Waking Life: The Truth is in the Animation (Montage Magazine, 2004)
Posted in Uncategorized on November 18th, 2007 by animationpimpDo facts alone convey the essence of a story? Isn’t it just as likely that a person, object or event remains unseen, uncovered only through our senses and imagination? Four recent works that fuse elements of documentary, art-house narrative and animation—Ann Marie Fleming’s The Long Magical Life of Long Tack Sam, Shari Springer Berman and Robert Pulcini’s American Splendor, Paul Fierlinger’s A Room Nearby and Chris Landreth’s Ryan–challenge our understanding of what can be revealed dramatically in a film. They demonstrate that animation, unbound by rules of gravity and logic, can be used to take us towards a deeper understanding of the world around and within us.
Today, more than ever, we’re seeing documentary and fiction films using animation to enrich projects by giving them new possibilities of space, texture and humour. Even TV animation has taken the authentic route with MTV’s Downtown, which, for the pilot episode anyway, used actual street recordings from a New York neighbourhood. Oxygen network’s Drawn From Life by Paul Fierlinger used real interviews to tell stories of everyday American women. And Saturday Night Live continues to feature an animated segment called Fun with Real Audio, which takes actual recordings of celebrities and political figures, and places them in a different context in order to satirize the speaker.
Perhaps the most famous animation hybrid is Richard Linklater’s Waking Life. The rotoscope-style animation software created by Bob Sabiston serves a variety of technical and conceptual purposes for Linklater. First, the rotoscope technique – which, in a sense, allows the filmmaker to trace over the photographic image - complements the ambiguous dream/wake duality of the film: it’s reality and yet it’s not. Secondly, the animation serves as a visual springboard into the minds of the various characters, bringing their theories and perspectives to life. Finally, the animation becomes an active participant in the film in that it caricatures the characters as they speak. Different artists were used for each scene, giving each space and character a unique personality. This adds another layer of existential fragmentation while, at times, playfully poking fun at some of the characters. At the same time, the lack of a cohesive style along with the shifting, floating, dislocated backgrounds and landscapes keeps the viewer on edge, at a distance.
The Magical Life of Long Tack Sam
Ann Marie Fleming’s new feature-length documentary The Magical Life of Long Tack Sam, ‘stars’ her great-grandfather, a world famous vaudeville artist, magician and acrobat. In it, she uses animation for transition scenes, animates old photographs and comic books, and re-creates some of Sam’s old acts.
“I first started using animation because I didn’t have any actual footage of his act,” says Fleming. “I had incorporated animation into many of my other films and I am always drawn to use it to represent things that cannot be represented by live-action: counter-stories that show metaphorical political and emotional states.” Sam becomes an almost living, breathing character. In old photographs we see eyes, hands and legs move. “Somehow animating the gorgeous old photos and illustrations gave the film a contemporary look,” adds Fleming. “I didn’t want Sam to be some historical footnote.”
Like her great-grandfather, Fleming is also a magician of sorts. “Animation is the legacy of magic, the great grandchild,” states Fleming. “The first filmmakers were magicians. The first films were collaborations between photographers and magicians. In some ways, animation is the magic in the film.”
American Splendor
While animation doesn’t play a major part in American Splendor, it serves as an important tool in conveying the film’s themes of perception and identity. When the “real” writer Harvey Pekar, played by Paul Giamatti, anxiously waits in line behind a slow old lady at a grocery store, an animated version appears as his conscience. Very quickly, the scene shows us that Harvey’s anger has less to do this with the old woman than with his own existential frustrations.
In a key scene, when Joyce, Pekar’s future partner, arrives at a bus station to meet Harvey for the first time, she is unsure which drawn version will greet her. Pekar had famously worked with many different artists, and each had their own take on him. As she waits, we see a trio of cut-out and drawn versions of Harvey.
The film is bookmarked by two scenes that place Paul Giamatti’s Harvey within shifting animated and composited backgrounds. These are minor parts, but they add humour to American Splendor and could not have been conveyed as effectively in live-action. The use of animation also enriches the ongoing notion that there is literally, no single Harvey Pekar, but many.
