Before we begin in earnest, a note: the first half of this review is more for those not yet initiated into Team Venture. Monarch Henchmen can scroll half-way down for the sneak peak stuff. Also, this is not an objective review. I’ve been a fan of the show since it first premiered.

Alright, let the arching begin…

On The Simpsons, there was a Treehouse of Horror short called The Genesis Tub, which was inspired by a Twilight Zone episode. Lisa creates a tiny, complex mini-universe of people inside a petri dish, starting with just a loose tooth, some soda and a surge of electricity. She runs downstairs to get waffles and comes back an hour later very surprised. The people in her petri dish quickly evolved from cave dwellers to Renaissance folks. Eventually, they become a highly advanced, futuristic society… until Bart starts messing with them, of course.

That “tub” is an apt analogy for The Venture Bros., which launches its “Season 4.5″ on Sunday, Sept. 12th at 11:30 pm EST. The Venture Bros. began as a straightforward parody of Jonny Quest, following two naive, dim-witted boy adventurers — Hank and Dean Venture — as they unravel creepy, surprisingly adult mysteries. From there, the show has grown over the years into a wonderfully complex organism, featuring a sprawling, delightful ensemble cast, as well as a vast, interweaving mythology spanning decades in time and a fondness for obscure, unmined pop culture allusions.

Another way both animated sitcoms are similar is that they began as shows about children, but came into their own when they shifted focus to the adults in the household. The Venture Bros. is now about the life of Hank and Dean’s father, Dr. Thaddeus Venture, a former boy adventurer himself who grew up in the dark shadow of his genius, super-scientist father. His inferiority complex is the heart of the show and yields many of its most hilarious moments.

To use another cartoon analogy, Charlie Brown is to Snoopy as Dr. Venture is to his (now former) bodyguard Brock Samson, a muscular super soldier and a parody of manliness, especially in contrast to the scrawny, sniveling Dr. Venture. Brock used to be strongly tied to The Venture Clan, but now has his own bloody adventures as a secret agent with the SPHINX organization.

I thought I’d begin by comparing The Venture Bros. to other great cartoons, because it should be considered one in its own right. I’m surprised that a show this well-written, intricately-plotted, and expertly-voiced — by talented performers like James Urbaniak (American Splendor) and Patrick Warburton (Emperor’s New Groove) — is not very well known. I’m sure the average 20-something on the street is more familiar with other long-running Adult Swim shows like Aqua Teen Hunger Force and Robot Chicken. So I give a lot of credit to Adult Swim, because like Lisa and the petri dish, they’ve allowed this funny show to grow into a hilarious, complex organism with a rapid, much-deserved cult following.

A final thought for new viewers: I would strongly recommend watching the DVDs of past seasons before tackling the Season 4.5 premiere. You will probably more-or-less understand what’s going on plot-wise, but one of The Venture Bros. strengths is rewarding regular viewers with callback jokes and unexpected, yet narratively justified character twists. To put it another way, you could watch Avatar in 2D, but you’d be missing an important part of the experience.

Okay, Venture Fans, what can you expect from the premiere? This episode is like a Whitman’s Sampler of key Venture Bros. ingredients. The creators show off their Magic Murder Bag of tricks, which includes…

The Diving Bell Vs. The Butter-glider

***Warning: Spoilers Ahead!***

The Cast! Expect to see the whole gang. Doc, Brock, the Boys, obsessive arch nemesis The Monarch, the voluptuous Dr. Girlfriend, nerdy Billy Quizboy and Pete White, super-nerdy but crazy buff Henchmen 21 and the ghost of dearly departed 24. Sgt. Hatred proves he’s a survivor and an important part of Team Venture. (I get the feeling his character will be a lot less about his ex-child molester past this season, which I’m sure many fans will be happy about.)

The Mythology! Hank and Dean are presented with direct evidence that they’re clones. SPHINX and Team Venture (sort of) join forces for a mission. The power struggle in The Cocoon continues as 21 gains more influence.

Action! – Car chases! Motorcycle races! Crashing submarines! A Henchman revolt! A David Byrne reference! Not stop thrills, chills and thrillprises!

Adventure! As much as I love the mythology, like with LOST or The X-Files, many of my favorite episodes are the stand-alone adventures (Viva Los Muertos, Dr. Quymn). The premiere’s main plot – a race to save Dr. Venture’s life – is a clever, works-on-its-own twist on movies like Innerspace. In good Venture Bros. form, two of characters have an argument about whether Innerspace is terrible.

Bureaucracy! The world of heroes and villains is rife with red tape in The Venture Bros., but in this episode, someone figures out how to legally cut through the bureaucratic BS with astonishing ease. The consequences may have an impact on future episodes.

A Heartfelt Musical Number! – Wait… what?!

For my money, The Diving Bell Vs. The Butter-glider is a stronger season opener than the season 4 premiere, Blood of the Father, Heart of Steel (gotta love these episode titles). I’m a longtime fan and Blood of the Father confused even me. Its unconventional narrative structure was a neat idea, but The Venture Bros. is elaborate enough without adding another layer of complication, though Inception fans might disagree.

Regardless, Diving Bell is a pure injection “Go Team Venture” fun and a solid start to Season 4.5. Like SPHINX, The Venture Bros. is one of television’s best kept secrets. Here’s hoping pretty soon, someone finally blows their cover.

