Today marks what would have been the 107th birthday of one Joy Batchelor. If you don’t know who she is, we’re mostly in this together. Before writing this, I knew like three bullet points of info about her. Said bullet points being:
She co-directed Animal Farm (1954) with her husband John Halas
Animal Farm was England’s first feature length animated film
This made her the second woman to direct an animated feature film, after Lottie Reiniger
Together, the couple had a studio: Halas & Batchelor
She was British
Boom. That was it. So let’s learn more together.
Batchelor was born May 12, 1914 in Watford, England. Already an accomplished illustrator and animator by 1937, she answered an ad for an animator from Hungarian artist John Halas. They worked on a 10-minute film, Music Man (1938), made in Budapest, but when their funding was withdrawn due to Germany marching into Austria (WWII would start a few years later), they returned to London. In 1940, they married and also started their own production company, Halas and Batchelor Cartoon Films, which was the largest animation studio in Great Britain for a time. The company was formed as a means to receive payments for the commercial work they were doing for companies such as Kelloggs and Lux soap.
An animator, writer, director, producer, and designer, Batchelor worked on hundreds of scripts, commercials, propaganda and/or educational pieces, and films, all while co-running a studio. Often referred to as an “unseen” force at the studio, her illustration style was evident in many of the shorts the studio produced, as noted in the short film posted above. The studio’s most famous work was of course the 1954 adaptation of George Orwell’s allegorical Animal Farm, which the pair directed together. (Here’s a behind-the-scenes article about the film.) Batchelor also directed the feature film Ruddigore (1964) (note, lots of places are saying it was made in 1967l but the official studio site has it listed as 1964), the first animated operetta. She worked into the 1970s before retiring and continued teaching at the London International Film School. She passed away in 1991. Halas would pass away in 1995.
This of course is a very simplified version of her life. The studio’s official site is a lovely monument to these pioneers, and worth a visit, but the story on their is just as simple as the one I’ve detailed above. But it’s great to see their filmography broken down.
Something else I hadn’t realized was that many of you reading (myself included) might have had a piece of this studio in your own collection all along, as John Halas is one of the co-authors of the animator staple:
He was here all along! 🤯
Down the Research Rabbit Hole
After the videos I’ve included some further reading and material that I am still getting through.
But first, here is a 12-minute documentary from daughter Vivien Halas about John Halas. This 2015 mini-doc is an updated version of Remembering John Halas from 2012.
Last month I had the chance to sit down (over Zoom) with Mike Rianda, who made his feature directorial debut with Sony Pictures Animation’s (SPA) latest The Mitchells vs The Machines. The interview was for INBTWN Animation, a Cartoon Brew partner who I’ve been working with!
The film went through quite a lot before landing on Netflix, even briefly having the (IMO) super stale corporate-feeling name Connected. I remember openly commiserating with colleagues about the less fun and punchy name, remembering the times it happened to us at Blue Sky (i.e. The Leafmen becoming Epic (perhaps the worst one), and other studio misfires like Pixar’s The Bear and the Bow becoming Brave).
I am so happy to see this film sitting squarely in the Netflix Top 10 list since it premiered there on April 30th. It is clearly such a love letter to nerds and misfits, and I hope Rianda, co-director Jeff Rowe (the two also co-wrote the script), Lord and Miller, and the whole SPA team are proud of this film. It’s a much needed exploration of the grey zone of our current technological landscape, and quite timely, coming at a unique moment in history where it was so needed to keep us all, well, connected (damn you, Sony corporate!).
I love getting to talk process with people, and Rianda didn’t disappoint. The look of the film obviously stands out so much, and as SPA’s follow-up film to Spider-Man: Into the SpiderVerse it was fantastic to learn about building off of that tech, as well as SPA really seeming to continue to put trust in its creators. It was also cool to hear from someone who came from tv animation (Rianda wrote and directed on Gravity Falls), as that crossover doesn’t seem as common as one would think.
Please be sure to watch the film before watching/listening to the interview. While there aren’t really major, specific spoilers, we talk very openly about the whole film in a way that you would feel spoiled:
A Mini Review But Not Really:
I hecking loved this film. It felt so nice to see a weird, imperfect family on screen that had nothing unique to offer. That sounds harsh, but I mean that sincerely. As much as I want to believe my family would manage things a bit better than the Mitchells, I am pretty sure we are right smack in the average zone with them. Obviously I identified quite a bit with Katie and her wonderful creativity and envied her access to the technology and resources she had as an 18-year old in 2021 compared to me in 2008. If the whole film was about her making movies with her scene-stealing brother Aaron, road tripping with her family, and dealing with film school, I’d have watched the crap out of that. I’d 100% subscribe to her film YouTube channel as well as her second channel with behind the scenes and vlogs.
Honestly, my only real gripe with the film was that, aside from a few funny zingers, they let the techbro CEO who caused the robot uprising off a little too easily, both in how he was presented throughout the film and at the end. I do also acknowledge that this film also isn’t really the place to explore the topic of tech companies (and the individuals who work there)s’ accountability, and that 31-year-old Jen is viewing this through a bit of an unfair lens in complaining that it barely addressed social media regulations and its engineered addictiveness. Rianda mentions in the interview that he wanted this film to have a clear line of humans vs machines, and he did that and did it well. I think it isn’t that simple, but I can’t blame him as a director for needing to keep the scope in a place he could work within. Again, I think this film does a great job already of exploring the nuance of our dependence on technology in a fun, non-preachy, and accessible way; I’m not expecting it to tackle every issue here, so that criticism doesn’t take away my enjoyment of the film.
I was kindly sent a copy of Reid Mitenbuler’s new book, Wild Minds: The Artists and Rivalries That Inspired the Golden Age of Animation, released by Grove Atlantic. So a big thank you to them for sending the copy, and generally for supporting a writer focused on our favorite subject matter: animation! The book is out in the world, and I wanted to share my thoughts about it.
A Refreshing Take
As someone who already reads a lot of animation history, I was pretty familiar with most of the names, characters, and milestones featured in this book. But it was the way the story unfolded that was a new experience–the anecdotes, the extra details and context that truly fleshed out the tale and gave it an exciting life. As each chapter ended I pondered what studio or artist we were going to spend time with next, and see where their ambitions and projects took them compared to their contemporaries. It was great seeing these people in relation to each other, often literally on the other side of the same city (New York City, specifically for a chunk of our story). It was invigorating reading these stories with the kind of punch one finds absent from more academic texts and papers on these subjects–not to say that Mitenbuler is lacking in academia–but it feels like he went out of his way to keep some of the nitty grittier details, the often unflattering qualities and circumstances that others might have edited out. He doesn’t hold back when it comes to some of these characters’ less PR-friendly behavior.
