Suzanne Robertson
05-22-2011, 04:53 PM
There were seventeen of us that worked weekends in my garage and days at the studio. We were passionate and naive enough to think that anything was possible. There was a sense of freedom and pride in our work. Banjo had become an expression of how we felt about the art of animation. We were giving it our all.
At the studio Pete’s Dragon was in production using a combination of live action and animation. I was surprised to be called in to Woolie’s office.
“Don,” he said, “we would like you to direct the animation in this feature. You knew this was coming and now is your chance. When you go out on that soundstage with all those people make sure that the shots leave room to draw the dragon.”
This was very exciting. I was the director and I would be working with the same young animators who were spending so much time at my house. I thought,
“Wow, we can use all the things we’ve been learning over the past four years.”
Pete’s Dragon led me to work with Ken Andersen, who was an institution at Disney’s. He designed the dragon and it was his job to mentor me and make sure I made correct decisions as the director. It was a wonderful experience. We had to give up our weekends in the garage to work at the studio and push for the release date. Then Card Walker decided he wanted to release it a month early. Now we not only worked weekends we worked earlier and later and faster, all without any extra compensation. We completed it on time but we were tired and grumpy. It felt like something was coming.
The Small One was our next short. There was a very small budget with no money allocated for the music. I ended up writing the title song myself and a number called, Get the Money in the Bank, which jabbed hard at the business element of the studio.
It came time to show Woolie the finished product. I was two rows behind him in the screening room. He silently watched all 26 minutes. When the light came on he turned around and looked directly at me.
“Well, what I just looked at was H and B inbetweened.”
Once again I had gone under the scalpel. Our work lacked sparkle in the animation, the story and the presentation. I was crushed.
I thought… “I don’t know how to put together a picture. All I know how to do is animate and according to Milt Kahl my animation isn’t even all that entertaining.”
All the way along I had mentors that would say, “Not yet…not there…you haven’t got it yet.”
As painful as that experience was it served as an epiphany. I was determined, at that point, that the next thing I worked on would NOT be just inbetweens. It would be entertainment.
As Fox and Hound was beginning production the man, who had previously looked at Banjo and suggested we make our own feature, actually came to me and said,
“Don, I'm here on behalf of Joel Greenberg, from Chicago. He is willing to put up 6.5 million dollars for you to make a feature film. He also wants you to finish Banjo and is giving you an additional $125,000. What is the movie that you would like to make?”
I went silent. I thought,
“Wow, the moment of truth has arrived. Do I stay and continued to work on Fox and Hound or do I walk away? Woolie was right there so confident that I was going to be the one to take his place. Do I betray him? Do I walk away from what he has been teaching me? How will he feel? How will John Lounsbury feel when I leave for the second time? How ungrateful I would be to just walk out after all that these people have given me.”
Then I remember thinking… “It’s about the dream, Don…the dream from my youth. The dream, that at this point, seemed to be dissipating and crumbling. No one was preserving the classical art I loved.”
The studio was clueless. They didn’t want to look at Banjo or even give us critique. Now suddenly we had a chance to go out there and make a picture like we knew it should be done.
Then a word came into my mind… COMPETE. I laughed right out loud. Compete? That had never been a thought in my head. I’ve always been a lover of the Disney Studio, very loyal and faithful.
My next thought… “If you do compete maybe it will cause them to reclaim the beauty that Walt had envisioned. Maybe it would be a good thing even though I knew it wasn’t going to be popular or easy.”
The group of us who had been working on Banjo met at my house. The decision was made. We were going to leave and we were going to make a full length animated feature film, The Secret of Nimh. Now the responsibility for all these people’s incomes and families fell on my shoulders and it was heavy. Leaving the studio was like getting off of the Queen Mary and rowing away in a dingy.
This is insane!
Bolstering each other's courage we moved forward. On September 13, 1979 (my birthday) Gary Goldman, John Pomeroy and I walked into Ed Hansen’s office. We each had a letter in our hand. He looked up at us and I saw him turn white.
“What are those envelopes?”
“Ed we’re resigning. We’re going out to make a feature film on our own. We have funding for it and we’re tendering our resignations.”
He stared at us in silence for a long time. We handed him the envelopes.
He asked, “How many more are leaving?”
“We don’t know.”
We left his office, gathered our things, and drove off the lot for the last time. Fourteen other people gave Ed similar letters. It caused an enormous wave at the studio. They were furious with us.
I hadn’t talked to John or Woolie but I knew they were very disappointed in me. Some of my earliest memories were of admiration for Disney and now it felt like I was betraying a hero. I knew I was turning a page. I wanted to return to what I loved so much about the art and be true to my dreams.