Geoffrey Golden is a contributor to Lineboil and serves as Editor In Chief of The Devastator, a quarterly book of comics and satire.

If you are a loyal Lineboil reader, and therefore a dedicated fan of animation, I’ll sum up this review for you in 5 words:

Go see Waking Sleeping Beauty (opens in a limited theatrical run this Friday).

There are so many reasons to see this documentary by director Don Hahn (producer of several Disney features including Beauty and the Beast), who brings us a candid look inside the Magic Kingdom from the early 80s to the mid 90s. As Roger Rabbit would say, “let me count the ways…” One is that you’ll see handheld documentary footage of storyboard readings, staff meetings and voice recording sessions at Disney Animation. Two is that it challenges our pre-conceived notions of how executives and creatives work together. Three is that you’ll gain a level of understanding about Disney’s Second Renaissance you never had before.

Apparently the cameras were always on at Disney Animation. Though a good chunk of the documentary is told in still pictures — including hilarious caricatures drawn by the animators at the time, illustrating the creative tensions behind the scenes — a good half of the film is culled together with home movie footage. (One of the camera men? None other than John Lasseter.) This creates a very intimate effect. For an hour and a half, you really feel like you’re inside “Mousewitz,” experiencing the heartbreaking staff meetings and over-the-top office parties. Hahn’s insider knowledge of the subject matter and smart storytelling creates a more immersive experience than a lot of 3D animated movies.

From Termite Terrace to Adult Swim, the story usually goes: the executives leave the creatives alone and suddenly they produce incredible work. Waking Sleeping Beauty challenges that idea. In 1984, Disney Animation was left completely alone by executives, making it a leper colony of sorts on the lot. The young artists, like Tim Burton, Ron Clements and John Musker, had a lot of youthful creative energy, but felt stifled by Walt’s 9 Old Men animators, who completely ran the show. At the time, Disney Animation was producing bombs like The Black Cauldron. In this case, an animation studio suffered without studio intervention.

Hollywood outsiders like Jeffrey Katzenberg and Michael Eisner were brought in to pull purse strings and turn this creative chaos into a movie-making powerhouse. However, show biz bitterness, intense rivalries and a drive for fame end up turning the House of Mouse into a war zone. As the movies get better and better, Roy Disney’s chosen executives end up battling more and more fiercely. The animators, who at the beginning of the film are playing music together and staging a reenactment of Apocalypse Now in the offices, end up with Carpal Tunnel and no family lives. Sure, they had classics like The Little Mermaid and Aladdin on their reels, but they were burning out fast.

The filmmakers describe the early 90s as a “perfect storm” of bold executives and creative talent. “Storm” is an apt analogy, because while they were able to create some of the medium’s all-time classics, the war of egos wrecked people’s lives. The film gives you a greater appreciation for Walt Disney. In the film, it’s pointed out that many hardworking people deserved more credit than they got working under Walt Disney, because Walt was always there to soak up the spotlight. Perhaps that’s a necessity. In this heated business, if you don’t have one charismatic leader, either creative or executive, the result can be a storm of egos.

At the eye of that storm was the songwriting team of Howard Ashman and Alan Menken. Bringing the tenets of musical theater to Disney Animation was really the spark that made everything click for The Little Mermaid and subsequent films. Ashman’s death in 1991, right before the premiere of Beauty and The Beast, had a profound impact on everyone at Disney. You could argue, after watching this film, that Ashman was the quiet creative leader who is truly the heart of these movies.

I will point out here that there are two glaring omissions from film. One is a clear explanation for how the creative team created the “smoother” look-and-feel for The Little Mermaid (and subsequent films), which is a big visual leap forward from Oliver & Company or The Great Mouse Detective. More importantly, the movie is missing a true denoument. This is the story about a storm, but we never get a peak at the wreckage following The Lion King. A little bit about what was missing from films like Pocahontas and Hunchback of Notre Dame would go a long way in understanding what was special about 1989-1994.

However, these are minor complaints. Watching this documentary made me want to revisit the early 90s Disney catalogue with brand new eyes. Knowing about all the toil, sacrifice and painful memories that surrounds these films makes them even more astounding. If you’re a fan of animation, and want a realistic look at what goes on behind the scenes, then Waking Sleeping Beauty simply can’t be missed.

American animated movies tend to think big. Our heroes set-off on a journey to explore humongous landscapes and meet other over-the-top characters, as they complete a mind-bogglingly impossible task. I’m a huge fan of animated adventure stories, but it’s nice to have some variety in the cartoon cinema. That’s why Wes Anderson’s first animated feature, Fantastic Mr. Fox (now playing theaters), was such a breath of fresh, cider-scented air.

Pixar is the current gold standard for animated films, and they lean heavily towards the big adventure story. Up is about an around-the-world journey in a hot air balloon house; The Incredibles help save the world from an evil genius; and WALL-E helps save humanity from an apocalypse of pleasure. Even in Toy Story, because the perspective of the characters is so small, a trip to Pizza Planet becomes an epic journey.

DreamWorks Animation and other studios tend to follow suit, with stories involving kingdom-saving ogres and animals trying to survive the ice age. Big stories, even bigger set pieces and enormous characters voiced by comedy legends. When a formula works, there’s little reason for Hollywood to stray.