While some of the details are disappointing but unsurprising (especially for the times), it paints a clearer picture for us and I’m glad they weren’t censored out. It’s small details about these people I value, to know that flaws and all they were regular people once too, trying to get by, and some of them lucky enough to do something they legitimately liked (at least for a time). Their struggles then are largely ours now, and issues like discrimination and lack of representation in the industry remain ongoing. While a lot of existing writing about a lot of these people seem to glorify or deify them for the work they did, Mitenbuler paints a very real, human picture. These were indeed artists that did remarkable things, but they were also people largely figuring things out as they went, and dealing with the times they were in.
I think we are all prone to having rose-tinted glasses falling over our eyes and imagining an idealized version of XYZ time period and what it must have been like (usually with a caveat about medical advancements and, ya know, discrimination), and, I am not immune to it. And even here, despite everything I just said above–actually in some ways because of the wild west nature of the industry, dare I say–I found myself wanting to experience that time period of animation in the trenches as it were, trying to make it work (again, sans the sexism and whatnot).
While corporate oversight, demanding bottom lines, and bosses with no artistic experience are as old as the industry and as consistent then as they are now, it still felt like a pioneering time–literally as innovation and inventions were still shifting and changing the game for everyone. As much as there were huge demands for quotas and budgets, there was also a lot of ‘throw these people in a room with some money and see what clicks’ that ebbs and flows in this industry. We saw it with early Pixar and the Disney Renaissance, and it feels like we’re in a similar period now too with more creator-driven shows and films that actually feel creator-driven, with platforms like Netflix and recent tv shows from Disney.
That wish-you-were-there sentiment, despite the clear ups and downs that so many of our US industry founders experienced, is a testament to Mitenbuler’s storytelling. I say storytelling because while this is indeed a nonfiction book, again, it’s hard to explain how casual and accessible it was. It read like turn-paging fiction, eager to see what challenges were happening and how certain personalities were dealing with them. I’ve been bogged down by dense academic jargon before, but the strength here lies in that casualness, which I don’t say lightly or as a passive aggressive comment, but rather a sincere compliment and a testament to Mitenbuler’s instinct to make this story more approachable for everyone.
In that same vein, it is also a far more accessible book in terms of price point compared to some textbooks or access to academic databases or even seeking out any books about any one specific individual in here sans Disney).
I think the only bit of criticism I really have for the book that I still thoroughly enjoyed was the coverage of Walt Disney. There was just a lot of it! And it’s not like I don’t enjoy reading about him, especially in his early days, but there’s just so much about him already available. I totally understand that decision as he’s easily the most recognizable name here and the one that any casual reader would have already had the most exposure to who maybe hadn’t known about his earlier years.
And I get it’s not Mitenbuler’s fault that so many books and documentaries and whatnot have been made focused on Disney, and that he obviously played a big role in shaping the US industry. I would have been fine with him being more a mention here and there for a general temperature check of the industry and decade. But again, that’s a personal gripe about someone well-read on the guy. It still was nice to hear about him, and I absolutely enjoyed hearing about him in relation to other producers, specifically Max Fleischer. I knew once Disney was introduced in the book, he’d be a character for the rest of the book, which I can’t deny I wasn’t excitedly anticipating. So again, very aware that this is a contradictory “criticism.”
Pioneering an Art Form
Something else I really appreciated with how this story unfolded was the notion that animation’s creation and industrialization in the United States was not an endeavor done with children in mind. That’s such a core misconception about cartoons today. The evolution of that misconception is covered as organically as I imagine it happened: as animation professionals sought any means of surviving long enough to make the next picture. The book covers American animation from around 1911 to the 1960s, so we see first hand the evolution of the art, its commercialization and presence in cinemas, early merchandising booms, the ups and downs of studios trying to figure out if this was worth it, all leading up to the TV boom of the 60s and decline of theatrical shorts (and of course the rise of feature length animated films).
Today, we see a lot of these cartoon characters as tame, safe, and sanitized corporate logos, and this story is a reminder that many of them were a bit edgier and fringe at their initial creation. That the Fleischer’s were making and working with unexpected subject matter and collaborators, that many of them were laying down the tracks with the train already in motion. And that particular spirit is what I do find myself still envying and wishing to be a fly on the wall for.
Mitenbuler was very clear about some animators being in it for the art and innovation and some simply seeing new unclaimed land in a new industry/untapped market, and I can’t say I fault the latter party. We saw that in the last decade with ventures like VR and AR, new social media platforms like Clubhouse, environmentally disastrous things like NFTs, and virtual production becoming a bigger and bigger thing (especially due to/during the pandemic).
I think where my envy lies is in the bar being so… low? At the risk of sounding like a jackass, I’m not saying these people were without skills. Hell no. But the ability to remix and innovate on and invent and experiment with new techniques seems a lot more accessible versus today. We’re largely locked into software you couldn’t hope to modify without a deep, specific knowledge of programming. At the same time, the ability to create is so much more accessible today. And because of that, competition is extremely fierce and wide-reaching. But it’s obviously a good thing barriers (many of which were insidious) are falling away. You just don’t see stories anymore of people being hired with such underdeveloped skillsets to be trained on the job. Now, the interns are basically already at a professional level, and we deal with the modern paradox of needing two years of experience for an entry level job.
I guess part of that is that there wasn’t an artform yet, when the oldest of these people were getting started. They defined it, they standardized things, they set the tone(s). Winsor McCay was a hugely successful (like, actually wealthy) newspaper cartoonist–animation was literally his hobby on the side. And because of that freedom (due to his existing financial stability), he was able to dive so wholeheartedly into it and have such lofty and ambitious notions about this thing he himself was pioneering. He then of course subsequently influenced everyone around him, and those who would follow. McCay truly saw a future where animation was as highly regarded and as museum worthy as the paintings and sculptures at the Met or the Louvre. I’m sure he was slowly crushed (and some of that was indeed detailed in the book) when animated shorts stopped being run theatrically and slowly made their way to TVs only. I’m sure he was upset when the high production demands thrusted on those who did animation as a day job forced them to find new innovations and ways to cut corners and cheapen production costs (meanwhile McCay could endeavor with his work at his own pace). I’m sure had he lived long enough (he died in 1934), he’d have mourned animation’s pivot to tv and it’s shifted perception as a vehicle solely to drive sugary breakfast cereals into kids’ tummies.
