The Strengths and Weaknesses of Animating Action - Yoshimichi Kameda

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I watched Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood from April 5th, 2009 to July 4th, 2010. It was a weekly ritual: every Sunday a new episode would be out, and since I’d read the original story beforehand I would practice my Japanese listening skills by watching episodes without subtitles the first time around (afterwards, I’d wait for an official subtitle version by Funimation to see what I’d missed). If there were a few things I looked for in each episode, they were directing, pacing, music selection, and animation quality. And if there was one animator that stood out the most, it had to be Yoshimichi Kameda. 

Kameda’s style is instantly distinct from the rest of the production’s animators for a few reasons: 

• Multiple angles/perspectives

• Generous use of close ups

• Frequently dutched/diagonal horizons

• Pencil-like line art in the finished animation

• Quick cuts that created a lot of dynamic within the scene

• Follow/tracking shots of movement (often paired with close ups)

Unsurprisingly, Kameda’s most noticeable work involves action sequences. In a video compilation, you can see why his style can be simultaneously enthralling and dizzying. Here are some screenshots of his work as seen in the linked video: 

Greed/Ling vs Wrath/Bradley

Alex Louis Armstrong

Original Greed

Envy disguised as Maes Hughes

Roy Mustang

Lust

Roy Mustang

Riza Hawkeye

Hobo man Scar

Jerso (sp?)

Envy vs Ed

Ling vs Envy

Ed, Envy, and Ling (left to right)

Roy Mustang blowing up Envy

Roy Mustang still blowing up Envy, with Riza Hawkeye in the foreground (right side of the screenshot)

The above screenshots are excellent examples of Kameda’s strength and weaknesses in animation, especially with regards to conveying action. I’ve talked before about framing a fight/action scene and how you could storyboard movement to create differing effects. With animation, you can push boundaries even more since your characters aren’t bogged down by the physics that govern live action actors. Because of this, animators like Kameda can experiment even more with close ups, tracking shots, dutch angles, skewed expressions, shaky cam, artistic renditions of the environment - anything you can come up with. 

However, there are moments when auteurs of animation may go too far with these kinds of experiments. Technical skill is one thing, but making sure what’s happening on screen is cohesive is another trick: if no one knows what’s going on for long periods of time, an animator’s attempt to be original may fall short of anything artistically effective. 

With Kameda, his greatest asset and problem is the use of tracking close ups (at multiple angles) but forgetting (or choosing not to) establish the horizon, respectively. This style creates a lot of visual movement, and is best when there’s at least some sort of establishing shot – even for a second – to put everything into context. One of Kameda’s best examples is the scene where Envy reveals his true form to Ed and Ling, as seen here (Kameda’s work ends at 1:30, and afterwards a different animator/director takes over): 

I like this particular sequence of Kameda’s because while there are a lot of close ups and movement happening on screen, there’s always something establishing the characters into context and location. In this case, Envy’s massive size puts Ed and Ling into context by default: when the camera tilts up from our heroes to Envy stretching himself after the transformation, we instantly get a feeling for how small both Ed and Ling are as compared to the massive homunculus. Also, in almost every scene there is a horizon established, if even for a second before the camera cuts away to different angle and occurring action. The horizon is defined by the sea of blood that all three characters stand upon, and since there are no walls or major objects in the background (and the “sky” is pitch black) Kameda can get away with multiple tracking/close ups because the viewer will see the horizon (sea) of blood somehow (the infinite sea of blood (“ground”) is like a physicist’s wet dream of infinite planes and infinite dimensions - an animator can pull almost anything and it’s unlikely the viewer will get disoriented during the entire action sequence). Kameda and the director do a nice of job of creating lots of camera movement with close ups, tracking shots and cutting while maintaining a sense of cohesion of the entire fight sequence. 

