Foreword copyright © 1987, 2013 The Maurice Noble Estate. Preface copyright © 1987 by The Chuck Jones Center for Creativity. Text copyright © 2013 by Tod Polson. Page 174 constitutes a continuation of the copyright page. “LOONEY TUNES” including “BUGS BUNNY,” “DAFFY DUCK,” “ROAD RUNNER,” “WILE E. COYOTE,” “PEPE LE PEW,” “ELMER FUDD,” “SAM SHEEPDOG,” “MARVIN THE MARTIAN,” and “RALPH PHILLIPS” used courtesy of Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher. ISBN 978-1-4521-2738-5 The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows: Polson, Tod, 1971The Noble Approach: Maurice Noble and the Zen of animation design / by Tod Polson. pages cm Includes index. ISBN: 978-1-4521-0294-8 1. Noble, Maurice. 2. Animated films--United States. 3. Animation (Cinematography)--United States. I. Title. NC1766.U52N637 2013 791.43’34092--dc23 2012031595 Designed by Cat Grishaver Chronicle Books LLC 680 Second Street San Francisco, California 94107 www.chroniclebooks.com Contents 9 PREFACE BY Chuck Jones 10 FOREWORD BY Maurice Noble 13 PROLOGUE 14 INTRODUCTION 16 SCHOOL DAZE 18 SLUMMING IT AT DISNEY’ S 21 THE DISNEY STRIKE 23 THE WAR YEARS 25 DEVELOPMENT OF THE WARNER BROS. STYLE 27 DEVELOPMENT OF THE NOBLE STYLE 27 COMPARISONS TO UPA 28 3-D AND JOHN SUTHERLAND PRODUCTIONS 30 THERE AND BACK AGAIN 33 THE END OF AN ERA 34 THE MGM YEARS 38 RETIREMENT 44 A NEW BEGINNING 46 LEGACY 48 STEP 01 Getting Started 48 WORKING WITHIN YOUR LIMITATIONS 50 WORKING AS A TEAM 54 STEP 02 Story 55 VISUAL STORYTELLING 60 STEP 03 Breaking Down the Elements 61 STORY BEATS 61 STORY ELEMENTS 66 STEP 04 Research and Inspiration 67 USING REFERENCE 80 STEP 05 Design 81 THUMBNAILS 83 WORKING IN THE CORRECT ASPECT RATIO 85 SUPPORTING THE CHARACTERS 85 SWEATY FUN 86 THUMBNAILS TO WORKING DRAWINGS 88 VALUE 91 TESTING VALUE 91 STACKING VALUE 93 FRAMING WITH LIGHT 94 CONTRAST 97 SIMPLIFYING ELEMENTS 98 STEP 06 Color 99 THE BASICS 102 COLOR PERSONALITY 103 THE PALETTE 103 SIMPLIFYING THE PALETTE 104 COLOR THEMES 104 COLOR FOR QUICK CUTS 105 COLOR CHORDS 114 COLOR CHORDS AS THEMES 115 CHARACTER COLOR 116 VISUAL HIERARCHY 118 COLOR REFLECTING PERSONALITY 119 ANALOGOUS AND SPLIT-COMPLEMENTARY CHARACTER COLORS 120 COMPLEMENTARY CHARACTER COLORS 124 DESIGNING CHARACTER COLOR IN MODERN TIMES 124 SATURATION 124 DULL COLORS AGAINST BRIGHT 125 PAINTING WITH SPIT 126 COLOR SKETCHES AND COLOR KEYS 146 LIGHTING TESTS 148 STEP 07 Layout 152 GRIDS AND COMPOSITION 153 GRID ELEMENTS 153 HORIZONTAL AND VERTICAL LINES 153 DIAGONALS 155 RHYTHM AND SPACING 155 COUNTER-RHYTHMS 155 COMPOSITIONAL THEORIES 155 THE RULE OF THIRDS AND RABATMENT 156 ABOUT THE RULE OF THIRDS 157 ABOUT RABATMENT 159 PANS 160 PARALLAX 161 FRAMING WITH ELEMENTS 163 DEPTH 163 PERSPECTIVE 163 MULTIPOINT PERSPECTIVE 165 DISTORTED PERSPECTIVE 166 STEP 08 Final Film 168 IN CONCLUSION 170 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 171 INDEX 174 IMAGE & ART CREDITS Maurice as the timid matador in Bully For Bugs (1953). Layout by Chuck Jones Note from Chuck Jones to Maurice Noble, date unknown To the grandson he hoped could come to know him a little better through these pages . . . . . . and for all those still creating with passion, for no other reason than the joy of it. PREFACE I Have Sent for You, Dodgers! Chuck Jones on Maurice Noble If you describe Maurice as he would appear in the telephone book, you will have an exact idea of my respect and love for him. But I tell you what he was not. He was not “my good right arm.” “My good right arm.” What a splendid term. How nice it must be to be called a “good right arm” by your director if you are a writer or a layout man or a lead animator. There’s only one drawback: a right arm, or a left arm for that matter, is stupid. It has no volition of its own. It only does what the prejudice and predilection of the director tells it to do. As a right arm, Maurice Noble was an absolute failure. He had ideas, which is a pretty stupid thing for a right arm to have. His sense of color and design was, and is, vastly superior to mine, which, in a right arm, should be suicidal. He has a superb sense of humor, which is, in normal circumstances, almost profane for a right arm or a layout man. But fortunately for Maurice and fortunately, to the point of survival for me, I had discovered years before he magically appeared in my unit that there are only two kinds of talent worthy of identification: one that you find, if you are very lucky, as a small, scrabbly little talent within yourself (this is the one you continually doubt and always, if you make any claim to artistry, of which you are constantly suspicious) and two, the talent to surround yourself with talent. Of the two, the only one I am confident that I possess in abundance is the second. If a lawyer who defends himself in court has a fool for a client, then a director who tries to acts as his own background or layout man, lead animator, or sound editor is doomed to be spastically handicapped by his own limitations. It is not only necessary that he hire people in each department (except direction) of talent superior to his own, he must demand that each of them approach the same problem with a different background and viewpoint. For myself, I do not want a writer who thinks he is a director. I want him to have the confidence, and the knowledge, to know that I consider him far better at his job than I am. Mondrian said that the supreme joy of artistry is working within a discipline. Mike Maltese, Ken Harris, Ben Washam, and Maurice Noble, among all those many uniquely talented people I worked with, knew because I tried to exhibit it in the only form of respect and honor I understand how necessary to the final film was their confidence in the contributions they made through their individual disciplines and artistries. Maurice seldom tried to provide animation gags per se, but he created a world where animation could flourish. If, for instance, in What’s Opera, Doc? he felt there was a lack of the flesh and frippery common to classical ballet, he designed the backgrounds in flesh tones and the trees as tutus. If, as in one of the Martian–outer space films, he got tired of all those film-studded mysterious planets, he simply designed a city of delicately hued transparent plates floating in space. In Duck Dodgers in the 24½ Century, whose production design was freely asserted by George Lucas as having been a great stimulus to his Star Wars films, Maurice designed a forty-story rocket ten years before John Glenn had graduated from high school and vastly superior in design to anything seen at Cape Canaveral, plus the only gantry crane worth viewing. Maurice’s visual jokes never intruded on the orderly advance of the story—if any story I ever directed could be called orderly. He enhanced every story. He stimulated all who worked with him. He always used the concerto form: once he was on board with the story intent, every inspirational sketch he contributed was a variation on a theme. He never showed off, but he showed up every layout man I have ever known by his honesty, his devotion to his craft, and his devotion to the film at hand. This is never more vividly demonstrated than in What’s Opera, Doc? Without Maurice Noble, who excited, moved, and stimulated us all, that film could not have been made. As the scientist said to Daffy in Duck Dodgers, “I have sent for you, Dodgers, because the world supply of great layout men is appallingly low.” CHUCK JONES LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA 1987 (From the introduction to Maurice’s Winsor McCay Lifetime Achievement Award, presented by the International Animated Film Society for creative excellence in the field of animation.) FOREWORD Designing for Animation While there has been much written about the art and techniques of animation, little has been said about the overall look and backdrop that animated characters play against. To be more specific: the art direction, staging, design, and layout of an animated film. Over the past few years I have had the pleasure of coming out of retirement and sharing my knowledge and experiences with a whole new generation of young people. Many have asked me to write down some notes on design, and the “Noble approach.” I would also like to say that my success as a designer is in a large part due to the many talented people I have worked with over the years. Chuck Jones, a director who trusted my vision and gave me the freedom to explore it. Mike Maltese, a writer with a “pixie” sense of humor. Ken Harris, Benny Washam, and Abe Levitow, talented animators all. And of course Phil DeGuard, the background painter who helped bring my vision to life. For all these opportunities thank you, also, to: Walt Disney, Dr. Seuss, Friz Freleng, Frank Capra, John Sutherland, John Rose, Frank Tashlin, Norton Juster, Mrs. Chouinard, Henri Matisse, Braque, Michelangelo, Botticelli, Brueghel, Hieronymus Bosch, Arthur Rackham, and Adam and Eve. The real art of animation is filled with ideas and beauty and is a never-ending joy. MAURICE NOBLE LA CRESCENTA, CALIFORNIA Portrait by Yousuf Karsh Maurice and Tod doing some serious research in Turkey. Examples of Maurice’s notes on which the Noble Approach is based. PROLOGUE A Design and Life Philosophy “Originality is a quality over which an artist has as little influence as over the shape and distinction of his features. All he can do is be sincere and try and find out the things that really move him and that he really likes. If he has a strong and original character, he will have no difficulty in this, and his work will be original in the true sense.” — From The Practice and Science of Drawing (1913) by the English artist Harold Speed (1872–1957) If anything could be said about Maurice, it would be about the originality and sincerity of his art, and his sincerity as a person. Five minutes with the man would give you a strong sense of why his films looked the way they did. His jokes (if you could call them that) were so bad that you wanted to groan, but you had to laugh, which only encouraged him more. His cornball humor and pixie sense of fun would inform you of why the rocks in Road Runner country were balanced the way they were. And why his perspective was just a bit off-kilter. But as big of a ham as Maurice pretended to be, he was also a sensitive and thoughtful visual poet. He had a passion for making beautiful images that touched and moved people. More than anyone I’ve ever met, he loved beauty, and he loved life. He conveyed this on the screen, and to everyone whose life he touched. As great of an artist as Maurice was, he was an even greater human being. The text for this book started years ago when Maurice began working with a group of us at Chuck Jones Film Productions. At eighty-three years old, when most men his age were, in Maurice’s words, “dead, or enjoying their retirement,” Maurice was concerned with training a new generation of designers. He would look at our work and, instead of simply talking to us, would write long notes about what he felt were the strengths and weaknesses of our designs. He did this with great effort because his eyesight had gotten so poor, and because we all had so much to learn. The notes he gave us would turn into long discussions. And long discussions turned into ideas that we all still ponder. For the few of us lucky enough to be called his boys (which also included a few girls) he not only changed the way we viewed art, he changed the way we looked at life. Maurice never claimed to have any design secrets, and some of the ideas about design that are offered in the following pages can be found in some of the most basic texts dedicated to the subject. What is unique about Maurice’s work is the way he put these ideas together. Studying under Maurice, we all soon learned that how Maurice designed films (i.e., his design technique), wasn’t nearly as important as why he designed films the way he did. Noble dreamed of sharing his ideas on film design with a larger audience in book form. Though he completed many pages of notes, he unfortunately passed away before his dream could be realized. This book isn’t meant to be a complete retrospective of Maurice’s life or work. Rather, it is what he wanted, an outline of his design philosophies, illustrated with some of his designs. Although Maurice had intended this book to be more of a working textbook, with each chapter outlining a step of his process, I thought it was important to also include some stories, and at least give a little background information (pun intended) about the man. I’ve also combined a few of the steps in his process for clarity, indicating the areas where Maurice’s original plan has been changed. Maurice rarely gave what you would call traditional lessons in design; they were more like conversations. Many of his pearls of wisdom were hidden in the stories he would tell. As you read this book, imagine, if you will, hearing his stories the way we heard many of them: seated in Maurice’s studio, in the midst of art from his remarkable career, stacked, stashed, and hung around the room in an order that only he understood. At the center of this controlled chaos, propped next to the animation disc that had served him so well, was the man himself, once described by Stan Freberg as the “world’s tallest elf,” gray hair mussed, a slight smirk on his face, and a devilish twinkle in his eye. Maurice often told many variations of the same stories throughout the years, depending on his mood and who was in the audience. We were relatively young, so we usually got the PG-rated versions of things, with a naughty word thrown in every once in a while to get a reaction from us. The following pages are taken from notes he had started, as well as interviews and lectures he had given, and memories from the “Noble Boys” and other “young” people he trained and worked with. To Maurice when I knew him, a “young person” was anyone under the age of seventy-five. TOD POLSON, NOBLE BOY CHIANG MAI, THAILAND MARCH 2011 INTRODUCTION Setting the Stage Maurice Noble is best known for the fun, graphic layout design work he created for Warner Bros. and MGM Studios in the 1950s and 1960s. His animation design has been so influential that many refer to the highly stylized animation design from Warner Bros. simply as the “Maurice Noble Style.” But how did Maurice’s stylized approach to design develop? Where did it come from? Maurice’s art education began on May 1, 1910, when he was born in the small lumber town of Spooner, Minnesota. (Maurice’s birth records actually show that he was born on May 1, 1911. But since this is Maurice’s book, I’ll leave this and most other facts just where he left them.) As he was growing up, his mother, an amateur musician and painter, passed on what she knew about art to him. More important, she passed on a simple philosophy that would extend to every aspect of his life, and was repeated to us, his trainees. Maurice’s mother taught, “The greatest asset an artist can have is a curious mind, and the courage to explore it.” If there was one concept that Maurice would have wanted readers to take away from his book, this would have been it. He never claimed to have any specific artistic influences, but rather, like a sponge, took in everything around him and made it his own. Maurice would often seek experiences outside of his comfort zone, such as studying classical Chinese painting in Beijing while in his seventies. For Maurice, the experience of living in an unheated concrete student dorm was as important as the painting lessons themselves. Maurice’s mother had introduced her children to artists such as Michelangelo and Leonardo da Vinci; classic elements would always remain a part of Maurice’s work. As a child Maurice was deeply impressed by the Native American and Mexican art he saw when his family moved to New Mexico; they would remain a lifelong passion. As he grew older, his interests expanded to other cultures, particularly those of Persia and the rest of Asia. Shards of all these things, both consciously and unconsciously, found their way into his work. In his youth, Maurice developed an insatiable appetite for the arts and devoured every textbook he could find on art technique and history. However, Maurice’s dream of becoming an artist was sidetracked after his father succumbed to tuberculosis, and he was forced to leave high school in order to support his mother and siblings. In early 1929, a frustrated Maurice wrote in his diary: Oh Lord, what shall I do? I want to go back to school; but how can I? Mother will worry herself sick about bills, and Mother is the only reason I stay out of school. . . . I crave education, enlightenment, beauty, love; the worthwhile things. I believe I have a rich endowment which I must develop. . . . Oh God help me to find myself! Help me, help me. . . . Such selfishness! But is it selfishness to want to better myself? . . . My ambitions, hopes, and brains, all are going to pay bills. I feel an inward fire of inspiration and hope. I have confidence in myself and with lots of training and lots of time, I will turn out something worthwhile in oil batik or what have you. All art is so connected that I do not see why one cannot work in more than one line. Would it be selfish for me to go ahead and develop this gift, a divine gift? Sometimes I feel that I should be a welfare worker, a missionary, a teacher, and sometimes nothing. Time will tell. . . . I can’t find anything to stir my soul but art, and art is something I get so little of. Maurice was able to supplement his day job as a ditch digger by practicing his art at night and Sunday afternoons. Inspired by a piece of batik received as a gift from his missionary uncle in Thailand, Maurice began creating and selling his own batiks. Then, risking what little savings he had been able to accumulate, he purchased a small printing press. Maurice began selling greeting cards of his own design, and soon the little press had more than paid for itself. Later, during the Christmas season, Maurice was forced to leave school for several weeks in order to keep up with the demand for his cards. Eventually his design work caught the eye of Capitol Records, and they contracted Maurice to design several album covers. With the family on more solid ground financially, Maurice returned to finish his high school education in the fall of 1929. Armed with a strong portfolio, he applied to one of the best art schools in the country at the time, Chouinard Art Institute of Los Angeles. A few moments in a Noble journey. A Noble Christmas at the children’s dept. of Robinson’s department store in the early 1930s. SCHOOL DAZE Maurice became a student at the Chouinard Art Institute in 1930. There he continued his education in drawing and painting under such notable teachers as Lawrence Murphy, Millard Sheets, and Don Graham. Maurice excelled at his studies and held one of the first one-man watercolor shows at Chouinard. He also received one of the first two full scholarships offered at the school. The second scholarship was awarded to fellow classmate Mary Browne Robinson, better known by her married name, Mary Blair. Mary, of course, would become another pillar of midcentury animation design. They were often compared to one another throughout their careers. And though differing in style, there is little doubt that the two influenced each other’s work. Maurice discussed Mary Blair in an interview with Nancy Beiman in 2000: Mary and I [were] what you call “a thing” at one time, but Lee Blair had a car and he beat me out. It was the Depression, and she and I were the poor church mice of the school. Mary and I had painting and design classes together. After painting class, children who had a lot of money would often throw away leftover tubes of paint. Then Mary and I would pick the stuff out of the trash bin. She also used to take the paper towels out of the washroom and paint on them. Mary and I used to do a lot of sketching together, meeting at different places, drawing each other, and painting with watercolors. Mary was a unique talent. But I don’t think you could mistake my design for her design. It’s like any other art medium. There will be certain areas where people do unique things. What’s the difference between a Picasso and a van Gogh? I’m not comparing our talents to that, but on the other hand maybe we are the modern artists. I do believe that animation is a fine art. I think Mary Blair contributed to the fine art of animation, as have I. At the beginning of the second year of his studies, one of the biggest department stores in Los Angeles, Robinson’s, invited Maurice to design its annual Christmas display. The Great Depression had not been kind to Maurice’s mother and siblings, and once again he reluctantly left his studies in order to support them. At the time, Robinson’s was the department store in the Los Angeles area. The clientele included many of Hollywood’s biggest stars. And through entrances flanked by uniformed, white-gloved doormen, customers were made to feel as if they had entered another world. The store displays and distinctive decorative themes of each department were an important part of the Robinson’s shopping experience. Maurice approached his designs for Robinson’s with the same confident graphic sensibilities that would later define his animation work, bold shapes often spiced with a twist of humor. His Christmas display was such a glowing success that what was planned as a semester’s leave of absence from Chouinard became full-time employment at Robinson’s. He would never return to the school to finish his studies. For the next few years, his design sensibilities would shape every department of the store, including the exterior of the Robinson’s building itself, for which he submitted design ideas when it was modernized in 1934. Though Maurice found his work at Robinson’s creatively satisfying, he still struggled to support his mother and extended family. Frustratingly, Maurice’s requests for a raise always fell on deaf ears. Maurice’s student compositions, early 1930s. Pink elephants on parade from Dumbo (1941). SLUMMING IT AT DISNEY’S At the time, the Walt Disney Studios was expanding and looking for background painters. Recruiters, already aware of Maurice’s painting and design work, gave Maurice a background test, after which they offered him $100 a month, $10 more than he had been making at Robinson’s. Armed with a bit of leverage, Maurice returned to Robinson’s hoping to finally get his raise. Maurice explained in a 1989 interview with animation historian Michael Barrier how he came to join Disney: I told my boss at Robinson’s, “I’ve got a chance to work down at the Disney Studio.” He asked, “How much are they going to pay you?” I don’t know what possessed me, but I lied and told him, “They offered me fifty bucks a week.” That’s two hundred dollars per month! He’d been paying me ninety dollars a month at Robinson’s. He said, “I’ll double your salary.” Imagine, in one jump! I said, “You son of a bitch! I’ve tried and tried to get a raise, and you have never even offered me a cent more. You couldn’t pay me enough to stay here!” I put on my hat and walked out the door. At Disney’s the first assignment I got in the background department was an apple with a worm hole which I could render. I thought, Oh my God! What have I gotten myself into? According to Maurice, he hadn’t seriously considered a career in animation before this. Cartoons of the day were relatively crude, and for a serious artist to work in animation was, in his words, “slumming it.” Maurice shared with me: “I had visions of creating something as beautiful and powerful as the Sistine Chapel, works of art that would move and touch people. Little did I know way back then that animation would be the format that I would do it through; I quickly became fascinated by the medium.” Maurice began his animation career as a background painter on the Silly Symphonies shorts in 1934. He contributed his talents to such classics as Water Babies (1935), Elmer Elephant (1936), The Country Cousin (1936), Woodland Cafe (1937), and the Oscar-winning The Old Mill (1937). Though he never finished his education at Chouinard, in a sense Disney brought Chouinard to Maurice by hiring many of his old mentors from the school to teach at the studio. His work grew by leaps and bounds. Over time Maurice moved to work as a background/layout artist on the studio’s first feature, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. He was soon given more creative freedom and began working as a color coordinator, inspirational sketch artist, and designer on films such as Bambi, Pinocchio, Fantasia, and Dumbo. However, creative freedom came with certain frustrations. On Bambi, Maurice had proposed several very graphic design solutions for certain story points, particularly the forest fire sequence, only to have them rejected in favor of a more realistic approach. However, every so often, a more graphic take would make it to the screen, such as Dumbo’s “Pink Elephant” sequence, which Maurice helped design. It was at Disney that Maurice said he first began formulating his personal approach to animation design. In 1938, architect Frank Lloyd Wright visited the Disney Studios. There Wright screened a copy of The Tale of the Czar Durandai (1934), a Russian short film directed by Ivan Ivanov-Vano. The film was a stark contrast to the stylized realism of Disney and featured striking graphic design that referenced Russian folk art. There were several screenings of the film, which intrigued a number of Disney’s staff. John Hubley, and several others that would start the groundbreaking studio United Productions of America (UPA), have cited the film as a major inspiration. It’s unclear how much these screenings affected Maurice, but knowing of his love for design and folk art, it’s easy to guess that the film only added to his frustration with the graphics at Disney. While we were training under Maurice in the early 1990s, one of the first assignments he gave us was designing folk tales using ethnic art as inspiration. These would form the basis for his proposed short film series, Noble Tales. Maurice’s concept sketches for The Old Mill (1937). Maurice created literally thousands of concept sketches over a two-year period for Bambi (1942). Backgrounds (top row) and conceptual color work for Disney’s Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937). Frames from The Tale of the Czar Durandai (1934) by Ivan Ivanov-Vano. Stills from the UPA designed and produced Private Snafu short—A Few Quick Facts About Fear (1945). Directed by Zack Schwartz. THE DISNEY STRIKE By the early 1940s Maurice had worked his way up the Disney ladder. He had relative creative freedom, was able to support his mother and family, and was driving a Plymouth. Risking everything he had worked so hard for, Maurice joined the strike against Disney in 1941. He shared with me what he was feeling at the time: “I give all credit to Walt as an innovator and visionary. He helped develop animation into the great art form it is today. But so many artists at the studio were working ten, twelve, and more hours a day yet were unable to pay their rent. I could have probably had a job for life if I would have just kept my mouth shut. Many could have said something but didn’t. It wasn’t fair to the guys on the lower rungs, so I walked out against Disney.” To give you an idea of how bad things got, Maurice told director Mike Cachuela that he had to cook for some of the artists living in the bushes behind his house. This was on top of the boarders he had taken in from the studio. Any savings that Maurice might have had were wiped out. The strike was a success, but on his return to the studio it was clear that Maurice was no longer welcome. His office was moved to a former broom closet that was so small he had to stand up to open and close the door. He received no new assignments and had no visitors other than when he received his paycheck. Maurice described this to me as a traumatic experience, but he refused to leave the studio until receiving his severance pay. Not long after, World War II broke out, and Maurice enlisted in the Army Signal Corps. To give a sense of how deep passions about the strike ran, animator Mike Polvani and I once attended a “Pioneers of Animation” reunion dinner with Maurice more than fifty years after the strike. I was shocked to find that some of Maurice’s former Disney coworkers still held a grudge, while others, such as ever-youthful Ward Kimball, greeted Maurice with a smile that only Ward could pull off and the hug of a long-lost friend. The strong reaction from many of his ex-colleagues bothered Maurice and had obviously troubled him for many years. He later confessed to me, “For a long time in the industry, if you weren’t working at Disney, you weren’t quite top drawer. It’s not true, of course, but that’s the perception. For years I’ve taken a lot of guff for the ‘cards’ I designed at Warner’s.” (Maurice was referring to insults by some that his work was somehow cheap and flat, like a card.) In 1993 Maurice was honored by The Walt Disney Company for contributions he’d made to the studio. It was about this time that Disney Features asked Maurice to consult on some of their projects in development. This recognition by the studio after so many years meant a great deal to him. The Disney strike had left a large number of talented artists unemployed. Many joined the war effort; others formed their own companies and took advantage of government contracts for training films. Since many of the wartime films tended to target a more sophisticated adult audience, directors and designers were freer to experiment in ways they had never been able to before. Zack Schwartz, John Hubley, and others began committing daring, bold, graphic statements to film in companies such as UPA and Columbia Pictures. Animation was finally able to join the modernist movement that had been happening in illustration and fine art for the previous two decades, a movement that Disney itself would finally join in the 1950s. Various Maurice concept sketches and stills from the Private Snafu series (1942–1945). Many shown here from Operation Snafu directed by Friz Freleng (1945). The army had trained Maurice as a war photographer. But being the perfectionist he was, he took too long to compose his photos and was transferred out of the unit. As fate would have it, his former photography unit was wiped out early in the war. A few of Maurice’s desert-inspired tile designs. THE WAR YEARS After some training as a war photographer and aircraft illustrator, Maurice eventually found himself under the command of Colonel Frank Capra in a film unit headed by Major Theodor “Dr. Seuss” Geisel in Hollywood. Among other things, Maurice began working on a series of propaganda training films starring a character named “Private Snafu” (SNAFU was an army acronym for “Situation Normal All Ffff . . . ouled Up”). Maurice and company would create design keys for the shorts at “Fort Fox,” the nickname of the Fox studios during the war years. These keys were then adapted across town by the staff at Leon Schlesinger Productions, the studio that produced Looney Tunes and Merrie Melodies for Warner Bros. The Snafu films would be the first of many collaborations between Maurice and director Chuck Jones. It would also be his first collaboration with Friz Freleng and John Sutherland Productions. Without the stylized realism of Disney to contend with, Maurice was also finally able to explore a more personal approach to animation design. After the war, Maurice worked as a freelance designer, and very briefly as a background painter, in the Chuck Jones Unit in 1946. Though when asked, he was unable to remember exactly which films he had worked on or how long he had been there. In fact, many of Maurice’s memories just after the war were confused, blurry, and befuddled. He described this period to me as his “wandering-in-thedesert years,” which were among the darkest of his life. Shortly after enlisting, Maurice, with the impulsiveness of many going off to war, had gotten married. Over the next few years, he and his wife had two daughters. As the war drew on, the marriage fell apart, and soon after the war his wife left with their children. Though he continued to support them financially the best he could, he wouldn’t reconnect with his daughters again until they were adults. Their relationship would always be strained. After leaving the service, Maurice was broke, depressed, and physically ill. For a time he lived in the California desert and started a business selling handmade tiles of his own design. The designs were good; unfortunately for Maurice, business was not. Destitute, he stayed with his mother, who slowly nursed him back to health. Eventually Maurice took a job in St. Louis supervising a crew making filmstrips for Church-Craft, an organization indirectly connected with the Lutheran church. The film strips typically consisted of religious, geographic, educational, or children’s stories. In St. Louis Maurice fell in love with and married Marjorie Phillips, a feisty, clever ad exec working in the same building he did. Maurice and Marjorie moved to California in early 1951 after he received an invitation to join the Chuck Jones unit as layout designer. Chuck and Maurice would work together on and off for the rest of their careers, creating some of the greatest shorts of the golden age of animation. McGrew took inspiration from modern art and graphics, such as posters from the WPA and applied these ideas to animation. Frames from The Aristo-Cat (1943), designed by John McGrew and painted by Gene Fleury. The Dover Boys of Pimento University (1942), designed by McGrew and painted by Fleury. Stills from The Unbearable Bear (1943), Designed by McGrew and painted by Fleury. DEVELOPMENT OF THE WARNER BROS. STYLE Many assume that Maurice was the first to bring a more graphic style of design and layout to Warner Bros. animation. While Maurice probably had the most distinctive individual style of any Warner Bros.’ layout artists, and surpassed much of what had been done before he arrived on the scene, the stage had in fact been prepared by Chuck Jones and designer John McGrew years before. One important change that Jones made in his unit in the early 1940s was the use of a single layout/design artist and a dedicated background painter. Not only did John McGrew draw the background layouts, but he also painted small color sketches that background artists Paul Julian, and later Gene Fleury, could reference. Previously, all directors, including Jones, had used a communal background department, where the designs and backgrounds produced were usually substandard. John McGrew told historian Michael Barrier in a 1995 interview that “Art had two basic ideas: watercolors must be pale, and to start, you always did a wash of yellow ochre on the paper, and when it was dry, you would color it—you didn’t paint it, you colored it. The word that Chuck used was not very elegant; he said it was ‘shit-brindle,’ which is a pretty good description.” The approach Jones and McGrew took worked so well that eventually the communal background department was disbanded, and every director in the studio worked with a dedicated layout and background team. Jones caught a lot of flak at the time because his cartoons looked so different from anything else in the studio. In spite of this, he continued to encourage a climate of experimentation and collaboration within his unit. Maurice had been intrigued by many of Jones’s films from the early 1940s, mentioning The Dover Boys (1942) in particular. But he also felt that some of the films were over-designed, having backgrounds that often over- powered the characters, a sentiment that John McGrew himself shared about much of his own film work. Though now greatly underappreciated, many of McGrew’s films are landmarks of animation design and helped inspire the wave of highly designed, graphic cartoons that followed. John McGrew left for the war, and Fleury’s wife, designer Bernyce Polifka, replaced him in the Jones unit. Though having had no such affiliation for many years, McGrew would be blacklisted after testimony by Gene Fleury to the House of Un-American Activities Committee for his ties to communism, connections that Fleury and Polifka also had. His career essentially over in the United States, McGrew would live in Europe for most of the rest of his life. But McGrew had left the door for graphic experimentation wide open, and Polifka stepped boldly through it. Her experience in graphic and product design gave a distinctive look to some of the films she worked on at Warner Bros., such as Wackiki Wabbit (1943). Maurice knew both Bernyce and Fleury personally, and had worked with Gene during the war. He admired the couple’s great designing abilities, but not particularly their work for Chuck Jones. Though Maurice felt many of their ideas were graphically interesting, he also felt that many times they had pushed the designs so far that they detracted from the characters. Many would agree. It is worthy to note that Dave Hilberman, who would later cofound UPA, designed a number of