John Canemaker: Walt Disney's Nine
Old Men and the Art of Animation
Of the many men and women who have researched and written extensively
about Walt Disney, John Canemaker holds a special place. Not only
is he the author of such significant books as "Paper Dreams,"
and "Before the Animation Begins," he is an internationally
recognized animator and animation historian. He designed and directed
animation for the Academy Award-winning documentary, "You Don't
Have to Die" and the Peabody Award winning documentary, "Break
the Silence: Kids Against Child Abuse."
A professor of film and television at New York University, Canemaker's
latest work is a tour de force of research and graceful prose. It's
called "Walt Disney's Nine Old Men and the Art of Animation,"
and is being published by Disney Editions. It provides insights
into the lives and efforts of nine enormously talented men who began
to work with Walt in the early years of his career. Though Walt's
may have been the name the public associated with the production
of his studio, he personally acknowledged a life-long appreciation
for their work, and contribution to his success. Following is an
excerpt from the book; if you'd like to order it, just visit the
Museum Gift Shop.
LES CLARK

Walt Disney's job offer changed Les Clark's life. Throughout his
lengthy career he repaid Walt with loyalty and a dogged striving
to improve his work. In return, he gained a "knowledge of the
(animation) business from the ground up." During Clark's first
year at the studio, he happily toiled in the industry's lowest entry
level positions: the first six months he operated the animation
camera, then spent a subsequent six months as an inker/painter.
That is, he traced hundreds of animation drawings onto sheets of
clear celluloid acetate ("cels") in ink with a crow quill
pen and painted them on the reverse side with opaque colors (black,
white and gray only, in those pre-Technicolor days).
Clark entered animation at a pivotal time and participated in events
that shaped not only Disney's future but the history of the art
form itself. When he arrived the ALICE series was winding down and
a series starring a new character named Oswald the Lucky Rabbit
was beginning. Ub Iwerks, who became Clark's mentor, was the studio's
top animator, capable of turning out large numbers of cleverly animated
drawings each day.
Ub and Walt, both born in 1901, had been business associates as
teenagers in 1919 in Kansas City. They were a great team whose contrasting
personalities and artistic abilities complemented each other. Quiet,
shy Iwerks communicated primarily through his impressive, facile
draftsmanship; Walt was an out-going salesman with limited drawing
ability. His greatest creative talent lay in constructing entertaining
stories around believable cartoon personalities, an ability that
Ub lacked and had little interest in. Walt dominated the studio
and controlled every aspect of the filmmaking process. At impromptu
story meetings, he shaped gags into a narrative, timed the animation
after it had been drawn, and made out the exposure sheets, which
cameramen used to shoot the scenes. Sometimes he ordered a special
"pencil test" (film shot of roughly drawn preliminary
animation) in order to study the action's effectiveness before committing
the drawings to ink and paint; often he sent scenes back for revisions.
Walt was groping toward a new type of animation that incorporated
the "stylistic conventions of live action films" with
emotions derived from the character's personalities. "I want
characters to be somebody," he said in 1927. "I don't
want them just to be a drawing!"
Clark couldn't help but notice quiet dissension among the animators
due to Walt's strong personality. The boss's demeanor at work was
different than over a lunchtime confectionery counter. He behaved,
well, like a boss. He clashed often with some artists about their
work, and in turn they grumbled about Walt's impatience, verbal
abuse, and staff firings. Several of the Kansas City animators had
ambitions to open their own studio and were biding their time until
opportunity beckoned.
Even Iwerks was not immune to Walt's demands. They had on-going
differences regarding the timing of characters' actions and Iwerks's
method of animating "straight ahead." That is, he made
every drawing one after the other, from, say, drawing A through
drawing Z. Walt preferred the "key pose" method, in which
a head animator makes main (or "extreme") poses of an
action and an assistant fills in the "inbetween" drawings.
The pose method would allow the already speedy Iwerks to turn out
even more animation, a saving of time and money. Eventually Walt
pressured Iwerks into seeing things his way.
Oswald the Lucky Rabbit was a success and in March of 1928 Walt
went to New York to renegotiate his contract. But, to his shock,
the series' distributor asked him to accept inferior terms. If he
did not, Oswald would be taken from him, for the character's copyright
belonged to Universal Pictures, not Disney. In addition, the distributor
said he had secretly signed up Walt's animators -- with the exception
of Iwerks -- and they were prepared to leave him to work on Oswald
at a new studio. Les Clark was not approached; though he had risen
to "inbetweener," he was still considered a greenhorn.
Walt refused the distributor's offer and, during the return ride
back to Los Angeles (legend has it), he thought up a new character
to replace the stolen rabbit. It was, of course, the mouse that
Walt's wife, Lillian, named Mickey.
Back at the studio, the soon-to-depart animation crew finished
the remaining Oswalds on Disney's contract. (One can only imagine
the stressful working environment.) In a backroom Walt secretly
worked with Ub designing the new mouse character and creating his
first film PLANE CRAZY (1928). Mickey's circular form, tube-like
appendages, and white mask on a black head were a generic formula
used by all the studios. Ear shapes mainly distinguished one character
from another: Felix the Cat's sharp points, Oswald's oblong lozenges,
and Mickey's rigid globes. "The reason that Mickey was drawn
in circles," explained Clark years later, "was that it
was easier and faster to draw: the round head, the round body, the
round fanny, and so forth." Iwerks, facile master of loopy,
eccentric patterns of rubbery action, once made 700 animation drawings
in a single day. Small wonder he completed PLANE CRAZY by himself
in two months.
Clark admired Walt's determination and strong ego. "I think
that is what enabled him to surmount the difficulties on Mickey
and get it going." he said. "I mean, he was fighting real
odds." A new young man, Wilfred Jackson, talked his way into
a job during this difficult period. "I needed to learn how
to make cartoons," he said. " [Walt] said he didn't know
if there was going to be a studio here in a week anyway. I thought
that's a funny way for a guy to be talking. In a week everybody
walked out except two or three of them."
In general, there would always be a difference in attitude toward
Walt between novices trained on-the-job (including all of the Nine
Old Men), and animators who came to Disney's with prior experience.
With exceptions, most of the former were more loyal to and fond
of Walt and his ways than the latter. Jackson (who became one of
Walt's best, most meticulous directors) was, like Les Clark, devoted
to the man who gave him his start. "It wasn't just because
he was the boss," Jackson said. "It wasn't just bread
and butter. Somehow it was the most important thing in the world
to me to get what Walt wanted in the picture."
Copyright Disney Editions 2001.
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