A “no” is defined as any negative: “I don’t like it.” “There must be a better way.” “I don’t like to criticize, but…” “I’ve heard that one before.” “I don’t know.” Or: “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Chuck.” All are roadblocks impeding the advancement and exploration of the value of an idea and are forbidden.
Of course, all story ideas are not good or useful, and if you find you cannot contribute, then silence is proper, but it is surprising how meaty and muscular a little old stringy “yes” (which is another name for a premise) can become in as little as fifteen or twenty minutes, when everyone present unreservedly commits his immediate impulsive and positive response to it. And, of course, the enlightened self-interest of pouring your contributions unreservedly out in another director’s story session is sufficient motivation; your turn will inevitably come to present an idea to the group in another session, and at such a time you, too, will want, need, and expect full cooperation. A good premise always generates the most astonishing results.
Following are notes taken at a jam session held December 13, 1949, for a film titled Dripalong Daffy:*
MUSIC: “HOME ON THE RANGE” AT OPENING TO ESTABLISH PEACE IN THE TOWN.
NAME OF TOWN: DONUT CENTER. COMMENT WRITTEN ON SIGN: “WHAT A HOLE!”
CLOTHING-STORE DUMMY HOLDING UP CIGAR-STORE INDIAN.
DAFFY DIGS THROUGH AN ASSORTMENT OF BADGES, FINDS ONE MARKED “SHERIFF,” AND PINS IT ON HIMSELF. LOOKS AGAIN AND FINDS A DEPUTY’S BADGE, AND PINS IT ON PORKY.
BANDIT CHANGES ASSETS ON THE BANK WINDOW.
WHEN DAFFY PINS ON HIS SHERIFF’S BADGE, HE FLIPS UP SIGN SAYING: “SHERIFF WANTED.” ANOTHER SIGN FLIPS DOWN SAYING: “YOU FOOL YOU!”
LABELS ON BOTTLES: FOREST LAWN DEW
CEMETERY DEW
RADIOACTIVE RYE
AFTER NASTY CANASTA SHOOTS THE MILK SHAKE OUT OF DAFFY’S HAND HE WALKS AWAY, LEAVING THE SIGN WITH HIS PICTURE IN VIEW.
DAFFY SHOVES GUN DOWN CANASTA’S THROAT RIGHT UP TO THE TRIGGER. CANASTA CHEWS IT OFF TO THE CYLINDER, LEAVING GUNPOWDER DRIPPING OUT.
ELIMINATE THE CHASER AFTER CANASTA DRINKS HIS DRINK. CUT OUT: “I’M GONNA FREEZE YOUR DECK.”
TO ESTABLISH THE STRENGTH OF THE DRINK, CANASTA DRINKS IT AND THE GLASS MELTS.
AFTER DOWNING THE DRINK, DAFFY FALLS THROUGH A HOLE IN THE FLOOR, THEN COMES SHOOTING OUT, WITH ROCKETS SHOOTING OUT AFTER HIM.
CANASTA LIGHTS UP CIGARETTE JUST BY BLOWING ON IT.
CANASTA’S BREATH COMES OUT IN MUSHROOM-LIKE SPURTS AFTER DRINKING DRINK.
BARTENDER PUTS ON WELDER’S MASK AND HEAVY GLOVES WHILE HE MIXES DRINK WITH A RIVETING MACHINE.
CANASTA’S HAT FLIPS UP AS HE DOWNS DRINK.
CANASTA SUGGESTS RUSSIAN ROULETTE.
PORKY WINDS UP A TOY SOLDIER. IT WALKS ACROSS CANASTA’S PATH, HE PICKS IT UP, IT GOES THROUGH MANEUVERS, CANASTA LAUGHS, SOLDIER AIMS GUN AT CANASTA AND SHOOTS HIM.
DAFFY: “I’M GOING TO CLEAN UP THIS ONE-HORSE TOWN.”
PORKY: “LUCKY FOR HIM IT’S A ONE-HORSE TOWN!”
Question: But what if nothing happens? What if the premise just lies doggo with faint response or no response at all from anybody?
Answer: The director will know, not because there is silence, but by the quality of the response; if the suggestions are unresponsive to the basic idea, if the others are floundering, the director will know within a half hour and will gracefully excuse everyone. Either the presentation is wrong or the idea is wrong. Since we trust each other, we will accept the situation not as a rebuff but as a mute, implicit suggestion that “we want to be turned on, but this is not working.”
Rough background for DUCK DODGERS IN THE 24½ CENTURY (1953)
So we try again.
In each case the moderator is the director who has asked for the meeting. It is his sole judgment as to what is negative and there can be no protest at the end of the session. All comments and criticism are welcome if the moderator desires and asks for them, but usually they have all occurred to him during the course of the discussion and he prefers to contemplate his notes before he decides on the disciplines and restrictions needed. Weariness and impracticalities nearly always surface without the help of the ubiquitous “no” sayers. This method has been adopted by many groups, and I have never heard of it failing where these simple rules were observed.
III. THE STORYBOARD There was never a script at Warner Bros. All stories we developed on rough storyboards. Approximately 150 rough story sketches and rough dialogue were needed for a six-minute cartoon (540 film feet: 1½ feet or 24 frames equals one second). The writer—in my case, Mike Maltese—had five weeks, working with the director, to outline in sketches a six-minute cartoon storyboard.
After the board is completed, another story session is held, but this is brief and to the point, to see if there are any obvious errors in structure, dialogue, or character. The storyboard is then turned over to the director.
IV. DIRECTION The story as it will eventually appear on the screen is now less than half done. We are at the point where the live-action director, script in hand, would step onto the sound stage, but unlike the live-action director, the animation director cannot tell his actors what to do—whips or gentle persuasion are equally useless when dealing with drawings.
Background men are a separate breed: Paul Julian, 1942
A. Character and Background Layout. The director now draws about 300 key poses or character layouts for each six-minute cartoon. This is not animation; the drawings are a guide to facial expression, posture, size, physical and mental attitudes, and relations to one another. At the same time he is staging the characters