Conversely, Kameda’s excess use of close ups and tracking shots loses its edge when he forgets (or chooses not to) establish a distinct horizon within each cut, as seen here when Greed/Ling fights Wrath/Bradley in the Fuhrer’s office (the fight begins around 17 seconds, where I assume Kameda takes over): 

The main problem in this fight scene is that Kameda doesn’t establish the horizon very well in most of the cuts. The horizon is defined by the floor that Greed and Wrath walk/run upon, not by the walls or ceiling. When we don’t see the floor between multiple cuts, the grounded physicality of the two sparring characters seems less apparent (they could be floating on air and we wouldn’t even notice). This becomes problematic over longer periods of time (“time” as in seconds and number of cuts) because the viewer starts losing a sense of relativity with regards to the ground. Compared to the Envy vs. Ed and Ling scene, where the environment was immense and primarily defined by the sea of blood that all three characters stood upon, in this scene with Greed and Wrath the environment is much more detailed and constrained comparatively (the Fuhrer’s office is a defined room and space), so it’s even more important to establish a sense of horizon more frequently so the viewer doesn’t become disoriented. 

The few times that we actually do see the floor help reestablish what’s going on, but the part where it matters the most - when Wrath pins Greed on the floor - is the most lackluster of the entire sequence: there’s no unique angle, no dutch, no skewing – just a plain old linear horizon and framing that places both characters dead center – the hell hole of the Thirds Rule. 

If there’s one thing you should avoid almost entirely, it’s placing the characters dead center screen at a un-angled horizon during any climax of an action sequence, and especially in animation. With live action, you could possibly get away with this since the actors are always breathing and twitching and their clothes are always ruffling, regardless if they stand dead still; with animation (especially on lower/tight budgets) the artists can’t spend precious extra minutes drawing these characteristics, so the characters on screen will look especially flat and boring if you don’t frame or angle them in an interesting way. 

As a last reiteration, it is always the ground that defines the horizon – not the sky, not the ceiling, not the walls, not even a cat. To maintain any sense of cohesiveness during an action scene, establishing shots are a absolute must (without them, kiss your chances of cohesiveness good-bye) and are the most effective when you incorporate the horizon upon which the characters stand. Cuts, multiple angles and perspectives, tracking shots, and dutch angles are friendly tools you can use, but overusing them without establishing a horizon is cohesiveness suicide. 

Kameda does good work throughout the series, but he’s not without his faults and demonstrates some prime examples of the strengths and weaknesses when animating action and characters. His work is a great reference for any aspiring animator and for anyone looking for different ways to frame action sequences. To see the episodes of Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood, please visit the official Funimation website (or search Hulu or YouTube for full episodes as well). 

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Additional Links/Readings

Yoshimichi Kameda profile on Anime News Network – shows a list of credits that Kameda has worked on. 

Talented Up-and-Coming Animators: Yoshimichi Kameda – a more comprehensive overview of Kameda’s work and the notice he’s received in his career so far. 

The Grace and Horror of Eternal Life

I’m twelve. But I’ve been twelve for a long time. 

I recently watched “Let the Right One In,” a 2008 Swedish horror film that involves vampires. But this is not your typical vampire lore – not the like the classic “Nosferatu” nor the inexplicable cultural phenomena “Twilight” – for it has hints of despair and sweetness that are strangely nonsexual and exclusive to childhood. The girl, Eli, is a vampire perpetually trapped in the body of a 12-year-old girl; her companion, an older man named Håkan, is presumably her caretaker and harvests pints of blood for her (it is hinted that she does not enjoy a violent effort against her victims). 

She meets 12-year-old boy Oskar, and they form a friendship. What happens throughout the rest of the movie I will let you see for yourself. But what did come out of the viewing was this question: 

If you suddenly discovered you were able to live eternally (but not immortally) and essentially in the same form that you currently are that – if certain physical conditions were met – would not break down, what conditions would lead you to committing suicide or continue living on?

It must be reiterated that under such conditions you would not be immortal – that is, you would not die under normal human conditions but could perish by non-human conditions. For instance, if you suddenly became a vampire, you could theoretically live on forever if you stayed out of the sunlight, drank blood, and so on; failing to meet these non-human conditions will end if your peril and death. Let’s assume your new form is supernatural – not immortal, but not human. 

