, prompting them to find a way to overcome their conflict and return home. Essentially, it’s a buddy movie, and it lends itself well to a sequel. Toy Story 2 (1999), the equally impressive follow-up, sees Woody kidnapped by a greedy toy collector, prompting the other toys to embark on a rescue mission. Aside from some clever allusions to the original and representing a clear continuation of the first film, the sequel also boasts a new and engaging plot, new environments, and some rather intelligent and logical character development.

 

The third film, which was released more than a decade later, was just as impressive, if not more so. The plot, which saw what was left of Andy’s toys imprisoned in the ironically named ‘Sunnyside’ daycare centre, was fresh and exciting, not to mention intense and emotional. The ending in particular tugged at the heartstrings, while the intensity of the incinerator scene was nothing less than overwhelming. But what is there to say about Toy Story 3 (2010) that hasn’t already been said? We all know the animation quality is outstanding, the voice acting is top notch, and the pacing is near-perfect. But is there anything bad? At a push, one might argue that it relies too heavily on the first two films for emotional impact. In addition, though this is merely a personal opinion, I felt that ‘the monkey’ should have been alluded to far earlier than he was in the film. But that’s just my being nitpicky. In truth, that’s all I have in terms of flaws. There’s no doubt about it. The Toy Story trilogy is one of the finest collections of films I’ve ever seen. Now that is how you make an animated sequel.

 

So there you have it, guys: three animated film franchises observed retrospectively, and none of them are especially bad. Perhaps we’re a little too critical of the sequel, claiming it to be devoid of originality, when it fact, more often than not, they serve a purpose. All the same, with the amount of follow-ups and trilogies we’re bombarded with nowadays, to view the sequel as an idle cash cow is nevertheless somewhat understandable. Regardless, as Toy Story has proven, the sequel has the potential to build on the foundations of the original, providing us with further character development, new environments, and engaging plots. In this respect, I fully approve of the sequel. Long may it, erm, continue, so to speak.

Felix's Fact File: Animation Pioneers

Winsor McCay

Born Zenas Winsor McKay in Canada in 1867, Winsor McCay developed an interest in drawing from a young age. He attended business college at the request of his father, a real estate agent who wanted him to become a businessman. Simultaneously, however, McCay worked as a portrait artist in a dime museum in Detroit, unbeknown to his parents.

At the age of 21, McCay left business college and began work at the National Printing Company of Chicago, creating posters and other forms of illustrated publicity for the purposes of promotion. Two years later, he relocated to Cincinnati, where he continued to produce promotional material and gained acknowledgement as a talented artist. In addition, he worked as a billboard painter, attracting the attention of the public wherever he painted.

In 1891, he married Maude Leonore Dufour, with whom he had two children, Robert and Marion. Additional pressure of supporting a family encouraged him to pursue further work as a reporter and illustrator for the Cincinnati Commercial Tribune. He also submitted drawings to the magazine ‘Life’, from 1899. The end of 1903 saw McCay and his family move to New York following an invitation from the New York Herald.

McCay’s first notable successes were the comic strips ‘Little Sammy Sneeze’ and ‘Dream of a Rarebit Fiend’, produced in 1904. ‘Little Sammy Sneeze’ continued to be published every Sunday from July 1904 to December 1906, while ‘Dream of a Rarebit Fiend’, a more adult strip based on adult fears and nightmares, continued until 1911. Since the latter was produced for the New York Telegram rather than the Herald, McCay’s contract stipulated that he was unable to use his real name, and so, for that particular publication, he went by the pseudonym ‘Silas’. 1905 saw the creation of ‘Little Nemo in Slumberland’, which was later developed into a Broadway musical.

McCay then went on to perform ‘speed-drawing’ as a Vaudeville act whilst simultaneously producing strips. After eight years, he left the Tribune to work for William Randolph Hearst of the New York American. It was then he began to experiment using animated pictures as his act. Initially, he used characters from ‘Little Nemo’, followed by ‘How a Mosquito Operates’, another success. His crowning achievement, however, was 1914’s humorous animation ‘Gertie the Dinosaur’, in which he interacted with the first ever character created solely for animated film.

