"The Incredibles" Scene Dissection - Dash on Water

The Incredibles is one of those movies that’s always playing on ABC family, and for good reason too: it’s a damn good movie. 

Story-wise, it’s a darker brand in the Pixar filmography, penned by none other than Brad Bird (The Iron Giant, Ratatouille); technical-wise, the film couldn’t be a better demonstration of framing and directing action sequences. Bird not only utilizes animation’s capacity to rise above physical limits of live-action films, but also creates dynamic sequences by switching up angles and points of focus. One of my favorite scenes in The Incredibles demonstrates all of these characteristics plus a little extra – an excellent use of the natural environment. 

It happens that Dash and his sister Violet have been spotted by soldiers on a private island, and both split up they are pursued by said soldiers who are ordered to either take them in alive or dead. As his name implies, Dash can run at superspeed, which lends him an extra boost when he finds himself confronted with a body of water and rock formations. 

For numerous reasons I’ll explain below, this scene (click here for the video link) nicely executes aspects of action optimal for a animation and a natural environment: 

We start off with a reaction shot of Dash…

…and a quick camera cut reveals that there’s a body of water approaching…

He braces himself …

…still bracing himself…

…until it’s revealed that hey – apparently having superspeed enables you to run on water. 

Physics aside, this newfound discovery for Dash has comedic timing that sets off the chase scene upon the body of water. We know now his basic running abilities on water: now it’s time to see how he can really use the environment to its full potential…

(frankly, I’d be pretty stoked too if I found myself capable of running on water)

Here we begin with a aerial shot of Dash, which puts his position (as well as his pursuers) in context with the natural environment. It’s a perfect establishment shot, followed shortly by a tracking shot that zooms up towards the characters…

… to include the pursuers, as well as give the viewer another establishing shot of the natural environment from a different angle (a semi-horizontal position with a semi-dutch angle, in this case)

For a split moment, we get a close up of the pursuers tracking Dash (almost analogously to how the camera tracks Dash and the pursuers from an aerial shot only a few seconds earlier)

Here, the camera really establishes where Dash and his pursuers are in relation to one another: 

Dash in the front…

… and the pursuers in the back. We see here the pursuers opening fire (presumably after they’ve “locked” his position with their tracker): 

The camera changes angles from a front/back POV to a quarter/semi-profile view of Dash and his pursuers. It’s a excellent choice because again, it puts Dash and the soldiers in relationship to their environment and its elements. We see clearly the trail of water behind Dash as he runs full speed…

… and additionally how the soldiers/plane-thing explodes when they cannot avoid the magnificent, natural rock formations upon the water. This really establishes the elemental force of the environment’s characteristics, that it is not simply an area that action can take place: effectively, Dash and the soldiers are very actively interacting with the environment, as the trail of water and the impact upon the rock imply. 

The camera switches back to the front/back POV, and this time what’s emphasized is the bullets hitting the water as the squad fires upon Dash: 

These cuts and frames demonstrate a great use of the natural environment, again establishing that the characters on screen are very much apart of the environment they currently reside: bullets don’t simply go “puh puh puh puh!” and don’t leave a dent somewhere - they’re hitting the water, leaving a distinct trail of quick, vibrant splashes. Additionally, the quick cutting emphasizes how quickly everyone is maneuvering around the rocks: Dash sprints and uses the unique properties of water to propel himself and turn smoothly at sharp corners while the soldiers tilt their plane-things up and down, left and right (upside down?) so they don’t faceplant (explode) onto solidified sediment. 

Here, the camera becomes stationary and pans from the left to the right, again establishing Dash and the soldiers in relation to the rock-water environment, which is appropriate considering it leads up to the following: 

– the cave. For a moment here, we get a nice glimpse at what the soldier on screen (dubbed soldier A for the purposes of this scene dissection) is possibly contemplating as he hesitates to follow Dash immediately into the cave, as we’ll see why soon…

A nice cut to a front POV of Dash, highlighted by the light of the cave opening behind him as the soldier pursues him. And while the tunnel-like constrictions of the cave could possibly make the action less dynamic, Bird demonstrates again why characters interacting with their immediate environment can make anything that more interesting, and especially in an action sequence: 

We see here that Dash runs up the cave walls above his lone pursuer…

… and see this again up-the-wall run again from a different POV. While it might be hard to see solely off the screenshots, Bird actually makes a subtle directing choice by not cutting the action real-time – the up-the-wall runs overlap one another, and thus makes the sequence that more cohesive overall.  

