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Digital Living August 2009 • Vol.9 Issue 8 Page(s) 96 in print issue |
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The Cutting Edge Far More Than Disney, Part 2 by Barry Brenesal |
 Barry Brenesal has written more than 1,000 published articles and reviews on electronic technology since 1987. His first personal computer was a Radio Shack TRS-80 model 100. It was last seen functioning as a boat anchor. Last month, we paid a brief homage to a few of the most innovative early film animators, whose nations of origin included France, Germany, the United States, and pre-Soviet Russia. But by the 1920s, the United States had developed a powerful grip on the industry that made it increasingly difficult for film cartoonists to get work abroad. In one area alone this didn’t apply: cartoons as advertising. Yes, the nation that has come to be regarded as a people held captive by Madison Avenue didn’t really pay much attention to advertising through animation. That wasn’t to change until television became popular in the 1950s, and animated commercials caught on. In the meantime, European cartoonists made both commercials and public service announcements to run between features in theaters. Lotte Reininger, whose 1926 “Adventures of Prince Achmed” I praised last month, used similar silhouetted shadow puppet techniques to occasionally sell products and pay the bills. You can see a 1949 animated film by Reininger advertising telegrams here: tinyurl.com/lrjzcj. (It’s more than competent, but her 1923 tale of Cinderella is a classic, despite a worn print: tinyurl.com/luzjyr.) The famed special effects animator of the 1950s and 1960s, George Pál, did an animated color advertisement starring wooden puppets for Philips Radio in 1938. Yet another animator, Marius Rossillon, made numerous public service cartoons for the French Pathé company as far back as the late teens, using the pseudonym O’Galop. Dealing with such matters as alcoholism and tuberculosis prevention, they were crude and simplistic but emotionally charged. Several are online, now restored to excellent shape: tinyurl.com/lujccm. Primitive animation technique to one side; if Rossillon’s work has the look we associate today with comic strips rather than cartoons, it’s not surprising. He was a famed comic strip writer, and invented Bibendum, the roly-poly Michelin Man that’s still in use. The Soviet Union was a different matter. National animators received financial support because the government realized early on that films could reach audiences throughout their sprawling land with a mix of entertainment and patriotic ideas that overcame issues of illiteracy. Maria Benderskaya’s stop-motion cartoon, “The Adventures Of The Little Chinese” (1928) has an almost Claymation feel to its humans’ abrupt, very detailed movements: tinyurl.com/lh5x45. In 1936, the Soviets set up the Soyuzmultfilm Studio for all animation films—unfortunately, given Stalin’s preferences, completely under the artistic influence of Walt Disney. This hegemony was only broken in the early 1960s by the likes of Fyodor Khitruk (“Man In The Frame,” “Island,” “Story Of One Crime”), Anatoly Petrov (“Firing Range,” “Singing Teacher”), and Andrei Khrjanovsky (“There Lived Kozyavin," "Armoire," "Butterfly," "The Glass Harmonica”), who developed a mordantly satirical eye for both human quirks and Soviet bureaucratic failings. Each of their respective cartoons has its own distinctive look, based on choosing from the entire range of available artistic styles and animated techniques. Theirs was cutting-edge stuff indeed, though some of it was never released in the West while the Soviet existed. Disney’s great success at production streamlining in the late 1920s led other studios to copy his methods at home, as well. Fortunately, Tex Avery wanted to do something different content-wise when put in charge of a Warner Bros.’ animation unit in 1936. His goal was to be much funnier than Disney, and he achieved this through an original mix of wildly over-the-top physical violence; sophisticated, rapid-fire situational gags; and frequently deadpan verbal delivery. Perhaps not surprisingly, he created or personalized Daffy Duck, Porky Pig, and Bugs Bunny. Avery and the best cartoonists who worked with him each had their own creative style. One of these was Chuck Jones, whose often jagged, sharp-edged lines; slow pacing; and brilliant setups (the Road Runner series was his) had a profound effect on the cartoon industry. You can even see it in relatively recent animation series, such as “Pinky and the Brain.” All of which only goes to show that despite its popularity and financial success, Walt Disney Studios certainly wasn’t the only animated game in town: Not the first, nor arguably not the most interesting. But don’t take my word for it; check them out yourself, as every one of these animated classics is available once more.  Wax nostalgic with Barry at barry@cpumag.com |
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