First there’s the religion aspect. I’m not here to discuss what’s right or wrong, but it’s an important consideration in this hypothetical situation. For instance, if someone who was raised in a religion that deems suicide immoral, if suddenly they find themselves a non-human with living conditions they find insufferable – what then? Does the morality of a human-based religion still apply to the individual? For the token, what if the now supernatural individual becomes shunned by the same religion they were raised up in? Arguably, if their supernatural form is considered blasphemous, the individual is now at a moral dilemma: kill themselves, and they go against the morality of the religion; stay alive, and they go against the acceptability of the same religion. Either way, if the conditions I’ve presented apply, hypothetically a supernatural person is doomed by virtue of the described religion they adhere to.  

Now assuming one’s prior religion does not establish any sort of stigma against suicide – if you were in a position to kill yourself after transforming into a supernatural individual, would you do it? This stems from one’s definition of life and the experiences prior to such a pivotal change. For instance, Eli was twelve years old when she turned into a vampire; with relatively little human life experience up until this point, we can assume that she chose to continue living as a vampire rather than offing herself early, and at the time we see her in “Let the Right One In” she has garnered enough years and experience as a vampire to be ok living as one, regardless of the conditions otherwise discomforting and inconvenient.

On the other hand, one of Eli’s failed victims, Virginia, turns into a vampire, and eventually manages to kill herself in the hospital by asking the residing doctor to let sunlight into the room. Contrasting to Eli’s time of transforming, Virginia’s point of change takes place at a much, much later time in her life where she has garnered enough experience and years to appreciate her life as a human, so to suddenly transform into a supernatural being – one who’s living conditions are strikingly different from the conditions of a human – accepting and coping with such terms is maddening. To live as a vampire would be to abandon her spouse and companions or risk killing them to sustain herself, and it’s a circumstance that drives her to commit suicide (arguably, it would have been much more merciful if Eli had killed Virginia to begin with, but alas how a meal ends interrupted). 

As a supernatural being, are you living with a particular purpose beyond sustaining yourself? Assuming the condition applies, this question boils down to distinguishing two types of supernatural beings: those who take the opportunity of their own existence to engage in some goal, and those who simply maintain their own existence. Presumably, most are more inclined to view the first type in the positive (unless their goals were destructive) and the second type in the negative (unless the self-maintenance does not infringe upon anyone). This also calls into question when one becomes indifferent to their supernatural existence: if they suddenly stopped having a purpose or desire to exist, where do they go from there? 

In second to the above question, are you living at the expense of others? This particular condition is tricky since it calls upon the ethics and guilt of one’s supernatural existence. For one, is it right for one to live off the life of others such as a vampire? Strictly from a biological point of view, yes – this is not unfair. Generally omnivores worldwide, we humans have killed animals to sustain ourselves, so a vampire preying on a human is no different from this practice. To restate, this is strictly a biological argument. The associated guilt and blasphemy of living off another being leaves to be determined by said supernatural individual: if the need to survive is great enough, supposedly this would overcome all barriers of guilt and consciousness. 

However, what if one’s lifespan has been increased by taking others’ lifespans for themselves? This a variation on the idea of one living at the expense of others, though it is a variation that I believe needs consideration since it cannot (or with great difficulty) be argued for from a traditional biological perspective. For instance, in “Fullmetal Alchemist” the main character’s father, Van Hohenheim, is a living philosophers stone: that is, he is able to (theoretically) live forever and accomplish amazing feats of alchemy at a devastating cost – his philosophers stone is derived from the half the souls of ancient civilization Xerxes with over a million individuals, a civilization that he grew up in. His existence is at the expense of his friends, comrades and beloved nation.

Now if the main story of Fullmetal did not exist (and it’s something I’m not going to reveal here for those interested in reading/watching), would it be more ethical for Hohenheim to continue on living and maintaining himself in hopes of discovery, research and possible reversion of the process, or is it best if he deplete his own stone and allow the souls of Xerxes to finally leave and rest in peace? In this case that does not apply to the actual story of Fullmetal, it depends on what greater good he chooses to serve and place his goals upon.  