Hearst forbade McCay from pursuing acts outside of the New York area, believing that it detracted from his work at the paper, and allowed him only to illustrate editorial cartoons. McCay’s next film, ‘The Sinking of the Lusitania’, was released in 1918. Despite Hearst opening his own studio, McCay continued to work on his own films.

McCay died following a stroke in 1934, leaving behind a legacy for the world of animation.

 

Sources:

JVJ Publishing http://www.bpib.com/illustrat/mccay.htm

Van Eaton Galleries http://vegalleries.com/winsorbio.html

Beck, J. (ed) (2004) Animation Art. Fulham: Flame Tree Publishing.

‘Teletubbification’: Children’s Television in Crisis

You’d think that the news that beloved children’s programme The Clangers is to be resurrected and ‘improved’ would instil anyone with any fond memories of the show to welcome its long-awaited return with open arms. At least, I’m almost certain that is what the BBC expects of their ever-faithful audience. If they’re anything like me, however, this news invokes little but feelings of indifference. Maybe I’m just a miserable cynic, shaking my fist in spirit at the television and relentlessly complaining that kids’ TV just isn’t what it used to be. That’s just it though – it isn’t.

Times are changing. I remember a time when children’s programmes seemed as though some thought had gone into their production. Take Britt Allcroft’s Thomas the Tank Engine & Friends. Since HIT Entertainment took over in 2002, the show’s quality began to wane. People probably won’t agree with me – it’s still popular, and is unlikely to come to an end any time soon. But the original series, based on The Railway Series by the Reverend W. V. Awdry, had connections with actual events, with the engines based on real trains, and so maintained a certain realism and educational value that has long since been diminished. But of course, kids won’t notice. No! Kids are stupid. Now it’s exactly the same as every other generic children’s show, having been reinvented in a frankly hideous computer-animated (CGI) format. To the producers, it might seem like progress. To me, it seems generic, lazy and conformist. I’m under the impression that there’s just no originality or effort anymore. And I’m not alone.

Back in 2011, ex-Play School presenter Floella Benjamin identified a ‘crisis’ in children’s programming, urging broadcasters to wake up to this revelation. Of particular note is the eradication of BBC Schools programmes that served both an educational and entertaining purpose. Since then, kids’ television has succumbed to what I like to call the ‘Teletubbification’ effect, perforated with tame, lazily animated and clichéd characters all learning the same morals, and talking down to children, with an increased focus on improving programmes from a technological standpoint, culminating in a lack of focus on what is truly important.

Let me begin by addressing my standpoint when it comes to CGI: I have nothing against it as an art form or even as a medium. My issue primarily stems from its ubiquity in contemporary media, particularly with regard to children’s programming. To the production companies, it may look like a technical marvel, but better resolution doesn’t mean better programming and storytelling. It’s lazy. It’s bland. And it’s everywhere! One by one, our favourite kids’ shows are suffering at the hands of this highly rendered fiend: Noddy, Fireman Sam, Bananas in Pyjamas… The list goes on.

The Clangers, meanwhile, is apparently to remain a stop-motion animation. All the same, Peter Firmin, co-creator of the original series of The Clangers, proclaims that the show’s ‘reinvention’ will be “technically improved”, stating that “when you watch the original Clangers you have to make allowances for the limitations of the animation techniques when it was made”.

“This is a new Clangers for a new age” he proudly announces.