The long and the short of it is I had to force myself to slow down to read this book because I didn’t want it to end. I wanted every chapter to be like fifty pages longer because I was so stupidly smitten with what was present on the page. I will probably now go out and get some of the biographical books written about specific people like Max Fleischer and Paul Terry. So definitely give this one a go. If you have no previous knowledge of these folks or this early industry history, this is a fantastic introduction, and if you’re familiar it’s a fun, welcomed new take.
The above is a link via Amazon Affiliates, which would earn me a small commission. But please support whatever bookstore or library you want to access this.
With the Oscars this weekend, I realized I never shared an interview I did last year with Glen Keane about his Oscar-nominated film, Over the Moon.
Now, I’ve had the privilege of attending a Glen Keane talk. He visited Blue Sky twice while I was there, once to give a general artist talk and demo, and a second time with Kobe Bryant to promote their soon-to-be Oscar-winning short, Dear Basketball. I’ve also sat next to him at a screening, but was too shy to say anything! But if you’d told younger me that I’d have a chance to sit with him one-on-one and discuss his feature directorial debut, I don’t know if I’d have believed you.
His name is one of the more recognizable ones my generation grew up hearing about, right smack in the middle of the Disney Renaissance. His work speaks for itself, but it’s also a treasure to hear him speak about his work. He still has such a passion and drive to learn and grow, he still takes so much care with his craft. It’s an enviable attitude I can’t help but feel is sincere. I’m sure like anyone, Keane has experienced ups and downs in his career, and has likely had brushes with the parts of the industry that would make anyone jaded. But he has an infectious grace about him that I hope the interview below conveys even the slightest hint of:
It has been a while. When I decided to take this site offline for a bit to redo the whole thing, I wasn’t expecting it to happen when some of the biggest news hit me and so many of my friends. Blue Sky Studios, which was acquired by Disney as part of their buyout of 20th Century Fox, was shut down at the beginning of February. I wrote about this news a little at Cartoon Brew, but beyond that I haven’t written anything about it. Exactly two months later and I still haven’t fully processed the news.
My partner, who was still an employee, lost his job, and with it all of our optimism that, “Hey, maybe we are actually gonna be lucky enough to get through the pandemic without anything bad happening to us!” (For the record, I’d left BSS in 2018.) Of course, this isn’t the worst thing that could happen in this crisis, but I’m not going to pretend it didn’t affect our lives and that it didn’t/doesn’t hurt. It was and has been a searing, deep pain that this place will just be gone and these people will never be in the same place together again. I and so many suffered the gigantic loss of knowing. Knowing the next paycheck was coming, knowing I could afford therapy, that we had insurance and doctors we love and have good relationships with, that we were building our savings, looking to buy property in the area soon, looking for a “forever home” or something like that. Knowing, knowing, knowing. Not having everything figured out, but having a reliable framework in place, a foundation to build from.
Then, all those plans were just gone, and we were struggling and losing sleep over all of the unknowns.
My partner and so many others have been finding new jobs, moving across the country or globe (or starting remotely if able). People are selling houses, trying to find full time work, navigating healthcare and whatnot. It’s been nice seeing so many people bouncing back at big studios like Pixar, Disney, Netflix, and DreamWorks as well as AAA game studios and other well-known vfx houses. But each announcement is a weird sensation: joy at them regaining some ‘knowns’ in their life (or I guess just being closer to making unknowns more clear), but also a little stab of pain as the reality of the situation becomes more absolute. It’s properly death by a thousand cuts, even as I tell myself that I’ll have friends at so many studios to visit.
I’m truly happy for people. Every ‘job update’ post I see on LinkedIn or Instagram makes me want to give that person the biggest hug and ugly cry at them.
And I have to give the recruiting team at Blue Sky major props for setting up a TON of “reverse” recruiting events, and really helping a lot of people. There’s always an outpouring of support from other studios when one goes under, partly because everyone at this point has been through at least one shutdown, let’s be real, but also because that talent ought to go somewhere. Similarly, in my experience, co-workers have been nothing but supportive and helpful towards each other, even when you know logically you’re likely at odds with everyone in your department for work.
I’m very mindful that while I’m seeing a lot of new job announcements, I’m sure there are people still struggling. Struggling to find full time work, or work that will let them stay permanently on the east coast, or with visa issues or trying to pivot to a different role. I’m thinking about those people in all of this, seeing so many colleagues sharing exciting news. I’m thinking about families with kids who have already had so many disruptions now possibly facing other major ones down the road. Even for my partner and I, the road ahead includes many massive changes I was not mentally prepared to deal with on top of the stressful, chaotic, traumatic time we’ve all collectively shared these last two years…
So if you’re a Blue Skier, I’m thinking of you. I’m rooting for you. I’m feeling for you.
I tend to not post too publicly on social media. I share things, but they’re usually not too personal, and infrequent. During the pandemic, I’ve gone pretty silent. The social anxiety I had pre-pandemic has only gotten worse. When my Blue Sky article on Cartoon Brew went out, I received well over 100 messages across text, social media, email, comments. I was overwhelmed, but in the best way possible. It wasn’t expected at all, and the outpouring of love I received has been humbling.
I feel like I’m at the end of (spoilers I guess?) Inside Out, where the yellow and blue orbs were evolving into mixed ones as Riley matured and understood her emotional complexity and capacity on a new level. All of the blue sad orbs I’d accumulated while I had my struggles at Blue Sky turned a bit yellow knowing those memories were the last I’d have in that studio, and the yellow joyous orbs were permanently tinged blue with grief. And red with anger, because this all just felt so unnecessary.
Where That Leaves Us
This isn’t the Animation Complex essay I want to be writing right now, but I really can’t move on until I acknowledge this chapter on this blog. Blue Sky was a big part of the US animation history books, and the biggest part of my animation career so far. As the biggest intersection of both my personal life, my career, and this site, I’ve gotta mention it. I’m obviously not a news site, nor am I trying to be, but this is part of my history. I’ve certainly struggled with the ‘voice’ I’ve wanted for Animation Complex in the past, trying hard to make it sound super academic and formal until I realized and am still working on accepting that my voice is what makes this blog. Not quite the galaxy brain revelation we hoped for, but rather a dull, “No duh, Jen.” I’ll always struggle and work towards finding a balance between my informal style of writing and trying to channel that academic (but accessible) flare. I’ll struggle with how much to share, whether any idea I have is ever good enough to hit publish on, with why I’m so worried and self-conscious when I have been gifted the reminder so many times that I need to just go for things because nothingis guaranteed in life.