beautifully graphic films at Schlesinger’s for director Norm McCabe and later Frank Tashlin in the early 1940s, such as The Daffy Duckaroo (1942) and Confusions of a Nutzy Spy (1943). These films aren’t as well known today primarily because of their racial stereotypes and the fact that they were made in black and white. Hilberman would also be blacklisted after testimony by Walt Disney to the House of Un-American Activities Committee. Though Maurice claimed not to have been influenced by the films that came before him, he certainly took note of what he thought worked—and didn’t work—stylistically. In 1944, longtime Looney Tunes producer Leon Schlesinger retired and sold his stake in the animation company he had built to Warner Bros. Eddie Selzer took over the seat in the executive office, and the studio was rechristened Warner Bros. Cartoons, Inc. Through the years, Schlesinger had managed his studio with a fairly hands-off approach. As long as the films came in on time and budget and continued to earned money, he was willing to give his directors fairly free rein in design and content. His approach obviously worked: by the time Schlesinger retired, Bugs, Daffy, and Porky were the most popular cartoon characters in America. Frames from Wackiki Wabbit (1943), designed by Bernyce Polifka and painted by her husband, Gene Fleury. Eddie Selzer managed to take a different approach, working hard to endear his key staff to him by being more involved in the filmmaking process. Not long after he took over, director Bob Clampett, depending on whose story you believe, was either fired or quit because of creative differences with Selzer. Director Frank Tashlin also left about this time. Director Friz Freleng turned in his pencil and threatened to quit after a disagreement with his new boss, only agreeing to stay after an apology from Selzer. The love Chuck Jones and Eddie Selzer had for one another couldn’t be measured—because it didn’t exist. In a 1998 interview with animation artist Tom Sito, Jones described Eddie Selzer as “pure evil.” It was no accident that Jones’s work was often overlooked by Selzer when deciding which shorts to submit for the Oscars each year. Bernyce Polifka and Gene Fleury left the studio during the war, replaced by background painter Robert Gribbroek and layout artist Earl Klein. Gribbroek would go on to become Chuck Jones’s main layout designer into the early 1950s, before transferring to Robert McKimson’s unit. Jones would continue making great cartoons in the latter half of the 1940s, his posing, cutting, and timing nearing their zenith. Stylistically, though, most were no match for his earlier experiments. In a 1980s interview with director John Kricfalusi, Friz Freleng revealed that after the war years, he and Chuck Jones had made a conscious effort to “bring things back down to earth.” It’s easy to guess that Selzer would have wanted his directors to conform to a more uniform studio style. In early 1951, Maurice replaced Robert Gribbroek, who according to Maurice was “off raising chinchillas in New Mexico.” Not far from the truth: Gribbroek was in fact a member of the Transcendental Painting Group of abstract artists based near Taos. For being an abstract painter, it’s ironic that Gribbroek’s designs were the least stylized of Chuck Jones’s layout collaborators’. Maurice said of him, “Grib drew well, and his layouts and camera were solid; let’s just say his pictures worked, but they weren’t very exciting to look at.” Robert Gribbroek would work on and off for Jones and other directors at Warner Bros. for most of the rest of his career. In 1959 Gribbroek went into semiretirement after winning $10,000 and the title of “Cookout Champion of the Year” in a national cooking contest. Eventually he was fired by Jones at MGM in the 1960s for refusing to take artistic direction from Maurice. Gribbroek died in New Mexico in 1971. A rough layout for the titles of Mouse-Warming (1952). DEVELOPMENT OF THE NOBLE STYLE Maurice’s style at Warner Bros. developed over time. Many of his early films basically maintained Gribbroek’s look, and some even incorporated a few of his old layouts. Though Maurice’s first screen credit at Warner Bros. was on Rabbit Seasoning (1952), he had actually taken over a number of shorts in various stages of production from Gribbroek, including Feed the Kitty (1952) and Mouse-Warming (1952). Maurice described to me what it was like for him in his first days with the Jones unit: When I first started with Chuck I had never laid out a picture before. Design, sure, but I had never made working layout drawings for an entire film. For the first few days I was really sweating blood. Then I noticed a stack of old layouts sitting in the corner. I studied what Grib had done, and with the help of background painter Phil DeGuard, some of the animators, and the camera man, by the end of the first picture, I had a pretty good handle on what I was supposed to do. But oh! Was it ever painful! As Maurice became more comfortable with the technical side of layout, he began to play more with style. In contrast to Jones, Maurice described Eddie Selzer to me as “a funny little man.” And other than an incident that included a telephone and Maurice kicking a hole in the wall, Maurice and Selzer seem to have gotten along fine. One thing that would have appealed to both Jones’s and Selzer’s sensibilities was Maurice’s logical approach to animation design. Maurice explained this basic design philosophy to me while working on Noble Tales in the late 1990s: “With Chuck we were trying to make a complete statement with the backgrounds and characters working in harmony. If you have characters that are primarily line and flat color, why not take the same approach with the backgrounds?” Maurice elaborated further in a 1991 interview with Harry McCracken: I’d always had in the back of my mind that super-realism in the backgrounds behind flat animation was not the right approach. So when I got the opportunity, I started to place more emphasis on shape. I started to leave off the airbrush and create the spaces by shapes instead of a lot of fussy shadows and so forth. I tried to create each frame to support the action, and not clutter up anything or interfere with a gag or bit of action. The style just evolved little by little. COMPARISONS TO UPA United Productions of America (UPA) made a handful of sophisticated, avant-garde films throughout the mid 1940s and early 1950s. The studio developed styles and techniques in animation that influenced other studios throughout the U.S. animation industry, including Walt Disney. The flat art style Maurice developed in the 1950s was inevitably compared to the graphic films of UPA from the same period. Though both Maurice and the designers at UPA may have sometimes arrived at a similar place graphically, their basic design philosophies were quite different. In 1991 Harry McCracken asked about the influence of UPA on Maurice’s work at Warner Bros. Maurice answered: I’ll be very frank and say I don’t believe I was influenced by UPA at all. I did my own thing. In fact, I refused to go over to UPA. I preferred working with Chuck at Warner Bros. I think UPA outsmarted itself in overdesigning and being kind of smart-assed. In a sense they were walking in their hallowed artistic halls. I think I can honestly say that I’ve never designed anything that I didn’t think was going to communicate to the audience. After all, you have to have an audience. Maurice told me a story that summed up his feelings on UPA’s design approach: “I never took the UPA approach to design, style for style’s sake. I went over to UPA one time and looked around. Bernyce Polifka was there, doing some interesting things. I asked her how her designs related to the character and story. She said, ‘I don’t know, but I sure had fun.’ To me, that’s no way to design a film. Design should support the story, not the other way around.” Maurice confessed that he found much of UPA’s work very interesting, especially the early work of John Hubley. He admitted that even his adversary, Jules Engel, had done some very innovative things. It wasn’t simply the work that turned Maurice off to UPA, it was the artsy-fartsy, better-than-thou attitude of the designers there. Light tests from a Maurice designed DuPont commercial produced at John Sutherland Productions. Mid-1950s. A color key for It’s Everybody’s Business (1954). A background from Warner Bros.’ first 3-D cartoon, Lumber Jack-Rabbit (1954). 3-D AND JOHN SUTHERLAND PRODUCTIONS In early 1953 Maurice left for John Sutherland Productions after being refused a raise by Eddie Selzer. He left on good terms however, with Selzer offering to match Sutherland’s offer at the last minute. But after learning that Maurice had already signed a contract with Sutherland, Selzer simply shook Maurice’s hand and let him know that the door to the studio was always open to him. By coincidence, shortly after Maurice left the studio, Warner Bros. closed their entire animation department. The story goes that Jack Warner had decided that 3-D films were the wave of the future. But after producing one 3-D cartoon, Lumber Jack-Rabbit (1954) with Chuck’s unit, he was worried that 3-D cartoons would be too expensive to produce. So he closed the studio. Animator Greg Duffell, who owns several pieces of art from Lumber Jack-Rabbit, explained to me that each of the background layouts would have probably been painted and shot under camera twice to get the desired 3-D effect. Maurice would have had to dumb down the backgrounds so that they would work together and so painter Phil DeGuard wouldn’t keel over in the process. Maurice’s feelings about the film were revealed to me on a summer day in the late 1990s. Animation artist Chen-Yi Chang, who is known for his character design work for films such as Mulan (1998) and Tarzan (1999), and I were having lunch with Maurice. Chen-Yi had brought a book along that featured some of Maurice’s art, and he flipped to a double-page spread of some layouts from Lumber Jack-Rabbit. Chen-Yi is like Maurice in many ways, especially in his passion for design and his honest, straightforward approach to things. In other words, when it comes to art, he tends to call things as he sees them. Ernie Nordli’s proposed opening for What’s Opera, Doc? (1957) He said, “Maurice, I’ve been looking at this book for a while now, and most of your artwork in here is great! But this page, it’s not as good as the rest of the stuff, what happened?!” I was about to choke on my sandwich. Maurice took the book, looked at it, and smiled knowingly. Then he wrote, “You are right!” across the page. Warner Bros. decided to continue making 2-D cartoons and reopened the doors to the studio in late 1953. During the closure, most of the artists had found other employment. Even Chuck Jones had gone to Disney to work on, among other things, Sleeping Beauty. In rehiring the crew, Selzer had to match or exceed what the artists had been making during the layoff. The already tight film budgets became even tighter. It’s likely that at least a few of the films Maurice had designed before leaving, such as Claws for Alarm, were designed for 3-D, but were stopped mid-production during the studio closure, only to be finished in 2-D after the studio reopened. At John Sutherland Productions, Maurice worked on a variety of industrial films and commercial projects. One of Maurice’s gems from this period was a graphic experiment called It’s Everybody’s Business (1954). Because Maurice was illustrating a narrative rather than supporting personality and story with design, he was able push the many graphic aspects of the film more than he had at Warner Bros. He made a conscious effort to differentiate his work at Sutherland’s from his more satirical work on Looney Tunes. This is something he would also try to do with his work at MGM in the 1960s. Several capable layout designers filled in for Maurice while he was at Sutherland’s. Ernie Nordli, whom Maurice had known since his early days at Disney, worked for much of 1954 and 1955 in the Jones unit. Nordli took an even more graphic approach than Maurice had and created some strikingly beautiful, if unevenly designed, films for the studio. Robert Givens contributed a few well-designed pictures during Maurice’s absence. Robert Gribbroek also returned to the Jones unit during this period, retaining his more conservative style. Nordli departed from the Jones unit quite suddenly in 1955, leaving several unfinished films behind him which probably included Bugs Bonnets and Barbary Coast Bunny, both released in 1956. Another film Nordli left behind was What’s Opera, Doc? Ernie Nordli was one of the few layout designers Maurice said he actually respected. He explained to me that while he felt Ernie was a great artist, he had the unfortunate habit of leaving projects midway through. In the late 1960s Chuck Jones and Maurice fired Nordli from MGM for not showing up to work for weeks at a time. Soon after, he committed suicide. In a 1989 interview with Michael Barrier, Maurice related that “Ernie was a lost person . . . It became very sad and complicated.” Color keys for the Bell Telephone Science Series’ Gateways to the Mind (1958). THERE AND BACK AGAIN After finishing his work at John Sutherland Productions, Maurice returned briefly to St. Louis to work on film-strips. He had been promised a stake in the company there, but these promises were never realized, and he soon grew weary of the bureaucracy of the organization. True to his word, Eddie Selzer rehired Maurice in mid-1955. Upon his return to the studio, Maurice began work on what would become one of his most famous films, What’s Opera, Doc? (1957). According to Maurice, Nordli’s earlier work on the film had been fairly conservative and was thus discarded for something much more satirical. Despite budget restrictions, or perhaps because of them, Maurice’s design styling at Warner Bros. in the late 1950s was nearing its final evolutionary stage. Many of the films Maurice designed in this period would be counted among the greatest of the golden age of animation, classics such as Boyhood Daze (1957), Hareway to the Stars (1957), and Robin Hood Daffy (1958). Along with the regular lineup of Looney Tunes and Merrie Melodies, the Jones unit took on a number of special projects, including 90 Days Wondering (1956) and Drafty, Isn’t It? (1957) for the U.S. military. Longtime production manager Johnny Burton took over the reins of Warner Bros. Cartoons from a retiring Eddie Selzer in 1957. Burton began to explore the possibilities of television, helping produce The Bugs Bunny Show. The same year, Chuck Jones wrote and directed, with Maurice designing, animated sequences for episodes of the Bell Telephone Science Series. In 1958 Maurice was made an offer he couldn’t refuse and returned to John Sutherland’s to help design the industrial film Rhapsody of Steel (1959). The film was a high-budget affair for the inauguration of the Pittsburgh Amphitheater’s stainless-steel retractable dome. Though Eyvind Earle was credited as the film’s art director, Maurice related to us that he had designed it and Earle had simply painted his designs. The design team was composed of an amazing crew that included Tony Rivera, Victor Haboush, and Frank Armitage. Maurice spent about a year on the film, and it would remain one of his favorites. Eyvind Earle was always a sensitive subject with Maurice. Much like Mary Blair, Earle had found great success at Disney as a concept artist, background painter, and then art director on films such as Sleeping Beauty (1959). But Maurice felt Earle’s work, in contrast to Blair’s designs, was inappropriate for animation. He told us that while much of Earle’s fine art was “striking . . . though repetitive,” his film design was “like hugging an iceberg, far too cold and unemotional to really work in animation. Background design is all about conveying emotion and supporting personality. Eyvind’s work fails to do this.” Many of animation’s great designers were quite territorial and had a very particular scope of design that worked for them. This narrow span of right and wrong gave these artists resonating voices in the industry but also limited the range of what they felt was acceptable design. In 1958 writer Mike Maltese left Warner Bros. to find success at Hanna-Barbera Studio on shows such as The Flintstones. The absence of Maltese was a huge blow to the Jones unit; the absence of his warmth, wit, and satire can be felt in many of the cartoons that followed. Eventually, writer John Dunn would fill in for Maltese, sharing story duties with Chuck Jones. Stills from John Sutherland’s Rhapsody of Steel (1959). Concept paintings from Kiss Me Cat (1953). Color keys for Nelly’s Folly (1961). Maurice felt the premise for Nelly’s Folly was “dullsville” so he pushed the graphic quality of the design styling. The film went on to receive an Oscar nomination. THE END OF AN ERA When Maurice returned to Warner Bros. in 1959, he found that Chuck Jones had become so busy wearing his various creative hats of producer, director, and now writer in the absence of Mike Maltese that, as Maurice told me, “After a time, Chuck would basically take my drawings and stick them into the character layouts.” As if Jones weren’t spread thin enough, he was also moonlighting on a script for a feature with UPA called Gay Purr-ee (1962). Warner Bros. later picked up distribution for the feature and discovered that Jones had worked on the film. He was fired in 1962 for breach of contract for his involvement. With Jones’s hectic schedule, Maurice stepped in to help pick up the slack. His duties included not only the regular theatrical shorts but also segments for TV and special projects such as the Bell Telephone Science Series. These extra responsibilities meant Maurice also had less time to focus on design and layout. He soon began laying out films with the assistance of a number of very talented artists including Bob Givens, Dave Rose, Owen Fitzgerald, and Corny Cole. As a result he began receiving codirection credits on many of the films he worked on. In a 1991 interview, Maurice discussed this change with Harry McCracken: “I would go in and check the animators, maybe sit in on a recording session. I was just all over the place, kind of pulling things together, ironing out a lot of spots while Chuck was going ahead with the next picture.” But in a 1971 interview with Joe Adamson, Maurice confirmed, “Even codirection with Chuck meant that he had the final say-so.” Throughout the 1950s, the Jones unit produced an average of ten six-minute cartoons a year. Each cartoon would be in production for about a year, with stories often in development for several years. Maurice would spend an average of five weeks designing and creating background layouts per cartoon. More time would be given to certain special cartoons such as Duck Amuck, From A to Z-Z-Z- Z, and What’s Opera, Doc? These films could take up to seven weeks to design and layout. The extra time was often stolen from what Maurice likes to call “baseboard pictures,” cartoons such as Kiss Me Cat (1953) that were easier to paint and design because so many of the layouts were of simple checkered floors. Maurice could often get through a Road Runner picture in as little as one and a half weeks. In the late 1950s and early 1960s, more Road Runners were made for just this reason. Maurice explained that often when Chuck Jones would want to try out something more special and unusual, he would have to bargain with management, trading several Road Runners for something more interesting. The up side of this way of working was that the crew was able to create a few really great pictures each year that they really cared about. High Note (1960), Beep Prepared (1961), Nelly’s Folly (1961), and Now Hear This (1962) were all nominated for Oscars after Maurice’s return in 1959. The down side of this methodology was that many would associate much of Maurice’s and Chuck Jones’s later work with cheap, limited animation. This perception would dog Maurice for many years. In 1961 Dave DePatie replaced Johnny Burton in the executive office and would close the studio two years later. It was about this time that Maurice redesigned the classic Looney Tunes logo with something more modern. In a discussion at Cal/Arts in 1977 Maurice quipped, “We were trying some new titles. . . . It worked so well that they closed the studio.” Soon after Jones’s departure from Warner Bros., his unit was dissolved. Maurice did a bit of uncredited design work for director Robert McKimson, and then began design on the animated segments of the live-action feature The Incredible Mr. Limpet (1964). Maurice had fond memories of working on Mr. Limpet, having created some beautiful artwork for the film; he was especially proud of his work on the “Deep Rapture” sequence. Maurice praised camera man Johnny Burton, Jr., on the fine work he did on the film in spite of the primitive equipment he had to work with. A concept sketch from The Dot and the Line (1965). THE MGM YEARS In 1963, after a brief hiatus, Maurice rejoined Chuck Jones and most of the former Jones unit at Chuck’s new studio, Sib Tower 12 Productions (later to be renamed MGM Animation/Visual Arts) to work on a series of new Tom and Jerry shorts. The films at MGM had a more luxurious schedule and budget than the films at Warner Bros. While most of the films aren’t particularly memorable, Maurice’s production designs are gorgeous. Although he had designed many remarkable films throughout his decade-long foray at Warner Bros., the 1960s gave him the time and opportunity to explore a variety of subjects, styles, and techniques. He considered the films at MGM to be some of his best work. Along with better working conditions, Maurice also felt he was maturing as an artist. He told me, “Most designers really only begin to understand design and how to use it at around age forty. Then really only master it by their fifties and sixties. From there an artist can continue to improve and hone their craft, or they can make a quick decline, depending on their passion.” At MGM Maurice was also reunited with his old commanding officer, Theodor “Dr. Seuss” Geisel, to work on How the Grinch Stole Christmas! (1966) and Horton Hears a Who! (1970). The Grinch was one of Maurice’s favorites of the period, but, strangely, for many years Ted Geisel never expressed how he felt about Maurice’s design work for the film. In 1991, during Geisel’s memorial service, Geisel’s doctor relayed the following message to Maurice: “Ted wanted me to tell you how much he loved Grinch, especially your work on it.” Amused, Maurice later told me, “This was typical of Ted, always getting in the last word.” Among other things, Maurice codirected two films: The Bear That Wasn’t (1967), based on the book by a Warner Bros. alumnus, director Frank Tashlin; and The Dot and the Line: A Romance of Lower Mathematics (1965) written by Norton Juster, which won the Oscar for best animated short film. During the production of The Dot and the Line, Chuck and Maurice’s working relationship became strained. Evidently the executives at MGM had seen an early treatment of the film by Chuck and didn’t like it. In a 1989 interview with Michael Barrier, Maurice explained what transpired next: Somebody from MGM came to me and explained what the situation was, and asked, “Do you think you could do anything with the film?” I said, “If I have complete control over it.” So Chuck, with a big scowl on his face, came in and threw all the pieces on my big brown bookcase; he stacked the whole picture like this: plunk, plunk, plunk . . . and stalked out of the room. I wouldn’t let Chuck see what I was doing with it; it was a very touchy situation. But I knew that I couldn’t do anything with it if he was going to be sucking his thumb on it. The thing got the Academy Award, and he has never mentioned it to me to this day. However, after Maurice’s pass on the film and before all the awards that would follow, Chuck wrote Maurice the following personal note: Maurice, I have just gone over your treatment of The Dot and the Line in the squalid absolute of my own solitude. I think it is very nearly flawless and I think Norton Juster will think so too. My warmest congratulations for a stunning performance. – Chuck. A Maurice color storyboard panel from How the Grinch Stole Christmas! (1966). A rough layout from The Grinch with color indications for background painter Phil DeGuard. From Off to See the Wizard (1967–1968). Color sketches from the “Deep Rapture” sequence of The Incredible Mr. Limpet (1964). Concepts sketches from The Phantom Tollbooth (1970). Chuck Jones concept sketches for Tim Burr Wolf. A layout with color notes from Tom and Jerry. Maurice designed a variety of other projects at MGM. Among other things, in 1967 and 1968 Maurice worked on animated segments of the MGM-produced live-action TV series Off to See the Wizard, a show based on characters from The Wizard of Oz (1939). Maurice tried his hand at title design for several live-action films. Unfortunately, most of his titles, including those for The Maltese Bippy (1969)—working title The Strange Case of !#&%?—the plot of which revolved around a porn star and vampires, never made it past the concept stage. In fact, many projects that Maurice helped design at MGM were never produced. These were often concepts for proposed features, short films, and TV shows. Some of these concepts, such as Tim Burr Wolf, later to be rechristened Timber Wolf!, would reappear at Chuck Jones Productions in the 1990s. To keep up with his various assignments, Maurice often enlisted the talents of layout artists such as Don Morgan and Oscar Dufau. Along with his longtime associate Phil DeGuard, Maurice also worked with such painters as Bob Inman and Hal Ashmead in the background department. The animated feature The Phantom Tollbooth (1970) would be Maurice’s final film at MGM, and their animation unit would close soon after its release. Although the reception to The Phantom Tollbooth was lukewarm, Maurice was proud of his work on the film. He described it to me as a “virtual design class that implemented everything I knew about film design.” During the late 1960s Chuck and Maurice’s relationship grew more and more strained. Maurice explained to me: “Chuck just wasn’t giving the films the attention they needed. I was running my fool head off pulling things together, trying to make them work . . . staying late, working weekends. Chuck was always leaving early for his many social engagements. He was too busy being Mr. Jones.” I asked Maurice why he had continued working with Chuck if he felt so strongly about the situation. He replied, “I have a lot of respect for Chuck. He was always working on interesting things; always experimenting and trying stuff out. Unlike other directors, Chuck let me do my own thing. For that, I owe him a lot.” After leaving MGM, Maurice began work at DePatieFreleng, a studio headed by veteran Warner Bros. director Friz Freleng and Dave DePatie, former head of Warner Bros. Cartoons. There Maurice designed a trio of Dr. Seuss–themed films: The Cat in the Hat (1971), The Lorax (1972), and Dr. Seuss on the Loose (1973). Jones would help produce and storyboard The Cat in the Hat before starting work at his own studio, Chuck Jones Productions, in 1970. Maurice took advantage of his retirement and sketched and traveled throughout Asia and Latin America. A late 1980s/early 1990s brochure advertising Maurice’s serigraphs. RETIREMENT While at DePatie-Freleng, Maurice and his wife, Marjorie, purchased a beautiful Spanish-style house in the La Crescenta hills, just north of Los Angeles. Slowly Maurice converted his garage into a studio. After finishing Dr. Seuss on the Loose in late 1972, Maurice retired from animation to focus on his personal art, his music, and growing flowers with his Marjorie. “Drawing,” Maurice told me, “takes different skills than designing,” and he worked hard to sharpen his painting and drawing skills. To help give his studies structure, Maurice often took figure drawing and painting classes in the L.A. area. What kind of student was Maurice? His teacher at Glendale Community College, artist Shanna Galloway, had this to say: It’s difficult to think of Maurice as a “student.” I was barely over thirty when he began several years of classes with me—and he had won several Academy Awards. I had seen and loved The Dot and the Line when I was in grad school. Maurice was very loyal. He came by class once to sign in when he was unable to attend. He was always on time and seated on the front row. He was a delightful presence in the group and never overbearing because of his reputation. He had that rare quality that a teacher appreciates. His charm and attentiveness set a tone in the classroom. He supplemented his classes with numerous painting trips throughout Latin America and Asia. On one such trip, Maurice fulfilled a lifelong dream of studying traditional Chinese painting at the Central Academy of Fine Arts in Beijing. Along with his ever-present watercolors, the main focus of Maurice’s personal art was a series of hand-pulled serigraph prints. The prints were beautiful, but like the tiles he had created decades earlier, he found difficulty selling them. At one point, Maurice set up a stand along a street near his home and tried selling his art for $25 a print. Even then, he had trouble getting anyone to take them off his hands. It wasn’t until the 1990s, with the help of gallery owners like Steven Grossfeld of Gremlin Galleries, Linda Jones Clough, Heidi Leigh, and others, that Maurice finally found some success with his personal artwork. A few of Maurice’s paintings from his studies in China. Examples of Maurice’s personal serigraph print work. Though he loved animation, Maurice had waited for many years for the time and opportunity to make art for himself. In 1979 Chuck Jones produced, directed, and with Mike Maltese cowrote Duck Dodgers and the Return of the 24½th Century as part of a TV special called Daffy Duck’s Thanks-for-Giving. Maurice and artist Ron Dias were designing the film, but sometime during the production Maurice blew up, making it clear that he no longer wanted to work with Chuck. In response, Chuck wrote to Maurice, “I can of course, understand you’re not wanting to work anymore, and now I realize how wrong it was for me to ask you to leave your retirement hiatus to help on Duck Dodgers II. . . . In spite of anything your superb sketches are the essence of Duck Dodgers II.” For a time, Maurice considered a teaching position offered by the University of Hawaii. The deal fell through when the university discovered that he hadn’t completed his undergraduate degree. Maurice received the Winsor McCay Lifetime Achievement Award in 1987 for his contributions to the art of animation. Chuck Jones introduced Maurice at the ceremony and expressed his appreciation for Maurice’s contributions on many of his best pictures. This went a long way to smooth over any hard feelings Maurice may have had toward Chuck. (The speech is printed in part as the preface to this book.) By the late 1980s, Maurice was completely broke. In order to pay his mortgage, he reentered an industry that was radically different than the one he had left. To make matters even more difficult, he had been diagnosed with macular degeneration: he was going blind. About this time, Maurice did some development work for Ralph Bakshi on Dr. Seuss’s Butter Battle Book (1989). At Bakshi’s Maurice worked with a group of young artists that included Ed Bell, Jeff Pidgeon, and Rich Moore, among others. In early 1990, Maurice was hired at Warner Bros. to work on episodes of Tiny Toon Adventures, a TV show that basically incorporated junior versions of Looney Tunes characters. Upon receiving the materials for the episode he was supposed to design, “Duck Dodgers, Jr.” (1991), Maurice proceeded to work in the same manner that he always had. Instead of just designing locations based on the storyboard, he began analyzing the story, writing notes and suggestions about how to improve the storytelling visually. This of course didn’t jive well with Warner Bros.’ slick, modern TV animation pipeline. But once Maurice began designing, the entire crew became really excited by the beautiful, classic-looking Noble designs he produced. To everyone’s surprise, when Maurice’s episode came back from the overseas studio, it looked terrible! Mike Kazaleh, who cowrote the “Duck Dodgers, Jr.” episode with Maurice, and director Kent Butterworth related the following to Thad Komorowski in 2008: “Maurice came up with all the crazy landscapes and machines seen in the beginning of the cartoon. He originally designed the settings in nice, flat colors, but the background artists at Wang Films in Taipei (where this episode was produced) couldn’t believe we wanted them flat, so they used airbrush instead.” However, David Marshall, the overseas supervisor on the project, shed light on the fact that the Taiwanese crew was “incredibly jazzed by Maurice’s background keys.” But he was “given strict orders from the show’s producers to ignore Maurice’s notes.” David continued: “The U.S. producers didn’t know or care who this old guy was, despite the fact that the art looked fantastic!” The irony of all of this was that “Duck Dodgers, Jr.” was supposed to be a send-up of one of Maurice’s most famous films, Duck Dodgers in the 24½th Century (1953) . . . and was written to be a sort of flashback to the original film. Sketches for Duck Dodgers and the Return of the 24½th Century (1980). Not long after, the show’s senior director, Eddie Fitzgerald, had the unenviable task of firing Maurice from Tiny Toons. Eddie was kind enough to share some of his thoughts about Maurice and his style with me: I was and am a huge fan of Maurice Noble. I absolutely love what he did for Chuck. I loved him so much that, in spite of my fear that he might seduce the studio into accepting a limited style, I agreed to work with him. I’m a passionate believer in full animation. . . . For me, the problem with Maurice’s style was that it was anchored in the public imagination with limited (or semi-limited) animation. Maurice became disgusted with the whole uncreative, factory-type methodology used in producing modern TV animation, saying, “I tried to make a good cartoon, and got fired for it.” He would never work in television again. A few of Maurice’s rough concept sketches for “Duck Dodgers, Jr.” (1991). Maurice sketches from various space pictures. Reoccurring themes followed Maurice through his career, and with each picture he tried to push these themes further and further. Beginning in the late 1980s classic animation art became quite collectable. In order to make ends meet, Maurice sold off a portion of his personal collection. In the process he met a whole new generation of animation fans. Maurice with his trainees from Chuck Jones Film Productions. From left to right: Lawrence Marvit, Scott Morse, Maurice Noble, Tod Polson, Don Hall, Ricardo Barahona. A NEW BEGINNING In 1993 Chuck Jones and his daughter, Linda Jones Clough, started Chuck Jones Film Productions with plans to develop a variety of long- and short-form projects. They dreamed of making a creative studio environment reminiscent of Warner Bros. in the 1950s. Maurice jumped at the chance to work on theatrical shorts, and was brought on board not only to help oversee the art styling of many of these projects, but also to train a group of young designers from the California Institute of the Arts (CalArts). After his “Tiny Toon experience” Maurice had become deeply concerned about the welfare and future of young artists. He and Jones committed themselves to passing on their knowledge, teaching a new generation of artists a better way of putting short films together. This desire became the seed of this book. In 1994, after a portfolio review and a brief interview, Scott Morse, Don Hall, Ricardo Barahona, and I were invited to intern with Maurice. Lawrence Marvit recounts how he came to join the studio a bit later: Maurice was an animation artist with classical leanings. This he made clear to me the first day I met him. I had heard that Maurice Noble and Chuck Jones had reteamed to make theatrical shorts. So I called and asked about internships. The person on the other side of the phone promptly said there were no positions open. So with no way in, I figured I’d try the front door . . . literally. I drove to the studio where I was told . . . “Yes, Maurice Noble is here, but all the internship positions have been filled.” I pleaded “Can I at least show him my work?” Grudgingly they took my portfolio and told me to wait in the lobby. After waiting one of the longest half hours of my life I was told, “He would like to meet you.” The butterflies in my stomach went ballistic as I was walked to his office. There he was: the legend. Rather short and dressed in an apron to avoid getting paint on him. He shook my hand and had me sit down. At this point I was about to vomit butterflies. He opened the portfolio to a series of still lifes. “Were you looking at Tintoretto when doing these?” That was not what I