But surely this isn’t entirely necessary. These so-called ‘limitations’, some might argue, are what made these programmes unique and memorable, together with dedication to a decent script and a firm focus on providing a useful service for young viewers. Why not come up with something new, something innovative like they used to, rather than lazily resurrecting classic programmes? There seems to be too much focus on nostalgia and making things look good, so much so that quality kids’ television is rapidly disappearing, and they consistently resort to ruining our cherished programmes by converging them under the same basic format. It’s just not the same. I suppose we should be thankful that the new Clangers are to be traditionally animated, at least for now. Whether its reinvention will have a lasting impact is too soon to say, and while I hope the new series will maintain the same quality as the old, I can’t help but feel that classic programmes like The Clangers and even Thomas & Friends, as we remember them, have reached the end of the line.

 

Sources:

BBC News. ‘Children’s TV is in crisis, says Floella Benjamin’. 3^rd February 2011. http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-politics-12357997

BBC News. ‘Clangers to make TV return’. 15^th October 2013. http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/entertainment-arts-24523203

Runcie, C. The Telegraph. ‘Clangers to return with a new series in 2015’. 15^th October 2013. http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/tvandradio/10377644/Clangers-to-return-with-a-new-series-in-2015.html

Futurama Reboots - a review of 'The Complete Season 6'

Was the long-awaited revival of Groening’s sci-fi sitcom a welcome return to the ‘World of Tomorrow’, or should it have stayed cryogenically frozen?

Good news everyone! The future is bright, or at least in HD, as Matt Groening’s acclaimed sci-fi spoof returns with another out-of-this-world thirteen episodes on Blu-Ray. Once thought to consist of the series’ last-ever episodes, Futurama: The Complete Season 6 continues the adventures of cryogenically frozen pizza delivery boy, Philip J. Fry, and his unorthodox co-workers of Planet Express. This brand new 2-disc set contains the latter half of the first batch of episodes produced to make their debut on Comedy Central following a seven year hiatus. And, while the first half may have left viewers feeling a little cold, this time around, fans are expectedly hopeful that the Planet Express crew will deliver.

 

Indeed, there are plenty of golden moments, reminiscent of the show’s original, near-flawless, 72-episode run, some of which are rather innovative: Benderama sees Bender create infinite scaled-down duplicates of himself that threaten to consume all matter in the universe, while Cold Warriors, interweaved with flashbacks of Fry’s childhood relationship with his dad, unexpectedly manages to tug at the heartstrings by its conclusion. Other highlights include Law and Oracle, a work of comedic genius that spoofs both Police Academy and Tron simultaneously, while Overclockwise is so fine an episode, it would serve as an apt conclusion to the series overall.

 

Sadly though, it’s not all good news. While none of the episodes are completely unwatchable, there are notable inconsistencies in terms of character development and continuity. Leela’s obsession with hunting down a four-dimensional space whale in Mobius Dick seems out-of-character, while the intensity of her relationship with Fry seems to vary throughout, from ‘strictly platonic’ to a full-blown romance. Part of what made Futurama’s original series so compelling and, at times, touching, was the use of such story arcs, and the absence of any structurally sound, ongoing back-story makes this season on the whole seem a little hollow, despite a fair amount of well-written and engaging episodes.

In addition, Special features are a little thin on the ground, but nonetheless of decent quality, with the usual batch of deleted scenes and audio commentary on every episode. Also included are a couple of behind-the-scenes featurettes, which are enjoyable, if a little short.

Ultimately, this box set poses something of a mixed bag. Yet despite its occasional inconsistencies, the series at this point remains vastly enjoyable, and the pros undeniably outweigh the cons. It may not live up to the standards of the original series, but this set showcases a welcome return to a show that’s a thousand years ahead of its time. In the words of a certain cigar-smoking, beer-guzzling robot, “We’re back, baby!”

7/10

Melting the Stereotype: Introducing Disney's 'Alternative' Princesses

Last December saw the UK release of Disney’s Frozen and, having received far from a frosty reception, the studio’s latest animated feature has been heralded by some as one of Disney’s best in their entire canon. Apart from melting the hearts of critics and audiences worldwide, the world-renowned studio’s 53^rd animated classic has also been lauded by feminists for its positive portrayal of women. No, really. For the first time in forever, Disney present us with a reworking of the whole ‘true love’ concept, with the traditional male hero and handsome prince taking something of a back seat for once.