We see how the water splashes in relation to Dash’s movements again, which is nice detail that again establishes the dynamic relationship between the cave/water environment and the characters. 

Here’s a reaction shot of Dash as he looks behind him, pleased to have gotten away from the pursuer (and indeed, quite proud of his improv)

We have a momentary FPS-like shot of the cave opening…

… we get a glimpse at Dash’s reaction (“yay!”) …

… and then we see where soldier A went to …

… and Dash realizes he may be trapped (“CRAP-!!!”)

The scene switches to another stationary camera that pans left to right, then left again as it tracks Dash’s movements between the two pursuing soldiers: 

In a split moment, when he think’s he’s trapped, Bird pulls one last trick in the water-rock action sequence: 

Since we’ve been so enthralled by Dash’s ability to run on water and interact so dynamically with the immediate natural environment, for a few seconds the basic rules and physics of his animation don’t occur to us until he stops running entirely – and then the moment of re-realization happens (“oh yeah he has to keep running in order to stay on top of water…!”)

To finish off the action sequence, we get a nice underwater shot of the explosion above us. While it’s still Dash-centric, it’s a nice visual to see balls of fire above when looking up from below a watery surface (additionally, this is a PG movie, which means no lingering moments on explosions and death are allowed in order to get this rating). 

Above all, this entire sequence shines because of one, key thing: character and environment interaction. 

It might sound obvious, but it’s rather easy to completely overlook unique characteristics of the immediate environment the characters occupy during an action sequence. In the above screenshots above, Bird takes small moments to focus on how the characters affect the environment and vice versa, even choreographing clever moments that appropriate the natural realm such as the rock formation impact, Dash running up the cave wall and then sinking below the water after a momentary pause. 

The small details are what matter since they make the action sequence that more plausible and substantial: for less skillful execution of action sequences (such as this so-bad-it’s-hilarious clip from Undeafeatable) the characters interact so minimally and so obviously with their environment that it’s mind-numbingly uncreative: 

A meat hook? Really? You’ve got an entire warehouse of boxes and equipment and - honestly, the only time a character interacts with the environment is when he gets hooked on a hook? 

In a slaughterhouse, a meat hook is much, much too obvious. Conversely, a master of environment interaction is none other than Jackie Chan himself, who famously uses everything from chairs to class, to even shirts and tables and chopsticks – anything near him that he can use to fight someone, he’ll grab it and exhaust it of its use in any action sequence. 

While I wouldn’t say this scene from The Incredibles is Chan status, it demonstrates some immaculate and skillful work under Bird’s directing hand by virtue of the dynamic character-environment interaction throughout. And by all means, it’s makes the scene that more exciting as well! 

Recommended Reading/Links

• Bond vs. Chan: Jackie shows how it’s done - David Bordwell

• Chrono Trigger and Action Movie Philosophy – Freddie Wong productions

The Mythology of Neil Gaiman's "Coraline"

How can you walk away from something and then come towards it? 

If there was ever a modern narrative that truly captured the essence of classic fairy tales, Neil Gaiman’s Coraline is at the top of the list. 

Published in 2002 and adapted by esteemed animator and director Henry Selick in 2009, Coraline is a story that masterfully mixes elements of the Brothers Grimm, Lewis Carroll, and modern distinctions into a seamless, engaging story. Like Guillermo del Toro’s masterpiece Pan’s Labyrinth, which hauntingly and effectively mixed the forces of magical realism into the period of the Spanish civil war, Laika studio’s Coraline sews elements of intrigue, mystique, and unflinching horror into the American Northwest. Most striking of all is that the main character, Coraline, is not a typical American depiction of a young girl: she is feisty, spunky, sharp, restless, and astoundingly curious, yet still as emotionally vulnerable as anybody can relate to. This is a immaculately fleshed-out female protagonist, which is a rare gem in a majority films even in this day. 