was expecting. He was right. Tintoretto is of course one of the great painters of the Italian Renaissance. The pictures were based on some ideas of how Tintoretto used space, which I had been studying independently with another fantastic artist named Glenn Vilppu. At the time I knew less than ten people who cared about this type of classical composition stuff. It had no real application in film and not much in illustration; I just found it fun. It turned out that Maurice thought so as well. Roughs from a Marvin Martian promo spot, directed by Darrell Van Citters. We chatted for a while and then he handed me a stack of photocopies of Chuck Jones’s drawings and a treatment. Maurice said, like it was the most normal thing in the world, “I’d like several pages of rough drawings by next Wednesday.” I had officially gotten my first assignment! All of us had a different manner in which we related to Maurice. I was someone to talk about old modes of composition with. This isn’t to say we didn’t talk about animation design; we did. A lot. But more often than not it was through the filter of old painters. At one point I had taken a pad of preprinted storyboard panels and was slipping Maurice the occasional Tintoretto-inspired still life. He referred to it as our dirty secret. The animation team was composed primarily of students from Sheridan College in Toronto, and included Ben Jones, Herman Sharaf, Warren O’Neill, and Greg Whittaker. This Canadian force was supplemented by CalArt-ians Joe Moshier and Eric “Panama” Koenig. The animation trainees were guided by veteran animators Greg Duffell, Tom Decker, and Mike Polvani. Recent CalArts graduate Jim Hull was the storyboard department and worked directly with Chuck, Don Arioli, and Stan Freberg. We all worked long and hard hours. But the gang running the studio—Chuck, Linda, producer/director Steve Fossatti, and manager Rose Long—tried to make sure that Chuck Jones Film Productions was a fun place to work. To break up the day there would be impromptu wrestling matches and fierce chair-basketball games. Linda made sure each of us carried a rubber fish with us one day of the week to ensure we didn’t get too serious at the office. We had life drawing classes and film screenings of original Technicolor prints of the cartoons. Stars like Debbie Reynolds and Quentin Tarantino would just pop in from time to time to see what we were doing. The best part of all is that we were making theatrical short films! What could be better? We pitied our classmates, those poor slobs who were going to tiny, unknown studios like Cartoon Network and Pixar. It was an amazing experience. Unfortunately for a lot of us, we were perhaps a bit too naïve to realize how lucky we really were. As often happens, good things came to an end. Though Maurice continued to consult for Chuck Jones, in 1995 he joined Turner Feature Animation (later to be renamed Warner Bros. Feature Animation) as a development artist and design consultant for various projects at the studio. At Warner Bros., Maurice helped mentor another group of young gifted designers that included Lou Romano, Ricky Nierva, Mike Stern, Don Shank, Kevin O’Brien, and Jenny Lerew, among other youngsters. Maurice also worked closely with industry vets such as Kelvin Yasuda, Rick Schneider, Sylvain Despretz, Dan Jeup, and Brad Bird. Scott Morse, who was instrumental in getting Maurice hired at Turner, and Lawrence Marvit had left Chuck Jones and continued to study under their mentor at Turner. Throughout the rest of the 1990s Maurice would consult and lecture for companies such as Pixar, Disney, and DreamWorks. In a 1998 interview with historian Karl Cohen, Maurice explained his consulting duties: “I don’t give lectures, I give conversations. . . . I check work out with the young artists. I try to suggest where they can make improvements. I work with young directors. We talk over story and story points. In other words I’m the old guru.” In 1997, Maurice formed two companies. Maurice Noble Productions was to concentrate on design consultation and commercial projects. And with a number of his trainees, known informally as the “Noble Boys,” he formed Noble Tales, a company dedicated to creating high-quality short theatrical films with an ethnic twist. With Noble Tales, Maurice added yet more trainees into the fold, including designers John Korellis, Cynthia Ignacio, and Jorge R. Gutierrez. Feeling that music was just as important as the visual element, Maurice also involved musicians Ryan Baker, Craig Snoke, and Billy “Keys” Benson. Several dozen Noble Tales stories were developed to various stages of finish under Maurice’s watchful eye. Each film concept was designed to incorporate different styles and techniques. Research trips were taken that included a workshop with a shadow-puppet master in Java and trips to Angkor Wat guided by members of the Cambodian royal family. One particularly special trip was to the McKean Rehabilitation Center for leprosy patients in northern Thailand. Maurice’s uncle, missionary Dr. James McKean, from whom Maurice was given his middle name, had set up the facility in 1908. Maurice had always looked up to his uncle, visiting the hospital several times over the years . . . and toyed with the idea of setting up a studio in Thailand. One of several logos from Maurice’s proposed film series, Noble Tales. The final background, from Maurice’s final Road Runner short, Chariots of Fur (1994). Background painted by Jill Petrilak. A number of L.A. studios showed interest in producing properties from Noble Tales, but eventually all those deals fell through. Al Tudi Tuhak (1999), produced as my student film at CalArts and narrated by Maurice, was the first short to come out of the Noble Tales series. Both Maurice and former UPA designer and head of the CalArts experimental animation program Jules Engel served as mentors on Al Tudi Tuhak. They both took a hands-off approach in helping guide the project, giving advice only when asked or when they saw problems. The important thing for Maurice was that the film developed in the proper way. Eventually the film received the Student Academy Award, and was nominated for an Annie Award. The night of the Oscar win, Maurice pulled me aside and said, “You are beginning to understand design, but you sure can’t direct.” In 2000 James Wang, owner of the Wang Film Group, offered up his Thai studio to produce a Noble Tales short in exchange for training his crew in design and preproduction. Maurice became very excited by the idea of making a film in Thailand, and it was decided to put The Pumpkin of Nyefar, a short story that Maurice and I had written in Turkey, into production. But as we prepared to leave, Maurice’s doctor discovered a medical condition that made it too risky for Maurice to fly. The thought of not being able to travel and work on the production was too much for him to bear. After some thought, Maurice made the same sort of bold decision that had defined his career, and opted for risky surgery. Before going under the knife, Maurice asked me to complete The Pumpkin of Nyefar and his design book (The Noble Approach) if anything should happen to him. On May 18, 2001 Maurice James Noble passed away at his home, surrounded by loved ones. Along with Noble Tales, Maurice had a number of personal film projects that he had wanted to get off the ground, including an abstract film about the atom bomb and a charming Christmas story drawn from his childhood. But as Noble Boy Ricardo Barahona put so eloquently, “New ideas and projects took to his heart and we all hoped that somehow they would materialize. However, these new aspirations came at a point too late in life, his passing coming with the new century.” LEGACY The Pumpkin of Nyefar was finished in Bangkok in 2004, codirected by Mark Oftedal and me. It was a labor of love, with many of the Noble Boys and friends volunteering their ideas, time, and talents in helping to see the film to completion. A third film, Escape of the Gingerbread Man!!!, which was imagined by Maurice as a “mad romp through the Irish countryside,” was completed at the Monk Studio in Bangkok in 2011. It was coproduced by Noble Tales, the Monk Studios, and the Animation Workshop of Denmark. More films from the Noble Tales series are currently in various stages of production and scheduled to be finished as time and finances allow. After years of discussions with Warner Bros. over the use of images from their collection, Maurice’s design book, The Noble Approach, is at last in print by Chronicle Books, at least in as close a version to his wishes as I could make it. Maurice had always been grateful for the scholarship that allowed him to get a start on the art education that he otherwise would have been unable to afford. Wanting to help promising young students in the same way, Maurice started the Maurice and Marjorie Noble Scholarship Fund. At present, the scholarship is offered to outstanding first-year students at UCLA, USC, CalArts, and San Jose State University. Of course Maurice’s biggest legacy will always be his film work, and the many lives he touched over the years. He once wrote, “Giving to others of your store of knowledge tends to strengthen one’s own knowledge.” Unlike many of his contemporaries, Maurice was always generous with his time, and his knowledge. If you look closely at the fabric of most any modern major animated production, feature or TV, it’s likely that you will find a thread of Maurice in the seams. Many of the artists Maurice trained, worked with, and inspired have become major creative fixtures throughout the industry. Most continue to practice and impart many of his design ideas, adding to them a bit of their own imagination. Some of these artists have generously contributed their thoughts in the pages that follow. The response to this project was so overwhelming that regrettably there wasn’t room enough to accommodate everyone that wanted to contribute. Though perhaps he never became the major gallery painter he had dreamed of in his youth, Maurice’s personal prints and watercolors have found their way into many respectable collections throughout the world. His animation art is beloved by collectors and continues to command high prices on the art market. Maurice once told me “Animation is the new, modern, art form; the next natural step in the evolution of painting.” And like the classical artists of old that he so admired, I believe Maurice’s work will continue to touch and inspire future generations with its wit, humor, and poetry. Art director Mike Giaimo, who first introduced me to and fostered my appreciation for Maurice’s work while I was still a student at CalArts, sums up Maurice’s art so much more poetically than I ever could: What is the “Noble style”? What makes Maurice’s work so distinctive, unique, and appealing? The key to understanding his work lies in the world of opposites: his touch is light and easy, yet sure-handed. It is fanciful and whimsical on the one hand, dramatic and bold on the other. It is decorative without being fussy, and solid without being overbearing. It is never strained or overwrought. In his work there are both masculine and feminine traits—a perfect design synthesis of yin and yang. Smart cinema language and a confident use of line, shape, and color all contribute greatly to the Noble style, but perhaps the most defining (and less tangible) key to understanding Maurice’s sensibilities lies at the inner core of the man himself—his integrity. Though we see on the surface of Maurice’s work charm, sophistication, and playfulness, there is an underlying sincerity and truthfulness that holds all the design elements together. This is why his work is so honest and engaging. With Maurice there is never a visual false note or misstep. What is the Noble style? It is artistic authenticity, which is timeless. If you would like to read about Maurice’s life in more detail, please pick up a copy of Stepping into the Picture: Cartoon Designer Maurice Noble (University Press of Mississippi, 2008) cowritten by Maurice and Robert J. McKinnon, and Noble Boy, written and illustrated by Noble Boy Scott Morse (Adhouse Books, 2006). Ready to start designing? We thought we were, too! STEP 01: Getting Started Maurice created literally thousands of concept sketches over a two-year period for Bambi (1942). WORKING WITHIN YOUR LIMITATIONS When Maurice first selected a small group of young artists to apprentice with him at Chuck Jones Film Productions in the early 1990s, we, like many young twenty-somethings with a bit of animation training, figured we already knew pretty much everything there was to know about designing animated films. For our first assignment, Maurice gave each of us a short film premise to begin concept sketches on. These were various ideas that Chuck was considering putting into production. Putting brush to paper, we proceeded to eke out the most lavish, dramatic images we could muster. When Maurice came by to check our progress, he kindly informed us in his inimitable way that we “had no idea of what we were doing.” What he said next is the subject of the rest of this book and would take us years to get through our heads. In regard to our newest masterpieces, Maurice explained that we had just created what he liked to call “pretties”: lovely, often striking designs made for the sake of design without any real thought to story, budget, or the needs of the picture at hand. Maurice challenged us to think about what we were designing and why before creating artwork. He continued to explain: Before beginning design on any project, I try to figure out what my limitations are, primarily time and budget. A big budget feature will have different limitations than a TV show or a personal film project. You may be a fantastic artist, but you will have failed as a designer if you can’t get your vision up on the screen because you have designed a film that costs more than the budget allows or is more difficult to complete [in] the time you have scheduled. I call this “student film syndrome,” overambitious projects that fizzled out or never saw completion because of budget or time reasons. Sadly, this happens all the time in the professional world as well. I’m in no way suggesting that you underdesign your film projects. I’m just suggesting taking time and budget into consideration before you begin the design process. If you want a picture that is big, elaborate, and beautiful, but the budget doesn’t allow it, you substitute something else. Your job as a designer is to make the best picture possible within your limitations. Maurice encouraged us not to become frustrated by these limitations. He showed us that with a little ingenuity, a designer can use certain restrictions to take their designs in directions that wouldn’t have been thought of otherwise. Of course, not knowing quite as much about animation design as we at first thought we did, it was difficult to define exactly what our limitations were. This takes time and experience. If you’re new to animation, here is a brief checklist that may help you before starting design on a project: What are the expectations of the studio, producer, and director? This needs to be clear; if they don’t know, you are in trouble. An open, ongoing discussion with the producer and director is the best way to make sure your vision makes it to the screen. How much time do you have to design the film? Just like a marathon, plan your pace so you can finish the race. You may find yourself on a project with no development time. Or you may find yourself with too much development time, where the design style is noodled so much that it loses its spark. Just try to plan ahead. How much time is there to produce the film? Design a film that can be produced in the time allowed. Much of this depends of course on the budget and on the size of the production team you will be working with. What is the budget? Design a film that can be made for the budget; don’t over-underdesign. If you are new to animation, check out films that are in a similar budget range to see how they were handled. Maurice would test his concepts under camera before committing to a design approach. What is the story? Know the story as well as you can; it will guide your design. Is the animation limited or full? A film’s design should complement the style of animation in the film. Who is your audience? Be clear who your audience is: families? kids? adults? Where will the production be? You would prepare an overseas production or coproduction differently than one staying under one roof. How long is the film? Just because a film is shorter doesn’t always mean that the budget is smaller. It is sometimes difficult for even an experienced designer to quickly gauge many of their limitations. After all his years in the business, Maurice would still consider the limitations of each film he worked on carefully. Eventually, once he felt he had arrived at a solution artistically, he would test his design ideas under camera before committing to a specific approach. Maurice often called these “light tests,” which would include a character cel set up over a background or rough background concept painting. He did this not only as proof of concept for himself and the crew, but also to iron out any problems that he may not have foreseen. If you feel that you have settled on a design approach, do a test background with a character setup to see how long it takes you. Then multiply that by an estimated number of setups. Of course this will only give you a rough idea of how long things will take. But it’s infinitely better than not knowing at all. Working in CG can bring more and different limitations, but it can also give you more design options. This is even more reason to take a few test scenes to completion as proof of concept. WORKING AS A TEAM Maurice always acknowledged that much of his success as a designer was as a direct result of the people he worked with. Not only because of their talents, but also because of the camaraderie they built as a group over the years. At its very best, animation is a team sport. Each of the major players of the Jones unit of the 1950s would go on to do great things as individuals. But they never again reached the heights they did together. There were many reasons for this, but Maurice cautioned us never to take good working relationships for granted. Heidi Leigh interviewed Maurice in 1997 and asked him to recall some of the really wonderful things about working at Warner Bros.: Teamwork with the crew at Warner Bros. created an element of synergy that is nowhere to be found in this day and age, with animators floating around from studio to studio the way they do. There were a group of guys that really knew each other, and we were, in the truest sense of the word, a unit. Mike Maltese and Phil DeGuard were probably my two best friends, and we would bounce ideas back and forth until we had something really good. Mike wrote the storyline, I would come up with a wild drawing, and the ideas would start flying. Chuck worked in the animation to the backgrounds and was a master of timing. He was also a great artist; he could really draw. . . . None of us could have done it alone, and I will always share the glory for these great cartoons with everyone who had a hand in creating the cartoons. Maurice encouraged developing close working relationships with everyone on our crew. But he also revealed that forming and maintaining these relationships can sometimes be tricky. He continued to explain that many artists who have strong creative vision also have egos. (Though he was addressing us at the time, I naïvely assumed he was talking about someone else.) Maurice added that having confidence and vision was a healthy and even necessary part of being a good designer. But he also stressed that finding balance in our relationships was crucial, because much of our own success as designers may in fact lie in the hands of others, especially the director, camera man, and the background painter. As an example, Maurice explained his approach to working with the background painter: One of the most important partnerships a designer or art director will have is with the background painter. A good painter will have thoughts, ideas, and suggestions that can improve a design. A good art director will know which suggestions to take, and which suggestions don’t really fit into the overall production. Many inexperienced or insecure art directors will reject idea after idea, simply because it’s not their idea. I guarantee a background painter isn’t going to give inspired work if they feel as if they are just a wrist. It’s important to make the painter feel as if they are being creative, but you also want them to do it your way. This is a very tricky balance. Maurice added that when an artist on a team does good work, an art director should go public, telling the producer and director about it; this will not only help raise morale, it will also help inspire more good work. In a modern CG studio, an art director’s relationship with the lighting, rendering, and compositing departments is similar to that which Maurice had with the background painter and cameraman. Learn the strengths and weaknesses of your team, then design your productions to take advantage of what they are good at. Of course the most important relationship a designer can have is that with the director. Jill Petrilak, who worked as Maurice’s background painter in the 1990s, made an astute observation about Maurice’s relationship with Chuck Jones: One thing about Maurice and Chuck is that they always kept a certain distance. They worked together, they admired each other, they loved each other, but they weren’t best friends. Maurice wanted to have that edge, where they could argue a point, but not have friendship get in the way of work. Maurice confessed that through the years, he and Chuck had sometimes had heated discussions over a design approach. He remembered moments when Chuck and Mike Maltese would get into shouting matches over a story point. Maurice explained to us, “Creative arguments are all a part of the creative process. Ideas can be honed and improved when challenged. It’s a good thing! If you are working with people who are as creative and passionate as you are, differences in opinion are going to happen. As an artist, you can’t take these arguments personally.” Maurice added, “No matter how strongly you feel about an idea, at the end of the day the director is still the director.” In 1977, Maurice discussed this give-and-take relationship between designer and director with a young group of students at CalArts, a group of youngsters that included future directors Darrell Van Citters, Nancy Beiman, John Musker, Brad Bird, and John Lasseter: The first thing you have to realize is that when you are designing a film, the director is the director. This is sometimes very hard for the super-ego to understand. It’s the director’s responsibility to pull all the elements of a film together, including the design, and make something that works. The director is responsible for this even if he has an art director. If the art director goes off on the wrong track, then you get a foulup on your hands artistically. As a designer, or art director, I’ll try my darndest to sell an idea that I think is good, graphically or artistically, to the director. But, if he doesn’t buy that idea, you have to back down and you have to gracefully say, “Okay, I’ll do it your way.” Selling graphic ideas to the director is one of the most important—and most stressful—duties a designer can have. Through the years Maurice developed a method where he managed to sell a high percentage of his design ideas to Chuck Jones and yet keep his blood pressure down. When pitching ideas to Chuck, Maurice might show a few sketches. But more often he would present an almost scientific list of reasons why a certain design approach was right for a particular story. He related to me: Maurice and his famous “One-Finger Salute.” Caricature by Warren O’Neil. To be a successful designer, being able to sell a good idea is just as important as coming up with the idea itself. It’s hard to sell something simply because you think it feels right. You have to be able to logically discuss why it feels right. Be prepared to defend your ideas, but also listen to suggestions. As a team you just may come up with visual gags and ideas you hadn’t thought of previously. You may have to go through this process several times, until you find something you are really satisfied with. As a designer you will constantly be trying to sell your ideas to someone. Believe me, everyone on the crew will have an opinion of how the film should look. You have to make them believe in you and your ideas. Be confident about what you are doing: explain your work, but don’t be critical of it. Let it stand on its own and speak for itself. There were many times when I wasn’t sure if a design approach I had would actually work on-screen. But I sure wasn’t going to let anyone else know that! Many of the young designers I work with will show me work and say something like, “This part of the composition isn’t very good, is it?” Or “I should have probably pushed that more.” My reaction to this is, why are you showing this to me then? You haven’t convinced me that this is the approach we should take on a picture. If you believe enough in your work to present it to someone else, then stand behind it. Let others be critical of your ideas, whether good or bad. Sometimes when you experiment you will fail, but if you don’t push things, you will never do anything interesting. Maurice admitted that a young, inexperienced designer is going to have more trouble selling interesting design ideas to their director. He explained that by building trust over time a good designer will eventually gain more freedom to experiment artistically. This is where developing relationships is so important. Understanding the frustration of a class of young talent, Maurice suggested patience as a good route to take, and then added: You will find that most people are resistant to new design and style ideas and are usually more comfortable reworking things they have seen before. When you are trying to break new ground, you will often find that the creative powers controlling the project may not like a lot of your ideas as a designer. They may even take the picture in a direction that you don’t agree with. This in no way means that your work is bad, it just means their taste isn’t as good as yours. Just suck it up and save your ideas; you may be able to use them later. Perhaps not on the same picture—but eventually you will. Be a rebel, but be willing to compromise, and work as part of a team. Just remember that every production you work on is a collaboration. The director is the head of that collaboration, like it or not. And the producer pays you. Just give them the one-finger salute (not to their faces), do your job, and keep trying to push things as far as you can. If you are difficult to work with, you can be sure you will have no creative influence at all on the next project. Later, one of the Noble Boys took Maurice’s lesson to heart and gave the one-finger salute to his director during a creative discussion. Frustrated, this director phoned Maurice not knowing quite what to do, explaining “The guy’s work is great! And he does a lot of it! But, he’s so headstrong and difficult!” As you can guess, in spite of all his talent, this designer was soon invited to leave the company. It’s not always about the quality of the work. It’s about the work and working relationships. STEP 02: Story Background art from The Phantom Tollbooth. Don’t Give Up The Sheep (1953). An example of a Mike Maltese/Chuck Jones outline. The outline is from December 1950, with the film being released in January 1953. Many of the story concepts were developed and kicked around for years before they ever hit the screen. VISUAL STORYTELLING From our first day working with Maurice, he let us know beyond question how he felt about the graphic storytelling qualities of animation design and the use of scripts. Other than recording scripts for the actors, written scripts were never used on the shorts at Warner Bros. The “writing” was in the drawing, based on story outlines for structure. Maurice felt written scripts, more often than not, were a hindrance to a creative visual story process: Scripts should merely provide a skeleton to work off of, and only be part of the process. Animation at its best is a visual graphic medium. The modern animation industry is cursed with writers, producers, and even directors who would rather be making “live-action” films. Instead of telling beautiful, graphic, animated stories and taking advantage of all the visual potential animation has to offer, what are being made are essentially bad live-action films. There are exceptions, but very few. The biggest problem is that most scripts are verbal and not visual. Many recent animated features contain way too much dialogue and have situations that really don’t present themselves in a graphic way. One drawing in a storyboard can often say as much as a page of description, and many times a drawing can say things that words could never say. Go back and look at Bambi, or any of the other classics for that matter, and think about how a script would have been crafted for these films. The scripts are sparse, because very little dialogue is needed to get across the emotion and storytelling. Maurice wanted to describe the story process that had been used at Warner Bros. in this text because he felt it was the most important part of his design process. The more a designer knows about a story, the better grasp they will have on how to design it. He explained that a story will directly influence the colors chosen, shapes used, and the amount of light and shadow employed in the graphics, and that the design must always be “appropriate” to the story being told. In the Jones unit of the 1950s, story man Mike Maltese would usually “write” the stories going into production, meaning that he would usually create a short written story outline that described the basic idea for a film. The outline would then be pitched to the writing/directing teams of all units of the studio in what Maurice called a “No ‘No’ Session.” These sessions were called this for the simple fact that for the two hours or so that the outlines and gags were being discussed, there could be no nos. Only positive suggestions were allowed. Then armed with new thoughts and suggestions Mike would expand his outline into story- board form. Mike’s boards would consist of thumbnail drawings that put over the idea of the story. The drawings were very rough, but the charm, the gags, the dialogue, everything was there. Once Mike had a draft of the storyboards ready, they would be pinned up on large boards and discussed in another session. After this, the boards would be revised by Mike or adjusted by Chuck as he created his character layouts loosely based on the boards. Often Chuck would get caught up in the story as he was creating these character layouts, and twist and change the material in the boards to fit his vision. Though rarely taking an active role in the No “No” Sessions, Maurice often sat in the background, taking notes, wanting to understand the story at hand as best he could. Then, depending on the schedule and story, he could be asked to start submitting design ideas anywhere in this process. Chuck would usually present a rough storyboard or, in many cases, a rough outline to Maurice that he wanted explored. Then Maurice would start cooking up graphic ideas of what he thought was the most appropriate direction to take the story. Maurice explained that as he began exploring design at this stage, he would begin to get ideas for new aspects of the story: visual gags, staging ideas, and sometimes a complete dramatic change in the story itself. After working out his graphic approach for a few days, he would meet with Chuck again to discuss these ideas. Many times these ideas would spark something in Chuck, and he would weave them back into the story as he developed it and laid out the animation. Other times Maurice’s ideas would make little impression. Maurice described this working relationship to me as “give and take, where we would bounce ideas off of each other. Sometimes my ideas would stick, and sometimes they wouldn’t. But there was almost always exchange of ideas, and building up of material.” Michael Maltese doing what he did best; pitching a story to the creative crew at Warner Bros. (1) Mike Maltese (2) Chuck Jones (3) Friz Freleng (4) Eddie Selzer and his assistant. (back row left to right) Ted Pierce, Bob McKimson, Warren Foster, and John Burton. Mike Maltese storyboard drawings for Tom and Jerry, produced at MGM in the mid-1960s. A great example of this style of collaboration was on What’s Opera, Doc? Maurice thumbnailed dozens of visual ideas for the film, which he then presented to Chuck. These weren’t pretty presentation drawings; they were ideas. It didn’t take much for Chuck to understand the direction Maurice was going visually. Many of these were thrown out, but Chuck was able to pull a number of Maurice’s visual ideas back into the storyboard and character layouts. This back and forth way of working is one of the reasons What’s Opera, Doc? is such a standout. A designer’s influence on story became clearer to me when Lawrence Marvit and I were making development sketches for Jones in the 1990s. Inspired by Maurice’s tales of an open-story forum, we came up with some story ideas for the film we were working on and presented them to Chuck. He went over everything with us, then without looking up from the drawings said, “The last thing I need is a layout man who wants to be a story man.” For better or worse, in the end Chuck used a few of our ideas in the story, but it was clear we were never to submit story ideas directly to him again. However, there were many times after that when Chuck would see the story possibilities in one of our designs and weave it back into the story. On Another Froggy Evening (1995) we were working on a caveman sequence and made a simple painting of Stonehenge as a joke. Chuck took the drawing and built a small sequence around it in his character layouts. This inspired a coliseum in a Roman sequence, and threads of the idea found their way throughout the film. In this way we found that sometimes one drawing could influence the way a story was told. The more visual ideas we put down, the greater impact our design would have on the story. This exchange of ideas, as Maurice taught, was part of our job, and a healthy part of the story process. Noble admitted that this back-and-forth method of working took a bit more time than working directly from a script. But I think most would agree that the results are far more satisfying than simply illustrating a soundtrack. He told me, “There is a reason why people still watch ‘the golden oldies’ again and again decades after they were created yet can’t remember what they were watching on TV the previous week.” I asked Maurice shortly before he died if there were any other reasons he felt the old films were better than most of the modern stuff. He replied: There is more talent working in the industry now than ever before, but sadly the vast majority won’t have the opportunity to work on really good creative stories. The problem isn’t always the type of stories being told; it’s more in the way these stories are being told and developed. There is no room for visual exploration. There is no time for thought and craftsmanship. There isn’t the chance for crews to build trust and synergy.” To me it has always made more sense to create films that people want to see over and over than something cheap that people will see once and forget. If the studios would think a little more about quality visual storytelling rather than the fast buck, they would make far more money in the long run. Maurice’s philosophy of filmmaking—and life—is summed up well in a quote from the philosopher William James that was found among his things after his passing: “The great use of life is to spend it for something that outlasts it.” Maurice idea notes from Fantasia. Maurice would start with lists of ideas, then expand on the best ideas visually. Exploratory thumbnails from What’s Opera, Doc? Keeping visual ideas rough allowed Maurice to explore a variety of approaches quickly. Notes from Maurice to Chuck Jones on the title sequence of Boyhood Daze (1957) and Maurice’s ideas implemented in the final film. Many times Maurice’s visual gags and staging ideas were incorporated into the films, such as this spider idea for Claws for Alarm (1954), and many times they weren’t. Here Maurice suggests a Jeep and a sports car, but in the end it remains a jalopy. Gag drawings from Claws for Alarm (1954). Maurice probably made a dozen sketches or more of “ghost gags,” most of which never made it past the sketch stage but may have led to other ideas. STEP 03: Breaking Down the Elements Lightning from What’s Opera, Doc? (1957). Special effects shouldn’t be forgotten in the design process. Even elements