I’m very tempted to end this waxing poetically about how we’ll all still be under the same big blue sky together, and this cop-out of a sentence does that a little! But it’s challenging to say that sincerely when everyone is going through such stress. Even the good news comes with new stresses: navigating new healthcare and finding new doctors, possibly moving now or later and all that comes with that, starting a new job, etc., and doing this all while the pandemic is still major problem.
Something my Buddhist-raised partner reminds me a lot of is the notion that all life is suffering.
Bleak, I know.
Let me try again.
In life, problems are inevitable. It is impossible to go through life without problems, and any attempt to avoid them is futile. Biggie was right: mo money mo problems. Obviously less money = more problems. Money = problems. Existing = problems. That sounds super pro-capitalism, but I’m talking beyond money here too of course. Connections with other humans creates problems, as does not having them. Making choices about your life and career create problems, good and bad. You get it.
What you want our good problems. We had a bad problem: partner lost job. It was solved, but that created new problems, but better, good problems (i.e. moving across the country, new health insurance, new job experiences, new budget). These things are all annoying as heck to deal with, and will be a terrible slog to navigate, but we will in time. And then if we’re lucky we can have newer good problems like finding our new favorite restaurant in our new town, looking into getting a dog (and all the wonderful problems that come with dogs), and be stable enough to work on our next film for a consistent period of time vs the stop-and-go nature brought on by the existential dread of pretending to be functioning well in a pandemic amid societal upheaval. Ya know! Life!
…I swear we’ll get back to the cartoons soon…
But until then, I wish you all blue skies and good problems.
Earlier this month, I had the privilege of interviewing Cardiff-based filmmakers Joanna Quinn and Les Mills! The interview was part of les Sommets du Cinema d’animation, an annual international film festival based in Montreal. Cartoon Brew, who I freelance for on occasion, is a sponsor of the festival, which lead to them asking if I’d be interested in the opportunity.
So a big thank you particularly to Marco de Blois and Michael Fukushima for allowing me to be involved, and for the festival’s technical team for running such a smooth event.
Before you watch the interview, it would really help to at the very least watch the three existing Beryl shorts, which I’ve got listed below. While we do show some clips from the films, as well as some sneak-peaks from the new, fourth film, it’d certainly be more enjoyable with a full picture.
Here is a trailer of the new film:
Beryl Productions’ latest film, Affairs of the Art is due out in 2021 and I cannot wait for everyone to see it!
Past Beryl Shorts
These and more of Joanna’s films and commercial work can be found on her site.
While not specific to animation, the concept of the 10,000 hour rule certainly makes its way through the community, from students, masters, and everyone in between. It’s a perpetual topic for creatives.
The rule, popularized by writer Malcolm Gladwell (my high school art teacher used to read to us from Blink while we mediated…), argues that it takes 10,000 hours for someone to achieve mastery over a particular skill or subject. It’s also often referred to as the ’10 year rule.’ Like any sort of vague creative rule of thumb, there’s plenty of writing both condemning and condoning the idea, and generally its interpretation is simplified and/or misinterpreted to the point of being incorrect. At the same time, I think with a bit of aforementioned context, it’s still a great jumping off point to discuss bettering oneself.
There is a popular quote in the animation industry that certainly runs adjacent to this sentiment:
We all have 10,000 bad drawings in us. The sooner we get them out the better.
Walt Stanchfield is most famous for his time as a Disney animator, teaching others. He, along with Eric Larson were responsible for creating the training program at the studios in the 70s that brought up many of the artists who went on to play pivotal roles at Pixar and Disney during the 90s. For the longest time, the bulk of Stanchfield’s lectures were passed around as photocopies, but later were bundled into two published volumes, Drawn to Life Volumes 1 and Volume 2, that have become staples of any animation student’s library.
The same mix of condemning and condoning apply here as well. But let’s take what we need from this concept, ok?
The Deciding Factor
It all boils down to intent.
Now, the actual ten thousand hours of practice spread (most realistically) over ten years is a rough average of course, not meant for everyone and every situation. I don’t think it was ever intended to, to be clear.
And intent–the most important factor of this–tends to get lost in conversations. Its core stresses quality time over quantity of time–not just more time on task, but better time on task. Experts may not log any more hours than you, but they practice differently than your average person, doing what cognitive psychologist Anders Ericsson calls deliberate practice.
In Angela Duckworth’s book Grit, she cites the original researcher, Ericsson, who, as she put it “is the world expert on world experts.”
First, they set a stretch goal, zeroing in on just one narrow aspect of their overall performance. Rather than focus on what they already do well, experts strive to improve specific weaknesses. They intentionally seek out challenges they can’t yet meet…Virtuoso violinist Roberto Diaz describes “working to find your Achilles’ heel–the specific aspect of the music that needs problem solving.” Then, with undivided attention and great effort, experts strive to reach their stretch goal.
Intent is arguably more important, or at least, could undermine any well-intended but mild effort.
I try to stress to my students the importance of active practice over passive practice. That an hour of focused daily practice will put you miles ahead of a few hours of passive, mindless work, say, throwing a movie on in the background and working while watching that. Now, to be clear, I’m not opposed to having music or something on in the background, but you need to be honest with yourself about how well you personally focus or are distracted by external things like that and your phone. I’ve definitely seen professional artists work with ample distractions around them and still get quality work out, and I’d argue that’s because they’re actually ‘masters’ of their craft or are well on their way. But if you’re still a student in the academic sense (because we’re all students forever, right?), you’re at the very start of your journey. It’s especially important to get started on the right foot.
I’ve heard stories of artists who recognized a certain aspect was a weakness of theirs, like drawing hands or cars, and focusing on that and excelling in that particular area. I remember attending a talk with animator Aya Suzuki years ago and her mentioning having to pass on an opportunity to work on the rebooted Neon Genesis Evangelion films because she’d had limited experience with more mechanical and hard surface designs, and city elements. Looking at her body of work, it’s clear that she opted to focus on more organic elements and character animation, and mastered this area.
Active vs. Passive
What exactly does that look like?