That being said, there are some mainstream animated movies with a smaller, more intimate feel. Opening Thanksgiving weekend is Fantastic Mr. Fox, based on the Roald Dahl (Charlie and the Chocolate Factory) children’s book of the same name. The film is a heist comedy, about a chicken thief who promised his pregnant wife he was retired for good, but who decides to pull one last score in his new neighborhood. Though it incorporates quite a few action sequences, Mr. Fox retains a surprisingly personal feel.

In many recent animated movies, we’re introduced to our characters, and then when the plot begins, it feels like the characters ride through the story, not unlike a roller-coaster. The characters make a key decision — to embark on an epic journey — and the result of that one decision carries them forward. Though Mr. Fox and his friends get into deeper and deeper trouble as the story unfolds, we understand that their worsening predicament is based on a series of important character-motivated decisions (specifically, Fox’s need to impress his family and friends). This makes the events along Fox’s journey feel more organic to the character.

The set and character design also create a smaller-seeming universe. Every element is meticulously detailed and — for lack of a better word — cute. Fox and his friends have soft, furry faces. The trees and buildings are idyllic and quaint. Sometimes it feels like you’re watching figurines in a play set. Of course, along those lines, it’s possible that stop-motion animation of real life models provides an inherently warmer feel than computer generated images, although a short like Geri’s Game challenges that assumption.

The voice acting is another factor in the film’s relatively modest approach. Fans of Wes Anderson expect low-key, subtle characterizations in his films. Anderson regulars Jason Schwartzman, Owen Wilson and Bill Murray all deliver laughs with droll, dry performances. There are a handful of funny, traditionally “cartoony” gags, like a scene in which Mr. Fox tries to scale an electric fence. However, you won’t find any mugging or pop culture reference-flinging here.

Perhaps the biggest factor in maintaining an intimate feel is that Mr. Fox is the artistic vision of a director, not a studio. The off-center camera angles, understated performances and the underlying theme of a father disappointing his son are all trademark Wes Anderson. Animated movies aren’t usually helmed by an auteur. In fact, many cartoon features have multiple directors, not to mention key creative input from the studio’s producers, executives and others. By no means am I choosing sides, saying one method is better than another. The studio method clearly works — again, I’m thinking of Pixar as the model for doing it right. However, it’s terrific to see an animated film that’s uniquely stylized and personal, in the way that a movie with a single, guiding creative visionary can be.

I was trying to think of other recent, widely-released animated films that have this level of individual personality. The one that comes to mind is Tim Burton’s Corpse Bride, another small-feeling, stop-motion animated comedy. Corpse Bride‘s story is a character-driven farce about romantic mix-ups, rather than an animated thrill ride. The characters and backgrounds are carefully constructed, not larger than life. Also, both Corpse Bride and Fantastic Mr. Fox are creatively driven by a director’s vision (though Corpse Bride actually had two directors, Tim Burton and Mike Johnson, the film clearly emerged from Burton’s trademark, twisted imagination). When you think of Corpse Bride and Fantastic Mr. Fox, as opposed to Finding Nemo and Shrek, the stylistic differences are apparent.

So while I look forward to more CG animated, studio created journey films, the personal feel of stop-motion, director driven cartoons is a welcome addition to my local movie theater (I’d also welcome more 2D animation in general, but that’s a discussion for a whole other article). After all, variety in animation is a ‘fantastic’ thing.

It’s been a long, long ride to get to Planet 51, which opens in theaters tomorrow. Since 2002, Illion Animation Studios has been perfecting their first feature length animated movie for theaters. Seven years of re-writing, re-recording and re-animating later, they finally launched their film into theaters, but will it be a smooth landing with audiences?

The best CG animation sweats the details, whether it’s tweaking a story beat or perfecting the bounce of an antenna, so it’s no surprise that Illion wanted to get everything just right for their debut feature. On the visuals, they scored a home run. A perfectionistic attention to detail makes the film pure eye candy.

The textures are especially well-crafted, from the peach-soft alien skin to the glossy metallic shell of Rover, the dog-like space exploration robot. You also can’t help but admire the backgrounds and visual touches, like the glossy bowling alley and the humorously stylized poster for the alien horror movie poster, “Humaniacs 2.”

“They showed me some art early on that got me really excited,” said Planet 51 star Justin Long in a press junket for the film held at Griffith Observatory, which inspired another well-crafted location in the movie. “Very turned on… but not like that.”

“Even in the early stages, the animation was gorgeous,” said co-star Dwayne Johnson. “You couple it with the fact that those guys are so incredibly passionate about this project… I call them The Spain Boys. They’ve been with this project since 2002, so it’s been a long labor of love.”

However, “The Spain Boys” would soon learn there are downsides for continuously tweaking a film over a seven year period. For example, normally in animation, a voice track is recorded and then animated to. That wasn’t exactly the case for Illion’s first film. “Initially, we recorded it all and we were able to see [character] art,” said Long. “As they got our recordings, they started animating to the ones they liked, but then we’d have to go back over it for rewrites.”

“It was an ongoing process,” added co-star Jessica Biel.

The result is that some of the vocal performances are noticeably inconsistent throughout the film. This is especially the case for Long, who said his voice “apparently changed” over the course of the production.