Let’s start out with the plot: Coraline moves to the Pink Palace Apartments of Oregon with her parents, who are writers for a gardening magazine (ironically, neither of them seems particularly fond of getting muddy). Removed her from friends in Michigan, Coraline quickly becomes bored and disgruntled with her new, grey surroundings. And why shouldn’t she be? As a kid I had enough trouble being attentive if something wasn’t shiny enough; I can only imagine what it’s like to try and find something exciting in an environment where your neighbors include two retired (and slightly delusional) actresses, a extremely confident Russian acrobat who eats beets, samples cheeses, and trains mice, and a peer who gives you a doll that looks identically like you on your first day in town – well, to say the least it’s understandable how easily intrigued Coraline becomes when some kangaroo mice lead her into a mysterious doorway to another world, that of the Other Mother. 

There are three key characters in Coraline that highlight Gaiman’s mastery of classic and modern storytelling: Coraline’s real mother, the Cat, and the Other Mother. Each character represents a certain element of storytelling that I think is interesting from a narrative point of view, and that these elements – due to changing social interests, values and philosophies – have become something like Easter Eggs or hidden gems: you have to look a bit harder and a bit differently to appreciate them. 

 

Coraline’s real mother is a terrific example of a modern narrative element that Gaiman combines so seamlessly with classic narrative elements in Coraline. Unlike the Other Mother, Coraline’s real mother does not go from one emotional extreme to the other; while she is (justifiably) irritable, she does not outright smother or reprimand Coraline. Instead, she is a mixture of characteristics seen in the Grimm’s birth and stepmother characters: while stern upfront, she still very much cares about Coraline’s well being (though these nuances of emotions are, for the most part, a bit difficult to infer from at first; subsequent readings and viewings more clearly reveal a softer and more vulnerable side of Coraline’s real mother). Most interestingly is that everyone in Coraline’s household responds and listens primarily to Coraline’s mother, establishing the matriarchal norm within the three member household. This is exceptionally modern: the dynamic between Coraline’s mother and father is not of equal authority, but of female dominance (which is likely where Coraline derives her self-substaining, independent and non-Disney-princess antics from). Ironically, this very modern characteristic is also shared by the Grimms stepmother-like Other Mother, who reigns supreme in her constructed universe (as I’ll explain in a bit). 

The Cat is probably the most obvious narrative element of the three, as Lewis Carroll fans will instantly see a distant cousin of the smiling Cheshire Cat, the mysterious character that aids Coraline for motives unknown other than he dislikes the Other Mother and he simply feels like it. And that’s just it: in life, there are always those random encounters with those individuals who for truest intentions unbeknownst to us, simply act in goodwill; there isn’t so much an explanation for it than at that moment in time, at that exact spot and proximity, they simply did what they did, and nothing more. In the Cat’s case, he simply assists because presumably, it’s just another deal in the day for him (it just so happens that he’s also not particularly fond of the Other Mother, though we can safely assume they’ve got quite a history of antagonism with one another). The Cat is also odd in his own sense, but not entirely unique foam other characters that randomly assist the main protagonist of a story: he takes full pride in his status as cat, believing that humans are a subservient species; the mere fact that he’s graciously taken some of his time to even converse with Coraline is, to him, a great act of beneficiary benevolence, and that he invariably knows something more than what he’s already revealed to Coraline and us. This is rather similar to other characters in classic stories that seem to randomly assist the main protagonist in their quest: the Cheshire Cat always spoke in cheerful riddles, coming and going as he very well pleased; and for many gamers, the assistant character somehow always knows what to do next for no other reason than to help us out (Though Navi’s “Hey Listen!” would drive anyone up the wall). I will say this – that Gaiman’s (and subsequently Selick’s) description and depiction of the Cat is one of the best interpretations of felines I’ve read and watched in quite some time (though I think it’s hard for any cat to beat the international appeal of ol’ Maru). 