Have you ever read a book or an article and found that you couldn’t recall any of the information you just read? Maybe you got to the end of a paragraph and realized you hadn’t actually read it–you just went through the motions of reading it. But you weren’t actually engaging with and retaining the text.
Or what about watching a film while scrolling on social media? Are you really actively engaged with either screen if your brain is divided between them? In this world of hustle culture and constantly optimizing and hacking our productivity, I can understand where this might seem more beneficial. But in the long run, you’re better off giving each task and skill you want to learn your undivided attention.
It’s about knowing what areas you do want to delve into. As I quoted earlier, it’s about knowing the weaknesses you want to improve.
Ten thousand drawings aren’t helpful if half of them were mindlessly done, if you aren’t learning from each one and cumulatively bringing that knowledge and experience into the next one.
If you’re trying to do this as a career, or just anything beyond a fun hobby, I encourage you to try to be deliberate in your art practice. Practice doesn’t make perfect–perfect practice makes perfect. ‘Perfect’ here is relative and a bit hyperbolic of course, so don’t fixate on that as much as recognizing how you practice is way more important than what we give it credit for.
Today marks film producer Toshio Suzuki’s 72nd birthday. Suzuki is best known as the producer of the majority of the films made by Studio Ghibli. (For the first several features, he was credited as being on the production committee–it wasn’t until 1991’s Only Yesterday did he first receive a credit as producer, and would do so on every film (some times with a co-producer) until The Wind Rises (2013).
And I just so happen to finish reading his 2014 memoir yesterday, titled Mixing Work with Pleasure: My Life at Studio Ghibli, only to learn his birthday is today (August 19, 1948). I picked this book up on a whim, as I’ve been in a Studio Ghibli rewatch mood lately (if my last blog post is any indication), and was pleasantly surprised by it.
While I knew about Suzuki was before this through other books and articles, and documentaries, such as The Kingdom of Dreams and Madness (2013), this was the first thing I read centered on him (and of course written by him). Normally, of course, the spotlight with regards to Ghibli is most often on Hayao Miyazaki and the late Isao Takahata, the two directors the studio was set up solely to accommodate.
That singular goal–to create a studio specifically for these two artists to make films–is one of the obvious but so startlingly impressive things I learned in this book. While it was clear that that was the studio’s goal after each film was hit after hit, it was amazing to learn that this idea was at the very core of its founding. Having worked at a US feature studio that was very much filmmaking by committee and none of the ideas were original stories created by the directors, it was refreshing to hear about this truly artist-driven endeavor.
It was also interesting to see how their business model had to change when both directors made what were presumably their last films. (Takahata passed away in 2018; his last film was The Tale of the Princes Kaguya (2013). Miyazaki’s last feature was 2013’s The Wind Rises, but is reportedly working on another feature.) It’s been largely Suzuki who has shepherded the studio though its decades and these newer and larger changes.
A Brief Career Recap
After graduating from university, his first job was at Tokuma Shoten Publishing, where he worked in various departments and magazines before being given the impossible task of launching a monthly animation magazine in 3 weeks. His research and quest for experts (he knew nothing about animation when given this assignment) put him in contact with Takahata and Miyazaki, who were working together at Toei Animation. He strikes up an honestly bizarre yet charming friendship with them both. It was really fun to read about this early part of their relationship, and how trust was slowly built. Suzuki commissioned Miyazaki to produce a serialized manga in the animation magazine, called Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind, which of course became the basis for his second feature film of the same name.
With each new film, Suzuki became more involved as Studio Ghibli took shape as a subsidiary of Tokuma Shoten, with Suzuki quitting his job there to come on to Ghibli full time as company director in 1990. He was there for all the ups and downs, the development and opening of the Ghibli Museum, their decision to break away from Tokuma Shoten in 2005 and become independent, and everything in between and beyond. It’s absolutely amazing to learn about so much of these stories, developments, and various relationships that formed and grew over these decades.
Studio Ghibli Could Never Be Replicated
As a massive Studio Ghibli fan, this book is of course a must-read. There are so many funny stories and anecdotes that had me chuckling into the book, so many moments that felt like inside jokes based on what we know about characters like Miyazaki and Takahata and hearing things being confirmed by someone who worked so closely with them for so long.
As someone in the animation industry, and who has worked in production management with intent to be a producer, it is also a worthwhile (if not frustrating) read. It’s only frustrating because of how much…freedom isn’t really the right word, but freedom Suzuki had in his career and decisions. That’s not to say he wasn’t constantly answering to other people and stressing about budgets and deadlines and what not. I was jealous of his career of course. I was jealous of his mindset and the studio’s overall mindset which I mentioned earlier. Suzuki is very clear about the things he feels are his role as a producer, and they are the total opposite of Western ones. Towards the end of the book, he himself ruminates on this difference, citing American producers as the head honchos and often involved too much creatively compared to his role that while having many creative elements, he stressed was secondary to the director. That’s how it should be, but in my limited experience this is often not the case. And that’s also just the difference between a place like Ghibli and a big US feature studio–that creator-driven storytelling vs project-driven. Usually, it’s a producer that has an IP–a script or a graphic novel and they find suitable writers and directors. Even at a studio like Pixar which one might argue as the US equivalent has had a significant number of their films replace their directors partway through the productions (i.e. Brave, Ratatouille, The Good Dinosaur, Toy Story 2 and 4, Cars 2). It can happen, and there were times it happened or almost happened at Ghibli too, as Suzuki discusses throughout the book.
It would be remiss of me to acknowledge of course that these films need to make money. And if a story isn’t working, there are times where replacing a director is the right call. Creator-driven filmmaking can only truly work if the creator is given the time and freedom, and that usually unfortunately isn’t as feasible in this day and age.
Another big difference between Ghibli and the US is the development period and process, that also of course affects the overall production, budget and timeline. The general MO at Ghibli was having the directors boarding their films, (some times there’s a script written before that). But the boards are what guide the film. Once the first 20 minutes of the film are boarded out, production started. And again, that sort of trust and thinking I feel are the result of that implicit creator-driven filmmaking we just don’t see in animation.
And that’s because animation is expensive! And time consuming! Most studios are not set up specifically to fund two creators films. That sort of patronage is rare. It’s rare to find a US feature animation director who’s made more than 5 films–again Pixar is the closest example we have to this with people like John Lasseter (gross, sorry), and Andrew Stanton and Brad Bird (including their live-action films). (Also, also, consider this a tiny content warning in the book: Suzuki mentions Lasseter a few times in positive ways as a supporter of their work (this book was first published in 2008, with an extra chapter in 2014). It was bittersweet as it was Lasseter’s admiration and persistence that really helped put Ghibli on the map stateside for many people, but he had to go and be a creep.