It sounds like another problem they had was an over-abundance of ideas… and creative folks in the kitchen. “At one point there were six guys in [the recording booth], all giving their directorial opinions,” said Johnson. “You had to interpret everything they were saying, which made it challenging. And fun.” Of course, with a background in professional wrestling, The Rock might well enjoy the conflicts that come with clashing personalities.

However, you have to admire the Illion crew’s enthusiasm. Certainly, the technology department was up to the task. “The filmmakers, artists, everyone was constantly bringing in new ideas to improve the film,” said Gonzalo Rueda, Illion’s Director of Technology. “It became clear that we would have to implement all those ideas, regardless of the technological challenges they presented.”

There’s a great variety of visual ideas in the film. First of all, what do aliens look like? How would our 1950′s be re-interpretted by this alien society? What does alien suburbia look like? There were a wide variety of species to design, from humans to aliens to robots to the aliens’ pets, who bear a winking resemblance to those terrifying creatures Sigorney Weaver keeps running up against.

Another way Illion makes their film stand out visually is with surprisingly subtle character animation. In a genre that encourages huge, over-the-top, “cartoonish” acting, the facial expressions in Planet 51 are — ironically — more down-to-earth than in most animated features. Granted, I wouldn’t describe the performances as understated, but kudos to first time feature director Jorge Blanco for finding an enjoyable middle ground.

Still, while watching the movie, I wondered if Illion’s technically savvy team was actually inhibited by the film’s setting. When I think of an “alien planet,” I don’t necessarily imagine America’s 1950′s as inhabited by little green men. I imagine the sort of lush, exotic universe that will be the setting for James Cameron’s upcoming Avatar. I also vividly remember the old ET ride in Universal Studios, where you got to travel to ET’s jungle-like home planet. One Google Image search for “alien world” later and I realized I’m not alone in this conception.

Perhaps letting Illion’s expert team of perfectionistic animators loose on an Avatar-style planet would have been a better use for their skills, rather than trying to figure out what the alien Marilyn Monroe would look like. Isn’t that truly the comedic reversal of the classic aliens land on earth scenario? A human lands on this crazy, lush planet full of weird alien creatures, but it turns out they’re just as prejudiced and scared as the people he left behind.

When I asked whether Illion’s producers and directors showed signs of nervousness while creating their first animated film, Biel said they were somewhat nervous. A moment later she added, “a mixture of nerves and excitement.” They’ll probably remain apprehensive until the box office and critical results are in. I don’t envy any studio releasing a movie opposite Twilight: New Moon, which will likely be a box office phenomenon. Maybe they can capture a solid #2 slot by targeting kids too young for Twilight and their parents, but who knows if that take will be enough for Illion to really get off the ground.

Well, here’s hoping that Planet 51 allows Illion’s animation team to tackle new projects and new worlds. The beautiful artwork and meticulous attention to detail has me eagerly anticipating Illion’s next animated adventure. Or to put it another way, let’s hope space is not Illion’s final frontier.

But I now present to you the mother of all Character Design books to inspire any animator.

Great New Characters is spectacular 670 page cube-shaped book with so many character designs to drool over that you won’t know what to do with yourself. It was created by Zeixs in collaboration with the cutting edge publishing house Feierabend Unique Books, and the ground-breaking design agency 12ender, with a brilliantly illustrated cover by Patrick Morgan.

From their hugely popular Design Cube Series, which has several volumes covering the art of Graphic Design, Typography, Poster Design, T-Shirt Design, and Logo Design, comes this superbly illustrated edition that brings together an unsurpassed collection of the most creative and inventive characters from designers and artists from around the world. Featuring a huge variety of styles and mediums – including 2D, 3D, animated, illustrated, digital, vinyl, paper, plush, textile, street and urban.

If you are a character designer of any sorts, you’re visual cortex will be appropriately stimulated by this bible of pioneering design samples.

As an SVA animation student a few years back, I had a few lunches with cartoonist and animation vet Bob Camp, who at the time was working as a Story Artist for Blue Sky Studios. One particular conversation happened while I was starting work on my senior film, during which I expressed my struggles with designing characters. His advice to me was to get a couple of the Art of books, and spend a little time each day copying and breaking down some of the designs to their basic forms. By doing so, I would begin to see how and why the characters worked so well, and by figuring out the basic construction, I would start to apply similar concepts to my own designs. He was right, and even to this date, it is the best character design advice I have ever received. To all the character designers out there, I highly recommend this process, whether you’re looking to improve your skills or even just get started.

Which brings me to the latest release from Chronicle Books, The Art of UP, by Tim Hauser. As a huge fan of Pixar’s films, and the company as a whole, I tried hard to review the book with an unbiased approach, focusing solely on the artwork, and avoiding any rants or raves about the film, which I believe has some key story flaws that lower its ranking on my list of favorite Pixar films. But who the hell am I to judge? Pixar still holds the top spot in my book, and even some of their “weaker” films rank higher than most of the other recent CG films. But despite my opinions about the film, I will not deny that the design and overall look of UP is truly beautiful. And I can’t help but admire and applaud all who were involved with the film, not only for the skill and effort put into every single detail, regardless of its success or failure to make it into the film, but also for also taking risks and challenging themselves. As an animator, I strive to learn and grow as an artist, and it’s always comforting to know that even at the top, studios like Pixar continue to push themselves to new levels, and refuse to settle for what already comes easy for them.