Surely this can only be regarded as a step in the right direction. Let’s face facts – Disney hardly have a good reputation when it comes to gender representation, not that it can always be helped, of course. With more than a handful of their features based on traditional fairy-tales, it’s unsurprising that women often get the short end, not to mention that even the films themselves were released in periods when patriarchy was still commonplace and went unchallenged – features such as Sleeping Beauty (1959), The Little Mermaid (1989) and even Tangled (2010) hardly shy away from promoting the concept of male hegemony. Sure, it comes as no surprise that the man should step forward and save the day, but what perhaps is surprising is that these arguably sexist notions of power are still perpetuated in contemporary film. It wasn’t until 1998 that we saw Disney’s first animated female protagonist pitted directly against a male antagonist, in Mulan. It may have taken sixty years and thirty-six features, but Disney finally had their first female hero, a feat worthy of applause.

Today’s alternative Disney heroine is something to be admired, and I don’t mean in a visual sense, although just how ‘alternative’ she is, is nonetheless open to debate. The sad truth is, as you’ve probably noticed, while Disney’s gender politics may be improving, this improvement is gradual at best. The two protagonists in Frozen, Anna and Elsa, while independent and strong enough to carry the film without a male lead, are nonetheless beautified, adorned with those same, clichéd ‘feminine signifiers’ found in the likes of male-oriented cartoons of the 1940s, and the theme of ‘true love’s kiss’, so often criticised for subjugating female characters, does arise despite the fact that it isn’t needed to further the narrative and restore the frozen land to normality. And you cannot ignore the fact that there is a romance, despite its not being necessary. So, there’s progress. It may not be ideal but feminist theory seems to have had some influence, albeit rather insubstantial.

So maybe this idyllic concept of equality is more than just a pipe dream. There’s no doubt, of course, that women will continue to be subjugated and shunned in contemporary media, at least in the foreseeable future. But what we see here is indisputable progress. It would appear, dare I say it, that Disney’s fixed female identities, once frozen in time, may finally be beginning to thaw.

The Fallacy of the ‘Babysitter Substitute’

To anyone actually interested in reading my incessant ramblings below, I sorta kinda feel as though I should say a few things in advance. First, I sincerely apologise for the length (not all of my posts will be this long, I promise). Secondly, this post has been heavily edited, tampered with, altered and manipulated, and yet it has, admittedly, turned out rather convoluted and muddled, so much so that the overall message is a little hazy. Even so, I decided to upload it as it nonetheless presents an interesting debate concerning viewing audiences of animated film. Whatever you make of it, here it is. Enjoy guys.

“Cartoons are for kids!” is an all-too-familiar sentiment shared by millions; one which, frankly, I tire of hearing. Ask yourself, how many people you know who have admitted, not without a tinge of shame, that they still enjoy watching the occasional Disney film, often indicating parenthetically that they are “still a kid at heart” or something equally as clichéd in order to convey their secret shame as something vaguely acceptable to the rest of society. While I have no issue with anybody who chooses to maintain a profound connection with their childhood self, I would like to proffer a view of my own; a frequently condemned belief I stand by, regardless of what anybody else might think; the view that this sentiment is in fact almost entirely untrue. This notion that has persisted relentlessly for decades is a fallacy. Cartoons are not for kids.

Okay, so this statement might appear glib at first, particularly since the oh-so-cynical and ‘mature’ of you out there are likely readily equipped with evidence that you’re certain will prove otherwise. All I can say to that is ‘hold your fire!’ I’m not saying that cartoons are not for children at all. That would be moronic. Of course they are! Animations, as with any film, are produced with an audience in mind, and obviously they are, as a result, usually geared toward families (though there are notable exceptions – we’ll get to that later). This, however, is the result of marketing. And over time, this tendency to focus on keeping the kids entertained as well as the adults has inculcated the unfortunate concept that animated films are primarily for kids, which, with regards to the vast majority of animated films out there, implies something of a misinterpretation of marketing strategies. In layman’s terms, just because the advertisement promoting the film is intended to appeal to kids does not imply that said film is solely for the stunted simpleminded. Kids have naturally become an easy target, so much so that the average animated film no longer interests the adult community (or rather, that is the general consensus the majority abide by, whether the genre appeals or not). To put it even more simply, this misconception is in fact a myth inadvertently conceived as a result of advertising.