Because animation is expensive and time consuming, feature films tend to get watered down so they are appealing to the widest audience. We’re talking all four quadrants (boys, girls, men, women–I know, super heteronormative, I didn’t make the dumb box office rules), and not too specific so it appeals to these quadrants on a global level. That, inherently, sounds incredibly illogical to me. To quote Hamilton, “if you stand for nothing, what’ll you fall for?” If you try to appeal to everyone, you end up with these cookie-cutter stale things with basic themes like “believe in yourself.” Even though like half of Ghibli’s films take place in fictitious European places, they are 1000% Japanese. They reflect the feelings of the director, when the film was made. They are not made by a massive committee and focus grouped to death and they have an actual point of view. They take risks, and do something different each time.
We are seeing that more and more over here, with films like Wall-E (2008), and more recently, Spider-Man: Into the SpiderVerse (2018). We are seeing studios take more risks, and create more nuanced stories. Because the fun thing about having a point of view is that even if I’m not the “target” demographic, I can still identify with aspects of any film, be it a character, theme, etc. Miyazaki is someone who always says that he makes films specifically for children (with The Wind Rises being a departure), and yet they have achieved massive appeal by people of all ages globally. His characters have a depth to them, they feel like they were going about their business before the film and continue to live long after the credits roll.
In general, a lot of Suzuki’s personal philosophy just sounds wonderful. It’s nice how he weaves little lessons and advice throughout his career. While a lot of it is pretty obvious or pretty unique to Ghibli’s unique situation, it was fun to hear his experiences. It was fun to hear him learning as he went, be it is various changing and expanding roles at the studio and how it was all in service to the films.
Because at the end of the day, Studio Ghibli’s model is not one that can be replicated. And that’s a problem they themselves went through after 2013 when the two men the studio was made for stepped down. That was when we saw them have to shift to being content-driven and find the right people for their projects. The first two examples we saw of that were The Secret World of Arrietty (2010) and From Up on Poppy Hill (2011). These are both based on pre-existing works, which is pretty common for Ghibli (i.e. Kiki’s Delivery Service (1989), Howl’s Moving Castle (2004), Whisper of the Heart (1995). The big difference I am referring to was the projects being decided upon first and then them finding suitable directors for them, as well as the handling of the adaptation and development.
I don’t really have a nice way to wrap this up. I could definitely keep rambling about everything in this book. Again, it was just a really fun read for me as a Studio Ghibli fan, someone interested in animation development and producing, and an animation history fan. There were lots of great stories and nuggets of information and wisdom. It really humanized him, a welcome departure from the stereotypes of film producers we often see.
It made me sad too–again the overall philosophy Suzuki embodies is what makes Ghibli Ghibli, and knowing it will never be like it was again makes me sad. Hearing his words made me forlorn for an animation industry that was better. Animation is more accessible to watch and create than ever before though, so I know I have to remain optimistic that there are so many artists like me who have been influenced by these films in so many ways. We need more execs and financiers to be inspired by them too. In so many ways the business has to change, and a leader like Toshio Suzuki is the perfect role model.
Last Wednesday marks the 30th anniversary of one of my favorite films, and the film I default to whenever twitter asks to post your favorite or just *a* film from the year you were born. Thirty looks good on us, Kiki.
Kiki’s Delivery Service is a film directed by Hayao Miyazaki through Studio Ghibli. I remember when this movie first came to the US (in 1998), my tía bought it for my cousin, whose nickname was Kiki. She’d always make us watch it to the point that I avoided it for YEARS until I revisited it again in college and I was furious at all of the wasted years I could have been internalizing the messages of this film. So while it was technically my first Ghibli film, I wasn’t cognisant of that for a while.
Kiki is a film that gets more meaningful to me the older I get and the more I struggle to get back to who I was when I was…honestly, Kiki’s age.
The premise and overall plot of this film is simple enough. Kiki, having recently turned 13, is excited to now continue the tradition of witches like her mother, who leave their home for a year in order to hone their particular skill within witchcraft. Her mother, for example, is a potion master, and is seen in the film making medicine for a neighbor. Kiki moves to a new town with only one skill–flying–and she is admittedly not even that good at it. Through some lucky encounters with kind strangers, she’s able to start up a delivery service, and deals with the ups and downs of working, and of monetizing the thing you love. Eventually, she burns out and temporarily loses her powers. It’s through friends helping her through what is essentially her art block, that she pushes through and regains her abilities just in time to use her flying to rescue a friend in danger.
If you haven’t seen it and don’t want specifics spoiled, be warned.
Because I grew up with a lot of them, I’m used to and prefer the dubs for a couple of older Ghibli films. I will note that there are some lines changes and localization choices that alter the sentiment or tone of some lines between the Japanese and English. The English dubs always take some liberties extra jokes or slightly changing the tone or personality of some minor characters/lines. Jiji’s a big example in this film. Nonetheless, the dub is what is seared into my soul, and what I default to when watching this film.
So, let’s talk about watching Kiki’s Delivery Service on its 30th birthday as a 30 year old who recently started down a new largely freelance career path.
Or better yet, let’s talk about all the moments this movie made me cry on this most recent revisit, or brought me pretty damn close:
Attacked By a 13-Year-Old
I set a new record for how quickly I started tearing up, because the waterworks started like 6 minutes into the damn movie. When Kiki decides tonight is the night she’s leaving home, she asks her dad to hold her and spin her around like he did when she was younger. He laments at how quickly she’s growing up, adding that if things are too rough out there that she can always come back home.
“And come back a failure!? Bleh!” she says, sticking her tongue out in disgust.
You sweet, sweet, beautiful child.
I am simultaneously in awe of Kiki and immensely wary on her behalf at the start of the film. This is a me problem though, and not Kiki’s problem. Yes, she is naive, and that’s ok–she’s thirteen. But she is also venturing out into the real world, so I want her to be a little more cautious. That’s also 30-year-old Jen talking.
As much as this film is about Kiki, it is also about community. And I live in a country, and in a point in time that is very distrusting and cynical about the individualism that exists in the place they live. Kiki would not have gotten as far as she did had it not been for the people she met, but also they would not have been such big supporters of her if she wasn’t the optimistic, honest, hard-working, kind young woman she was.