As far as the book goes, it pretty much follows suit with what you expect from an Art of book. After a brief foreword by co-Director Pete Docter, the book continues on with a short synopsis of the film, followed by an interesting anecdote about how Docter and his co-director Bob Paterson started working on one abstract idea involving a floating city and two brothers but eventually realizing it just wasn’t working and shifted gears to focus the story on a single old man in a flying house. From there the text goes on to talk about the various plot points and character relationships which helped build the emotional foundations of the story, and finally set up the rest of the book by introducing one of their biggest struggles in making the film – creating a plausible world in which the absurdly impossible is completely believable.

I can take or leave the text often at the beginning of these books. By the time I get one of these books, I’ve already seen the movie, watched trailers and featurettes, or read countless interviews with the filmmakers and animators. So the synopsis and the evolution of the story become somewhat redundant, where if I had a choice, I’d rather see 15 more pages of artwork, or at least 10 more pages with a much shorter commentary about the film and its development. But, in all honesty, with the exception of this book for purposes of the review, I generally skip the text in the beginning. So please don’t get me wrong, I love hearing/reading about how a film started out in the beginning and evolved into something new and different, or about the challenges the film makers faced getting one character or another to be relatable to the audience, but, to me, it just seems more suited for the DVD, or podcast, rather than a book devoted to the artwork.

I was intrigued when I read the words “simplexity” and “chunkification”; two terms the Pixar artists came up with to describe their approach for designing the characters and sets for the film. Using famed illustrator Al Hirschfeld and the stylization of Rankin/Bass stop-motion films of the 60′s as sources of inspiration, the artists aimed to distill each character down to it’s simple, basic form and then selectively adding the complexity in the details on top, all the while viewing each characters shape as visual symbols for thematic choices of the cast. For example, Carl is an unmoving square surrounded by a cast of opposing shapes that consist of mainly curves which are symbolisms of movement and advancement. On each page, even though many of the styles vary from one artist to another, every design clearly maintains the same basic shape of the character, showing the careful attention paid to maintaining the themes each character was meant to represent. Familiar Pixar artists like Lou Romano, Greg Dykstra (sculptor), Harley Jessup, and Tony Fucile all added their takes, but a fair share of new illustrators joined the effort, including Pete Doctor’s own daughter, Elie, who did a lot of the artwork in young Ellie’s Adventure Book while also providing the voice for young Carl’s future wife to be. Not that it’s unusual to have so many different designers on one film, but more often than not, some of these Art of books tend to revolve around the same few artists over and over again. It’s always nice to see a few new names, because not only does it give them recognition for the amazing work they helped create, but it also shows how much exploration actually goes into the creating the look and feel of each film.

The attention to detail in the designs of the sets and props always blows me away because when it comes time for me to draw a background, or design a prop, I always struggle to even come close to that level of detail in the subtle nuisances that make these designs so great. Take Carl’s house, for example. Since the house had to actually move and be seen from just about every angle, Pixar brought in an architect to help them plan out every detail of the house, from the piping underneath the floors, to the rafters and joints of the frame, and even the faded section of aged wall paper that is revealed when picture frames fall from their hanging place as the house gets knocked around in the storm. And then when Carl and company are making their way through the jungle, the details of the foliage and all of the rock formations are amazing as well, even more so because much of it isn’t far off from what the artists actually saw on their research trip to South America. One illustration that stood out to me was by designer Nat McLaughlin – a 2-page spread of rock formations seen as the characters trek across them after landing. While it may not be so obvious while watching the film, this image clearly shows the thought and planning that went into the whole voyage and the themes associated with the designs, in that when they land and embark on their journey, the rocks are rugged, with hard, squared off edges, and as they progress to Muntz’s layer, the rock formations become sharper and more dangerous as the story reaches the climax, then as it all resolves, the rocks gradually become rounder, with fewer sharp edges, and a clear sign that the path is safer than before. The book doesn’t tell the exact dimensions of the piece, but I am sure it’s much larger than the length of the two pages it’s on, and probably even more impressive in person.

I have to say, that even though I had my issues with the story, I am a huge fan of the design. The Pixar team took on the challenge of trying to reintroduce some of the appeal more often seen in 2D animation with more graphic designs. I feel that they achieved this goal, with one exception: The Alpha Pack. Looking at the character designs in the book, as flat artwork, the designs work very well, but for whatever reason, the translation into a 3D model/rig did not do the designs justice. On screen they looked odd to me, and nowhere near as appealing as what you see in the book.

Overall, another good Art of book by Chronicle Books, though I was hoping for more thumbnail sketches from the animators as they worked out poses and actions for each of the characters. In particular, I had hoped to see thumbnails for Carl, who was apparently tough to pose because of his compact design. And as I mentioned before, because so much art is produced throughout production of one film, it would be nearly impossible to include every piece in a single book, but I would have loved to see more of the earlier concepts of each character or maybe some of the more outrageous designs and board sequences that never even got close to making it in the film, just to show the range of exploration, demonstrating that what we see on screen isn’t something that is imagined easily, but rather a long and enlightening adventure in itself. In fact, I think the majority of the Art of books could benefit from adding some of those more unique pieces, and I think the extra 10-15 pages from my “proposed intro” would be the perfect place for them. Oh well, something to look forward to with the next book.