The Other Mother represents an even more classic archetype in the vein of fairy tales – that of the rageful stepmother. While she isn’t Coraline’s stepmother persay, the Other Mother definitely possesses characteristics of stepmothers reminiscent of the Brother Grimm from a mythological point of view.

As I’ve mentioned before in a previous analysis, the Brother Grimms actually changed a lot of the original stories they collected to appeal to a wider audience. One of the biggest changes was the inclusion of the evil stepmothers in the second edition which, for the most part, did not exist in the original first edition. They made these changes because originally, the acts of many evil stepmothers were originally the actions of the birth mothers; however, because it was so disturbing they amended this detail in later editions. Scholars have analyzed the evil stepmother motif as a symbol of a psychological fear inherent to every child: that because we rely so heavily on the comfort and love of our mothers as children (while the father is typically the more disciplinary figure), we often harvest a in-the-back-of-the-head fear that for reasons unknown to us, she could change 180º in temperament and unleash absolute frustration and rage upon us. 

Given the historical context of the Brothers Grimm, it’s interesting to see that the Other Mother encompasses both the characteristics of the loving and wrathful maternal figure. In the beginning she is welcoming, warm, and inviting (almost too inviting, to say the least; it’s fortunate that Coraline is at least intuitive enough to pick up on something that’s wrong even after being awed by the pleasures of the Other World); however, once Coraline rejects her requests and desires, the Other Mother instantly changes in temperament, becoming cruel and sadistic. The black widow thematic is quite obvious, especially for those who’ve seen the movie and Selick’s masterful aesthetic in animation: like Pleasure Island of Pinocchio, the Other Mother entices her victims in with promises of desire, fun and pleasure, and when they fall her trap – bam! slam and shut, game over. More interesting though is what the Other Mother (and simultaneously Coraline’s real mother) present as a form of female empowerment: in both worlds – the real and Other – the maternal figures are the authority figures. In a strange sense, Gaiman’s story is one of female empowerment, of matriarchal status quo, of nonconformist girls, and of feminism rarely seen in many modern narratives.

I’ve talked before about why Coraline is such a exceptional female character in modern narrative (especially the male-dominated world of film) and why the story is so progressive in this respect. More unique and less noticeable, I believe, is the classic and modern mythological elements of Neil Gaiman’s fanciful and quixotic story. My biggest disappointment is that the Academy Awards didn’t recognize the technical and narrative originality of the stop-motion animated film, instead going for safer grounds with the happier, more light-hearted and less complex film of well-established Pixar’s Up. That’s just how it goes I guess; still, the politics of it all will never detract away my admiration for the fairy tale, thematics and filmmaking mastery of Coraline. 

*Note: apologies for the very belated post. I became progressively more and more sick after Tuesday and was unable to write in time for Thursday since I wasn’t quite in the right state of mind. Presumably this would explain why this analysis is a lot shorter than I intended it to be. To be sure, though, Coraline will likely show up again in future articles, so hope prevails!

Pixar – Its Legacy and Current State

I’ve been observing Pixar since 1995 when they released their first full-length film, Toy Story. I remember staring in awe at the movie screen, amazed by the characters and colors and comedy-drama that was a seamless, nonstop adventure. It was unprecedented, seeing this computerized style of animation: I’d gotten so use to Disney traditions of cell shading and musical numbers that to seeing Woody and Buzz bicker like a old married couple was an a fresh breath of air into my world of movies. 