such as these noise makers from Horton Hears a Who! (1970) must be designed to fit in with the overall style of the film. STORY BEATS The next step in Maurice’s process was to examine the board, or outline, and break down the story into smaller parts called story beats (or story moments or sequences, all of which he used interchangeably). Story beats are normally the more important moments of a story, reflecting large changes in setting, mood, or emotion. Different stories will have a different number of story beats, but most stories will at least have a beginning, middle, climax, and end. This is a good place to start thinking about your design. You probably won’t want to give the opening of a film the same color, value, or design treatment as the love sequence, climax, etc. But in writing all the major story beats down, it will be easier to organize your thoughts and will help direct your research. Keep in mind, stories in development are in a constant state of flux, and story beats may change as a result. This is all just a normal part of a healthy story process, or rather, should be a normal part of the process. It wasn’t entirely uncommon for Maurice to have a sequence he had been developing suddenly cut from a film. STORY ELEMENTS Maurice would then break his story beats down further into what he called an elements list: Once I have gone through the story material and talked things over with the director, I begin making written notes about the different elements, locations, and environments that I will be designing. Yes, I actually write these notes down. The amount of design that often needs to be done on a picture can be staggering. It’s easy for things to fall through the cracks. Your list will grow and change as the film develops. Maurice added that every film will have different needs. But the more specific you can be with your elements, the better. Here are some thoughts he shared with me: Location: Where is the story taking place: an English castle? A New York deli? Outer space? Really think about the details that will make a place feel unique. The more specific you can be, the easier it will be to research and design your picture. If the location is generic, is there a way you can set it in a more unique and specific location? Challenge yourself by making a location you may have seen millions of times different and special. Time: Are you designing a period piece? If the story isn’t specific about a period, could it be set in a different time? Perhaps it could make the story fun and more interesting: the more specific you can be, the more fun it will be to research and design. Audiences really appreciate those little touches, and it will really make your work stand out. Time of Day: If the script isn’t specific, time of day can help push the mood of the story. A moonlight stroll can be more romantic than one at 2 P.M. A battle at sunset can be more dramatic than one at 10 A.M. List down time ideas, and see how they work into the overall story. Special Sequences: Are there sequences that need special consideration? Is there a musical sequence? A dream sequence? Are there flashbacks that need a different design treatment? Title cards or a title sequence that may also need special attention? Notate these early in the design process; they may take extra time. Much like when meeting a person for the first time, titles are important because they are the first impression an audience will have of a film. They should entice the viewer and in some way give a taste of what is to come. This is one reason Maurice often began a project by experimenting with its titles. Well-designed effects will support the mood of the story. Such as these concepts from the opening of Horton Hears a Who. Props: Props are any elements, other than the characters, that will be animated. Will the character be interacting with any specific elements? Such as, will the character make the flowers wilt with his odor? Or, what kind of anvil will drop on our character’s head? The more specific you can be, the easier it will be to keep track of the elements you will need to design. The animators will need to work with these elements as well, so it’s good to keep them in the loop. See if they have ideas and suggestions. I’ve seen many films where the animators designed the props themselves; most of the time these elements didn’t fit in with the overall world and surroundings of the film. I’ve also seen films that were well designed, but the designer really didn’t understand the needs of the animation. The elements looked good—until they had to move. Always remember, animation is a collaborative art form. There is no room for ego; design supports the characters and story, not the other way around. Mood: Break the story down into basic moods and emotions. Mood is directly related to story and will affect many of the artistic decisions you make. Your design must support the mood and emotion of each scene. When you write these down, it helps you focus on the overall film and lets you plan how you will transition from one mood, or section of the film, to another. Are you designing a satire, a serious drama, or both? There really are such things as funny and serious shapes and color combinations. Try to keep all these in mind throughout the design process. Gags: While writing isn’t your main focus as a designer, if you get some funny visual ideas while researching, write them down! If you have time, do some loose scribbles to show the director. Just make sure you get your design work done first! Maurice would start each picture with a simple list, which would inform and direct his research. From there, he would write more lists about specific sections of the film, grouping related beats into sequences. Eventually these lists would be culled, then turned into drawings. Effects such as wind, rain, and smoke should be considered early in the design process. Here, Maurice explores some scenes from What’s Opera, Doc? Maurice in the process of having sweaty fun. STEP 04: Research and Inspiration An inspirational sketch from Horton Hears a Who. Maurice would collect folders of interesting images which he would later use for inspiration and reference. USING REFERENCE Most of our early research with Chuck Jones consisted of watching classic Jones/Noble cartoons and printing out our favorite designs. It was a wonderful three days. When Maurice saw all his designs plastered up in my work area, he asked, “What do my designs have to do with the story you are working on now?” And of course he was right. I was thinking about style and not about what was most appropriate for my story. Maurice made it clear that he wanted to pass along his approach but didn’t want us to mimic him or his past work. He explained: Be careful not to reference other animated films or animation artists when designing. This is a problem I see with many animation artists. I will lecture and visit various studios and will see stills of films I’ve designed pinned up on the wall. I don’t know how many times I’ve been asked to critique a designer’s work and thought, “Gee, this is something that sort of looks like something I’ve designed.” Or “Oh, that’s an Eyvind Earle tree.” Or, “that looks like Mary Blair.” While looking at animation art that you love is fine for inspiration, and is a great way to learn, it is very difficult to come up with fresh and new design ideas this way. You have to find your own voice as a designer. Finding your own voice is infinitely harder than mimicking a great artist. This is the real difference between a designer and a stylist. Noble Boy Lou Romano struggled with finding his own voice as a young artist and reflects on what Maurice taught him: Maurice was a great mentor. He was always encouraging and thoughtful. But he also had a mischievous sense of humor that was infectious. He was very down to earth and seemed to teach without teaching. As time goes by the things I learned from him in the short time I knew him have had a deeper resonance for me. I was always impressed with his enthusiasm and level of energy. He taught me that maintaining a curiosity for life and new ideas was key. This is what kept him young and productive. I think by “curious” he also meant being curious about your own ideas and your point of view. I did a drawing once, which I had labored over to get the style just so. I was pleased with it and showed it to Maurice, who seemed a little frustrated by it. “Lad, everybody is drawing like this,” he told me. “I want to see you draw the way you see things.” His teaching was never a demand. He would gently but purposefully nudge you in a certain direction. It really made you think and go deeper. “What does the world look like through my eyes?” This is the single most important thing he impressed upon me. I think he was always asking himself this question. The personal work he did during his time away from animation is proof of this. It is still inspired and bold, but perhaps more sensitive and introspective. He was always reaching for more and growing as an artist. With regards to those later pieces, I remember Maurice saying he had never done printmaking but wanted to try it. What may have started as an experiment became a medium he mastered. Apart from his talent and experience I think this was due to the fact that he had complete confidence in drawing the world the way he saw it. In support of this concept, director Pete Docter was attempting to bring a fresh, graphic look to his film Monsters, Inc. (2001) and brought Maurice in as a consultant. Many of us at Pixar are huge fans of Maurice’s work. He clearly recognized the strength of the hand-drawn medium is in its two-dimensional, graphic nature. Rather than fight this, he embraced it and pushed the work to be even more graphic and bold. It made perfect sense and was such a beautiful use of the medium. Maurice’s love of light at texture is apparent in his personal photo work. The magic is in the details. These weren’t meant to be great pieces of art to be displayed; rather they were his attempts to capture a moment or feeling. He would often file his favorite photos away with the idea of revisiting some details during research at a later date. Watercolors were part of Maurice’s life even before he became involved in animation. Many of his graphic film ideas were literally drawn from life, often coming from direct observation, then skewed through the Noble filter. I remember when Maurice came up to visit us at Pixar, we had all these framed printouts from his work at Warner Bros. hanging on the walls, and we pressed Maurice as to how we could get more of that great two-dimensional graphic design into what we do. Maurice looked at us funny and told us . . . we shouldn’t. We are doing 3-D, and that was 2-D. You have to design to the strength of the medium. That really impressed me, because even after a lifetime of pushing design in a strong, particular direction, Maurice thought like a designer, not a stylist. He saw instantly what was required for the situation and was willing to reinvent everything and approach the design from a completely different way. Even so, we’ve learned a lot from studying Maurice’s work, and at a very basic level we try to approach our films in the same way Maurice did: by caricaturing, not just reproducing. In the same way the great caricature artist Al Hirschfeld found ways to make a few lines look more like a particular person than a photograph does, Maurice found ways to make a snow-peaked mountain or the landscape of the American Southwest feel more like those places than they really do in person. That’s what we really want from animation: a distillation of the truth, with all the irrelevant parts removed; a kind of visual reduction sauce. It’s the strength of animation as a medium, and it’s what Maurice Noble did so well. Maurice suggested that the best way to bring originality and sincerity to your work is to really look at the world around you. He challenged me to expand my life experiences beyond the edges of the TV screen: Look to life and nature for inspiration. Draw (literally) from your experiences. Travel, read, visit museums, study the art of other cultures. Get a little beyond your comfort zone. Look at artists who aren’t involved in animation. Your designs are really just an extension of yourself. Keep building on the design resource library in your head. Make it a point to explore life, gain new experiences, and see new places. If you have the same influences, teachers, and experiences as everyone else, it will be difficult to make your designs really stand out. It is important to know what is being done, and has been done, but to be truly innovative you have to look beyond that. The world of Horton Hears a Who! was inspired in part by Maurice’s many trips to Hawaii. Maurice then went on to explain that he cleaned his desk at the start of every picture, never referencing designs from previous films, even if those designs had worked well. You would never find any graphic inspirations hung up in his work area. The only art he would ever have over his desk were working drawings from the film at hand. Ashamed, I cleaned my desk, and Maurice proceeded to outline his approach to design research: Once I have made my notes, and feel I know the story and characters fairly well, I begin researching the picture. I will spend a few days (or however long it takes) going through my reference: books, films, magazines, and whatever else I find useful. At this stage I don’t begin drawing. I look at my research and try to soak in as much information as I can, making mental notes. When turning natural things into designs, pick the most outstanding characteristic of what it is you are designing. For example, if I’m designing a French chair for a Pepé Le Pew cartoon, I may note, “swooping, curved legs, high arched back,” then later use this general mental impression to guide my final designs. I suggest putting all your research materials away once you start designing and never refer to them again. This may prove difficult at first. But I’ve found that if you are tied too closely to your reference, your designs will tend to look stiff. You will miss out on many fun design opportunities. Maurice would collect images that he liked in small folders. Some of the images would be magazine articles or museum catalogs, whatever happened to move him. Sometimes he would flip through these folders for inspiration during the research phase. In a 1971 interview with Joe Adamson, Maurice discussed the influence art reference had on him: I’d be influenced indirectly, put it that way: Giotto, some of the early Italians, Chinese and Japanese art, Persian miniatures and their beautiful design and color. My tastes gravitate to this. You can see a certain relationship there, because most of these things are pattern things. I wouldn’t say I deliberately sat down and decided that this ought to have a little smattering of Corot, or that should be a little bit like van Gogh. I know there are certain designers that will do this, and you can always see it come through. But I think I can honestly say that I design for the demands of the medium. One of the keys to Maurice’s research method was his amazing visual memory. Over the years he had built a huge pictorial library in his head by training his mind to recall unique details of objects and places around him. He encouraged us to do the same. Maurice imparted that one of the best ways to develop visual memory and hone observation skills is to draw. The main focus of this exercise isn’t about developing good draughtsmanship. In this case, what drawing really does is forces you to observe an object or place in ways you normally wouldn’t. Maurice challenged me to find unique characteristics in everyday objects and places around me that I may have never noticed before. One of Maurice’s former instructors, Millard Sheets, taught: You must carry a sketchbook with you all the time, and unless you make one drawing a day—not for the sake of a drawing, but to learn something about something you didn’t know about (there isn’t a house, there isn’t a place in the world that doesn’t have something that you ought to investigate)—you aren’t being true to yourself. Maurice added that, when observing from life, many of the unique properties of an object or place may not be physical; they could be emotional. He explained: You can’t draw a forest really well unless you have been in one. When I design, I’m not so interested in showing what a forest “looks” like; I’m more interested in showing what a forest “feels” like. That’s almost impossible to do if you have never been in one. If you can capture the feeling of a place, this will give your work a very unique quality. I tend to design from what I know. Subjects I’m not as familiar with, I try to explore. When your designs are based on what you know, and have experienced, it gives your work much more substance. I call this “stepping into the picture.” Inspiration from the Kimberly Crest Mansion found its way into a number of Maurice’s films, including What’s Opera, Doc? Here’s a brief look at where Maurice drew inspiration from for a few of his best known films: What’s Opera, Doc? (1957) The design motifs for What’s Opera, Doc? were inspired in part by the Kimberly Crest mansion in Redlands, California. Maurice spent part of his childhood in Redlands and had admired the gardens as a boy. The Kimberly Crest motif found its way into a number of Maurice’s designs, including the “Dance of the Hours” sequence of Fantasia. More inspiration can be found in one of Maurice’s favorite films, Frank Capra’s Lost Horizon (1937). If you watch the film carefully, you will see a number of visual ideas that Maurice brought into his own film work, including What’s Opera, Doc? and How the Grinch Stole Christmas! Robin Hood Daffy (1958) The forest in Robin Hood Daffy was inspired by trees and parks in the area of Los Angeles where Maurice lived and worked. The satirical themes of the film were pushed even further by Maurice’s saturated palette, and the use of rubber stamps for leaves, flowers, and grass. Some of these same parks had found their way into Bambi. Forest inspiration. Maurice was more concerned about capturing the “feeling” of a place he was inspired by than being accurate about representing it physically. Castle Rock from the Carol M. Highsmith collection at the Library of Congress. A Maurice painting of Monument Valley’s Castle Rock. Maurice reference photos from Descanso Gardens, one of Maurice’s favorite haunts since he was a teenager. The gardens inspired many of his professional and personal projects through the years. The Road Runner Series (Jones/Noble 1953–1994) The Road Runner is perhaps the most iconic of Maurice’s work, simply because there were so many films made. Maurice had a lifelong love affair with the American Southwest and spent many years of his youth in New Mexico. Throughout his career Maurice would brave the heat to paint in places like Monument Valley and Arches National Park. He proudly claimed to be the third “white man” to traverse the Grand Canyon from rim to rim, on foot, with no water, in a day. How he knew this, I have no idea, but it made a good story. Bryce Canyon tunnel caricaturized in To Beep or Not to Beep (1963). Photo by Bang-On Phothi-In. Falling at the Feet, Kangra 1810–1815 If you look closely, you will find folk art influenced design throughout Maurice’s work. On the top a Maurice flower study, on the bottom, a Chinese paper cut. Maurice’s home was virtually a museum of Asian art, and it had a great influence on his own work . . . if even in an indirect way. Persian and Indian miniatures influenced Maurice’s use of space in Broomstick Bunny. STEP 05: Design A final Phil DeGuard background from Ali Baba Bunny. Each of these thumbnails is the result of several pages of rough sketches. Maurice worked very hard to explore a location deeply. Once we had pondered our limitations, familiarized ourselves with our stories, and gotten a heavy dose of research under our belt, we were excited to jump into design. Maurice reminded us that as we moved into our thumbnails (small, quick drawings that provide a blueprint for the scene) we should always keep two things in mind. He said, “A film designer’s job in animation consists of basically two things: (1) supporting the story through design and (2) staging the characters. THUMBNAILS As a trainee, it seems I was almost always moving too quickly into what I thought were final designs. Maurice was constantly urging me to give more time to developing my ideas, and encouraged me to work in a way that made the best use of this time. Using the elements list as a guide, Maurice suggested putting down as many written and thumbnail ideas as I could while the reference was still fresh in my mind. He elaborated on this for me: The best designers make certain they are on sure footing before settling on any one staging idea. Many inexperienced artists skip thumbnailing altogether, or make two or three small roughs. And it shows! No amount of great color or paint technique will improve a lousy composition. He paused, and then gave me a kick in the shin to make sure I remembered this lesson. Starting rough and not getting specific too early will allow you to keep your design ideas flexible. Many designers I’ve worked with are tempted to try making beautiful, finished pieces of art right away. But by doing this, they are really limiting the number of design ideas they can quickly explore before deciding the direction the picture will take. You wouldn’t start a marble sculpture by working out the small details; film design is the same way. The amount of time you get to develop a project is limited. The more ideas and work you have, the more design possibilities you will have to choose from. Under the threat of further pain I came to understand that the early thumbnail stage is all about exploring as many ideas as possible quickly. This meant that at the beginning of his process, Maurice would often spend as much time writing down possible design, gag, and staging ideas as he did sketching. The faster he could put down ideas, the faster he could eliminate stinkers. He explained that often it’s much faster to write down a visual idea, such as “snowy mountain peaks with green valley” than to actually draw it. If one of these ideas struck a chord, he might then explore it visually in thumbnail form. Many of Maurice’s early thumbnail drawings were a sort of shorthand about a particular concept that he could call upon later. In the margins of his thumbnails Maurice often notated possible gags, staging ideas, and additional avenues a concept might take. Many times he would write a note reminding him self what the thumbnail drawing itself was about. Maurice continued to explain his process: When I first start working out ideas for a picture, many of my first sketches aren’t staging anything. But I always keep the story and possible animation setups in mind. At this point I’m more interested in experimenting with shape, pattern, and size relationships, trying to get something that looks exciting, unusual, and fun. Thumbnail sketches for the Nutcracker Suite of Fantasia (1940). Maurice added that when making thumbnails at this early stage, not to worry about detail, rather think in simple shapes and broad strokes. Working small and simply helps clarity. If your thumbnails don’t work small, they aren’t going to work blown up on a film screen. Some of Maurice’s early shape exploration might include very rough loose color ideas. These would have been used as a sort of proof of concept to himself and Chuck Jones before taking the designs further. But as Maurice got more specific with staging, he would almost always work in black and white. Be careful that you don’t get caught up in the trap of focusing on color at this point. Kick yourself in the shin and think of Maurice. Color will come later. Once a general approach for pattern and shape language had been found, Maurice would narrow his rough sketches down to the ones he thought worked best. Then, using these, he would begin exploring angles and staging setups for specific story moments, often creating numerous pages of tighter thumbnails based on one rough idea, and continuing to sketch until he felt he had fully explored the best staging possibilities. He once said, “I usually try to explore each story point in many different ways. Rarely is your first staging idea going to be your best.” Exploratory drawings from Bambi. Maurice would explore a story moment from many different angles until he found something that worked. WORKING IN THE CORRECT ASPECT RATIO It was crucial to Maurice that his sketches were at the same aspect ratio as the final film frame, even in the early thumbnail stage. He taught: Keep your sketches to the same proportion of the final film. Just as a fine art painter uses a canvas to paint his work, a film designer uses the screen. Many times what seems like a good idea in sketch form falls apart when you try to put it into the proper field proportion; it will also save time. Occasionally a good thumbnail sketch can be blown up and cleaned up for a working layout. And sometimes an exploratory sketch can be worked directly back into the storyboard. To make things easier during the feverish passion of drawing, Maurice created his own set of cardboard templates at various sizes that he could trace off quickly. These were based on his animation field guide (also known as a field chart or graticule and widely available commercially today). Even when working digitally, make sure you are working to the correct aspect ratio. It will save you a lot of pain and heartache over the course of a film. Maurice would often pre-visualize a setting by writing about it, such as this descriptive write-up for Crawford, a project in development at MGM/Tower 12 in the 1960s. To Hare Is Human (1956). Home sweet hole. SUPPORTING THE CHARACTERS It’s easy to get caught up in the scribbles. When thumb-nailing, it’s important to pause from time to time and examine if your designs are still supporting the story and characters. Usually, character designs are set by the time the environments are being developed. It’s important that your thumbnails and general design approach supports these designs. Maurice explained: The styling of the film, backgrounds, props, etc. must be appropriate to the character design. Normally you wouldn’t want to design a complex, realistic environment for highly stylized, flat, cartoony characters, and vice versa. Every character and element should feel like it lives in the same world. At Warner Bros., I felt that the background styling should have the same treatment as the characters. So we began painting flatter, more graphic backgrounds with cel-paint. The cel-paint we used on the backgrounds was the same cel-paint that we used on the characters. It just seemed to make sense to me and tied everything together nicely. Disney was going for a softer, more realistic treatment at the time. This type of art direction would not have worked as well there. Background and layout design is in many cases like a cartoon character, a caricature of reality. How much does Daffy really look like a duck? Or Bugs really look like a bunny? Don’t be afraid to use the same sort of logic in your layout design. Of course, the amount of caricaturization you use in design will depend on your story. To Maurice, it wasn’t enough to support the way the characters looked. He emphasized developing ideas that reflected the unique personalities of the characters that would populate the worlds he created. An example Maurice often gave was his design approach to Bugs Bunny’s home: As you find a good direction with your thumbnail sketches, step back and see if they really fit the story and character you are designing to. Many times when I would begin designing a film, I would look at my sketches and ask myself, “Would Bugs feast on carrots in a place such as this?” If not, then I would need to rethink the world I was creating for the character. Maurice’s designs of Bugs Bunny’s home describe Bugs’s personality perfectly. The backgrounds not only expose Bugs’s carrot addiction but also reveal his simple yet refined tastes. Earthen walls, wooden furniture, and natural materials disclose Bugs’s practical, honest, down-to-earth nature. The subtle contrast of his modern art and good books expose that he’s intellectual and cultured, without punching you in the face. None of these details were in the storyboards but go a long way to tell you about the character and bring a depth and reality to the environment. Maurice worked hard to make his environments feel lived in; this brought a certain richness and depth to his work that many other layout designs lacked. In 2000, he gave a few pointers to director/producer Dave Thomas about creating interest and bringing out unique details in the environments he created: • Never be generic; be specific. • Look for the imperfections and flaws that make a thing unique. • Dent and ruin things! • Start with reality—then make it cockeyed. This adds character. For example, on a trash can, skew the lid, break the handle off, give it overstuffed garbage bags. • Make your world look “lived in.” Add everyday objects, trash in the street, patches in the curtains, a nail coming up from a floorboard. • Look for a variety of shapes, make it interesting—nothing pristine. • Add shadows cast from off-screen, etc. There is an entire world outside the box that you are designing that the audience can’t see. • Look for natural forms and silhouettes in nature, the “edge” of a bush or tree. The silhouette of a maple tree is different than that of a pine tree, etc. • Show the backs and sides of things. For example flowers in a vase: show the sides, backs, and fronts of the flowers. SWEATY FUN Chuck Jones worked with a number of talented designers throughout his career, but he always maintained that Maurice was his favorite. Technically, Maurice wasn’t any more skilled than many of his contemporaries, but what Maurice brought to his designs that most of his contemporaries didn’t was a cornball sense of humor and a sense of fun. Many artists working in the 1950s created good designs; Maurice created designs in his distinctive style that would also make you laugh. Audiences remember Maurice’s work because he created iconic details, such as the trees on Planet X, that don’t feel forced, for the reason that they fit so naturally with what Chuck Jones was trying to do with the characters. Behind the bow tie and façade of the grand master of the short film, Chuck Jones was a quirky dude, with a biting, surrealistic sense of humor. In Maurice, he had found a designer that complemented and enhanced his own satirical take on animation. All this is part of Maurice’s design approach that he called “sweaty fun.” Don’t worry, parents, you can still read this section to your children before bed at night. In the simplest terms, “sweaty fun” means it takes a heck of a lot of work to inject humor and the element of fun into a design. Maurice described it this way: People often don’t realize how hard you have to work to make something look fun and interesting. I used to sweat blood sometimes just to get a setup to look right. It’s not enough to make a design function; it must push mood, emotion, and storytelling. Making something look fun is one of the most difficult things you can do, but the audience will really appreciate it. If you are designing a comedy or satire, don’t be afraid to be ridiculous with your shapes and forms. If it makes you laugh, it will probably make the audience laugh too. Maurice went on to say that all animation design, including dramas, should contain humor and an element of fun. Though humor is a key to Maurice’s approach, it only describes part of this philosophy of “fun.” In this, Maurice is also discussing a deeper sort of intangible joy that sets his work apart. It’s the examination of a story, moment, or place and infusing a bit of himself and his own experiences into the work, taking it to another plane. Sweaty fun is an element of design that at many levels only comes from an artist’s soul when they dig really deep, a sort of sincerity and vulnerability that bubbles to the surface when an artist must look into him- or herself. It may sound hokey, but Maurice and I discussed it numerous times. That, balanced with technical skill and intellect, gives something unique to a design. “Sweaty fun” is kind of a corny term for a design philosophy, but you would expect nothing less from Maurice. THUMBNAILS TO WORKING DRAWINGS After exploring a story point thoroughly, Maurice would go through his stack of thumbnails and select a few that he felt held promise. These would be enlarged and developed further, focusing more on composition and value (the play of light and dark in a composition). He would then take one of his enlarged thumbnails and copy the rough linework of the composition onto another piece of paper. Then using this line art he would often create half a dozen black-andwhite value studies, using markers, ink, and pencil, until he found something he felt he wanted to take further in color. He could often be in this step of the design process for days, until he found just the right play of values. In the mid-1990s, Maurice was experimenting with value sketches on a film for Warner Bros. Feature Animation. I stopped by his desk; Maurice was hunched over his light table, tracing off a rough line environmental drawing onto a new piece of paper in pencil. Using this copy he would experiment with value and perhaps color. From the pile of sketches scattered around his table, I could see that he had copied this layout at least a dozen times. Hoping to uncover some hidden design secret, I asked, “Is tracing the original drawing better than photocopying it?” He stopped suddenly, and looked up with a strange expression. Then he suddenly hit himself in the head and exclaimed, “No!” Apparently he had been using this method at the studio for months, with a photocopy machine just down the hall. From then on he was able to nearly double his output. Before jumping into color, Maurice would figure out his values during the clean-up process. VALUE One of the most potent weapons in Maurice’s design arsenal was his unerring sense of value. He told me, “A lot of attention is given to color, and while of course color is very important, in my opinion, value is even more important. If your composition is working in value, you can use almost any color and it will work reasonably well. Good color will be icing on the cake.” This might be simplifying things a bit because, of course, color was a crucial part of Maurice’s design approach. But he also wanted to stress the significance of value to a young crew chomping at the bit to jump into color. Maurice observed that most inexperienced designers tend to do exactly that. Maurice usually thought of value as either tints or shades. He broke them down this way: Value Scale Tints: Tints are created when white is added to a base color. White High light Light Low Light Middle Value: Often, but not always, the pure base color of the paint. Shades: Shades are created when black is added to a base color. High Dark Dark Low Dark Black One of the first things Maurice pointed out about value is the fact that the eye is naturally guided to the area of highest contrast, the area of darkest dark against lightest light, in a composition. As designers we can use this fact to make characters read (are visible to the audience), even in a complex background setup. Here are a few simple examples to make this point clear: No Focus (above left): All values fall within a very small range, thus the eye isn’t attracted to any particular area of the picture plane. This isn’t always a bad thing. But there should be a reason story-wise for not having focus. Split Focus (above center): Many inexperienced designers make the mistake of having too many areas of focus competing for the eyes’ attention. This greatly weakens any design statement they might have. Strong Focus (above right): There is no question about where the eye should look. This is a dramatic, high-contrast example, to make the point clear. A designer might be able to add several other minor focal points into the background for added interest and depth. These focal points should never be of equal value or fight for attention. Reduce the contrast in these areas if the focus of a composition becomes muddled. Here are a few more not-so-subtle Maurice examples; the eye goes exactly where it is supposed to. If you squint, you will be able to see how he used contrasts to really focus the composition. Monochrome filter tests. Twilight of Man (1926) by Rockwell Kent, courtesy of Denison University. Twilight of Man stacked value image. TESTING VALUE By analyzing some of Maurice’s work and breaking them into values, there is no question where the highest area of contrast is. His characters always read. This is getting a bit into the realm of color, but only to emphasize the direct relationship between value and color. When working in color, Maurice would check his values using red and blue