In the meantime I look forward to taking a closer look at these designs to see if I figure out how they were able to get some of the abstract appeal that has always been more apparent in 2D styling’s of animation. In doing so, I will hopefully wrap my mind around exactly how they came up with the terms “simplexity” and “chunkification.” In the end, regardless of one’s tastes in a films, or whether it’s a box office hit or not, I think most of the ‘Art of’ books are an invaluable asset for any animator or animation enthusiast, whether it be for creative inspiration, or merely just providing a glimpse of the talent level it takes to be at one of the top studios in the work, and The Art of UP is certainly no exception.

The Lineboil offices received the 2-Disc Collector’s Edition with 3D, but know that there are numerous other versions, including the Blu-ray/DVD Combo + Digital Copy w/3D and the Single-Disc Edition w/ 3D. Ours also included the Digital Copy feature, which allows owners to transfer a copy of the film to iTunes and other players; a nice feature in this day and age of portable media.

The 2-Disc set also comes with (count-em) 4 sets of 3D glasses. I put all of them on at once, and I’m pretty sure I saw the movie in 12D. An interesting slide is included on the 3D version of the film, which states that “it will take your eyes 5 minutes to fully adjust to the 3D viewing experience.”

The extras are solid – in particular I enjoyed the deleted scenes. At the head of these shots, Selick explains that after such painstaking work, one would hope that every frame of animation filmed would end up in the final cut, but that’s what DVDs are for. All told, there’s around 6 or 7 minutes of cut scenes on the second disc, which probably amounts to 3 years worth of a collective animator’s life.

The first shot is a charming sequence at the dinner table with Coraline’s real parents. Selick explains how much excrutiating work went into cooking the animated casserole.

Another one worth noting is Amy Adamy’s beautiful ribbon mice sequence, which was cut from the feature, and then tacked on to the back of the end credits. In the extras, Selick explains that she animated the entire sequence herself in 66 days. I can only imagine the tension in the room when Selick told Adamy about the sequence being cut.

As you might expect, there’s also Henry Selick’s commentary over the film, and several other featurettes, including a 4-minute assembly titled Inspiring Design. It reveals a great deal of the inspirational art that led to the final look of the both the world and the characters. We can only hope that the first “art of” book won’t be the last.

And here’s a little of the Making Of featurette, which includes interviews with lead animators Phil Dale and Travis Knight, who is now the LAIKA CEO:

There’s also a 10-minute video featurette titled Voicing the Characters (some of which can be seen at the Coraline YouTube channel), in which you hear Teri Hatcher, who played Mother, Other Mother and Evil Mother, explain that the process “was really challenging.” Moments later, Selick says “she had quite a challenge” and “we had to push.” I think this is all movie making shorthand for “it didn’t quite work out that well,” as Hatcher’s performances were all relatively flat, especially her take on Evil Mother, which was so terribly out of place. Thankfully the cast also included Keith David the incredibly funny David Hodgeman, and his segment from this extra can be seen below:

All in all, this is a keeper – a DVD you’ll want to watch over and over, as each shot is filled with hand-crafted visual magic from some of the industry’s most talented members.

The Goodes are the blue-state analogues of the Hills, Mike Judge’s venerable Texas-twangers who will soon be packing up the propane after a staggering 13 seasons. A bespectacled father voiced by Judge, an overweight son, a midriff-baring daughter, a cantankerous old coot of a father, and a dog named after a political figure; Judge’s creations for his new series The Goode Family, which premieres Wednesday May 27th (9:00-9:30 p.m., ET) on ABC, are the cultural and political negative images of his previous ones. Rather than chugging beer on the front lawn, the Goodes are more likely to be found swigging soy milk in their solar-powered home and then painstakingly recycling the containers.

Here’s a few clips from the pilot:

The pater familias here is Gerald Goode, a poncho-wearing member of the liberal academe. His wife is a local activist with whom he has two children, one adopted and one biological. The dog is an unwilling vegan and they shower outside in a home-made rainwater catchment system. They drive a hybrid with the word “HYBRID” written in big letters on the side. In short, they embody every well-intentioned but ill-thought-out element of the liberal Left, with a capital L.

But where the stereotypical redneckishness of King of the Hill seemed secondary to crafting the Hills as believable characters, this new family is groaning under the weight of their own premise. The Goodes’ efforts to reduce emissions and buy organic don’t really feel, well, organic and at this point they seem more like a collection of recognizable parts than a cohesive whole. One of the main cast members is quite literally a one-off joke, whose punchline is mined minutes into the pilot, and if there is one thing the short, unhappy life of Sit Down, Shut Up taught us, it’s that good comedy falls flat when put into the mouths of walking, talking clichés.

Thankfully, much of this is offset by some very strong writing and the fact that, even in the pilot, the jokes and the characters are clearly trying to hoist themselves up and out of the constrictions of a one-sentence studio pitch. Judge is smart enough to know that if he wants anything near the shelf-life of his previous series, the characters will have to outlive the premise. Eco-suburbia and political correctness are fertile grounds for comedy, but ones that have already been harvested endlessly. Acute observations about environmental one-upmanship or the fact that hybrid drivers are rarely as quiet as their car’s whispering engines are welcome, but they inevitably feel a bit reused and recycled. Even references to cultural timestamps like Obama and Octomom can’t shake the sneaking feeling of been-there done-that.