That she already was wary of “failing” despite having no skillset or life experience outside her small town, makes me sad. We of course live in a world that looks at failures as deeply shameful and embarrassing, and not trying new things and/or solving problems.
Kiki Crashes Into Multiple Trees As Soon As She Leaves
I love this scene because it’s one that I didn’t…understand for so long watching this film. And then I think once I was in college taking film classes and properly starting to observe films more, it sort of clicked. Not that this particular moment in the film is so complex that it requires film studies, merely that I was just a bit oblivious. I liked movies but I hadn’t realized how much I wasn’t aware of them. I always was just like, “Aw how cute they hung bells in their trees, maybe like wind chimes?” But at some point I realized that they were basically warning bells so her parents would know when Kiki crashed into any of the nearby. And to warn Kiki she needed to focus more.
That she does so on the night she’s leaving, causing her parents to have those worrisome faces after expressing concern multiple times is just the cherry on top.
I love this scene because Kiki doesn’t have a skill that she’s been specializing in. Her mom expresses guilt at not teaching Kiki her own. Kiki doesn’t have a clear-cut skill to build a stable life with, but she decides she wants to leave and figure things out. Older me knows this is naïve, but younger me was all about this. We’re always so eager to grow up when we have no idea what adult life actually encompasses.
Her first small taste of this is when she’s flying and encounters another witch who is at the tail-end of her first year away. She seems much more mature and grown up than Kiki, and Kiki’s made insecure, and aware she doesn’t really have a specialty (this girl’s is fortune telling).
Kiki’s First Customer
While the baker Asano is the first one to help Kiki get settled, it’s their neighbor (Maki) with the white cat (Lilly) that is her first true customer.
Kiki has no marketing strategy lol. She decides she’s going to use her flying skill set and start a delivery business after a fateful encounter with Asano, realizing that flying is a skill she sort of has, but can work with. She shares this with Asano, who cuts a deal with her for some help at the bakery, and Kiki gets setup with a room, a phone, and Asano’s word of mouth to her own established customer base.
Asano has clearly been talking, because word gets out somehow and she slowly starts to see some customers.
I love this scene because she’s so excited. She’d just bought a map of the area from the store, and when the woman asks about the price, she doesn’t even know. The woman gives her an amount that Kiki excitedly reacts to. As an adult, I wonder if it was actually a high amount or if Kiki would have been excited about seeing any money.
Later in the film, we see her weighing a product and using the cash register to calculate a rate based on that and the address, so now we at least know she’s got some kind of process.
“Work is Work”
Thus far into her career, Kiki has been met with nothing but kindness and appreciation. She returns that kindness several times over when she takes extra time to help an old woman prepare a pie that Kiki is meant to deliver.
While the setback of a broken oven makes her run late, Kiki arrives at the granddaughter’s house, who, upon seeing the herring and pumpkin pie, remarks:
“I hate Grandma’s stupid pies!” as she begrudgingly signs Kiki’s receipt book.
She takes the basket and slams the door before Kiki even has a chance to react. Dazed, she begins to leave for home, only to be caught in the heavy rainstorm.
Miyazaki addresses the sentiment perfectly in the art book:
In her line of work, Kiki’s experience is hardly unusual. Kiki learns the hard way how naive she’s been. She thought she;s be appreciated. But that’s not how the real world works. She has to deliver the goods because she’s getting paid. You’re lucky if you have a nice client. Of course, she doesn’t say this in the movie [laughs]. I like the way the potpie girl talks. It’s very honest.
Monetizing Your Passion
Through some more thoughtful meddling by Asano, Kiki is tricked into delivering something to her would-be-friend Tombo’s home. They have a short adventure as they bike to the beach, giving Kiki her first real laugh in a while. While sitting with Tombo, he expresses jealousy and awe at Kiki’s natural ability to fly, because lord help us if Miyazaki ever makes a film that doesn’t explore this obsession. Kiki sadly responds that she used to love flying, but ever since she started doing it as a job, she hasn’t enjoyed it.
Flying used to be fun…until I started doing it for a living.
Cue the tears!
I think this is especially something that applies for people who pursue careers in the arts, but of course applies everywhere. You spend your childhood obsessed with the thing, it becomes your passion, you probably become skilled at it and/or it becomes a big part of your identity, you likely study it in school, and you get your “dream job” doing the thing.
I know so many people like this in animation, who have the dream job at the big studio, and the last thing they want to do with their free time is look at anything to do with animation. I see that passion sucked out of so many people. Not everyone of course, but enough people. Or I see people trying to turn things they did for fun into a job and their relationship with the thing totally changes.
I’ve been very mindful of that for myself as an adult for sure. To not let bad experiences taint a thing I love, or to not take this site for example, too seriously, or else I’ll be paralyzed by perfectionism (still working on that). So this one hit home very much so for both my husband and I, as people who got into animation out of love and are doing what we can to continue to love it the deeper we get.
This was also something I was accidentally doing with hobbies. I’ve always been an arts and crafts type, but at some point in my life, I stopped doing a lot of things if I didn’t feel like I was good enough and that it wouldn’t lead to anything “more” beyond me just enjoying the thing. This is such a toxic thing, and a side effect of hustle culture and just a very uncertain time for people my age crippled with student debt, an unreachable housing market, etc.
It’s been on my mind as I navigate what I want my life and career to look like, and I’m so grateful to Kiki for being an early access point to this dialog.
Kiki Loses Her Magic
After returning home angry from her projecting her own insecurities onto Tombo, she laments to Jiji how bad she is at making friends. Jiji replies with meows instead of words. Fearfully, she grabs her broom and makes several attempts to fly, with no success. Her magic is gone. It happened so gradually that she didn’t realize it until it was too late.
My concept of ‘magic’ in this film departed from the traditional approach to magic stories. I only wanted it to be a limited talent. So at times she won’t be able to fly. It would’ve been pointless to explain, for example, how she couldn’t fly because of her fight with Tombo. I thought that girls watching this would understand the film on its own terms. We sometimes aren’t able to draw something that once game so easily. We might even forget how we learned to draw it in the first place. I really don’t know how this happens.
Burnout is real, y’all. Kiki is at her lowest low.
Ursula, a friend Kiki makes earlier in the film, is in town getting supplies. After hearing Kiki’s dilemma, she invites Kiki to tag along with her back to her cabin in the woods.