filters, sometimes called monochrome filters. Generally he used red filters, but if a composition had a lot of red in it, he used blue. Using filters reduces color to simple tones, allowing an artist to see and compare values in a composition. This was important to Maurice in making sure the highest area of contrast was either the characters, or the area around the characters. Keep this value relationship in mind when you are exploring black-and-white values when sketching. Eventually these value studies will be translated into color. STACKING VALUE As a young man, Maurice’s use of value was greatly influenced by artists such as Rockwell Kent, Paul Landacre, and Lynd Ward. One of my great treasures is a first edition copy of N by E (1930), signed and given to Maurice by Rockwell Kent, then signed and given to me by Maurice. When I first interviewed with Maurice, I had no idea of his interest in printmakers of the 1920s and ’30s. By coincidence two of my student films had been inspired by the art of Rockwell Kent and Lynd Ward. He recognized the influence, studied my drawings, and told me that he thought I might have a knack for color. At the time I thought it was an odd statement because my portfolio was primarily black and white. But over time I came to recognize that an understanding of value was the first big hurdle in learning to use color. One of the strengths of Rockwell Kent’s work is his use of value, and specifically the way that he stacked value. In Kent’s most complicated compositions, even though he allows certain portions of shape to fall into shadow, elements remain distinct. Stacking values means exactly that, stacking light on dark on light, and so on. When a portion of the composition gets light, a dark value goes against it to make sure the shape reads. When a portion of the composition gets dark, a light value is put against it. Compositions in color should be no different. Maurice thought about stacking values in the same way, especially when it came to staging characters. He always made sure that the characters read by creating layers in front of and behind them that were of different values than the characters themselves. In this way he separated background, foreground, and midground layers with value to support the needs of staging and story. Sometimes something subtle, such as a small white “spotlight,” is all you need to pull the eye in to where you want it to go. Exploratory sketches from Boyhood Daze (1957). Framing Ralph in a pool of light also gives a feeling of intimacy. Maurice’s version of Alice. His use of spotlights here are both intimate and dramatic. The use of spotlights in What’s Opera, Doc? gives a feeling of super-drama. FRAMING WITH LIGHT Just as in theater, a designer can easily use a spotlight to build areas of contrast and pull the eye anywhere they need in a composition. Maurice loved light and often exploited this technique to frame characters, frequently using cast shadows and light from sources such as off-screen windows to indicate a greater world outside the confines of the camera lens. Thus inspired, a few of us went a bit light crazy, using spotlights in nearly everything we designed. Maurice soon showed us the error of our ways, explaining that we should only use this technique to support story. He explained that the best use of spotlights was to support drama, as in What’s Opera, Doc?, or intimacy, as in Ralph’s bedroom in Boyhood Daze. In the end we realized that if we used such a dramatic approach where none was needed, it would be difficult to support the story with design during truly dramatic moments. Casting shadows and light from elements outside of the picture frame, such as a window or trees, really helps expand the world the characters are in beyond what we see on screen. Another artist who influenced Maurice’s use of light was Gustave Doré. The way he used value and dramatic spotlights to illuminate certain portions of his compositions had a profound effect on Maurice, each composition having a clear primary and secondary focus of value. Maurice has pointed out that the biggest difference between animation design and illustration is the amount of time a viewer has to spend with an image. In illustration, an artist can be more subtle, because the viewer has the opportunity to spend more time with the art. In animation design it is a rare luxury to spend more than a few seconds with an image. The focus has to read quickly and clearly. Movement and color all help with this focus, but everything begins with value. If he needed a mountain range to feel sharp and jagged, then the snowy peaks on the mountain would be soft and curvy. The snow made the sharp edges even sharper. CONTRAST Another important element of design Maurice discussed was contrast. So far we have only discussed contrast in term of value (i.e. light vs. dark). However, contrast is a term that can be used to describe any opposing elements of design. For example: cool vs. warm, sharp vs. soft, etc. Noble Boy Lawrence Marvit discusses a conversation he had with Maurice on just this subject: In design there are constants, no matter the medium; at the end all that matters is how a composition makes you feel. Maurice once said to me late one night, “No matter how technical you get, it’s only there for one reason, to emote.” You have to know how you want a design to feel. Without that, then all the technique in the world won’t help you. Conversely, if you know what you want to say, but have no means to say it, you’re also lost. This seemed to annoy Maurice the most. An idea isn’t enough, the technique isn’t enough. You need both. Maurice had both. Maurice wasn’t an artist that worked only from his gut. He worked really hard figuring out how he wanted something to feel before even putting pencil to paper. Often he would look at a composition I had done and ask, “How do you want it to feel?” After I had answered, he would directly, almost mechanically go through a process of making the picture feel that way. This isn’t to say it was lacking in subtlety, just that it was extremely direct. If the problem was stated simply, clearly, then it could be solved simply. Simplicity is a key factor in effective design. I think part of Maurice’s incredible effectiveness was due to his understanding of contrast. He knew that it was this contrast that made things seem more of what they are. For example, if he wanted something to feel warm, then he would add something cold in the picture. As he told me once, “there’s only so much yellow and orange you can put in a picture. If he needed a mountain range to feel sharp and jagged, then the snowy peaks on the mountain would be soft and curvy. The snow made the sharp edges even sharper.” One time I was designing a shot of Daffy Duck walking out over a long bridge. I wanted the bridge to feel really high in the air. I put all these buildings in the background almost up to the top of the frame. Maurice looked at it, cut out the city, and then put the skyline below the bridge. “If you want the bridge to feel high, then everything else has to be lower than it.” The contrast was clear: one thing high, the other low. Oddly this seemed to make it less cliché, not more, as one would expect. If you know the mood or point you want to convey, you can explore an idea deeper as opposed to wider. People in animation often talk about contrast as if it in and of itself were the Holy Grail. Unfortunately this tends to make every shot action oriented. Maurice had a different philosophy on it. He would say to dial the contrast down if it had to be a quiet scene, and up if it was an action scene. It was the range of emotions he was looking for; a wider range being obtained from one scene in contrast to the next. The most important thing I learned from Maurice in the course of our friendship was to enjoy the act of designing . . . To enjoy pictures. I miss spending late nights in his studio discussing pictures over coffee. “If you want the bridge to feel high, then everything else has to be lower than it.” Sketches by Lawrence Marvit. Be specific, not generic. Even when simplifying forms, Maurice was always specific about what he was designing. He rarely designed a generic plant, rather he would draw details from the incredible wealth of shapes and forms of the foliage around him. The Thai Kanok. Many cultures simplify complex forms by containing them in simple shapes. Maurice did the same. A few simple examples of tree shapes. SIMPLIFYING ELEMENTS Most traditional animation design, especially the satirical designs Maurice created at Warner Bros., are simplifications of reality. For example, the trees in many of Maurice’s films often don’t look much like trees, but we don’t question that they represent trees. When we started out at Chuck Jones Film Productions, it was sometimes difficult for us to gauge how, and how much, to simplify elements of our compositions. Maurice acknowledged that often a designer’s biggest challenge is creating exciting, unusual forms that also have enough basis in reality to keep an audience grounded. He related that there was a rich visual language of symbols that designers can tap into when simplifying and abstracting forms: Throughout history man has created images and symbols to represent the world around him. Look at the art of any “primitive” culture, going all the way back to the cave paintings of early man. The paintings and drawings that were created weren’t attempts to depict nature in a realistic way; they were attempts to show the inner essence of things, the spirit of a deer on a hunt, the shape of a demon that lay just outside the protection of the campfire. Usually this art can be traced to storytelling and man’s attempts to explain the world around him. Sophisticated symbols are used by tribes to represent the world around them. The images weren’t random; they had purpose and were trying to convey information. Everything you design, whether it be a tree or a rock, should do the same. How you choose to simplify forms will be what makes your designs special and unique. Animation design works in a similar way to primitive art. The designer is breaking down the known world into symbols that help tell a story, an abstraction and representation of reality. Today our world is still made up of a simple visual language and symbols that represent ideas in that language. For example, it is highly likely that a well-educated forty-five-year-old PhD will draw the same tree, stickman, or a happy face as a five-year-old child halfway around the world. As designers we use these symbols as a starting point and then move beyond that, finding our own unique way of abstraction. All natural forms, even the most complicated, can be traced to basic elements found in nature. As a designer it is your job to decide what way is the most entertaining way to design an element, make it read as what it is, not be distracting, and fit with the needs of the mood and story. At best, these abstractions will be warm and relatable, not just symbols, but living, breathing characters. Maurice taught us to think about our designs in simple shapes. One of the challenges I personally faced was simplifying complex forms like trees and flowers. As always, Maurice had ideas on the approach I should take: Using simple shapes is a very good thing, but a designer must be specific with what they are designing. Let’s look at trees and flowers, for example. I don’t know how often I have seen the “lollipop” tree example. One could almost do anything to make trees that are more interesting than these. If you look to nature, you will be surprised to see how many varieties of simple shapes there are. At a loss for interesting tree shapes? Examine how different cultures simplified tree forms, such as those found in Persian miniatures or Chinese paper cutouts. You would be hard-pressed to find anything as exciting in modern animation, and many of these images have been around for hundreds of years. Look at the rich variety of patterns and textures some of these works possess. This treatment obviously wouldn’t work for all stories. But as a designer you can be inspired by sources from everywhere and anywhere. As Maurice often told us, “Don’t copy; rather learn to file shapes and forms into your visual memory. Then, later, you can call upon these images to help you solve design problems.” Many cultures, including Thai and Celtic, use controlled graphic forms to give a geometric quality to the art. Maurice said: Use a simple basic shape (circle, square, etc.) as a rough guide. Then add leaves, branches, to give your tree a more natural feel. The best way to come up with unique tree designs is to go outside and observe them! Look for small details that you can incorporate into your design to make them special. When designing, always try to be specific, and always try to show the object you are designing from various angles: front, side, and back. In the example on the far left of the opposite page, you can tell what kind of flower is which from just the silhouette. The overall shape of your design is a good place to start . . . but remember there are three dimensions. Even in a highly stylized film, you want your elements to sit in space. Use overlapping forms and lines that describe the form to give a sense of dimension. STEP 06: Color A Phil DeGuard background from Duck Dodgers in the 24½th Century. RYB subtractive color wheel. CMYK additive color wheel. “No one uses color as well as Maurice. He is the Master.”—Chuck Jones Before discussing Maurice’s process of transferring his black-and-white drawings into color, let’s first look at some of his thoughts about color itself. Maurice used to tell us, “In a film, the two first things that an audience responds to emotionally are music and color.” While he loved design, Maurice had a real passion for music. He loved to listen to it, and he loved to play it. To Maurice, good music touched emotions in a way no other art form could. And his ideas on color were very much in tune (pun forgivable) with his approach to music. Depending on the needs of the story, he could turn the chroma (intensity) down to a barely audible hum. Or when something more dramatic was needed, he could turn the hues up as far as Technicolor would allow, shaking the very seats of cinema halls. For Maurice, color was his emotional link from the story to an audience. But, as in every element of Maurice’s design, he made sure that color never upstaged the characters and, more important, always pushed the story. THE BASICS This chapter is an examination of Maurice’s thoughts on color and assumes that most readers will have had some basic color theory. For those of you who haven’t studied color before, there are a large number of good resources available. A strong knowledge of color basics will vastly improve any designer’s work. That said, Maurice wanted to include some notes about color basics to use as a reference point for some of the ideas that will follow: Color is a mental thing: just what each individual sees. Color is not in the object but is the light it reflects. The textures of all objects greatly influence the color. Where there is no light, there is no color. Light is not a tangible thing. We see color because certain wavelengths are reflected by objects, while others are absorbed. We call this the light spectrum and approximate it with pigments (paint) in what we call a color wheel. The color wheel just helps us simplify color to make it easier to understand. There are two theories of light: prismatic and pigment. Prismatic color theory deals with light only and how it is reflected and combined to make colors. Pigment theory deals with colors reflected by pigments and their combinations. Maurice used the traditional pigment color wheel as reference when he talked to us about color theory. Despite that, he was very familiar with prismatic color theory and frequently used additive color combinations in his work as well. Explore as many ideas and theories as you can. As you become comfortable with color, you will find out what works best for you. Exploration and experimentation are the keys to good color work. At the studio, Maurice’s way of communicating color ideas to other artists was based on the range of Cel-Vinyl paints, developed by the Cartoon Colour Company of Culver City, California. But Maurice also used it on his color sketches and everything else that was related to color. He knew every color and shade by memory, and after working with him a while, so did we. If Maurice said, “Make this object vermillion 4,” everyone knew exactly what he meant. Art director Susan Goldberg, who worked with Maurice on Fantasia 2000, had a poetic view of Maurice’s use of Cartoon Colour callout numbers: The Cartoon Colour range of cel-vinyl paint. Cool colors tend to recede and warm colors advance. Maurice always reminded me of Beethoven, who at the end of his life could no longer hear his beautiful compositions, and Maurice with his disintegrating eyesight could only see his work in his head. I know that he basically dictated his paintings to the artists by using cel color numbers, brilliant to the end! Generally speaking, the color wheel is divided into cool and warm colors. Cool colors have a blue base, and warm colors have a red base. Then there are colors such as green and purple that can lean toward cool or warm depending on how they are mixed. It’s good to be aware that color also has dimension. The eye is more sensitive to red, thus warm colors seem to advance and cool colors retreat when viewed on the same plane. This effect is even stronger when cool and warm colors are viewed together. As designers we can take advantage of this interplay in our design. I once asked Maurice to explain his process in developing color ideas for a film. He confessed that most of his approach to color and design was instinctual. He explained that once he started designing color on a film, he was primarily applying color ideas formed during his research stage, leaving the rest to experimentation. He said, “People often ask me if I use color reference; it really depends on what I’m doing. Color is emotional for me, so I usually just paint with my gut. That doesn’t mean I stick a brush in my belly button. It means that when I read through a script or look at a board I begin to visualize what a scene might look like. I do what feels right to me.” Maurice then admitted to me that there were no real rules with color. Good use of color will be as varied as the stories being told, and the designers who are applying their personal interpretation to these stories. He said, “The key to good color is to think about why you are using the colors you are.” Seeing that I was still not quite satisfied with his answer, Maurice offered to let me take him to have a hot turkey sandwich. Food always inspired him to say many things, some of which were useful. A color key from Drafty, Isn’t It? Maurice often used warm light, and cool shadows, or alternately cool light with warm shadows to create interest and depth. The primitive colors as seen in this bison from the Altamira cave ceiling. COLOR PERSONALITY While digging into his mashed potatoes, Maurice continued to explain that all colors have emotions and cultural meanings associated with them, and that as designers we can take advantage of this. At the time we were working on a series of folk tales, and he reminded me that different cultures associate different meanings to colors than we did in Burbank. However, thinking about color personality could be a useful tool when first starting out, as he expressed it: Be careful to use these ideas as a rough guide, and not as a rule. In time, using color will be[come] second nature. White, black, and red are the most powerful colors you can use. I like to call them the primitive colors. If you go back far enough in time, you will find that these are the base colors for the art of almost any culture. Black is as dark as you can go, white the lightest. Red has the most energy. In animation, these colors are usually used sparingly, primarily as accent colors. White is often associated with purity and cleanliness and is often used as an accent. White represents light, triumph, innocence, purity, and joy. I love doing scenes with snow because the characters then become the accents. White is the lightest color in the paint box and will always draw the eye to wherever it is in the composition. I rarely use pure white, usually tinting it a bit by adding another color. The exception perhaps is in the whites of the eyes of the characters. Black is a powerful color that is often associated with darkness, evil, and night. Black is also associated with extreme sophistication: black tuxedo, black limousine. Black is the darkest color you can use and can really attract a lot of attention on-screen, especially when placed near a light color. This works well in characters’ eyes. I usually use black as an accent and very rarely use pure black. I usually give it a tint of something else, making it lean to the warm or cool side. Otherwise it can look like a hole in the screen. Sometimes I will give large areas of black a slight texture. Black can be quick striking if used correctly. Many people relate red to fire, passion, and anger, and it can be used to show irritation. I use red in small doses, usually as accents to draw the eye. Red can be very dramatic and can really help get across emotion for very intense scenes. Be careful with red: certain shades tend to turn an unappealing brown on-screen. I tend to use vermilion, which has a bit more of an orange-red tint. I find that this usually reproduces better on-screen. Also if you are designing for television, be aware that manufacturers tend to add red to monitors to warm up flesh tones. This will oversaturate and “blow out” certain reds in your composition. To be safe, test your color schemes on an actual TV monitor (or two) before committing to a red palette. Pink is just red tinted with white. Add white to any color and you will dilute its power. Pink takes the passion and fire of red and tempers it with the purity of white, making it something much lighter and sweeter. Many people relate yellow with happiness, sunshine, and light. It can also be related to heat and dryness (Road Runner country). It is the lightest, most luminous color. Yellow is often used in decoration and is found in abundance in nature, more so than red. If you are trying to achieve a golden yellow, let’s say for the hair of a young girl, experiment with yellow-greens, even leaning toward lime. I have found that it has more life on-screen than a pure yellow. Always mix cool yellow with greens, and warm yellow with reds, for pleasing oranges and greens. (Note: Maurice usually thought of color in regard to how it looked when shot on film. Some of his ideas may work differently when working digitally. The key is to test and experiment with your color combinations for best results.) Normally gold signifies wealth, luxury, and charisma. However gold is difficult to use in film, and tends to turn dark brown or even black on-screen. I stay away from metallic paint. Try variations of ochre or olive green; metal is one of the few times when I’ll throw in a little airbrush. Gold is usually considered a neutral. Many people relate blue to nature, the sky, night, and the ocean; it shows peace and distance. It also signifies truth and wisdom. Blue is found in large proportions in nature (sky) but least seen in flowers. All distant things take on a bluish cast. I often use an aqua color for skies. I have found that this retains more energy and saturation on-screen than a bluer tone, which can tend to look gray on film. Green, a mixture of yellow and blue, takes on the character of both colors. Green is found in greatest proportion in nature and represents growth and freshness. It is classified as a cool color, but it can be cool or warm according to the amount of blue and yellow mixed into it. It is neither exciting nor depressing. When used in other than small spots it should be dulled. In decorative spots it may be used in full purity. This applies to all colors. The larger the spot, the less should be its purity. Orange, a mixture of red and yellow, has some of the passion of red and the cheeriness of yellow. It’s warm and vibrant, like leaves in autumn. Orange is used sparingly in nature, but more than red. Intense versions of orange should be used sparingly in decoration. Peach is also a tint of orange and takes on the cheery qualities of its base, tempered with white. Technically brown is considered a shade of orange and so has many of the same attributes. But brown’s connection to Mother Earth is worth mentioning. It’s more earthy, stable, and subtle than a purer orange base. Many shades of brown, much like gray, can tend to suck life out of a scene. I rarely use a pure brown in design. Purple is a mixture of red and blue and takes on the character of both colors. Ordinarily it is thought of as the most dignified color, as it is used in church. It also denotes imperial sovereignty and royal dignity, hence the expression, “born to purple.” Purple is very depressing when used in large amounts. It’s cool but may be called warm according to the amount of red or blue in the mix. Gray is considered a neutral color, though it can be tinted warm or cool. Be careful when using gray in large amounts, as it can often suck the life out of a scene. Silver is a variation of gray, and is also considered a neutral. Maurice hinted that if we got some coffee and pie it might inspire him to remember a few more details about color. “À la mode?” I asked. THE PALETTE Though Maurice had a large range of colors to choose from, his basic color palette often consisted of: deep green, cool yellow, warm yellow, vermillion, magenta, dark blue (Mt. blue), turquoise, white, and black. There would be variations on this palette depending on the needs of the film. But this is often where he would start. Maurice always thought of his colors in terms of cool and warm and would divide his palette accordingly. SIMPLIFYING THE PALETTE One problem designers often face is knowing which color combinations to use. Even with Maurice’s supervision, we often floundered with color on a composition for days. It might relieve you to know that it wasn’t easy for Maurice either! In our case though, the problem was often a bit more obvious. We, as Maurice explained, “often used too much color.” Luckily, he also gave some good advice on ways to simplify our color palette using color themes and color chords. There is no mistaking the exterior for the interior here. Yet they use the share the same basic color scheme. The yellow of the Martian Maggot is unmistakable. COLOR THEMES When designing in color, Maurice always encouraged us to keep it simple, and to design with a color theme (also called color scheme) in mind. He taught: Designing different locations with distinct color schemes will help avoid confusion, especially when quick cuts are involved. The simpler you keep it, and still keep what you’re designing relatable to an audience, the better. It’s much more difficult to design with a palette of three colors than eight. But working with fewer colors will usually look more appealing. I’d key [a scene] all the way through. If a series of actions happened in a given room and then moved into another room, there’d be a color scheme for one room and then a color scheme for the next room. . . . By reusing a color, indoors and out, you risk confusing the audience, because they will look the same. Just change it when you go indoors. Maurice gave unique color themes to the environments he designed in Duck Dodgers. Planet X has a striking blue-purple color theme, impossible to confuse with those of the Earth and the spaceship interiors. Both ships share the same simple blue, yellow, red, and gray color palette, but Maurice has chosen one of these colors to dominate the overall color theme in each ship: blue-gray for Dodgers’s, and yellow for Marvin the Martian’s. There is a color relationship to tie the ships together, but he has made each distinct by playing a warm palette against a cool one. COLOR FOR QUICK CUTS Another great example of using distinct color themes for quick cutting is from 90 Days Wondering (1956), which Maurice designed at Warner Bros. for the U.S. Military. In the story, Ralph Phillips comes home from the army, surprising his family. The film cuts quickly to their various reactions. Cut to Mom ironing in the kitchen. Thrilled! Cut to Dad shaving in the bathroom. Delighted! Cut to Sister on phone in the living room. Tickled! Cut to Baby Brother torturing the dog in the yard. Moved! COLOR CHORDS Another suggestion Maurice had for simplifying our color palettes was color chords. In musical terms, a chord is a certain set of notes that are played simultaneously. There are chords that can inspire the soul—and there are chords that can inspire you to shoot the musician. The same is true of color. Certain color chords, that is particular combinations of colors, seem to work better than others. Millard Sheets, one of Maurice’s painting instructors at Chouinard, said: A painting must have a color chord or it isn’t worth a damn. I don’t care how you painted it or when it was painted, a painting without it loses. It doesn’t last. It disappears in time. But a picture can be very modest if it has this magic of a special color chord and a value relationship and design sense that will go on. Most, but not all, musical chords are based around a root note. Color chords for the most part are also based around a root color. The most frequently encountered chords are called triadic, so called because they consist of three distinct colors. Maurice considered black, white, gray, gold, and silver as neutral, and didn’t include them as colors in his color chords. But he often used them as accents, and sometimes as a base color. Here are several types of color chords, or schemes: Analogous Color Schemes Analogous color schemes usually contain three colors next to each other on the color wheel. Choose one color to dominate your composition, with a second color to support it. The third color is often used (along with neutral colors) as an accent. Be sure to carefully control your values and range of saturation. Color sketches for an unspecified project compared to an additive analogous color chord. If you are wondering about how the ugly green tassels opposite fit in; this particular hue would shift to a golden ochre when shot on Technicolor stock. The magentas would lean toward a more neutral gray. Complementary color scheme from Abominable Snow Rabbit Complementary color scheme from What’s Opera, Doc? Complementary Color Schemes Colors that are opposite each other on the color wheel are considered to be complementary colors, for example red and green. Maurice used complementary schemes from both subtractive and additive color palettes in his work. Here are some examples. Complementary colors are tricky to use in large doses but work well when you want something to stand out, such as characters. The way these colors react and vibrate off of each other, especially at full saturation, make complementary color schemes popular in illustration and advertising. As always, choose one color to dominate the composition, with the complementary color in a supporting role. Black, white, and grays will usually be used as accents. Note that when saturated complementary colors are placed directly next to one another, an optical illusion of a “line” between the two colors will often appear. These volatile color combinations can also cause a TV screen to react in undesirable ways. Always test your color before committing to an approach. Complementary schemes must be controlled with value and saturation so as not to be distracting. A color key from My Little Duckaroo. A color key for Feline Frame Up. Split-Complementary Color Schemes The split-complementary color scheme is similar to the complementary color scheme. But instead of using one color, split-complementary schemes basically use an analogous scheme as the base, with a complementary accent, usually warm tones with cool accents or cool tones with warm accents. Just as in an analogous color scheme, there should be a dominant color. Use of complementary and splitcomplementary color schemes can give a fun, fresh look to a design. Maurice especially liked to use this scheme in his more satirical films. The split-complementary color scheme is often a good choice for beginners, because it is relatively easy to use. Triadic Color Scheme A triadic color scheme takes colors from three points evenly distributed around the color wheel, essentially forming a triangle. It’s easy to get a composition that looks a bit like a patchwork quilt if you aren’t careful how you balance the colors. As with any other color scheme, it’s best to let one color dominate, using the other two as accents. A color key for 90 Days Wondering. A color sketch from The Road Runner. A Rectangular scheme from 90 Days Wondering. Rectangle Color Scheme The rectangle color scheme is essentially a double- complementary scheme. Because the color relationships are so strong, it’s even more important to let one color—or one analogous set—dominate, leaving the others as accents. A square chord from Feline Frame up. A Rectangular scheme from Lighthouse Story. Square Color Scheme The square color scheme shares many of the same qualities and challenges as a rectangle color scheme. Square schemes are particularly challenging because the colors used are distributed at four even points over entire color wheel. Balance of hue, saturation, and value are as important as always, letting one color dominate. A color key from My Little Duckaroo (1954). COLOR CHORDS AS THEMES Maurice would often carry a certain color chord throughout an entire film, varying the amount of colors used in different locations. A certain blue may act as an accent in one scene and as a backdrop in the next. A designer can create interest by varying the size and amounts of colors used over a composition. Color from the characters can be echoed in the background color to unify a picture. Or try color isolation, where colors that don’t exist in the background can be used to make a character stand out. It all goes back to the story. Keep in mind that color, like value, can become spotty if spread evenly over a composition. Give areas of color focus. There are more color chords out there and many ways to use color. Maurice told me, “In time, color will become second nature, and you will come up with your own unique approach.” CHARACTER COLOR Now that we’ve talked over a few color ideas, let’s get to the knotty problem, designing the film. For the moment, keep all your thumbnail ideas and value studies in mind, but put them to the side until later. The first and most important stage of Maurice’s color process was designing color for the characters. All other color decisions in the film, including the backgrounds, would be designed to support and enhance these character color choices. Maurice taught us, “Play everything to the color of your characters: make them read, read, read at all times. They are the actors and the reason for making the darn film.” Early in the preproduction process, Maurice would usually get rough character designs from Chuck Jones that would be used to create character color models from. Sometimes these would be final designs, and many times these would be character concepts that were still in development. Maurice explained this process in a guest lecture at CalArts in 1977: Chuck did his own character designs. But I would work with him in setting up the color and sometimes simplifying or enhancing a character. We’d talk it over and I’d say, “Look, why don’t we drop this off, or, we need a little more detail.” It was his decision at the end whether he bought or didn’t buy an idea I had. Say you had five buttons on a coat. It’s always cheaper to draw three, or one, than it is to draw five. These are production cost decisions. If you’re going to do ten thousand drawings and you have five buttons on each drawing, that’s a very expensive business. Then Maurice would trace off copies of Chuck’s character drawing onto a piece of animation paper, and either with colored pencils or cel-paint start experimenting with different color schemes. He explained to me, “Your character must read over a fairly wide range of values. This may take some time, and I often try several variations of all the characters. Even the old standby characters like Bugs and Coyote evolved over time and would vary in color from picture to picture.” An isolated color can be affected by the color of its environment. Bug’s Bunny’s gray would change from film to film, and director to director depending on the needs of the story. VISUAL HIERARCHY Just as in background compositions, before going into color think about the areas of value and focus on the characters. Maurice always used a visual hierarchy in his work, meaning that he chose certain elements of a design to be more important than others. If everything on a character has the same level of focus, the audience won’t know where to look. Most characters communicate with their eyes, facial expressions, and hands. Maurice focused on these areas and chose values and colors that would support acting and personality. Eyes: When designing color on a character, the most important spot you probably want the audience to focus on is a character’s head, especially the area around the eyes. This is the area of the character where he or she or it will express emotion. Traditionally, the eyes are white or very light, with dark pupils. As mentioned earlier, contrast will draw attention to itself. Maurice rarely used pure white on characters, even their eyes, preferring to use an off-white. Maurice also used spots of saturated color, say in a nose, a hat, or a tie, to bring the viewer’s eye into the region of the character’s head. Many times these accents would be yellows, reds, or an isolated color not found elsewhere on the character or background. Often Maurice used color complements of the character or background color in these accents to make them pop. Hands: Hand gestures reinforce emotion and help guide the eye. Traditionally, many characters wear white or light-colored gloves. The designers weren’t just trying to make a fashion statement. Props can also assist in guiding the eye. The bright orange of Bugs Bunny’s carrot became a useful tool in helping lead the eye. It often took a day or two for Maurice to arrive at a good color solution for the main characters of a film. Even the regular cast of Warner Bros. characters got the beauty treatment for each new role. Maurice wouldn’t simply pull out a tube of Bugs Bunny gray from an earlier picture; he would think about the needs of the story of the film in front of him. By the time he got to coloring characters, Maurice said he had a pretty good idea formed in his head of how the film might look. He explained, “If I knew Bugs was going to be in a cool setup, I may go with a warm gray, or perhaps a cool gray if I imagined a warmer setting. It all really depended on the story.” The color of the background can affect even a fairly neutral gray, like that of Bugs Bunny. The same gray will appear different on various colored backdrops, actually seeming to take on some of the background color. The effect will be even more extreme with a color that isn’t neutral. Some backgrounds will make a character look healthy and vigorous, while others will suck the life out of them. Either choice could be the right one, if the character reads well and the color choices support the needs of the story. Pepé’s graphic black-and-white design will read well over almost any background. But the color of even this simple design will be affected by the background he is on. A Road Runner color call out, full color in black and white. COLOR REFLECTING PERSONALITY Maurice taught us, “Before getting too far with the character’s color, it’s important to understand what you are designing for. It’s not enough to make the characters look ‘pretty.’ The colors and values need to convey the personality of the character.” He then challenged us to think about any of the great Warner’s characters and how their colors reflected their personalities. Several easy examples came to mind. Bugs Bunny’s coloring is fairly neutral—gray and white, with pink accents—and reflects his stable, cool, calm demeanor. The subtle use of value emphasizes the delicate, multifaceted aspect of his personality. Daffy, on the other hand, is not a subtle character. He is colored with black and orange, with white accents. As in dynamite, his high-contrast orange and black colors reflect the explosive nature of his personality. Though Elmer Fudd donned many different outfits over the years, one thing that remained consistent was his baby-like skin tones, which in turn emphasized the baby-like naïveté of his personality. Maurice then threw in another little detail. “It’s important to keep in mind that not every character can, or should be, the star of the film. If all your characters have equal presence on the screen, they aren’t going to be nearly as strong, or interesting.” The beauty of the Warner Bros. characters is that they were designed in a way that they could be placed in a wide variety of settings and all read well. Many were also designed to work together in pairs or groups. Take the Coyote and Road Runner for example. Both characters are designed to look good on their own, but the color design was really made with their relationship in mind. The colors of the Road Runner are in essence reminiscent of a sports car. The cool blues and grays of the character “pop” against a warm, complementary desert backdrop. The coyote more or less takes on the coloring of the background; though his value is darker, his character color “recedes.” Though value helps balance things out, it is clear by their colors who the dominant character is. This wasn’t an accident; this was design. To get a clearer view of Maurice’s character color process, let’s look at one of his last productions, Chuck Jones’s Timber Wolf web series. Jorge Gutierrez co–art directed the series at Chuck Jones Film Productions with Maurice. He reflects on setting the color for the main character, Thomas T. Wolf: When we were setting the color for Timber Wolf, the story was supposed to take place in the forests of the Pacific Northwest. I did a number of forest sketches with a warm green palette. Maurice looked at the work, and said, “You’re treating your backgrounds as if this is about making pretty drawings. You haven’t really thought about the characters that will live here. “Let’s start from the beginning: What is the story all about? Who’s the main character? What’s he like personality-wise? Where are we coming from with color? Let’s look at the main character: he’s basically a ‘blowhard.’ He stands around and talks a lot, and bad things happen to him. But he kind of deserves it. “Before anything else, we need to figure out the main character’s color first. Then the backgrounds. “The backgrounds have to be designed around the character. That way we can make sure that the character will always ‘pop’ against the background. The black and white of the character’s eyes have to have the biggest point of contrast. The main character doesn’t wear gloves or anything like that, so it’s more than likely his body will only be one color. Let’s paint it gray mixed with a little bit of red. That will read well against the greens of the forest. Make the snout a different color to bring the audience’s eye into that area. For the nose, I want something really saturated. I think the nose should be pink; I doubt that we will be using much pink in the backgrounds. So with a pink nose, the audience will always see the character. The pink is also a little flamboyant, which is how this character sees himself.” I tried out a bunch of different pinks, and sure enough, Maurice chose a sort of What’s Opera, Doc? pink, kind of an Indian/Mexican pink. We showed it to the producers of the show, and they didn’t like the nose: too pink. As a compromise, we made the nose more of a desaturated red, though Maurice never thought it worked as well. After doing this work on the character, the backgrounds were much easier to approach. We used a cool palette for the settings, cool browns, cool greens, and the Timber Wolf character really popped. A light test from What’s Opera, Doc? Even with all of Elmer’s fancy trappings, it’s clear that Bugs is the star of the picture. With the exception of his eyes, all of Elmer’s “whites” are at least two values darker than those of Bugs. Elmer recedes into the background, Bugs moves forward. Value, color, and staging all go to support this idea. Thomas T. Wolf in and out of his environment. ANALOGOUS AND SPLIT-COMPLEMENTARY CHARACTER COLORS Though Maurice didn’t originate many of the character color palettes that he worked with, he adapted them to work in the cartoons he designed. He told me, “Generally, the more colors a character has, the harder it is to design environments for.” Keep in mind that at Warner Bros.—except in rare cases such as What’s Opera, Doc?—once a character color was set, it wouldn’t change over the course of a film. Pepé Le Pew and Sylvester have strong black-and-white color schemes, which ensure they will read on almost any midrange value background setup. Wile E. Coyote, on the other hand, uses values and saturation of a single color. Most generally however, Maurice played cool/warm contrasts, even if those contrasts were subtle, such as Bugs Bunny’s mouth and ears against the gray of his fur. COMPLEMENTARY CHARACTER COLORS When Maurice wanted a character to really stand out, he often took advantage of the way complementary colors worked together by designing character colors that were complementary to the background. Often he also used complementary color schemes within the colors of a character itself, but usually keeping the most saturated elements near the character’s head. Again, Maurice made use of both additive and subtractive color combinations in his character color design, sometimes mixing and matching whatever looked best to him. Let’s look at a few examples: Daffy’s red and green attire is ridiculous, but the warm, saturated color makes him stand out from the background. This early sketch by Ralph Phillips uses a yellow-orange/turquoise additive complementary scheme. Most of these colors are desaturated, leaving the saturated vermillion of the hair to pull the viewer’s eye in. Since red was a color that wasn’t as commonly used in backgrounds, Maurice often used it on characters as a tool to make them read better. Maurice experimented with incarnations of Witch Hazel in a red/green complementary scheme before she donned her familiar blue dress. Opposite, Witch Hazel’s dress is so large that the area and intensity of this red makes it difficult to focus on her face—or anything else in the scene for that matter. Robin Hood Daffy. Ralph Phillips. Witch Hazel. Warm/cool exploration for the Abominable Snowman. Maurice did a good deal of color exploration on the Abominable Snow Rabbit (1961) and experimented with the idea of both warm and cool backgrounds. The final color model ended up being a cool white, with blue for the nose and mouth interior, which read great on the cool snow, warm skies, and the final desert scene. Noble’s color markups were usually drawn or loosely painted on animation paper. These were then given to the head of the ink-and-paint department and transferred to cels. When a cel setup was ready, he would try it on various background colors, perhaps even on a color sketch that he was developing at the same time. Adjustments were made as needed and would be passed back and forth with ink-and-paint until Maurice was happy with how the character read. Backgrounds were designed with this interplay of contrasts in mind. TINTS adding white SHADES adding black TONES adding gray or color complement DESIGNING CHARACTER COLOR IN MODERN TIMES In the modern animation studios, a designer often won’t get the last word on character colors and values; the marketing team will. This can be a very frustrating thing, and something that upset Maurice. When I was setting character color at Chuck Jones Film Productions, the marketing department at Warner Bros. handed down color markups of the characters that we were working with. These colors perhaps looked great as stuffed toys or T-shirts, but few of the colors followed any of the principles discussed in this chapter. Obviously the marketing team won’t know anything about the story in production. And they won’t know much more about the backgrounds that the characters will need to play against. To be fair, I tried the colors from Warner Bros.’ marketing, and as expected, they didn’t work. Maurice suggested we throw them out and start fresh, which we did. I only mention this because if you spend any time as a colorist in the industry, there is a good chance you will come up against this situation. It will be up to you, your director, and your producer to decide which way to go. Like it or not, the marketing department is part of the machine we call modern animation. With more education and communication, perhaps there can be more back-and-forth between artists in different departments, which will result in better design overall. SATURATION One of Maurice’s biggest pet peeves was the super-saturated, overblown color palettes in use in the 1990s. In a 2000 interview Maurice told Nancy Beiman, “Right now they think bright color is raw color. You see it in all the computerized stuff, very garish! They have no real comprehension of what the color is for the audience.” This statement applied not only to the new releases at the time, but also included many of Maurice’s own films that had been tampered with by the studios. In the late 1990s Warner Bros. was mastering new versions of the Looney Tunes shorts for a DVD set they were putting out. They asked Maurice to consult on color. However, Maurice felt that the studio was more interested in using his name than his opinion. In the color timing sessions, in spite of Maurice’s suggestions, the operator would push the saturation up, as Maurice put it, “to be as loud and obnoxious as possible.” He called me in tears lamenting, “They are ruining the cartoons!” If you ever get a chance to view an original Technicolor print, you will see exactly what Maurice was talking about. Certainly saturation plays a major role in the design, but saturation, much like value, is used in various amounts throughout each composition, not as an overall design treatment. Maurice asked the color technicians if they had seen the original prints: they hadn’t. DULL COLORS AGAINST BRIGHT Maurice controlled saturation by placing dull color against purer color. He taught that “generally, the larger the area of color, the less its purity.” He explained that two colors of similar value and purity butted up against one another tend to compete and often cancel each other out. However, if the purity of one of the colors is dulled, then the other color will actually look brighter and more saturated. The example he gave me was “a red flower should probably be more saturated than the grass it is on. A sky will usually sit behind the characters and other elements in the composition.” However, this can also be reversed, depending on the needs of the story. Maurice advised art director Susan Goldberg on her sequences in Fantasia 2000 to use “dull characters on purer backgrounds,” a technique that Maurice also used in many of his own films. Whichever way you go as a designer, the most important thing is that like value, color should be stacked at varying degrees of purity and brightness. Maurice wrote in his notes: A scale of intensity would run from pure color to gray. Five steps are enough for ordinary use: • full intensity • ¾ intensity • ½ intensity • ¼ intensity • neutrality or gray Intensity (or chroma) refers to a color’s strength, to the purity or brilliance as compared to a color less gray. Mixing a color with its complement or a neutral gray (white or black) will change its intensity by graying or dulling it. The best way to learn to control color and saturation is to put brush to paper, and actually paint. To Maurice it was important for an artist to learn how to previsualize a color composition. This is difficult skill to acquire when sliding a control in a program gives quick results. Yes, it may take longer to get good results by hand at first. But any animation film designer who is serious about the craft will work on their traditional technique first and later apply what they learn to the computer. PAINTING WITH SPIT While oversaturation is a common problem of computer color, the opposite is often true of traditional media. With no undo button on the brush, making bold, interesting color choices can be a stressful venture in the beginning. The end result is often weak, timid compositions with no real color focus. Maurice called this “painting with spit,” and most all of us training with him were guilty of it. He taught that when we paint, we should be bold in our approach. Noble Boy Don Hall recounts this lesson with Maurice: One Sunday afternoon, Maurice and I went watercolor painting at Descanso Gardens. By this point in his life, Maurice was nearly blind and struggled to make pictures, but I think the idea of spending a warm spring day outdoors in a beautiful place was far more important than whether the outing produced a good painting or not. Maurice set up next to an area that was blooming with flowers, and I set up about fifteen yards behind him. I decided that I would impress the master with a painting of him doing a painting. Why, I could just see it, matted and framed and on his wall. “My, what an exquisite painting,” guests would say, admiringly. “Yes, it is,” Maurice would say proudly, “taught him everything he knows.” So, I got to it. I blocked in a quick pencil sketch, and then started layering on delicate washes. I spent a great deal of time putting in the blue stripes on the back of Maurice’s chair with a tiny little brush. After about a half an hour or so, Maurice got up and walked toward me. “What’ve you got there?” he asked. I handed him my painting and waited for the inevitable praise that was going to be heaped upon me. “What are you doing,” he thundered, “painting with spit?” My face dropped. “Why, this won’t work at all. Let me sit down!” I watched as he grabbed a thick brush and swashed it around in the water, quickly mixed some colors, and threw down big, bold blocks of rich hues on my dainty, anemic, little sissy painting. In a few minutes, he was done. It now looked like a painting, instead of a tinted drawing. He didn’t need to say much more. He had made his point. He had a way of doing that. Be bold in your approach, have fun, but work hard, and never let “the Man” crush your spirit, i.e., don’t paint with spit—have sweaty fun— and every now and then, give ’em the One-Fingered Salute! I can’t imagine better words of wisdom to guide you through your life. Thanks, Coach. Exploratory color sketches for I Was a Teenage Thumb (1963). COLOR SKETCHES AND COLOR KEYS There were usually two steps in Maurice’s color design process for backgrounds and environments: color sketches and color keys. Originally Maurice had wanted to put these steps in two separate chapters, with a chapter on background layout between. However, for comparison and clarity sake and since there is a lot of crossover, I found it easier to combine this information into one chapter. • A color sketch, or inspirational sketch, is an exploratory painting usually made before the background layout process, which attempts to capture the mood and spirit of a story, without necessarily staging anything. These might often be a simple exploration of a painting approach for a rock or some other element. Often color sketches are based on thumbnails and working drawings made earlier in the process. Of course each film developed differently; sometimes Maurice would make color sketch roughs based on Chuck’s character layouts. Many times a color sketch would be good enough that Maurice would be able to use it as a key and put it back into the film with little or no adaptation. • A color key is a small painting that is usually created after layout and is typically specific to a scene, although as mentioned earlier, a good color sketch can often be blown up and used as the basis for a drawn background layout. Color keys will be used by the background painter as reference for the final background painting. Maurice explained his color sketch process: Once the director agrees on a direction to take the picture, you can begin fleshing out some of your rough thumbnails designs in color. Start your color thumbnails the same way you started your pencil roughs: rough and small. This will allow you to go through a lot of color ideas quickly. Don’t worry about detail yet. The most important thing is to get the overall feeling. I would make rough design sketches with washes of cel-paint on pieces of animation paper. Then go over that with Prismacolor pencils. Once I found an approach, or a design I liked, then I would develop it into a larger color key. It’s important that you sketch in your medium. That is, to use the same materials that your final background art will be in. When I designed for Disney, I would sketch in watercolor because that was the medium that the final backgrounds would be in. At Warner Bros. I used cel-paint for the same reason. Sometimes I would make quick notes in color pencil or something else once I had set the color and style, but the final sketch was always in the medium of the final art. Many of Maurice’s early color sketches weren’t staging anything in particular; they were often exploratory ideas that took form gradually. Something as simple as a small color rendering for a girder or a rock arch could lead to other ideas. Many of his early color keys were nearly identical to the final frame. But the longer he and painter Phil DeGuard worked together, the less exacting Maurice had to be. A few shorthand notes would often be enough to put over an idea. Frequently Maurice would refer to a particular color sketch for an entire sequence of final drawn layouts without having to paint a full color key. This method was used on many of the later Road Runner films, as Maurice explained to Milton Gray in a 1977 interview: Phil and I worked together on so many Road Runners. He was a very thorough guy and liked to know exactly where he was going at all times. So, we’d know the color scheme . . . one or two little color notes would cover the Road Runners. Then on some of these zany shapes in the layout . . . I’d use a colored pencil to indicate strata, to give him an idea of how this thing was broken down. Often Maurice would try a variety of color combinations until he found something that felt right. Sometimes he would hit on something right away, and other times it took longer. He admitted that there were a few times when an idea hadn’t gelled completely and he “wanted to crawl under his seat” when a cartoon screened. In a 1971 interview with Joe Adamson, Maurice discussed this process: Contrary to what he told us about always using the same materials that he used in his background art, in the 1960s Maurice often designed his color sketches in marker, working directly over the rough storyboard panels. The sketches were fairly tight, so they were easy to translate to the final backgrounds. If there aren’t many changes in environment, a few color keys would often be enough to guide the background artist through an entire film. A final background. Rough pencils and a color sketch from Chariots of Fur (1994). To copy his rough thumbnails, Maurice would often cover the back of his rough drawing with pencil graphite, then retrace the front of the image, making a light transfer to another piece of paper. Usually this new image would be cleaned up or painted in rough color. When I hear a story and I know I’m going to design on the thing, I mentally visualize certain approaches on it, which eventually become a reality on paper. With many designs, one can work with it and work with it, and nothing seems right. I might do four or five ideas, and I’m torn between all of them; I don’t know which is exactly right and I’m wasting time by trying to make up my mind, and so I just put them all away. I go over and do what I call a bookkeeping job: I know that there are a certain number of closeups and so forth; they’re routine things that I’ve got to get done. I’ll get those out of the way so I’ll have time enough to concentrate on the knotty problem. And in the meantime, I keep thinking about it, adding drawings and sketches to the pile of ideas for this knotty problem. And then one morning I’ll come in and take all the stuff out, and I’ll say, “Well, that isn’t it, and that isn’t it—Oh! Here it is.” You see? It’s been there all the time. I’ve already worked through it, but I didn’t recognize it. Then when he felt he had something that worked, Maurice would present his color ideas to Chuck Jones. He explained this process to Milton Gray in 1977: After so many years, we had a kind of rapport. Three or four key sketches and he’d know what my intentions were. They were usually 4’ × 5’ (102 × 127 mm), always in color . . . and then I would work with the background man. Stephen Fossatti, who was a producer/director at Chuck Jones Film Productions in the 1990s, shares his unique insight about Maurice and Chuck’s relationship and working method, while they were working on Chariots of Fur: One day Chuck was sitting at his animation desk doing his character layouts for the lightning sequence; I could hear him crumpling up paper and over time growing more vocal in his work. There was a definite frustration building and I was uncertain about checking in on him to see what was wrong. After a while it became silent again and suddenly there was a little burst of laughter and after a few more chuckles and about ten more minutes Chuck walked out of the room, handed me a stack of drawings and asked me to have Maurice come in the next day so he could go over the sequence with him. Chuck left and I went in to his office and found about a dozen beautiful coyote drawings crumpled up in the trash can. I compared the discarded drawings to the ones he had given me and was astonished to realize that Chuck, even with his own characters, had been struggling to find exactly the right pose and exactly the right expressions. The next day Maurice came in to the office and Chuck went over the sequence with him quickly and summarily. They seemed to know each other so well that Chuck’s few and somewhat gruff comments and Maurice’s fewer and somewhat prickly questions seemed to be completely understood by both of them. Chuck left; Maurice started working. Maurice came in to the studio for a few days straight and sketched and painted his thumbnail tests. To my surprise he seemed unsettled with his work until about the third or fourth day, when he finally lit up again and concluded that he was ready to show the tests to Chuck. To my astonishment, Maurice had done maybe a half a dozen or more color sketches of the same three layouts to get the color design exactly as he wanted it for the lightning sequence. Again I was amazed: here was one of the greatest designers ever and he, like Chuck, had struggled with something that to anyone else would have seemed as if it would be automatic for them. Obviously it could have been if either of them didn’t care about their art and/or wasn’t somehow trying to impress the other and perhaps even compete with one another. I understood then that great art, even for great artists, is never easy and that great collaborations were even harder. Wild over You (1953) color sketches: if Maurice had a clear vision of a film, he would sometimes riff in color to kick things off before getting specific. This also gave him material to talk over with Chuck Jones. If an exploratory sketch looked promising, he would explore with pencil roughs. Here are some notes on the color development for a few of Maurice’s films: Wild Over You (1953) This was Maurice’s first Pepé Le Pew cartoon. As always, he would start with pencil thumbnails, then color thumbnails, then tighter color roughs to be used as background reference. Keys for many of Maurice’s films were matted in black. This gave a cleaner look and allowed more focus on the color. Maurice would say, “You are always trying to sell your design approach to someone; present your ideas well.” After color sketch exploration, more exacting color keys are used as reference for specific backgrounds. From A to Z-Z-Z-Z (1953) and Boyhood Daze (1957) The Ralph Phillips series of films have grown in popularity over the years and remained two of Maurice’s favorites. Yet, as loved as they are now, they weren’t as well received when they first premiered. To many they simply didn’t look like Looney Tunes. Artists in the industry accused Maurice of aping the influential UPA studio. In response, Maurice asked, “How else does the world look through a child’s eyes?” Maurice created dozens of color sketches for both films, working back and forth with Chuck Jones on the layouts. Then Maurice gave very precise color keys to Phil DeGuard for each background. Elements of the “real” world that Ralph Phillips lived in found their way into his daydreams. For example, in Boyhood Daze Maurice uses a stuffed tiger, stylized household plants, and uncut grass for the jungle. In From A to Z-Z-Z-Z a fishbowl becomes an undersea world. Maurice worked very hard to keep the designs childlike using really simple shapes and color themes. Color sketches for A to Z-Z-Z-Z. Though this specific shot of the schoolhouse was never used in A to Z-Z-Z-Z, the sketch was good enough for the background painter to use on other related shots. Color keys for Boyhood Daze with rough pencil background layouts. Boyhood Daze and A to Z-Z-Z-Z were two of Maurice‘s favorite shorts from his time at Warner Bros. Color keys for Boyhood Daze. Rough thumbnails from the same sequence exploring shape and mood. Ralph Phillips jungle exploration. Duck! Rabbit, Duck! (1953) In contrast, in films with a simple background setup such as the Road Runner series or Duck! Rabbit, Duck! Maurice would only need to create one or two finished color keys to indicate what he wanted to see in the background paintings. A final Phil DeGuard background (top left) guided by Maurice’s color keys. Desert color keys and sketches. The Road Runner Series (Jones/Noble 1953–1994) Art director Mike Giaimo shares his thoughts: As director John Ford found his visual muse in Monument Valley, Maurice found his particular brand of cinema language through the Road Runner series, where his sense of staging and camera perspective came into full play. One senses in this series that not only is Maurice a master with camera direction and design, he’s having a heck of a good time as well. It is interesting to follow the evolution of Maurice’s style through the Road Runner cartoons, the first of which was released in 1949. In the earlier entries the desert landscapes are caricatured, but they pale by comparison to the more surreal and whimsical heights he would achieve with these environments by the mid-1950s. The visuals would evolve to reflect more and more the precarious relationship between the Coyote and Road Runner, with huge boulders that rest unsettlingly upon the top of pinpoint buttes, desert plant life that looks more like spiky specimens from another planet, and strange cloud formations that anticipate and punctuate the Coyote’s eventual demise. Duck Dodgers in the 24½th Century (1953) In a 1971 interview with Joe Adamson, Maurice said: “the idea of space became more and more developed. I’d do a sketch and pretty soon we had floating cities, and jet-propelled taxicabs, and all this. Space evolved. Far more than we ever anticipated originally.” A final Phil DeGuard background. A Maurice color key, compared to the pencil layout. Hare-Way to the Stars (1958) Animator/director Eric Goldberg writes: Maurice always contended that Chuck created a positive atmosphere in which he could create freely—not a small thing for an animation director who knew his own talents were formidable—and that he trusted Maurice implicitly. When they embarked on Duck Dodgers in the 24½ Century, Maurice took it upon himself to create props and settings—notably the Orwellian eyeball that scrutinizes Daffy as he enters Dr. Hi I.Q.’s chambers—that were his unique perspective on outer space. Chuck saw the stuff and let Maurice go to town; Maurice thus created his own “antigravity-platforms-that-hung-in-midair” space environment, which he later expanded upon in Hare-Way to the Stars and has since been imitated countless times, notably in The Jetsons. The further props he created then became elements of the story—the rising disc elevator, the “evaporators” that could transport you to a new location—at least a good decade before Star Trek, I might add. Light tests to see how the designs would look under camera. A final Phil DeGuard background. Bewitched Bunny (1954) In this satirical take on children’s fairy tales and children’s book illustration, Maurice’s style choice was ultimately inspired by the character of Witch Hazel herself. Maurice told Harry McCracken in a 1991 interview, “The zany quality of Witch Hazel immediately suggested a zany approach: cupboards painted on the floor and up the wall, and so forth. She was a marvelous character and certainly wouldn’t be in a normal setup.” A final Phil DeGuard background. Maurice color keys. Claws for Alarm (1954) Maurice liked the challenge of a staging a black cat (Sylvester) in a dark, scary house. Drawn from his youth in Redlands, California, Victorian themes were a favorite of Maurice’s, and they often popped up in his work. Maurice would usually try out several color combinations before deciding which worked best for the film. Deduce, You Say (1956) Noble worked hard to capture the unique world of the “Shropshire Slasher” with concentrated pools of light and shadow. Maurice often painted his color keys too light in order to compensate for five levels of cels that would darken the background art in the final film frame. Color keys and color sketches inspired by the Tam O’Shanter restaurant near Los Angeles. Color sketches for What’s Opera, Doc? What’s Opera, Doc? (1957) Maurice made dozens of color sketches for What’s Opera, Doc? Now considered a tour de force in animation design, it wasn’t widely accepted at first by his peers. I asked him about the film and the creative design chances he took. He told me: I thought it would work, in my head it worked, but you never really know until you get it up on the screen. . . . Sometimes when you experiment you will fail. Some way-out ideas may not work the way you thought they would. But that’s okay! That’s the nature of being on the edge of exciting design. You will never do anything interesting if you don’t take chances. Maurice told Harry McCracken in 1991: As it went along, I was aware that something was kind of happening. I put in a lot of innovative ideas, and I would get calls from the ink-and-painting department saying, “Now, you don’t mean to say you’re going to paint this character all red?” or something like that. I’d say, “Yes, that’s the way we want it.” And Chuck was backing me up on it. As we sketched and designed and put this thing together, when we finally got it, it was just one of those things that came off. It could have been a pudding. This is one of those strange things about doing something creative: you take a big chance, and I suppose I could have been put out the front door if it had fallen on its face. But Chuck backed me up on it, and we have What’s Opera, Doc? today. I still get a boot out of just watching it. Mike Giaimo added: Maurice’s ethos at Warner Bros. hit a high-water mark in 1957 with What’s Opera, Doc? Here his skills in layout, design, and color came to its fullest fruition. Visual invention seems to burst from every frame. With grand, cinematic scale, expressionistic fauvist-like color, and decorative detailing, this is truly Maurice’s magnum opus. What’s truly surprising in What’s Opera, Doc? is how we are transported to a realm far beyond the common Looney Tunes world. Visually What’s Opera, Doc? seems to bridge the gap between fine and commercial art. It is a masterful piece of work with Maurice firing on all cylinders. Indeed, looking at Maurice’s output during his Warner Bros. years, one could say that if it weren’t for his sly graphic wit, there would never have been a distinctive standout style at Warner Bros. Without his touch, the Looney Tunes are polished and serviceable but visually unremarkable. Maurice’s color key (left) and Phil DeGuard’s final background. Shadows and effects would be added later in camera. A progression of early color sketches, a more polished piece, and the final background setup. More color exploration from What’s Opera, Doc? A test slate for Drafty, Isn‘t it? Light tests. Maurice would mark through a film strip if he wasn’t happy with it. He would then readjust camera, and/or the art and reshoot. LIGHTING TESTS Before completely handing everything over to the background painter, Maurice would shoot a series of lighting tests (also called wedge tests) just to make sure that everything would look the way it was supposed to on film. These lighting tests would include a simple cel setup with a few select backgrounds or color keys. Cartoons like What’s Opera, Doc? have extensive light tests made for nearly every shot, while a Road Runner picture may have only had a few key tests because the colors and values wouldn’t change remarkably throughout a film. Typically backgrounds were shot with up to five levels of cels on top of them. Even scenes with no characters could carry five cel layers to keep color and contrast consistent. Each cel layer would darken a background a certain percentage. Thus, Maurice would intentionally design his keys and backgrounds more brightly and with slightly less contrast than he knew would appear on film. Testing underwater effects using a ripple glass. At the same