Getting Personal - Stop Motion: Passion, Process and Performance - page 73

Although I strutted around a rehearsal room in expensive leotards, a certain chunkiness of
thigh and lack of rhythm cut short any thoughts of being a dancer, but I wanted to know
about dance and how the body could be used to tell stories. That was it, telling stories. How
others told stories with the elements of music, voice, movement and design kept me hooked
at university. I confess to i nding most theory hard, emotionless, and removed from actual
experience and practice. The reality of the business is very dif erent. I work through instinct,
research and, hopefully, acute observation. Anything I did live lacked precision and control,
which could be my strengths with animation. It's ironic that I crave the adrenaline and
unpredictability of a live performance, but animation gives you the chance to think and control
every detail of your performance. If there was something half way, that would be perfect.
Nor was I good at critique. I wasn't eloquent enough to describe Goethe's romantic symbolism.
Even my i nal thesis about 'Gilbert and Sullivan in performance today' was no more than an
attack on amateur societies producing pale carbon-copies of dry D'Oyly Carte performance.
I didn't have anything new or profound to say, but I began to realise that what little I might
have could be said in an interesting way, from a dif erent perspective, and that's been my
mantra since. Stop motion gives me licence for this. I've never followed a crowd and have
always thought for myself, maybe even being deliberately contrary.
I left university not equipped to be an actor, but with a rampant passion for all things
performance based. Work as an assistant stage manager fed some of this hunger. I liked the
camaraderie and, surprisingly, the routine built around the nightly show. Usually responsible
for the props, I would get fussy, making sure each prop said something about the scene or the
character. I'm still indulging this fussiness in stop motion. Being onstage in tiny parts I studied
the more seasoned actors, envious their ease of performances. I watched particularly to see
whether the eyes betrayed any lack of focus. This need to be part of a performance wouldn't
go away, and with my i rst wage in the theatre I brought a camera capable of single frames.
I wasn't sure where this was going, but I warmed to the idea of tricks. After the performance
I would play with this camera, not aware of its potential, or of the signii cance of living in
Chorlton cum Hardy, a suburb of Manchester, where Cosgrove Hall is still based, and that they
were i lming Chorlton and the Wheelies.
What sort of training, experience and advice helped get you started? Do
you subscribe to any theories of animation, or do you animate by instinct?
JD - I animate with a combination of instinct and analysis. Art Clokey, although I annoyed him with my
desire for technical improvement, was generous in giving me training in the principles of kinetic staging
and editing (his personal passion).
TB - My wonderful parents, Portia and Jack Brierton, were my fi rst major source of encouragement.
Though I was doing something quite different to your average teen (sports and girl-chasing), they were
intrigued I was doing something that I loved. I'm forever grateful for their love and encouragement and
will never forget it. Ray Harryhausen sent me a nice letter when I was sixteen, and I still have it framed
and on my living room wall. Naturally, that letter has been inspirational. I took many art and music
classes, believing music and animation are blood brothers, because they share many things, such as
phrasing, timing, pause, drama, rhythm, progression, and so on.