Paul Fierlinger
One of the most consistent users of the animation documentary is American Paul Fierlinger. While animating for Sesame Street in the 1970s, Fierlinger worked with voice actor Jim Thurman whose direct speaking delivery was warm and unaffected. Fierlinger was influenced by Thurman’s technique, eventually using it for a film called And Then I’ll Stop (1989), which featured a handful of alcoholics recounting their battle with addiction. Much of the film’s power comes from often harrowing, unscripted first person voices. Fierlinger’s drawings are stark and minimal as they take us into the minds of each addict. Fierlinger has since made many interview or direct speaking films: the autobiographies Drawn From Memory and Still Life with Animated Dogs, the Drawn From Life documentary series and the recent PBS production, A Room Nearby.
“When you turn on the radio,” says Fierlinger, “within two seconds you can tell if the voice you hear is that of a news reader, an actor or an authentic human being who was recorded on location. The pictures I draw to our sound tracks are just illustrations of the voice. Of course it’s not all that authentic by then, because the pictures I present, the music, the editing–all of those old crafts–will distort reality nicely so that we can have a credible story, too.”
Similar in structure and tone to earlier animated documentaries, A Room Nearby mixes Fierlinger’s own insights about loneliness with stories told by real people, including film director, Milos Forman. Fierlinger’s sketchy, unpretentious drawing style accompanies each of the stories. Fierlinger’s greatest strength is his ability to find interesting, articulate and sympathetic people. The unaffected nature of each speaker derails any speck of sentimentality. The exception is Forman’s tale, which at times betrays the authenticity of the other stories because we see that he’s reading from pages he has written.
Oddly enough, Fierlinger is finding more success with his work on the documentary circuit. “Perhaps it’s a fresher way of presenting personal observations,” suggests Fierlinger. “Talking heads are to be avoided as much as possible in real documentaries. Everybody knows those to be a cop-out, unless you find a talking head of Rasputin. But talking heads in animation are fun and quirky; just think of Creature Comforts.”
Animation’s cold shoulder is somewhat surprising given the power and uniqueness of Fierlinger’s work. Fierlinger does tend to repeat himself stylistically, but that can be said of most animators. Perhaps there’s a feeling that Fierlinger relies too much on his soundtracks. Without the unaffected, warm voices, would Fierlinger’s images be enough to hold our interest?
Ryan
Chris Landreth’s (The End, Bingo) project, Ryan is one of the most anticipated short animations of the year. Ryan is based on interviews Landreth conducted with former NFB animator, Ryan Larkin. A one time Oscar nominee, Larkin fell on hard times and now lives at the Old Brewery Mission in Montreal. He earns his living as a panhandler. The interview in the film takes place in an old, run down cafeteria, which is filled with an assortment of, literally, broken characters.
Landreth, using Maya software, recreates Larkin as a fragile, incomplete person. We see a portion of a face, but much of Ryan’s body is twisted busted or just not there. As Ryan reflects on his life, Landreth uses animation to create spaces that simply would not be possible in live action. In one poignant scene, we see a young, complete Ryan, with hippie threads and long hair, come to life in his award-winning film Street Musique. He is filled with joy and soon begins dancing with his creations. Occasionally, we hear from other observers. Landreth also shows us his motivation: he sees elements of his mother in Ryan’s life.
Chris Landreth has created a technical and conceptual marvel with Ryan. In revealing Larkin’s inner landscape, Landreth has delivered us into a deeper, richer reality. We see the ‘real’ Ryan Larkin that our eyes cannot see.
A Hybrid Future?
When Disney announced in 2003 that it wouldn’t be making drawn animation films anymore, some began to fear that the form itself might disappear, to be assimilated into a new digital world. Certainly, with the onset of recent technological developments, animation is changing but it’s always been changing. Like any art form, animation is not – or at least, should not be - some staid process. It has always been in a constant state of flux; facing new technologies and concepts is not exactly new.
There is no doubt that animation is taking on a new hybrid-like form. However, films like Waking Life, Ryan and The Magical Life of Long Tack Sam show that the genre and its techniques – not to mention its concepts - are far from extinction.
In embracing old and new technologies, leading-edge artists and their films show that animation - for all its potential paradoxical and fantastical possibilities - can actually take viewers to deeper, more realistic, levels of human understanding than conventional live-action or documentary work.
In this sense, animation might just be the pivotal ingredient in a new 21st century art form.