Fifteen years later and I’ve seen Pixar progress from a studio that once rented a small rented complex in Point Richmond with half-built cubicles to the sleek, Apple-esque building commissioned by none other than Steve Jobs. I’ve seen the studio transition from A Bug’s Life to Monster’s, Inc. and missed seeing Finding Nemo in theaters (one of my biggest regrets). I’ve seen them tread lighter tides  in Cars to darker ones in The Incredibles. I’ve read and seen how Pixar and Disney’s relation strained and reconciled after Eisner’s handling of the studio’s creative assets essentially violated the artist’s code of honor. I’ve seen Brad Bird and Michael Arndt and, more recently, Gary Rydstrom and Brenda Chapman, join the Pixar Brain Trust which includes John Lasseter, Bob Peterson, Lee Unkrich, Pete Docter, and my favorite of all Andrew Stanton. One of my best friend’s brother works there as a computer programmer, and she’s been able to tour the studio and attend the San Francisco premiere of Wall•E in 2008, which was arguably the height of Pixar’s Golden originals, the last of the stories the original brain trust of Stanton, Lasseter, Docter and the late Joe Ranft brainstormed in 1994 at Hidden City Cafe, Point Richmond. 

Since Wall•E I’ve begun to observe Pixar’s current progression – their projects, their business dealings, their press, their critical reception – and, based on blogs (primarily The Pixar Blog), newspaper articles and interviews of animators, directors, and producers, I’ve noticed something: it’s possible that Pixar might be in creative limbo post-Wall•E. 

By creative limbo, I’m not talking about mediocrity; I’m speaking specifically about how their stories are constructed and what they thematically explore. Wall•E, The Incredibles and Ratatouille arguably present some of the more mature and adult thematics than their counterparts, which are inevitably appealing to general movie goers for their childhood charm and loving craftsmanship. 

Now with their two recent releases post-Hidden Cafe meeting, Up last year and Toy Story 3 this year, I’m beginning to see a certain pattern in their storytelling:

• Including Wall•E, Up and Toy Story 3 all present some serious thematics that are usually unexplored in stories that appeal to children (and in Pixar’s case, to adults as well). These themes include a dystopia resulting from destructive consumerism, the emotional pull of love and how death severs its reciprocation, and the difficulty of transitioning from an adolescent high schooler to a young college adult (as well as what it feels like to not change so much while everything else around changes – from the toys’ perspective, at least). 
• To not distraught viewers too much, Pixar writers pad out a secondary story in conjunction with the main thematic. This secondary story is usually less serious, more fun and more adventure-oriented; in a sense, it’s “fluff,” but it’s so well done that for the most part people don’t really care. The best example would be the Sunnyside portion of Toy Story 3, where the secondary story revolved around Woody and the gang breaking out of the dystopian daycare. This secondary story is easily stand alone from the more emotional and overarching thematic, which is Andy’s transition period from teenage adolescence to college life, and how he, Woody and the toys cope with their memories of one another and how things have changed since then. 
• However some viewers and critics have noted or been affected by the discrepancy in tone between the main thematics and secondary stories; for instance, Stephanie Zacharek disliked the second half of Wall•E because it was significantly less thematic and more “cartoon-y” than the first half; Roger Ebert felt that the toys in Toy Story 3 would be overwhelmingly traumatized by the ordeal they went through during the secondary story that was fleshed out during the middle arc; I personally think the opening of Up was pure brilliance, and right after the marriage montage ended the secondary story took over the rest of the movie, from the cute Korean-American kid Russell to dutiful Dug to Kevin the girl. 

Pixar’s writing team has demonstrated in their three most recent films a interesting pattern of narration. Like Disney’s The Lion King, these three films – Wall•E, Up, and Toy Story 3 – pushed into more mature realms than most other Pixar films. Now it could easily be said that Brad Bird’s The Incredibles and Ratatouille also explored more mature themes as well, but the difference is that Bird’s films are allegorical – the former on social acceptability (with a subtext about adultery that Bird copped out on at the end) and the latter on criticism – and are, in a sense, narratively, emotionally and thematically seamless, while these three more recent films are, to an extent, inconsistent regarding these three characteristics. Like The Lion King, which intensely hailed of Hamlet’s drama up until the point of Hakuna Matata, Wall•E, Up and Toy Story 3 begin digging into exceptionally difficult themes but shy away just enough to make room for a secondary story that invariably pulls audiences in, though to varying degrees. For instance: 