There, Kiki sees the painting Ursula’s been working on, and how Kiki was the inspiration for it. Ursula shares that it gave her trouble though, that she almost gave up on it a bunch. Ursula compares her skill as a painter with Kiki’s magic–something Miyazaki stresses a lot. That her magic is like that of an artisan or craftsman. It’s a skill that has to be honed. It’s a passion that can lead to burnout and artist’s or writer’s block.
Ursula encourages Kiki that when this happens, you don’t think about it. You do other things, since the more you think about it, the more you’ll stress about being unable to create and the problem we’ll worsen.
Understanding that, Kiki also realizes that she’d never really thought about why she flies. And yet this thing was so integral to her identity: if she can’t fly, she can’t be a witch, and if she can’t be a witch, then who is she?
Kiki: Without even thinking about it, I used to be able to fly. Now I’m trying to look inside myself and find out how I did it. But I just can’t figure it out…
Ursula: Then stop trying. Take long walks. Look at the scenery. Doze off at noon. Don’t even think about flying. And then pretty soon, you’ll be flying again.
This was the artist retreat Kiki didn’t know she needed.
She is understanding her relationship to her art. She is seeing herself as an artist, and has to further understand her relationship with her work, and how to protect herself from it. Maybe she’s recognizing that too much of her identity is tied into this thing. And not for nothing, embracing the people who have reached out to her in friendship will also help her learn about and explore new things. Ursula is already a great friend and mentor.
Ursula: When I was your age, I’d already decided to become an artist. I loved to paint so much. I’d paint all day until I fell asleep right at my easel. And then one day, for some reason, I just couldn’t paint anymore. I tried and tried, but nothing I did seemed any good. They were copies of paintings I’d seen somewhere before… and not very good copies either. I just felt like I’d lost my ability… It’s exactly the same, but then I found the answer. You see, I hadn’t figured out what or why I wanted to paint. I had to discover my own style. When you fly, you rely on what’s inside of you, don’t you?
Kiki: We fly with our spirit.
Ursula: Trusting your spirit! Yes, yes! That’s exactly what I’m talking about. That same spirit is what makes me paint and makes your friend bake. But we each need to find our own inspiration, Kiki. Sometimes it’s not easy.
Kiki: I guess I never gave much thought to why I wanted to do this. I got so caught up in all the training and stuff. Maybe I have to find my own inspiration
Does this not just slap you in the face? DOESN’T IT?
After this. she returns home and takes some time off. She decides to continue staying in the town (rather than going home) and trying to be more open to meeting people.
A Letter to Mom and Dad
A mid-credit scene has Kiki’s parents receiving a letter from her, updating them about her life. She’s honest in saying it’s not always easy, but she loves her town. Her parents can breathe a sigh of relief that Kiki has landed on her two feet.
Miyazaki mentions in the artbook how he didn’t want the climax and resolution of the film to center on her job or becoming a town celebrity, but rather leaving audiences “…with the impression that no matter how dispirited she gets…she’ll always rise above.” (pg.143)
In that vein, I also do love that there’s no antagonist in this film, nor is there really anyone explicitly mean to her.
He Made a Movie About Himself
While watching this film, it struck me that Miyazaki made a movie about being an animator. I thought, he made a movie about himself. Maybe a younger self…and to be fair, there’s an argument that all of his movies are about himself considering how much creative control and influence he has on them. Regardless, it is still clear he had artists in mind. He shares a similar sentiment in the opening of the artbook:
“The issues of independence girls have to confront now are in some ways more difficult since they must discover, develop, and then actualize their talents. There are girls, for example, who move to Tokyo hoping to pursue a career in the manga industry…One can even make a living at it. The real challenge occurs when it becomes a routine part of your life…Kiki experiences loneliness–a yearning to connect with others. She represents every girl who is drawn to the glamour of the big city but find themselves struggling with their newfound independence…today’s girls also share Kiki’s naivete and lack of awareness.”
Learning a craft like animation–any aspect of it–is extremely isolating when working on your own skill. Of course, its crucial that you build a network and learn to work on a team to create things.
Knowing Miyazaki tends to board his films straight through from beginning to end by himself, I wonder how aware he was that he was sharing these parts of himself with us. While it is based on a pre-existing work, he changed it when writing the screenplay, knowing she needed to struggle for the story to work as a film. From various readings and documentaries about him, he’s definitely someone who develops a lot in his head, and he himself has said he doesn’t actively think about messaging so much as making sure it’s entertaining, and yet he always manages both.
Failure is a natural part of the creative process. It is also temporary. These are difficult things to remember, personally. These are difficult things to accept when you’ve developed taste that your skills don’t match. When you’re online all the time being bombarded by people’s highly curated work and lives.
There are clear-cut moments in my career and my artistic journey where I absolutely lost my magic. I think it’s up and disappeared right now, to be honest, and that was why my brain kept telling me to make some time to watch this film uninterrupted. It was some medicine my heart needed. And when I’d learned on twitter that that day was its 30th birthday? Talk about a sign from the universe.
I’ve had so many ups on my journey that end up being fleeting moments before I want more and strive for the next one, and so many lows that, without even realizing it, made me scared to keep trying to soar higher and higher. You remember the pain more clearly than you remember the victories. You set the bar so high in the sky that you can’t see it anymore, so what’s the point in trying to clear it? It’s like Kiki and Ursula said, one day you just forget how to do it. You hit a wall. Some times its drawing, or filming or writing. Some times it’s being creative in general and then I really feel like a failure. It’s something I still struggle with and am working through. I’m learning to trust myself again bit by bit, and get back to being that self-assured witch-in-training I was.
Hello and welcome to week 7 of Short Stack! You know the drill–three animated shorts for you to check out. So go check them out!
It’s Hip to Be Square (1988)
Kugel and Cafferelli run the NY-based studio Buzzco Associates, Inc. and did several animated spots for Sesame Street from 1988, with their last releasing in 2005. Here’s their site.
Love me some New York animation. : )
FIRE (POZAR) (2015)
Like I said in my video, I wasn’t able to find credits for any artists who may have worked on this. Maybe if your Japanese is better than mine you’ll have better luck. I’d love to know the process behind it–the actual animation seems auto generated but the camera work I assume was decided by a human. I’m also curious if Hisaishi gave any direction.
If you want to recommend your favorite short film, just leave a comment here, or let me know on Twitter or Instagram. Please just make sure that the full film is available online.