I was hoping Walt would understand.
Suzanne
At the studio Pete’s Dragon was in production using a combination of live action and animation. I was surprised to be called in to Woolie’s office.
“Don,” he said, “we would like you to direct the animation in this feature. You knew this was coming and now is your chance. When you go out on that soundstage with all those people make sure that the shots leave room to draw the dragon.”
This was very exciting. I was the director and I would be working with the same young animators who were spending so much time at my house. I thought,
“Wow, we can use all the things we’ve been learning over the past four years.”
Pete’s Dragon led me to work with Ken Andersen, who was an institution at Disney’s. He designed the dragon and it was his job to mentor me and make sure I made correct decisions as the director. It was a wonderful experience. We had to give up our weekends in the garage to work at the studio and push for the release date. Then Card Walker decided he wanted to release it a month early. Now we not only worked weekends we worked earlier and later and faster, all without any extra compensation. We completed it on time but we were tired and grumpy. It felt like something was coming.
The Small One was our next short. There was a very small budget with no money allocated for the music. I ended up writing the title song myself and a number called, Get the Money in the Bank, which jabbed hard at the business element of the studio.
It came time to show Woolie the finished product. I was two rows behind him in the screening room. He silently watched all 26 minutes. When the light came on he turned around and looked directly at me.
“Well, what I just looked at was H and B inbetweened.”
Once again I had gone under the scalpel. Our work lacked sparkle in the animation, the story and the presentation. I was crushed.
I thought… “I don’t know how to put together a picture. All I know how to do is animate and according to Milt Kahl my animation isn’t even all that entertaining.”
All the way along I had mentors that would say, “Not yet…not there…you haven’t got it yet.”
As painful as that experience was it served as an epiphany. I was determined, at that point, that the next thing I worked on would NOT be just inbetweens. It would be entertainment.
As Fox and Hound was beginning production the man, who had previously looked at Banjo and suggested we make our own feature, actually came to me and said,
“Don, I'm here on behalf of Joel Greenberg, from Chicago. He is willing to put up 6.5 million dollars for you to make a feature film. He also wants you to finish Banjo and is giving you an additional $125,000. What is the movie that you would like to make?”
I went silent. I thought,
“Wow, the moment of truth has arrived. Do I stay and continued to work on Fox and Hound or do I walk away? Woolie was right there so confident that I was going to be the one to take his place. Do I betray him? Do I walk away from what he has been teaching me? How will he feel? How will John Lounsbury feel when I leave for the second time? How ungrateful I would be to just walk out after all that these people have given me.”
Then I remember thinking… “It’s about the dream, Don…the dream from my youth. The dream, that at this point, seemed to be dissipating and crumbling. No one was preserving the classical art I loved.”
The studio was clueless. They didn’t want to look at Banjo or even give us critique. Now suddenly we had a chance to go out there and make a picture like we knew it should be done.
Then a word came into my mind… COMPETE. I laughed right out loud. Compete? That had never been a thought in my head. I’ve always been a lover of the Disney Studio, very loyal and faithful.
My next thought… “If you do compete maybe it will cause them to reclaim the beauty that Walt had envisioned. Maybe it would be a good thing even though I knew it wasn’t going to be popular or easy.”
The group of us who had been working on Banjo met at my house. The decision was made. We were going to leave and we were going to make a full length animated feature film, The Secret of Nimh. Now the responsibility for all these people’s incomes and families fell on my shoulders and it was heavy. Leaving the studio was like getting off of the Queen Mary and rowing away in a dingy.
This is insane!
Bolstering each other's courage we moved forward. On September 13, 1979 (my birthday) Gary Goldman, John Pomeroy and I walked into Ed Hansen’s office. We each had a letter in our hand. He looked up at us and I saw him turn white.
“What are those envelopes?”
“Ed we’re resigning. We’re going out to make a feature film on our own. We have funding for it and we’re tendering our resignations.”
He stared at us in silence for a long time. We handed him the envelopes.
He asked, “How many more are leaving?”
“We don’t know.”
We left his office, gathered our things, and drove off the lot for the last time. Fourteen other people gave Ed similar letters. It caused an enormous wave at the studio. They were furious with us.
I hadn’t talked to John or Woolie but I knew they were very disappointed in me. Some of my earliest memories were of admiration for Disney and now it felt like I was betraying a hero. I knew I was turning a page. I wanted to return to what I loved so much about the art and be true to my dreams.
I was hoping Walt would understand.
Suzanne