time, he made adjustments for color and saturation, because they too shift on film. How the Grinch Stole Christmas! is a good example of a planned color shift. The cel color of The Grinch was designed in a very bright, lime-green hue, anticipating that it would turn an unappealing “baby puke” yellow-green on-screen. Some of the newer DVDs and Blu-ray discs try to “correct” this “problem” by referencing the lime-green of the actual cel colors. This would seem like the logical thing to do. The real problem is that the DVD colorists are working without the understanding that Maurice anticipated—and wanted—the color shift. He did extensive testing under camera to get the films to look just the way he wanted. Though color and value shifts aren’t as much of a problem now as they were in Maurice’s day, he thought it was important to include in this text, in order to help better preserve his and others’ classic work. Tests were also important when looking at different lighting and physical effects, such as rippleglass “underwater” scenes or the soft vignettes of High Note (1960). If Maurice didn’t like what he saw in a test, he would mark a line through it with a grease pencil, make adjustments in the artwork or camera settings, then reshoot until he got it right. STEP 07: Layout A finished background from Boyhood Daze. A Chuck Jones character layout for High Note (1960) on left with the background layout in the center. On the right, the two are combined to form a guide for the animation and background departments. In traditional drawn animation there are two types of layout, character and background: • Character layout: the rough key poses and expressions of the characters, which help guide the animation • Background layout: the pencil drawings of the background that will be used to guide the background painter. At Warner Bros., Chuck Jones would draw his character layouts based roughly on the storyboards. He often indicated rough ground-planes and background elements as reference. Then Chuck would time out the poses on an exposure sheet. Often these character layouts would also be shot under camera, to test and refine the timing. In addition to guiding the animators, this timing information would be used by the composer to help in scoring the film. It would also be used by Maurice when planning his layouts. Of course timing is an important part of planning pans and other camera moves. But Maurice also prioritized shots of the film according to their screen time. For example, he wouldn’t spend as much time designing a short shot as he perhaps would an establishing shot. Often shorter scenes were designed with slightly more exaggerated shapes, so they would read quickly. Once Maurice and Chuck had reviewed the character layouts together, Maurice would make his own copy of the character layouts in red pencil. Using copies of Chuck’s layout sketches, he would design the background layouts around these poses. Maurice explained to me: Using my rough design ideas and color sketches, I would take Chuck’s rough character poses and build a world around them. If I had ideas for better staging, or a visual gag . . . we would talk it over, and sometimes the ideas would make it in, sometimes they wouldn’t. But it was always part of the process. Chuck Jones would often provide rough background information in the character layout folder. Here is a Jones background indication sketch on the left from Duck, Rabbit, Duck, which Maurice used as the basis for the rough background layout. More often than not, Chuck would simply provide a ground plane that Maurice would then expand on, as shown in this shot that was cut from Boyhood Daze. Maurice felt having a clear idea of the staging always helped the animators, and he tried to include at least a rough background layout in their scene folders. Of course, the final background layout might differ slightly from the rough layout. But the staging and path of action would remain the same. Typically Maurice would first design the still shots of a film, getting the stills out to the animators quickly before moving on to pans and more technical types of scenes. In 1977 he explained to Milton Gray how he worked with Chuck and the animators: I would work from Chuck’s roughs. He would do the character layouts, I would take the exposure sheet; I knew how much footage we had, and I knew the continuity. Usually, I would figure all the speeds of all the pans, so that by the time the animator got it, he got a rough layout with all the stops and starts and everything. . . . The animators would be given sections; I’d give Abe [Levitow] or Benny [Washam] or Ken Harris the number of scenes I could let them have right then, then I’d have to plot the pans and so forth, and give them a rough distance they were going to travel. And if they had to register to something, try to give them a registry, either in a stop or in a start position. It became kind of ticklish if they had three of four registrations on a pan, and I’m working blind. So I would quickly make up a shape, and then I had to make that thing work. That meant I had to have a pretty good idea of where I was going to go with something. Maurice’s rough layout; Chuck requests that the top of the tower be shortened; the final artwork with a shorter tower. A rough character layout of Ralph Phillips placed over a final background based on Maurice’s background layout. Everything in the background supports the character. In 1971 Maurice explained to historian Joe Adamson how the films in the Jones unit differed from other units at Warner Bros., and how it affected his layout design: One thing about Chuck’s cartoons is the tremendous number of cuts and backgrounds. In the business, a same-as is a scene that is used over again. And his pictures would never have same-as backgrounds, because there was always a new facet or something, so it meant a new layout. [Often layout designers economize by using a single background over and over in different scenes.] Many times I would design maybe a hundred backgrounds for one cartoon. And this gave them a sense of motion and variety, while the other departments would be painting twenty-five and thirty backgrounds. And the same telephone pole would be coming through constantly. Well, my sense of design wouldn’t permit me to do that. We couldn’t go back and reuse backgrounds. And many times when we tried to, it was a loss of time, because we would have to make readjustments and repaint and repeg, and by the time we had gone through all that, we might as well have started from scratch. GRIDS AND COMPOSITION The most important job of a background layout is to support the story and to stage the characters. Maurice used to say, “Clarity is one of the most important elements of any composition.” The audience must always know where to look, and the position and acting of the character must be supported. Though many of Maurice’s compositions may seem simple at first, you can be sure he worked very hard to get them to feel that way. One method he employed in achieving this was using grids, and a variety of compositional theories, to help him organize elements in a harmonious way. Some artists call these grids armatures. In sculpture, an armature is the structure upon which a sculptor builds up their clay model. In drawing, the idea is similar, in that an artist builds up a composition over a line grid. Maurice used different grid structures during his career, depending on the needs of the story and composition he was using them on. Here are a few grid examples that Maurice frequently used. A rectangle in the theme of three (above left), that is, three horizontal and three vertical divisions for a total of nine subdivisions; a rectangle in the theme of four (above center); and a rectangle in the theme of six (above right). The specifics of these grids will be explained later in the chapter. I asked Maurice about design structures when we were planning our film The Pumpkin of Nyefar. He told me, “Compositional theories are only a tool, not a crutch to limit the designer. When you are pleased with a composition, and when you feel it conveys the message you are after, go for it! You are probably right.” Then he added, “Never begin designing with a grid in mind. Work your thumbnails into something you like first. Then you can begin thinking about how a grid might help organize elements in your composition.” Maurice felt that the best art was a balance of instinctual and more analytical approaches. In agreement with this Jay Hambidge, in his breakthrough text The Elements of Dynamic Symmetry (1926), writes, “Instinctive art without mental control is bound to fail, to end in incoherence. In art the control of reason means the rule of design. Without reason art becomes chaotic. Instinct and feeling must be directed by knowledge and judgment.” Grids are most useful when they help tighten something that is working fairly well in the first place. One of the best explanations I’ve ever read about the use of grids and compositional structure is Michael Barrier’s 1995 interview with John McGrew, Chuck Jones’s layout designer from the early 1940s. McGrew said: As I tell my students, the structure of a composition is like a pretty girl: she has a skeleton, and the structure is the skeleton—if she didn’t have a skeleton, she’d be a horrible mess—[but] you don’t want to see the skeleton when you see a pretty girl. The only places you can see the skeleton are her elbows and her ankles and a few places where the bones touch. So the construction, the composition, is hidden—but it’s there, and it feels satisfying. Grids work best as a rough guide. Strong horizontal compositions relate a feeling of stability and calm as in this background layout from the The Adventures of the Road-Runner (1962). Evenly spaced parallel lines in the columns of the capitol building give the idea of stability and power. GRID ELEMENTS There are many, many ways to divide a composition: the main compositional guide lines that Maurice used in his grids were horizontal, vertical, and diagonal. HORIZONTAL AND VERTICAL LINES In his classic text The Practice and Science of Drawing (1913), Harold Speed wrote: The horizontal and the vertical are two very important lines, the horizontal being associated with calm and contemplation and the vertical with a feeling of elevation. . . . Their relation to the sides of the composition to which they are parallel in rectangular pictures is of great importance in uniting the subject to its bounding lines and giving it a well-knit look, conveying a feeling of great stability to a picture. Pictorially, vertical lines are more important than any other. We relate strongly to the vertical because of our relationships with people, trees, buildings, etc. Vertical lines often communicate a sense of height and grandeur. Skyscrapers and religious architecture all over the world focus on the vertical to inspire the human race to loftier things. Maurice used strong horizontal lines less frequently than verticals. And when he did, they were usually combined with strong vertical elements. This often gave Maurice’s compositions a vertical feeling of optimism. However, arranging elements strictly on horizontal and vertical lines can often make a composition look stiff. This isn’t always a bad thing. Often when Maurice needed to reinforce a feeling of stability or elegance in a story, he would use horizontal and vertical lines that had a strong parallel relationship to the screen edge. For example, he might use strong vertical parallel lines in the columns of the capitol building to give the idea of stability and power. He may reinforce these ideas by using a strong horizontal base for the capitol building to sit on. Maurice frequently used symmetry to support this feeling. More often, he would avoid strong horizontal lines, and many times would break up these lines with other elements to soften their impact. DIAGONALS More often though, a story point requires pizazz more than straight horizontal and vertical lines can provide. Diagonals are simply more dynamic and can convey a greater sense of movement and energy. Often Maurice would tilt his virtual camera up or down slightly to pinch horizontal or vertical lines at one end. Skewing compositional lines, even slightly, can create interest and depth and make a composition much more dynamic. Even these skewed lines were based roughly on horizontal and vertical grid structures. Though the placements of vertical and horizontal elements are important, Maurice would frequently use a diagonal line to be the primary spine on which he would base the rest of his composition. Two major diagonals can be found going from corner to corner through the center of the screen space. When using diagonals he would usually choose one dominant direction for his composition. Here are a few examples to show how Maurice would use these lines. Using diagonal lines will make a composition more dynamic, giving it more depth. As shown in this variation from The Bear That Wasn’t (1967). Maurice often used diagonals based on a diamond shape. A grid often used in classical painting. Notice how Maurice uses the diamond shape as a rough guide for placing elements in these layouts from Hare-Way to the Stars, Boyhood Daze, and What’s Opera, Doc? Here are a few more of many ways to divide a composition diagonally based on thirds. RHYTHM AND SPACING Before analyzing specific grid structures, let’s look at a few examples of how Maurice spaced compositional lines, specifically vertical lines. Maurice wouldn’t use all the lines available to him at once: he would repeat and echo certain lines throughout a composition in order to create rhythms. Line rhythm and spacing can be used to control depth and help guide the eye. He thought of these rhythms as music, contrasting open areas to more tightly controlled space. The amount of contrast would depend on the scene. COUNTER-RHYTHMS In his book Composing Pictures, Don Graham wrote: The relative positions of elements, whether in nature or pictures, are seldom mechanically aligned. An element may contribute to a straight line, curve, or spiral movement. At times such counters may be of great value in emphasizing a dominant movement. To keep his compositions from getting too stiff and regular, Maurice would often use counterrhythms, that is, a few more minor elements that would go against the overall rhythm of the grid. Interestingly, these irregularities seem to strengthen the overall pictorial rhythm. Young artists often misinterpret counter-rhythms in the modern “wonky” style, where lines go every which way and follow no structure. Not only does this way of working not guide the eye, it also drove Maurice bananas. Knowing this, we would sometimes build wonky compositions just to get a rise out of the old guru. COMPOSITIONAL THEORIES Now that we have discussed the main elements of a grid, let’s talk more specifically about how Maurice arranged all these elements in a rectangular space. In his youth, Maurice spent a lot of time studying various compositional theories. His heroes, classical artists such as Leonardo da Vinci and Tintoretto, are thought to have divided up their canvases mathematically to make them more pleasing. Maurice filled sketchbook after sketchbook with studies and compositional experiments based on theories such as the golden section, root 2 harmonic divisions, and the rule of thirds. But by the time I began working with Maurice, he had greatly simplified his approach. THE RULE OF THIRDS AND RABATMENT Compositional theory is a fascinating subject that is far too deep and complex to explore at much length here. There are great resources such as Jay Hambidge’s classic text The Elements of Dynamic Symmetry (1926) and Kim Elam’s intriguing book Geometry of Design: Studies in Proportion and Composition, second edition (Princeton Architectural Press, 2011) for those wanting to dive deeper into the subject. In the very loosest terms, most compositional theories tell us that symmetry is dull and dividing a subject in the center is boring. These theories also say that dividing a composition too far one way or the other can be too severe. But dividing a subject somewhere between these two extremes seems to be just about right. Compositional theories just help an artist be a little more precise about where these division points are. So, just to get our feet wet, let’s look at two simple but useful methods that Maurice used to compose many of his pictures: the rule of thirds and rabatment. In regard to these theories, author and artists Kim Elam wrote: Both thirds grid and rabatment inspire asymmetry and are a more informal method of organization. Rabatment has been called “the lazy man’s golden section,” and yields compositions with pleasing proportional arrangements. The two systems, rabatment and thirds, are highly interchangeable and yield closely compatible compositional arrangements. ABOUT THE RULE OF THIRDS The rule of thirds is as pretty much as it sounds. The rectangle on which our composition will play out is divided into thirds both vertically and horizontally. Many of the main compositional elements will play on or near these third lines, especially where these lines intersect. In her book Geometry of Design, Kim Elam wrote: In art and design odd numbers are magic numbers because when used as an organizational device they inspire asymmetry, which often makes a composition more visually interesting. . . . An awareness of the law of thirds enables the artist or designer to focus attention where it will most naturally occur and to control the compositional space. Elements do not need to land directly on the intersecting point, as close proximity will draw attention to them. I asked Kim to analyze a few of Maurice’s compositions that used the rule of thirds. You may notice that center and diagonal line divisions form other important compositional lines that elements can play out on. Thirds (center panel) and rabatment compared. Though the vertical lines are important, this is essentially a diagonal composition. Many important compositional elements fall where the third lines intersect. Left rabatment Right rabatment Notice the importance of the diagonals in these compositions. ABOUT RABATMENT No one is quite sure why, but the human mind tends to divide simple objects, such as squares and rectangles, into smaller parts. The simplest divisions of these objects are usually halves: vertically, horizontally, and diagonally. In design we can make use of these divisions in the placement of compositional elements. Our minds also make other divisions. In the case of a rectangle, like the one used as a template in film, our brains try to make a relationship between the short and long sides of the rectangle, and create an imaginary square. We can’t see it, but subconsciously it’s there. This is called rabatment, and a horizontal rectangle will have both left and right rabatment divisions. Maurice made use of these division lines in many of his compositions. Using an overlay, it is easy to see how Maurice used rabatment in his compositions. Kim Elam writes: Rabatment is a compositional method that consists of placing a square, with a side equal to the edge of the rectangle, over the left and right sides of the composition. The resulting verticals and diagonals create a compositional structure. All horizontal rectangles have both a left and right rabatment and all vertical rectangles have both a top and bottom rabatment. The rabatment structure suggests asymmetry, assists the artist in positioning elements in the composition in a visually interesting way, and creates a proportional relationship between the elements, placement, and the rectangle. The area of overlap by the two squares in a left and right rabatment can be used for a secondary rabatment and the same method of construction applies as the top and bottom squares overlap and create horizontals. As described earlier in this chapter, Chuck Jones would create the character layouts first, with Maurice designing the environments around them afterward. In order to create harmonious compositions that felt as if they were created by one artist, it was essential that both Chuck and Maurice were on the same page in the way they broke down their compositions. Often Maurice would move the character layout slightly to create a better composition, and sometimes Chuck would ask Maurice to adjust certain elements to better fit the action and cutting. There are many, many ways to divide and plan a composition, and these examples are but a few. Look to artists such as Leonardo, Vermeer, Tintoretto, and Raphael for ideas and inspiration; Maurice did! More examples of rabatment. Vertical pans from Roadrunner, Robin Hood Daffy, Nelly’s Folly, and Much Ado About Nutting. To give the eye an easy path to follow, many pans will have one primary curving line of flow focusing on one main compositional element. A change of perspective will make the composition more dynamic. A pan from Drafty, Isn’t It? (1957). Another important way that Maurice minimized strobing and created flow in a pan was by planning elements parallel to a camera’s path. PANS A pan is not only something you cook with, it also describes a long piece of background art that moves in front of an animation camera, giving a panoramic effect. When planning a pan Maurice considered not only the length of the art and speed of the shot, but also its rhythmic nature. At Warner Bros. the films were set to musical beats. Chuck Jones would notate the beats of each shot on the exposure sheets. By the time a shot would reach layout, the shot length and rhythm were set. Chuck often used 16-frame (92 beats per minute) or 12-frame (120 bpm) beats, which would be used by both the animators and the composer. From this, Maurice would figure the pan speed and pan length. Then he would know how many elements would be needed in the pan, and how far apart he would need to space them. He planned certain compositional elements to cross the camera field on certain frames. Don Graham, one of Maurice’s Chouinard instructors, also noted: Rhythm is an emotional response. Color, texture, and pattern all play a part in creating rhythmic movement. To some degree all pictures involve movement. But when movement is not understood and controlled or when it is generated accidentally, results are usually chaotic, lacking vitality and energy. Maurice planned the rhythm of his pans to support and enhance the story, as he expressed in a 1971 interview with Joe Adamson: I don’t know whether any other designer thinks in the same terms that I do, but I design in motion. If you have a panoramic shot, it’s a series of areas that are exposed to the eye as they pass through. You have a big area and a small area and a staccato area and so forth: put on a flash of red, let it extend for a long time, and then two flashes of blue, and green, and it’s a rhythmic thing. From the artistic standpoint, when you’re on a still composition, your eye has a chance to wander and see a big area and a small area, and the balance of the composition. When you’re on a panoramic shot also, your overall total has to balance out to be an interesting eye experience: your large areas and small areas are exhibited to the eye as the pan goes along, and the spaces and rhythms of this whole thing. This total, overall, is a visual composition in motion. And this is purely done by the use of color and space relationships, and accents in patterns of forms, and so forth. On my first few pans, I was actually trying to create a good overall composition. Maurice emphasized that it wasn’t important what a pan looked like as a whole physically. What matters is what it looks like through the lens. He taught me, “The eye isn’t going to see much detail in the middle of a fast pan. It will see color and pattern in an abstract way. Focus on making the start and finish of the pan work well, the parts that the audience will actually see, then concentrate on the length and feel of the pan.” On slow pans, such as the opening of Touché and Go (1957), Maurice would lean elements slightly to avoid strobing. He would also reduce contrast in areas with a lot of detail, as shown in the color sketch to the right for the same pan. On faster pans, such as this from It’s Everybody’s Business (1954), Maurice would give elements a more severe lean, so they would “slice” through the camera frame more smoothly. This pan is also a good example of using diagonal lines to bring the viewer’s eye to and from the camera plane. Jill Petrilak, who worked as Maurice’s background painter in the 1990s, remembers how Maurice’s tested his pans: Maurice used to make his hand into a loose fist, and put it up to his eye so he could see through. Then he would scan along a rough pan layout at the speed it was going to be in the film, to see what it would look like. On a longer pan he would have to get up and walk along it. He wanted to see what the camera would see, to make sure everything flowed the way he wanted. Maurice was one of those rare art directors who [were] only concerned with what the camera saw. He was not interested in the pretty objects that were out of field. Nobody gets to study these backgrounds; they just get the essence of them. Really, the audience is supposed to be looking at the characters. Maurice didn’t get caught up in a lot of stupid stuff. He was interested in making sure everything read properly and that the viewer was not confused with what the viewer was looking at. One of the biggest problems with flow in pans is strobing (a frame rate that is too slow for a viewer’s eyes to deal with, resulting in a stuttered motion). There are several ways to minimize this annoying effect. The most common solution in modern studios is to throw motion-blur onto the image. This technique wasn’t an option to Maurice in the 1950s and ’60s, though zip pans of random brush strokes were used for extremely fast pans. Motion-blur is simple, and can work well. But for something more stylized, motion-blur isn’t necessarily the most graphic or interesting solution. Here are a few approaches Maurice took in combating strobing in his pans: • Leaning elements that cut across the picture plane • Making the spacing of elements uneven • Using diagonals and S-curves • Lowering contrast Vertical elements on a horizontal won’t cut through the picture plane smoothly, and tend to strobe, or stutter. The same is true of horizontal elements on a vertical pan. Leaning elements slightly will help the “slice” through the picture plane. The faster the speed of a pan, the more Maurice would lean his elements to avoid strobing. Though he preferred the bottom edge of a pan to lead, the direction of lean on elements doesn’t really matter, particularly in a slow-to-medium speed pan. The main concern is keeping elements from being parallel with each other and the edge of the picture frame. Think of using big, small, and medium elements to create interest. Also, try not to space elements too evenly. Breaking up patterns with uneven spacing makes for a much more natural and less mechanical feel, lessening the chance of strobing. Another important way that Maurice minimized strobing and created flow in a pan was by planning elements parallel to a camera’s path. To give the eye an easy path to follow, many pans will have one primary curving line of flow focusing on one main compositional element. Maurice also used a path of elements to create this flow. A mixture of major and minor curves can add interest to a pan; it all depends on the style, complexity, speed, and story point of the scene being designed. Keep in mind that most compositions aren’t flat. Designing elements to lead the eye to and away from the camera will make a pan much more dynamic. Even a slight change in perspective will create interest. PARALLAX I once asked Maurice why he didn’t use more parallax in the films he designed. Parallax is when objects in the distance appear to move more slowly than objects in the foreground, which is achieved by breaking the background, middle ground, and foreground into separate planes, and panning them at different speeds. This helps give a real sense of depth to the composition. Maurice agreed that it was a nice effect, but said: Look, you have to balance out what’s important in the picture. You only have so much time to layout the picture. The background man only has so long to paint everything. And the camera man only has so much time to shoot it. When you put in a scene of parallax, you double the amount of work for everyone. I would rather spend that extra bit of time on bringing up the level of the whole picture. Also, when you’re working with a series of scenes of “flat” graphics, and you throw in a scene with deep parallax, it just seems a little odd. FRAMING WITH ELEMENTS Maurice emphasized that designers need to give characters a clear, open acting space, especially around their heads. A simple, but important compositional tool that Maurice used was to frame characters with elements such as trees, buildings, and other objects in a scene. Framing in effect leaves an uncluttered area for the action and acting of a scene. Negative space and value play a big part in making this work. Robin Hood Daffy was one of Maurice’s more satirical and lighthearted films. He overexaggerated nearly every detail, down to the rubber-stamped leaves and grass. Another aspect of exaggeration in this film was the clear acting spaces for the characters, especially around the heads. Though exaggerated, it highlights an important aspect of Maurice’s use of negative space in design, clearing the composition for the acting. In Boyhood Daze (1957), Maurice frames the characters with various elements, leaving the acting space clear. Maurice would often drop the horizon line in order to give more room for acting and action. As indicated in the layout from Lumber Jack-Rabbit. These examples from Robin Hood Daffy highlight an important aspect of Maurice’s use of negative space in design. This clears the composition for acting, especially around the head of the characters and particularly in front of the character’s face. Sketches for Tiny Toons. When creating dynamic perspective, it’s okay to think outside the box. DEPTH Maurice was always trying to give the illusion of depth in his 2-D compositions. Adding depth gives interest and makes a setting more dynamic. Director Dave Thomas kidnapped Maurice for a weekend and wouldn’t let him go until he got Maurice to share a few of his thoughts on creating depth. Here is the list that Dave brought back with him: • Create depth by changing value as it recedes into space. • Overlap forms—even flat, highly graphic elements will recede if they overlap. • Always push and force your perspective. • Use foreground, midground, background elements to create depth. • Use gradating values to create depth, i.e., dark to light, light to dark, etc. • Always try to show many sides (top, bottom, etc.) of an object to create depth. • Add depth through shadows that suggest objects in the environment that the audience can’t see. Let audiences know where they are at all times. Shadows are especially useful for this. • Casting shadows over several planes and/or objects lends to graphic believability. • Floor tiles or wooden floor boards are good for pattern and perspective. • Repeat and resize objects in space: trees, phone poles, etc. • Use streets and roads receding into distance. • Tilt the camera up or down slightly. • Saturation of color: close objects are brightest and sharpest. Objects in the distance appear pale and washed out. • Use more texture in the foreground, less in the background. • Warm colors advance, cool colors recede. • Atmospheric perspective: objects in the distance may appear bluish. PERSPECTIVE Linear perspective was one of Maurice’s greatest tools in achieving depth, but it is also one of the least understood aspects of his design approach. There is an entire school of “wonky” background design that attempts to mimic Maurice’s style by using lines and objects that go every which way, trying to get a “fun” cartoony look but with virtually no thought to storytelling or staging. Maurice put it down to a lack of young artists really looking at—and understanding—the world around them. Though he used perspective in a stylized way, he always started with the basics. Of his approach Maurice said, “It is always important to keep the audience grounded, even when you are designing a highly stylized film. I usually design with classic perspective elements in mind, starting with natural perspective, then skew things from there.” There have been many great books published on perspective, so we won’t discuss the subject in much depth here. But here is a simple introduction to some concepts that Maurice used when starting a composition: Zero Point: No distinct vanishing point. One Point: All vanishing lines come from one point. Two Point: All vanishing lines come from two points. Three Point: All vanishing lines come from three points. Four Point: All vanishing lines come from four points. Perspective was used by Maurice to give the illusion of depth to a flat, 2-D world. Depth makes a composition more dynamic. Perspective lines can be used to draw the viewer’s eye to a character and specific section of a composition. Maurice said, “Classical perspective is important to understand, and is useful when composing layouts but can become a little dull. Especially when composing a more satirical, fun type of film. Look for the fun in your composition.” MULTIPOINT PERSPECTIVE One of the easiest ways Maurice created depth and volume was by using multistation vanishing points, frequently off of the same horizon line. One of his Chouinard instructors, Don Graham, taught that classical Italian perspective was the world as seen through one eye. But of course most people see dimension because they have two eyes. Therefore, in any composition you essentially need at least two points of convergence. Graham wrote in his book Composing Pictures: Once the artist is liberated from a single fixed station point, his whole concept of picture making changes. No longer is he bound by a Ptolemaic point of view as reflected in a fixed viewpoint with the world revolving around it. Now the artist is free to choose as many station points as he feels necessary. He sees his subject from a Copernican point of view: he can show aspects of form not visible from any one station point. Millard Sheets, another of Maurice’s instructors, explains his philosophy on perspective: If you teach structural drawing, it doesn’t take the student very long to grasp how important it is to learn certain things about perspective, just as a means. But if you attack it the other way, and say, “Now, your perspective is wrong, therefore, you’ve got to put this line this way and this line this way,” as they did in the old academic way, what you’re doing is just making a very sad victim of the eye. You’re not in any sense teaching the mind to comprehend what’s back, behind, which is more important than what you see. Maurice elaborated on his use of pushing perspective at a guest lecture at CalArts in 1977: I studied a lot of perspective years ago. But then, you soon find out that that isn’t extreme enough. A given two-point or three-point perspective doesn’t force the eye enough. So if you want something to converge forcefully, then you pull it. Enlarge things in the foreground, diminish them in the background. I’ve discovered, and it’s my own individual feeling, that pulling stuff around and dropping off the left and right gets a dimensional quality to your layout that you couldn’t get by retaining a true perspective on things. If you had a line over here, you dropped it a little bit to the right or to the left, and let the eye give it a volume to a given area. This is what I was speaking about—enhancing the restrictions of the medium. It’s the eye that kind of pulls things over. It is an instinctive thing. Whether you instinctively design or want to design through experience, you see that it works well on the screen. Many times Maurice drew perspective from more than one vanishing point for the simple reason that most people see dimension because they see the world through two eyes. Wide angle examples from Deadwood, South Dakota, and Times Square, New York City. Wide angle examples from Claws for Alarm (1954) and Punch Trunk (1953). DISTORTED PERSPECTIVE Art director Mike Giaimo said of Maurice’s use of perspective: In regard to Maurice going beyond the academic one-point perspective, I have always felt that this was something he loved to play around with, to shape and mold to his own imaginings. His use of multi-point often had a kind of surreal, Dalí-esque quality, another great Maurice signature. His use of perspective was always more “artful” and far-reaching than any other layout artist at Warner Bros. Maurice tended to use distorted perspective more than his contemporaries. But he didn’t use distortions only for stylistic reasons. Rather he was trying to solve a simple design problem. Chuck Jones loved to use medium and close-up shots in his films. But because of this, Maurice considered the films to feel