Then there’s the living condition – is it insufferable or doable, and is the quality of life worth it? This comes down to what the individual wants and values. In asking people some questions I found that this aspect is considered the least, and only when I impressed upon them the idea did they usually reconsider their stance. For instance, I asked my mother what she thought about eternal life and found her to be enthusiastic about the prospect: from her perspective, it was an opportunity to continue learning infinite aspects of the universe, and though she would grieve at the lost of loved ones the idea of endless discovery was absolutely alluring.

When I inquired about hypothetical conditions that could potentially restrict her, she initially shrugged them off with a “I’ll just deal with them”; I then specified such conditions (eg. “What if you were like a vampire and could only go out at night… wouldn’t that would mean you’d be greatly restricted to access different institutions you’d like to look into?”) and pressed further about the quality of life that she could possibly experience as a supernatural. After using a very specific, particularly pessimistic example and condition my mum began reconsidering her position (for which she called me a bloody mood killer). 

It is inevitable that your loved ones will age and die while you, the supernatural individual, remain the same; psychologically, the stress can be immense and it is your judgement call if you’d be able to handle such. And it’s not just about losing family and friends – meeting new acquaintances, potential friends and lovers, initially heartwarming but inevitably leading to a shared despair – that the relationships you create and share are drastingly temporal since relative lifespans of people and yourself do not correlate: that is, though humans all die there is at least a finite sense shared between all relationships; a supernatural being who can live eternally does not share this same finite sense and is instead left to accept the cold truth as a observer – observers of our loved ones’ demise as their finite lives run out. There is a difference of relative time, and this leads to utter tragedy and despair. 

Herein lives another dilemma: if you had the ability to offer loved ones the same physical conditions you abide by – would you do it? More pressingly would they agree to such conditions? This dilemma assumes that you were ok with such conditions to begin with in offering others such an option. The implications, however, are dire: if the person you offer accepts, then that means you both will become observers of time, lonely companions till conditions arise that result in one or the others’ death but nonetheless you are both in the same boat; if the person you offer declines, that means they disagree with the conditions you live by, and by extension are openly judging you for who you are, what you are and how you live – in a sense, while they may not find your existence unacceptable they may find the conditions of your existence unacceptable. 

They leave. Because they should or because they find someone else. And some of them, some of them… forget me. 

…I suppose in the end, they break my heart.

Here is the most heartbreaking aspect: assuming you were unable to offer eternal life, what happens when you fall in love with somebody? You know full well that this person is mortal and that their time will run out and that you, a mere supernatural being, can do nothing to stop this process of time – so do you allow yourself to engage in these emotions or do you repress them? An additional angle is that if the person you love and who loves you back – if circumstances (besides the passage of time and aging) prevent them from being with you and there are elements that could force you both to be separated from one another – do you take this risk? Do you risk your own emotional stability by falling in love with the inevitability that it cannot be? Is the risk of eventual heartbreak enough to deter you from pursuing a simultaneously timeless and finite love? 

This last question is particular striking to me on a personal level. Philosophically, I believe in the temporality of everything, and while it is necessary to look to the past for learned lessons and to the future for dreams the most important thing that matters is what is happening here and now because in another instant here and now will have vanished and been replaced by another here and now. I make an effort to appreciate the smallest things, for when time has passed they are often the things I miss the most. The fact that I can still type quickly, breath good air, still have all my teeth, engage in physical activities, have all my appendages intact, can see, can breath, can eat – it’s amazing how easily I take things for granted, and it takes a conscious effort to break away from subconscious assumptions of permanence. 

So to fall in love despite the possibility of circumstance destroying such, that eventually all things die – is it worth it? 

Personally and paradoxically, yes. But for myself that’s all I can speak for as an ordinary human. Human or supernatural, finite or eternal life, to each their own.