Here’s a few clips of Mike Judge commenting on the series:

That being said, I actually have high hopes for this show. There is plenty of potential here, once they cycle through the requisite Al Gore jokes, for it to become another genuinely funny and endearing part of Judge’s multifaceted examination of this country. Throughout his career, he has been one of the few voices continuously turning an introspective eye on American culture, whether it is corporate, conservative, television-obsessed, or even future. To crib from the title of the Beavis and Butt-Head movie, Mike Judge does America. Hopefully, at a time when The Simpsons have become lost in their own caricatures and Family Guy has turned pseudo-Dadaist, The Goode Family will shed this early awkwardness and step up to take the place of King of the Hill as one of the few places on network television where we can see characters, animated or otherwise, that bear some semblance to actual human beings. A real American family, both good and bad.

Directors: Pete Docter and Bob Peterson
Runtime: 104 minutes
Rated: PG
Distribution: Walt Disney Pictures

Pixar has always been in the business of telling human stories. Woody and Buzz were toys, but their struggles with friendship and their fears of obsolescence were instantly relatable. The Incredibles may have been superpowered but their insecurities were all too real. Ratatouille‘s Remy the rat embodied every underappreciated artist, Marlin the fish every overprotective father, and WALL-E every hopeless romantic.

In their latest venture, Up (in theaters May 29th), Disney/Pixar finally sheds these anthropomorphic and archetypical avatars to tell the story of Carl Fredrickson, an old man who lived a very average life. After his wife passes away, he decides to realize their dream of moving to the wilderness of Venezuela, and so attaches a kaleidoscopic squadron of balloons to his house to float up and out of his urban environs. Of course, unbeknownst to him, he has himself a stowaway in the form of a chipper young Wilderness Explorer named Russell.

They make it to South America, but must trek through the jungle and mountainous terrain to make it to Paradise Falls, on top of which Carl and his wife always hoped to live. On the way, they find themselves embroiled in scads of adventure of the deliciously pulpy variety, with sneering villains and giant dirigibles, but even as the story gets increasingly outrageous and the action more intense, the characters remain firmly grounded in reality. They are beset by packs of vicious dogs, dangerous thunderheads and a series of precipitous heights, but the real obstacles they must overcome are those of loss, abandonment and fear. Carl is one of the most three-dimensional 3D-animated characters ever put to screen. That, plus the fact that much of the violence is surprisingly un-cartoony, provides the film with quite a few moments of genuine peril.

The odd couple humor and the never-too-late moralizing one would expect are there, but, as per usual with Pixar, things are much more complex and satisfying than at first glance. The house, at first a symbol of untethered possibility and hope, quickly becomes a burden, loaded down with nostalgic and metaphorical weight as Carl gradually realizes that achieving his lifelong dream may not be as important as the life he spent dreaming it and the people he dreamt it with. Co-directors Pete Docter (Monsters, Inc.) and Bob Peterson provide some emotional moments, but they always feel more genuine than saccharine, and while it is easy to identify early on the talismans that will later be reaped for full sentimental effect, by the time it reaches that point, it’s been earned.

Up is above all a film that revels in visual storytelling. Like Pixar’s previous robotic protagonist, the young Carl at the start barely speaks, and an early wordless montage guides us through his entire life with tremendous poignancy and economy. The premise and locales allow for some breathtaking imagery of the helium-buoyed house floating across azure skies and over jutting geological landscapes. Once people start talking, the humor is enjoyable and the voice-work all top notch. Ed Asner imparts his character with a Lou Grant lovable gruffness, while Jordan Nagai’s lack of professional experience helps to give the young Russell an endearing layer of believability.

Admittedly, some of the action scenes are not as exciting as, say, those in The Incredibles, but that is kind of the point. Here, a life of exploits and derring-do is no more valuable than one of picnics and morning rituals, and if you are so focused on what you are going to do, you tend to lose sight of what you’ve already done. Up is a vibrant and adventurous film that, all the while, advises us on the unexpected beauty of mundanity and the fact that home has little to do with location.

Coraline, nearly 4 years in the making, is a new stop-motion animated feature from first-timer LAIKA and Focus Features, and it debuts in theaters (900 of them in 3D) this Friday, February 6th. The story of a young girl who moves to Ashland, Oregon only to discover that her house is full of magical secrets was adapted from Neil Gaiman’s (The Sandman) book of the same name. While the locations have changed (the book was set in the UK), Henry Selick (The Nightmare Before Christmas) went to great lengths to preserve Gaiman’s original intent. The results are his efforts are uneven, and unlikely to capture the type of box office rapture that a film like WALL·E enjoyed, but this highly imaginative adventure is most certainly worth the price of admission.

PERSISTENCE OF VISIONARIES

Since the 1970s, there have only been 6 widely-released stop-motion feature films: The Nightmare Before Christmas, James and the Giant Peach, Chicken Run, Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit, Corpse Bride and now Coraline. These hand-made worlds are a rare treat, crafted by a small, nomadic club of patient animators. The directors behind these films are members of an even smaller club. In fact, all six of these aforementioned films were directed by either Nick Park (a co-director), Tim Burton or Selick.