claustrophobic and closed in. Therefore, he used a simple trick that he learned while training as a photographer in WWII: if you have a close-up subject and want to have depth, use a wide-angle lens. Wide-angle lenses are great for exaggerating depth by magnifying distances between background and foreground objects. This in turn creates more dramatic images. But wide-angle lenses also have their own peculiarities that Maurice took advantage of, including barrel distortions, an effect wherein edges of the picture frame can become distorted and curved. STEP 08: Final Film Color sketch from Chariots of Fur (1994). Ted C. Bemiller worked for Wally Bulloch Camera Service and shot a number of films for Chuck Jones during the 1960s. His son, Ted T. Bemiller, worked with Maurice at Chuck Jones Film Productions in the 1990s. Originally, Maurice had planned separate chapters discussing backgrounds and camera. However, most of the practical aspects of these steps have already been examined in earlier chapters, so won’t be revisited in detail here. After the backgrounds and cels were painted, the artwork would then be combined into a scene folder with an exposure sheet. The exposure sheet (also called an X-sheet or dope sheet) is the blueprint for a scene and would contain all the information the camera operator would need to shoot the film. These scene folders would then be rechecked to make sure all the elements were in the right order, and in the proper scene number. Then everything would be shipped off to the camera department. Once all the artwork had been shot, silent footage of a film would be reviewed. Then it would be reviewed again with voice, music, and sound FX added. Once any needed changes, cuts, or corrections had been made, a film would be then be screened for all the animation units of the studio. In his 1989 interview with Michael Barrier, Maurice said that during these screenings there was “a certain reserve. You didn’t applaud their pictures, and they didn’t applaud ours.” The films would have then been released into the theaters as a lead-in to a feature film . . . and then Chuck, Maurice, and company would move on to the next picture. At the time, the life expectancy of a Warner Bros. cartoon might be just a few years. I asked Maurice if he knew he was working on films that would be as revered as they are. He answered, “It was a job; we worked hard and did the best we could, trying to make the next picture better than the last. I still feel that way. If I’m no longer excited by the work, and doing something fresh and new, I don’t want to be around anymore, I really don’t.” A Phil DeGuard background, and Maurice layout from Boyhood Daze. Dearly missed. IN CONCLUSION This book is in no way a complete statement; it is but a small glimpse into the life and thoughts of an amazing man and one of animation’s great pioneers. It was Maurice’s hope that some of the knowledge gained through his sixty-odd years in the business would help inform and inspire generations of designers after him. Even if one of the ideas nestled among these pages helps you become a better artist, then Maurice will have been successful. In his twilight years, he honestly believed that the best films ever to be made were still yet to be made. A few final thoughts that Maurice wanted to share: These past few years in the animation field have been amazing and also disappointing. A strange dichotomy has developed: live-action using animation gags and cutting and, alas, animation destroying itself by imitating live-action. Where is the graphic innovation, satire, fun, and freshness? Are we afraid to laugh and poke fun these days? This ability of animation to satirize and make us laugh at ourselves is almost unique. We can pull out and stretch practically any facet of life and bring our audience into this magic circle. There is a tendency in both live-action and animation to throw handfuls of rapid “snippets” together so we think we have seen something. When all else fails, an almost routine violent ending explodes. Instead, let’s find those human interest themes that can touch the audience—happy or sad—but touch them. Animation can do this. We are in danger of entering an age of impersonal coexistence: a wired, pushbutton, and almost faceless society. This is reflected in our attitudes and sensibilities to the world around us. To really laugh, we need to know how to cry. “When working in animation you can’t take any credit. You can only say you participated.” Maurice Noble (1910–2001) Acknowledgments During the course of this project I’ve discovered that it is far easier to practice film design, than to write about it. This book would still be a box of loose notes if it weren’t for the loving support of so many. Thank you for your thoughts and reflections: Amid Amidi, Michael Giaimo, Michael Barrier, Harry McCracken, Jerry Beck, Kim Elam, Karl Coen, Pete Docter, Willie Ito, Martha Sigall, John KrisFalusci, Darryl Van Citters, Robert Stanton, Ric Sluiter, Mary Burton, Ed Bell, Jim Hull, Eddie Fitzgerald, Eric Goldberg, Susan Goldberg, Craig Kellman, Max Howard, Nancy Beiman, Tomm Moore, Ralph Eggleston, Paul Felix, Andrew Farago, Alex Williams, John Canemaker, Stephen Fossatti, Tom Sito, Peter Merryman and the Nordli family, Thad Komorowski, Heidi Leigh, Hans Bacher, Miles Thompson, Norman M. Klein, Don Shank, Steven Grossfeld, Martha Baxton, Shanna Galloway, Ralph Bakshi, Jeff Pidgeon, Glen Mullaly, Jeff Goldner, Ted Bemiller and Mark Burstein. . . . and for the great support through the years: Lawrence Marvit, Mark Oftedal, Jorge Gutteriez, Dave Thomas, Don Hall, Scott Morse, Ricardo Barahona, Bill Benson, Mike Cachuela, Lou Romano, Mary Claire Scanlon, Jeff Ranjo, Cynthia Ignacio, Mike Polvani, Greg Duffel, Jill Petrilac, Dave Marshall, Kurt Nielsen, Robert McKinnon, and Rose Long. Juck and Nitpat Somsaman and the Monk Studios, Thailand. Morten Thorning, Michelle Nardone and the Animation Workshop. A huge thanks to my parents Nita and Ken Duncan, for all the scanning, and packages received and delivered. . . . and my wife Bang-On Phothi-In who has been such a great help and support to me. Emily and Sanjay . . . thank you for helping make Maurice’s dream come true. . . . and the Great Father . . . without whom none of this would have been possible. Artwork: Those that so generously shared their collections: Warner Archives, special thanks to Leith Adams and Mark Greenhalgh. Steve Ison, who has been so generous with his thoughts and time. Mike Glad, Steve Schnieder, Greg Ford, Darryl Van Citters, Paul Bussolini, Eric Calande, Linda Jones Clough, Craig Kausen, Ron Baraff at Rivers of Steel National Heritage area, Anna Cannizzo at the Denison Museum, James Buran, Rick Schneider Calabash, Robert McKinnon, Lars Emanuelsson, Bengt Jareteg, Animation Sensations/Peter Bortz, Robert Cowan, Paul Harmon, Ted Bemiller, Chuck Jones Center For Creativity. Additional illustrations provided by Esben Sloth, and Lawrence Marvit. WPA Poster by M. Weitzman (1939), Library of Congress. Photos: Kimberly Crest Mansion and Gardens by Bang-On Phothi-In and Susie Hibdon, Monument Valley Carol M. Highsmith/Library of Congress, Robinson’s Christmas by Dick Whittington. Interviews: Maurice Noble Interview, December 29, 1971. Courtesy of Joe Adamson Copyright ©1975 by The Film Society of Lincoln Center, renewed 2003 by Joseph Adamson, III. Transcribed by Lindsay Doran. Interview with Maurice Noble, January 24, 1977. Courtesy of Michael Barrier and Milton Gray. Discussion with Maurice Noble, March 30, 1977. Courtesy of Darryl Van Citters. Transcribed by Nancy Beiman. Interview with Maurice Noble, May 31, 1989. Courtesy of Michael Barrier. Animations Old Rebel- Maurice Noble, March 1, 1998. Courtesy of Karl Cohen. “Stepping Into the Picture,” January 20, 1991. Interview for Animato Magazine. Courtesy of Harry McCracken. Interview with Maurice Noble. Courtesy of Heidi Leigh 1992. Maurice Noble, December 19, 2000. Courtesy of Nancy Beiman. Index The index entries below are as they appeared in the print version of the book and are included here for your reference. Please use the search function on your eReader to search for terms of interest. A Abominable Snow Rabbit (1961) Adamson, Joe The Adventures of the Road-Runner (1962) Al Tudi Tuhak (1999) Animation Workshop of Denmark Another Froggy Evening (1995) Arioli, Don The Aristo-Cat (1943) armatures. See grids Armitage, Frank Ashmead, Hal aspect ratio B background layout background painter, relationship with Baker, Ryan Bakshi, Ralph Bambi (1942) Barahona, Ricardo Barbary Coast Bunny (1956) barrel distortions Barrier, Michael The Bear That Wasn’t (1967) Beep Prepared (1961) Beiman, Nancy Bell, Ed Bell Telephone Science Series Bemiller, Ted C. Bemiller, Ted T. Benson, Billy “Keys” Bewitched Bunny Bird, Brad black, personality of Blair, Lee Blair, Mary blue, personality of Boyhood Daze (1957) Broomstick Bunny (1956) brown, personality of budget, working with Bugs Bonnets (1956) The Bugs Bunny Show (TV show) Bully for Bugs (1953) Burton, Johnny Butterworth, Kent C Cachuela, Mike California Institute of the Arts Capitol Records Capra, Frank Cartoon Colour Company Castle Rock The Cat in the Hat (1971) Chang, Chen-Yi character layout characters color for eyes of hands of personality of supporting visual hierarchy and Chariots of Fur (1994) Chouinard Art Institute Chuck Jones Film Productions Church-Craft Clampett, Bob Claws for Alarm (1954) Clough, Linda Jones Cohen, Karl Cole, Corny color. See also color schemes/themes basics for characters chords chroma cool vs. warm dimension dull, against bright importance of intensity isolation keys palette personality for quick cuts saturation sketches value vs. wheels color schemes/themes analogous complementary rectangle split-complementary square triadic using color theory, prismatic vs. pigment Columbia Pictures composition depth framing grids pans parallax perspective rabatment rhythms and counter-rhythms rule of thirds theories of Confusions of a Nutzy Spy (1943) contrast counter-rhythms The Country Cousin (1936) Crawford curiosity, importance of D The Daffy Duckaroo (1942) Daffy Duck’s Thanks-for-Giving (1980) Decker, Tom Deduce, You Say (1956) DeGuard, Phil DePatie, Dave DePatie-Freleng depth, adding Descanso Gardens Despretz, Sylvain Dias, Ron director, relationship with Disney, Walt. See also Walt Disney Studios distortions Docter, Pete Dr. Seuss on the Loose (1973) Dr. Seuss’s Butter Battle Book (1989) Don’t Give Up the Sheep (1953) dope sheet Doré, Gustave The Dot and the Line (1965) The Dover Boys of Pimento University (1942) Drafty, Isn’t It? (1957) Duck Amuck (1953) Duck Dodgers and the Return of the 24½ Century (1980) Duck Dodgers in the 24½ Century (1953) Duck! Rabbit, Duck! (1953) Dufau, Oscar Duffell, Greg Dumbo (1941) Dunn, John DuPont E Earle, Eyvind Elam, Kim elements list Elmer Elephant (1936) Engel, Jules Escape of the Gingerbread Man!!! (2011) exposure sheet eyes F Fantasia (1940) Fantasia 2000 (1999) Feed the Kitty (1952) Feline Frame-Up (1954) A Few Quick Facts About Fear (1945) field chart film, shooting filters, using Fitzgerald, Eddie Fitzgerald, Owen Fleury, Gene The Flintstones (TV show) flowers, simplifying focus Fossatti, Steve Foster, Warren framing with elements with light Freberg, Stan Freleng, Fritz From A to Z-Z-Z-Z (1953) fun, sense of G gags Galloway, Shanna Gateways to the Mind (1958) Gay Purr-ee (1962) Geisel, Theodor “Dr. Seuss” Giaimo, Mike Givens, Robert gold, personality of Goldberg, Eric Goldberg, Susan Graham, Don graticule Gray, Milton gray, personality of green, personality of Gremlin Galleries Gribbroek, Robert grids Grossfeld, Steven Gutierrez, Jorge R. H Haboush, Victor Hall, Don Hambidge, Jay hands Hanna-Barbera Studio Hare-Way to the Stars (1958) Harris, Ken High Note (1960) Hilberman, Dave Hirschfeld, Al Horton Hears a Who! (1970) How the Grinch Stole Christmas! (1966) Hubley, John Hull, Jim humor, role of I Ignacio, Cynthia The Incredible Mr. Limpet (1964) Inman, Bob inspiration, sources of It’s Everybody’s Business (1954) Ivanov-Vano, Ivan I Was a Teenage Thumb (1963) J James, William The Jetsons (TV show) Jeup, Dan John Sutherland Productions Jones, Ben Jones, Chuck Julian, Paul Juster, Norton K Karsh, Yousuf Kazaleh, Mike Kent, Rockwell Kimball, Ward Kimberly Crest mansion Kiss Me Cat (1953) Klein, Earl Koenig, Eric “Panama” Komorowski, Thad Korellis, John Kricfalusi, John L Landacre, Paul Lasseter, John layout. See also composition background character Leigh, Heidi Leon Schlesinger Productions Lerew, Jenny Levitow, Abe light, framing with Lighthouse Story lighting tests limitations, working within location, determining Looney Tunes The Lorax (1972) Lost Horizon (1937) Lumber Jack-Rabbit (1954) M Maltese, Mike The Maltese Bippy (1969) Marshall, David Martian through Georgia (1962) Marvin Martian cartoons Marvit, Lawrence Maurice Noble Productions McCabe, Norm McCrackern, Harry McGrew, John McKean, James McKimson, Robert McKinnon, Robert J. Merrie Melodies MGM Studios Monk Studio monochrome filters Monsters, Inc. (2001) mood, as story element Moore, Rich Morgan, Don Morse, Scott Moshier, Joe motion-blur Mouse-Warming (1952) Much Ado About Nutting (1953) Mulan (1998) Murphy, Lawrence music, importance of Musker, John My Little Duckaroo (1954) N N by E (1930) Nelly’s Folly (1961) Nierva, Ricky 90 Days Wondering (1956) No Barking (1954) Noble, Maurice birth of childhood of education of at Robinson’s department store at Disney during World War II in the postwar period at Warner Bros. at John Sutherland Productions at MGM at DePatie-Freleng in retirement in television animation final years of death of appearance of artwork of design philosophy of drawings of legacy of personality of photographs of student compositions of style of Noble Tales Nordli, Ernie Now Hear This (1962) O O’Brien, Kevin Off to See the Wizard (1967–1968) Oftedal, Mark The Old Mill (1937) O’Neill, Warren Operation Snafu (1945) orange, personality of P pans parallax peach, personality of perspective Petrilak, Jill The Phantom Tollbooth (1970) Phillips, Marjorie Pidgeon, Jeff Pierce, Ted pink, personality of Pinocchio (1940) Pixar Polifka, Bernyce Polvani, Mike Private Snafu series props The Pumpkin of Nyefar (2004) Punch Trunk (1953) purple, personality of R rabatment Rabbit Seasoning (1952) red, personality of reference, using Rhapsody of Steel (1959) rhythms and counter-rhythms Rivera, Tony Road Runner cartoons Robin Hood Daffy (1958) Robinson, Mary Browne. See Blair, Mary Robinson’s department store Romano, Lou Rose, Dave rule of thirds S same-as scenes saturation scene folder Schlesinger, Leon Schneider, Rick Schwartz, Zack scripts Selzer, Eddie sequences shades Shank, Don Sharaf, Herman Sheets, Millard Sheridan College Sib Tower 12 Productions Silly Symphonies shorts silver, personality of simplification Sito, Tom Sleeping Beauty (1959) Snoke, Craig Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937) Speed, Harold spit, painting with Stern, Mike Stop! Look! And Hasten! (1954) story beats story elements story moments storytelling, visual strobing Sutherland, John sweaty fun T The Tale of the Czar Durandai (1934) Tarzan (1999) Tashlin, Frank teamwork thirds, rule of Thomas, Dave thumbnails Timber Wolf! (2001) time management as story element Tintoretto tints Tiny Toon Adventures (TV show) titles To Beep or Not to Beep (1963) To Hare Is Human (1956) Tom and Jerry cartoons Touché and Go (1957) trees, simplifying Turner Feature Animation Twilight of Man (1926) U The Unbearable Bear (1943) United Productions of America (UPA) V value importance of scale stacking testing Van Citters, Darrell Vilppu, Glenn voice, finding your W Wackiki Wabbit (1943) Walt Disney Studios Wang, James Wang Films Ward, Lynd Warner, Jack Warner Bros. Washam, Benny Water Babies (1935) wedge tests. See lighting tests What’s Opera, Doc? (1957) white, personality of Whittaker, Greg wide-angle lenses Wild Over You (1953) The Wizard of Oz (1939) Woodland Cafe (1937) working relationships World War II Wright, Frank Lloyd X X-sheet Y Yasuda, Kelvin yellow, personality of Z zip pans Image & Art Credits Page 2: Artwork courtesy of The Glad Family Trust. © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 5: Artwork courtesy of Eric Calande. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 6: Artwork courtesy of The Glad Family Trust. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 8: Artwork courtesy of the Warner Bros. Archive. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 11: Photo by Yousuf Karsh, courtesy of the Warner Bros. Archive. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 12: All images collection of the author. © Tod Polson. Page 15: All images provided by the Warner Bros. Archive, TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) except (upper left) collection of author. © Tod Polson. Page 16: All images courtesy of the Warner Bros. Archive. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 17: All images courtesy of the Warner Bros. Archive. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 18: All images copyright Disney. Page 19: Artwork courtesy of (upper left) Stephen Ison, (upper right) The Glad Family Trust, and (bottom row) the Warner Bros. Archive, copyright Disney. Page 20: All images copyright Disney, courtesy of Stephen Ison. Page 21: All images from the public domain. Page 22: Images courtesy of (top row) the public domain, (center row) The Glad Family Trust, and (bottom row) Stephen Ison. Page 23: Images courtesy of (left) Bill Benson, (three images to right) the Warner Bros. Archive. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 24: All images are in the public domain. See America Welcome To Montana by M. Weitzman is made available by the Library of Congress. Page 25: All images property of Warner Bros. Entertainment. Retouched by Esben Sloth. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 26: All images are in the public domain. Bugs Bunny is TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 27: Image courtesy of Stephen Ison. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 28: DuPont images are in the collection of the author. Lumber Jack Rabbit background appears courtesy of Steve Schneider. It’s Everybody’s Business color key courtesy of the Warner Bros. Archive. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 29: Image courtesy of the Warner Bros. Archive. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 30: All images appear courtesy of the Warner Bros. Archive. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 31: Rhapsody of Steel images appear courtesy of the Rivers of Steel Heritage Museum. Page 32: All images appear courtesy of Stephen Ison. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 33: All images appear courtesy of Stephen Ison. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 34: Images appear courtesy of (left) the Warner Bros. Archive, and (right) The Glad Family Trust. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 35: All images provided by Robert J. McKinnon. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 36: Images from Off to See the Wizard (top row) and The Incredible Mr. Limpet (lower left) courtesy of the Warner Bros. Archive. Images from The Phantom Tollbooth (lower right) appear courtesy of The Glad Family Trust. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 37: Images courtesy of (left) the Warner Bros. Archive, and (right) the author. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 38: All images from authors collection. © Tod Polson. Page 39: Images (top row, and bottom center) courtesy of the Warner Bros. Archive TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12), and (bottom left and right) the author. © Tod Polson and Don Hall. Pages 40 and 41: Images courtesy of author. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 42: All images appear courtesy of the Warner Bros. Archive. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 43: Images provided by (top) the Warner Bros. Archive, and (bottom row) Stephen Ison. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 44: Images courtesy of (left side) Heidi Leigh and Animazing Galleries, (right) the author. Page 45: All images courtesy of Darrell Van Citters. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 46: Images courtesy of (left) the author, © Tod Polson/NobleTales and (right) the Warner Bros. Archive. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 48: Image copyright Disney, courtesy of The Glad Family Trust. Page 50: Image from the author’s collection. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 52: Courtesy of the Warner Bros. Archive. Illustration by Warren O’Neil and author. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 54: Courtesy of Animazing Galleries. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 55: Courtesy of Chuck Jones Center for Creativity. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 56: Images provided by (left) Michael Barrier, and (right) Darrell Van Citters. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 57: Images provided by (left column) the Warner Bros. Archive, (top right) Stephen Ison, and (lower left) from the collection of the author. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 58: Images (left column) courtesy of Stephen Ison and (right column) TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 59: All images courtesy of Stephen Ison. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Pages 60 and 61: Image courtesy of the Warner Bros. Archive. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 62: All images courtesy of Stephen Ison. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 63: All images courtesy of the Warner Bros. Archive. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 64: Light test images (top row and bottom left) from the collection of the author. Pencil layouts (center row) courtesy of the Warner Bros. Archive. Color keys (bottom center and right) provided by the Warner Bros. Archive. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 65: Photo courtesy of the Warner Bros. Archive. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 66: Image courtesy of The Glad Family Trust. © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 67: Image provided by the Warner Bros. Archive. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 68: All photos by Maurice Noble. Collection of author. © Tod Polson. Page 69: Image courtesy of the Warner Bros. Archive. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 70: Maurice Noble Photo (top left) collection of author © Tod Polson. Images (center and right) Courtesy of the Warner Bros. Archive. © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 71: Images (top left) Courtesy of the Warner Bros. Archive (lower right) courtesy of The Glad Family Trust. © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Photographs (top right and lower left) by Maurice Noble, collection of the author. © Tod Polson. Page 72: Images (top) from the public domain (lower left) courtesy of the Warner Bros. Archive and (lower right) light test from the author’s collection. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 73: Images courtesy of (top left) Stephen Ison, (top right and center left) the Warner Bros. Archive TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12), (lower left) photo © Bang-On Phothi-In, and (lower right) from the authors collection. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 74: Images (right column) copyright Warner Bros. Entertainment TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12), (left column) photos by author. © Tod Polson. Page 75: Images (top row) courtesy of Stephen Ison TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12), (lower left) photos by author © Tod Polson and (lower right) Image copyright Warner Bros. Entertainment. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 76: Images courtesy of (top left) Carol M. Highsmith, from her collection at the Library of Congress, (top right) courtesy of the Warner Bros. Archive TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12), and (bottom row) photos by Maurice Noble, collection of the author © Tod Polson. Page 77: Photo (top) © Bang-On Phothi-In. Images courtesy (bottom row left) the Warner Bros. Archive, and (right) Film still TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 78: Images (left) from the public domain, (top right) courtesy of the Warner Bros. Archive TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12), (lower right) from the author’s collection. Page 79: Image courtesy of Paul Bussolini. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 80: Ali Baba Bunny background image kindly provided by Robert J. McKinnon. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 81: Thumbnail images provided by Michael Polvani, and Kurt Neilsen. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Pages 82 and 83: All images copyright Disney. Page 84: All images courtesy of the Warner Bros. Archive. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 85: Light tests, collection of author. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 87: All images courtesy of the Warner Bros. Archive. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 88: Illustrations provided by author. © Tod Polson. Page 89: Images courtesy of the Warner Bros. Archive. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 90: Light tests from collection of author. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 91: Rockwell Kent image provided by the Denison Museum at Denison University. Page 92: Top row images (top left) copyright Warner Bros. Entertainment, (top center and top left) courtesy of Animation Sensations Gallery. Center row, (left) courtesy of Stephen Ison, (center and left) collection of the author, and (bottom row) provided courtesy of the Warner Bros. Archive. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 93: All images from the collection of the author. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 94: Images courtesy of Stephen Ison. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 95: Images kindly provided by Lawrence Marvit. Page 96: Images courtesy of (left) the Warner Bros. Archive, TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12), (top right) by Esben Sloth, © Tod Polson and (bottom right) © Bang-On Phothi-In. Page 97: Tree artwork by Esben Sloth. © Tod Polson. Page 98: Background art from the collection of Steve Schneider. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 99: Illustration by the author. Page 100: Images courtesy of (left) Darrell Van Citters and (right) the author. Page 101: Art courtesy of Eric Calande, and is in the public domain. Page 102: Public domain, retouched by Esben Sloth. Page 104: All art from the collection of Steve Schneider. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 105: Images from 90 Days Wondering are in the public domain. Pages 106 and 107: Images courtesy of the Warner Bros. Archive. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 108: Images courtesy of (top) Stephen Ison, and (bottom) The Glad Family Trust. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 109: Image courtesy of The Glad Family Trust. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 110: Images provided by Stephen Ison. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 111: Image courtesy of Darrell Van Citters. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 112: Images courtesy of (top) Stephen Ison, and (bottom) the Warner Bros. Archive. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 113: Images courtesy of (top) Stephen Ison, and (bottom) the Warner Bros. Archive. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 114: Image courtesy of Stephen Ison. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 116: Illustration by the author, Bugs Bunny image provided by Stephen Ison. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 117: All images provided by Stephen Ison. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 118: Image courtesy of Stephen Ison. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 119: Images (left) from the collection of the author, (right) courtesy of the Chuck Jones Center For Creativity. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Pages 120 and 121: All images courtesy of Stephen Ison. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 122: All images kindly provided by Stephen Ison. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 123: Images courtesy of (top row) Stephen Ison, and (bottom) the Warner Bros. Archive. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 124: Illustration by Esben Sloth. Pages 126 and 127: All images courtesy of the Warner Bros. Archive. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 128: Images courtesy of (top left) Eric Calande, (top right) Stephen Ison, and (bottom) Steve Schneider. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 129: Images from the author’s collection. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 130: Images courtesy of (top and bottom left) Stephen Ison, and (bottom right) Eric Calande. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 131: Image courtesy of Stephen Ison. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 132: All images kindly provided by Stephen Ison. Page 133: Images courtesy of (top and bottom right) Stephen Ison, (top center and right) James Buran, (center right) Animation Sensations Gallery, (bottom right) Mike Giaimo. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 134: Images courtesy of (top left) Steve Schneider, (top right) James Buran, and (bottom) thumbnail sketches courtesy of Mike Polvani, and Kurt Neilsen. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 135: Images kindly provided by (top left and top center) Steve Schneider, (top right, center, and bottom center) the Warner Bros. Archive, (center left and bottom left) The Glad Family Trust, (center right) Eric Calande, and (bottom right) Stephen Ison. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 136: Images courtesy of (top left) Steve Schneider (top right) Paul Bussolini, and (bottom row) Stephen Ison. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 137: Images courtesy of (top left) Eric Calande, (top right) Steve Schneider, and (bottom) Robert Cowan. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 138: Images provided by (top) Steve Schneider, (bottom row) The Glad Family Trust. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 139: Images (top row) from the collection of the author, and (bottom) Steve Schneider. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 140: Images kindly provided by (top) Steve Schneider, (bottom left) Paul Bussolini, and (bottom right) Stephen Ison. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 141: All images courtesy of Stephen Ison. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 142: Images courtesy of (top two rows) Stephen Ison, and (bottom left and center) the Warner Bros. Archive, and (bottom right) Eric Calande. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 143: Images courtesy of (left and bottom right) Stephen Ison, and (top right) the Warner Bros. Archive. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 144: Images provided by (top row) Stephen Ison, and (bottom row) Steve Schneider. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 145: Images courtesy of (top left and top center) the Warner Bros. Archive, (top right) The Glad Family Trust, (bottom right) Paul Bussolini, and (left center, and bottom left) Stephen Ison. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Pages 146 and 147: All light test images from the collection of the author. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Pages 148 and 149: All images courtesy of The Chuck Jones Center for Creativity. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 150: Images provided by (top row) the Warner Bros. Archive, and (bottom row) the Chuck Jones Center For Creativity. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 151: Images courtesy of (top left) the Warner Bros. Archive, (top right) collection of the author, and (bottom) The Chuck Jones Center For Creativity. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 152: Top row of illustrations by the author, (lower left) the Warner Bros. Archive © Disney, (bottom center) the collection of the author, and (bottom right) Stephen Ison. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 153: Images courtesy of (top) the Warner Bros. Archive, and (bottom row) from the collection of the author. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 154: Images provided by (top left and top right) the collection of the author, (top center) Stephen Ison, (center row and bottom right) and the Warner Bros. Archive. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Illustrations provided by the author. Page 155: Images from It’s Everybody’s Business are public domain, Courtesy of Glen Mullaly. Digital image retouched by Esben Sloth. Illustrations (right) provided by the author. Page 156: Light tests from the collection of the author. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 157: Left and center columns from the collection of the author, TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) The Bambi sketch (right) is courtesy of The Glad Family Trust, © Disney. Page 158: All video images property of Warner Bros. Entertainment. Retouched by Esben Sloth. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 159: Images courtesy of the Warner Bros. Archive. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 160: Images from Touché and Go are courtesy of the Warner Bros. Archive. Page 161: Images courtesy of (top left) Animation Sensations gallery, (top and bottom right) Stephen Ison, and (bottom left and bottom center) from the collection of the author. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 162: All film stills TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12). Page 163: Image provided by the Warner Bros. Archive. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 164: Light tests and illustrations from the collection of the author. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 165: Photos ©Bang-On Phothi-In. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 166: Image courtesy of the author. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 167: Image courtesy of and © Ted C. Bemiller. Page 168: Images courtesy of (left) The Chuck Jones Center for Creativity, and (right) Stephen Ison. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 169: Light test from the collection of the author. TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s12) Page 176: Photo of Maurice’s disc and tools courtesy of and © Bang-On Phothi-In. BIBLIOGRAPHY Cartoon Modern: Style and Design in Fifties Animation (2006) By Amid Amidi, Chronicle Books. Composing Pictures: Still and Moving (1982) by Donald W. Graham, Van Nostrand Reinhold Company. Dynamic Symmetry: The Greek Vase (1926) by Jay Hambidge Yale Univerity Press. The Geometry of Design: Studies in Proportion and Composition, second edition (2001) Kimberly Elam, Princeton Architectural Press. Hollywood Cartoons (2003) Michael Barrier, Oxford University Press, USA. Line and Form (1904) by Walter Crane, George Bell & Sons. Los Angeles Art Community: Group Portrait, Millard Sheets (1977) Interviewed by George M. Goodwin, The Regents of the University of California. Noble Boy (2006) Scott Morse, Red Window, Inc. The Practice and Science of Drawing (1913) by Harold Speed, J.B. Lippincott Co., Seeley, Service & Co. Stepping Into the Picture: Cartoon Designer Maurice Noble (2008) by Robert McKinnon, University Press of Mississippi. Tunes for ’Toons: Music and the Hollywood Cartoon (2007) Daniel Goldmark, University of California Press. Photo: Thor Mangila Tod Polson first studied design at Otis/Parsons, and animation at CalArts before apprenticing under pioneering animation designer Maurice Noble, winning the student Oscar, and an Annie nomination for his short film Al Tudi Tuhak. Since then, he has worked extensively as a filmmaker, designer, and teacher, and has contributed his talents to such projects as the Emmy Award–winning series El Tigre: The Adventures of Manny Rivera and the Oscar nominated feature, The Secret of Kells. He lives in Wyoming. Maurice Noble (1911–2001) is widely recognized as the premier animation designer in the history of animation. During his career he worked on over one hundred animated short and feature-length animated films, through which he helped created a new look and approach to animation that continues to influence designers today. Chuck Jones (1912–2002) made more than three hundred animated films in his sixty-year career, winning three Academy Awards® as a director and in 1996 an honorary Academy Award® for Lifetime Achievement. During the Golden Age of animation, Jones created some of animation’s most famous characters, including Road Runner, Wile E. Coyote, Marvin the Martian, Pepe le Pew, Michigan J. Frog and many others.
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