Still don’t believe me? For a start, Disney themselves have attempted to subvert this common misconception on several occasions and, unsurprisingly, their attempts have seen little success. Their sixteenth animated feature Sleeping Beauty (1959), for example, had a much darker premise and plot than any Disney animated feature that preceded it. Based on the Grimm fairy-tale, the feature focused on three fairies’ attempts to protect Princess Aurora from a deadly curse. Despite following typical ‘Disney’ conventions, the film maintained an unprecedented dark tone and, as a result, failed to appeal to audiences, resulting in major cutbacks for the studio. The films that followed were noticeably less detailed, at least artistically, and were not quite so daring in story or design. It was not until the mid-1980s when the company decided it was time for a change in direction. Like Sleeping Beauty, 1985’s The Black Cauldron was produced with a more mature audience in mind than its predecessors. Infamous rumours persist concerning cut scenes removed from the film prior to its release in order to prevent a PG-13 rating. However, also like the aforementioned film, its dark tone, unappealing characters and frankly lifeless protagonist meant it failed dramatically, and was a substantial loss for the company. Later attempts to appeal to an older audience, such as the musical adaptation of Victor Hugo’s novel The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996) and the anime-inspired adventure flick Atlantis: The Lost Empire (2001), were met with moderate success, though they have since been indefinitely swept under the proverbial rug.

Now, cynics might argue that these are merely exceptions, anomalies in the Disney canon that failed due to their lack of appeal to young people. The ignorant, meanwhile, will perceive no difference in style or tone from any other animated film (anyone who falls into this category has most likely stopped reading by this point). Let’s not forget, however, that Disney is not the only animation company to attempt to refute this perception. Far from it, in fact. There have been more substantial, distinctive attempts to redefine animation’s target audience. Take Japanese animation, for example; the infamous Studio Ghibli and the awe-inspiring works of the likes of director Hayao Miyazaki are widely perceived to be masterpieces and works of art, and are seldom dismissed as mere toddler fodder. Some might even suggest they are innovative in their style and address, appealing more so (and oftentimes predominantly) to an adult audience than any other variant of the medium. Furthermore, with the advent of prime-time animated programmes on television in the 1960s, network executives began to reconsider the notion that cartoons are solely for kids. Hanna-Barbera cartoons probably played a more significant role in conveying this alternative view than we give them credit for, their most notable attempt arguably being The Flintstones which first aired as early as 1960. By focusing on the lives of what was essentially a typical American family and their work and neighbours in a prehistoric setting, the show garnered audiences of various generations; older audiences were captivated by its relatable characters and situations, while younger audiences were typically entranced by the fact that it was a cartoon and therefore accessible.

Naturally, shows of this type paved the way for more prime-time animated sitcoms, which saw unprecedented success in the 1990s. The most obvious example would be The Simpsons, which focuses on the five yellow family members Homer, Marge, Bart, Lisa and Maggie Simpson, representative of the typical American family. Conceived by Matt Groening, the Simpsons initially appeared in the form of shorts on the Tracy Ullman Show in 1987, before being made into half hour shows beginning in 1989. The series has achieved phenomenal success, and has remained on the air for more than two decades. Earlier seasons were somewhat tamer, however, and the series has gradually integrated more adult themes into its plots. During the mid-90s, for example, the focus was primarily on Bart, presumably because it was thought best that they appeal to a younger audience. With the advent of the new Millennium, however, Homer Simpson took centre stage, and darker themes began to emerge, including death and grief (‘Alone Again Natura-Diddly’), alcoholism (‘Days Of Wine and D’oh-ses’), and drug use (‘Weekend At Burnsies’). While these themes had been present before to some degree, they were now being presented confidently as primary subject matter, along with an increase in violence, sex references and risqué humour. Furthermore, the end of the 1990s saw an increase in the production of animated programmes geared towards adults and adults only. Programmes such as The Simpsons’ overlooked little sister, Groening’s ‘other show’ Futurama, and Seth MacFarlane’s subversive Family Guy were created solely for the adult viewer.