• Wall•E suffers from the differing tone between the first and second of the film, the difference solely being location – abandoned earth during the first, the AXIOM during the second. The Simpson’s-esque slapstick humor of the AXIOM contrasted sharply with the quieter moments of Wall•E and EVE together on earth (though to be fair, it’s always funny to poke fun at OCD germaphobes). 
• Up emotionally enraptures from its opening sequence until Eli’s death, which was one of the saddest death scenes I’ve seen in awhile. However, Carl’s road to emotional recovery is overshadowed by an adventure filled with cute (but alas, unnecessary) side characters that are cheerful and bubbly and everything the audience wants after something devastating. 
• Toy Story 3 tackles some of the least explored and most difficult thematics – the transition from childhood, feeling significant even though things have changed, and holding onto the memories that bind us all. However, the middle arc – which is exciting, thrilling and hilarious – by virtue of its length, muffled out some of the weight and emotional complexity of the main thematic, leaving some viewers (most who were not familiar with or were never attached to the original two movies and characters) feeling emotionally hollow by the time the credits rolled. 

Make no mistake – in no way do I think any of these mentioned films are bad (in fact, Wall•E happens to be on my list of personal favorites). They are entertaining, smart, moving, and lovingly crafted, which is a big deal given how so many productions – live and animated – fall through due to creative differences and other extenuating circumstances that could stretch out over a mile in qualms and complaints. 

Pixar is a superb animation studio, no doubt about that. They’ve always had the benefit of not following in Walt Disney’s footsteps: instead of relying on the same musical number format and adaptations of other stories (“distillations,” some might say), Pixar sprinted out with original stories and never depended on Alan Menken broadway sashays (though Randy Newman has been on board for a lot of Pixar films; I’m glad Michael Giacchino and Thomas Newman are also Pixar veterans in lieu of ol’ Randy singing about). And for awhile, besides the Toy Story franchise, Pixar avoided penning sequels that, to us embittered fans, echoed too resiliently of Michael Eisner’s infamous direct-to-video sequel reign and more recently, Dreamwork’s extension of the Shrek franchise (the first film was brilliant, but its successors effectively shut me off from being emotionally engaged with Shrek and Donkey and Fiona again). However, after hearing that Pixar is in production for Cars 2 and Monsters, Inc. 2, and even possibly looking at Finding Nemo 2 and 3 after a original story, Newt, was effectively shut down during production, I worry: is one of my favorite studios becoming too big too fast, and now too established to take more risks like before? 

I ask this because like any large, successful institution, there’s always an increasing pressure to take less risks since the stakes are higher – marketing, investors, employees, management, everything. When Pixar first started out in the little Point Richmond complex, they essentially had nothing to lose: the main focus was to write a great story and make a great movie, period. Fifteen years later and Pixar has essentially become a celebrity studio, ironically in the same vein of Disney animation; there are thousands of fans, and I assume there’s much more bureaucracy to be dealt with when getting a project greenlit. The safest bet is always to start from a established narrative that was successful, as there will always be fans of the original story who want to see another adventure in the same universe fleshed out. 

Maybe I’m worrying too much. Pixar may very well still be in its Golden age of originality, and at this very moment are concocting up a savory dish of films that I’m sure we’ll all love. Regardless, I think it’s important and interesting to consider where they currently are as a studio, and to see whether or not they continue creating films that are universally appealing or begin entering more mature grounds like The Iron Giant, Princess Mononoke or even Akira. Obviously imagining Pixar making a film as dark and adult as Akira is pushing it a bit, but it’s still an interesting gradient to consider – that is, how much more “mature” are they willing to push, and will they push for it without fluff? 

I guess we’ll just have to wait and see. Here’s hoping for some more Pixarian quality, which I’m sure I won’t be disappointed by lack thereof. 

Additional Links/Readings

• Wall•E trailer released on 2007 – Shows a nice montage of how the original Pixar Brain Trust met at Hidden City Cafe and brainstormed out all their movies from A Bug’s Life to Wall•E. 

• Pixar Canada – a nice article about Pixar’s expansion to Vancouver, Canada. 

• Monkey Shines: Meet the Breakout Star of Toy Story 3 – a New York Times interview with a character from Lee Unkrich’s directorial debut (warning: it is awesome)