But why are they such rarities? It’s not because stop-motion is more expensive; on the contrary – the most expensive of these six is Coraline, at a rumored $70 million (I’ve also heard it nosed closer $100 million). Compared to a CG animated feature like WALL·E, with its $180 million price tag, a stop-motion film is a steal.

Stop-motion is simply a niche craft; a production method that takes endless patience and years of training, and the grand masters who hand down the lessons are few and far between. But it’s the rarity with which these visually lavish projects release that makes the celebration of their birth that much more exciting.

MINIATURE MARVELS

So, what’s to celebrate? First and foremost, Coraline is visually stunning. The story never really kicks into high gear, and the slow moments allowed me time gaze in awe at the elaborate world around our young heroine. Inside a 183,000 square feet warehouse, the LAIKA production team, some wearing magnifying head goggles, built a total of 150 sets on 52 stages, some 30 or 40 feet across, filled with exquisitely crafted set-pieces and props. The garden sequences are perhaps the most stunning, with plants awakening or even slithering about. It’s eye sugar, created at the speed of crystallized rock candy (a single cameraman was lucky to capture 2 seconds of footage a day).

Beyond that, Coraline is imaginative, which is due in much part to Gaiman. His 2001 book, which bears many resemblances to his Henson film MirrorMask, is full of Kafka-esque transformations and quirky characters. These all come to life on-screen in a 3-ring circus of color and creepiness as soon as Coraline discovers what’s on the other side of the miniature door. Her seemingly boring house subsequently reveals an array of secrets and kooky characters. We meet Coraline Jones’s new neighbors, Mr. Bobinsky, Miss Spink and Miss Forcible, who all share the 3-apartment house the Jones family moved into (which is styled after Gaiman’s house in Minnesota). These three collectively provide some of the most inspired moments of the film, while at the same time failing to really drive the story.

Finally, the acting is sublime. The animators, many of whom hail from Aardman (Wallace and Gromit), outdid themselves – submitting tireless performances that redefine the craft. Working with 10-inch tall puppets, the 35 animators delivered subtle acting with delicate secondary adjustments to elements like clothing and hair. And you’ll likely agree that the Jumping Mouse Circus, which took 66 days to animate, is a legendary feat of stop-motion greatness.

It’s funny – I haven’t seen much coverage regarding a fascinating piece of technology that aided the team in their craft – 3D printers. Utilizing UV-sensitive resin, the Objet Geometries printers helped the team build thousands of replacement mouths that were modeled with CG software. In fact, all of the voice acting was completed in the computer first, and then printed out for the animators to slide into place, piece by piece. Its one of the few computer-aided elements of the film. Others included the Van Gogh-inspired “Starry Night” sky we see near the end, and some of the vast exteriors, which were composited in post from stop-motion elements. But pay special attention during the theater sequence – in which 248 Scottie dogs fill the seats. This wasn’t composited together with computer trickery; but animated using hundreds of individual puppets, some controlled by cranks hidden under their seats. And in the garden sequences, I suspect your eyes will widen a little bigger when you realize all of the flowers were individually animated.

SPOONFED SUBTEXT

Stop-motion is known as a medium that lets the little imperfections shine through, and in Coraline, the story’s shortcomings also come center stage. The audience is told plot points as opposed to being challenged to discover. Characters say things like “this world is not what it seems,” and at one point, Coraline spells out Selick’s subtext. Upon hearing her sidekick’s full name is “Wyborne,” Coraline remarks “why were you born?,” without letting us sort this out ourselves.

To transit between her house and the Other World, Coraline shuffles through a shimmering tunnel that looks like a psychedelic birth canal. It’s a road too-often travelled. In Alice in Wonderland and The Wizard of Oz, we depart on magical journeys, returning to familiar grounds just as the curtains close. In Coraline, we continually shuttle back and forth, which makes for an uneven tale that never fully blooms. And for as inventive as the surroundings are, the film doesn’t reward us with clever dialog or misdirections. Instead, much like Coraline, we’re tempted into a world dripping with quirky characters and magical distractions, only to be tricked into believing there’s more substance below the surface.

The voice acting is a mixed bag. Dakota Fanning turns in a strong performance as Coraline, Keith David is memorable as the Cat, but Teri Hatcher, in her first voice acting role, fails to impress. She’s capable in her role as Coraline’s mother, but when she morphs into the sinister Other Mother, her voice doesn’t follow suit. A well-rounded voice actress would have been a better choice here – someone with some range and experience in the field. It’s a common mistake made on an animated feature – casting a star and assuming because they can light up a screen that they can energize animation.

I saw the film in 3D, and the team makes good use of the medium, with only a few gimmicky pokes at the audience. I found the 3D most visually breathtaking when the scene composition was most dynamic – extreme foreground action, with elaborate depth of field (and not in a jab-you-in-the-eye kinda way).

As a box office junkie, I can’t resist taking a swipe at an opening weekend tally – $10.5 million, from 2,100 theaters. Theater counts will increase, and the picture will see a lifetime US tally of $42 million.

AGELESS ARTISTRY

As the years add up, CG films, like Toy Story, can look dated because technology has advanced so much since the production. Stop-motion films, on the other hand, are forged from physical elements, and don’t wilt over time in the same manner. In this way, the extravagant world of Coraline, even with its story flaws, may indeed be added, alongside Selick’s masterpiece The Nightmare Before Christmas, to the hall of timeless animated tales.