Evidently, of course, these animations adopt a cruder, more irreverent style than those of the likes of Disney. In fact, one might argue that they are almost completely incomparable, a sentiment with which I am willing to at least empathise. But if you think about it, the only substantial difference is that these shows are less subtle in their conveyance of themes than what is deemed to be ‘classic’ animated film. Disney’s Tangled (2010), for example, delineates a familiar and, in fact, rather mature coming-of-age story, while The Lion King (1994), based on Hamlet and arguably the best feature in their canon, deals with themes of death, grief, envy, morality, vengeance and responsibility. Even some of the less memorable efforts convey themes through the use of exquisite storytelling and visual symbolism, one of the most significant examples being the seldom-spoken-of Brother Bear (2003) which utilises a story based on ancient Inuit myth to convey what is essentially an extended metaphor. Okay, so there are no features in their canon regarded as being strictly for adults, no bad language or lucid representations of reality. And yes, there are talking bears in there too. But does that mean we, as adults, can’t appreciate them?

Moreover, to state that there are no animated films geared towards more mature audiences is completely untrue. Australian clay-animated black comedy Mary and Max (2009), for example, deals with fairly adult themes including autism, anxiety and depression. However, I personally would render films such as these exempt from this debate, being as they persist in a disparate genre of their own. Although it is, admittedly, refreshing to see the medium of animation being utilised for purposes other than as a mindless divertissement, strictly adult-oriented animations will likely never be seen in the same light intellectually or even perhaps artistically by the general public as, say, your average Warner Bros. cartoon. The truth is, however, that, initially at least, the Looney Tunes and Merrie Melodies cartoons were never produced with children in mind, as is evident in the clever use of wordplay and sharp, edgy humour characteristic of Chuck Jones’ cartoons in his prime. But the sad truth is that they are not universally perceived to be of significance to adults, generally speaking. No. They appear occasionally on children’s TV as filler material in the early hours, when in reality they should be seen as a part of our culture. Evidently, there is a distinct division between the animated shows produced primarily for adults and those that should appeal to a wider range, the latter most often being utilised as a ‘babysitter substitute’ form of avoidance.

Now, at this point I’d normally conclude, perhaps with a summary, weighing the various aspects of my argument, and polishing it off with a decidedly succinct point, usually taking the form of some kind of positive commentary on the evolution of animated shows into something other than ‘toddler fodder’. But alas, I see no positivity here. Animation as a medium is going no further any time soon, being as animation companies themselves need to recognise and hold onto an audience – it just happens that children are the easiest to obtain. I fully respect that. Disney’s recent success can easily be attributed to their return to a traditional but familiar formula. However, while I may be the only person to be of this mindset, I believe that, in some respects, Disney’s more recent reversion to the fairy-tale princess stories actually represents something of a retrograde step. Sure, their recent output has been arguably outstanding, but a part of me can’t help but think that it nonetheless panders to the notion that kids are the only ones interested in watching. In my opinion, the only way animation can capture and maintain the attention of other generations is if a world-renowned company produces something that transcends the current perceptions of the genre of animation. Of course, it’s a daring move that could prove costly. But if executed well, it could be done. I want to see something dark and edgy, but not crude or in bad taste. I don’t want songs and bright colours. I want something gritty and daring. So go on, Disney. Surprise me.