Sunday, September 20, 2009

Noah's Ark

During my sophomore year at NYU, I took a screenwriting class with the goal of writing the first thirty pages--or Act I--of a feature length script. At the time, I was also reading Billy Collins' poetry anthology, "180," which included a poem by C.S. Lewis (of "Narnia" fame) entitled, "The Late Passenger." It told the biblical story of Noah's Ark with a twist; one animal arrived too late to board: the unicorn. When it came time to brainstorm ideas for the screenplay, this idea was at the forefront of my mind. I wrote the story of why the unicorn was late, and "Avalloc and the Ark"--now a completed script--was born.

Of course, the story of the ark has been told on film for almost as long as the medium has existed. The earliest reference I have found is a 1906 animated version from the UK by Arthur Melbourne Cooper. Interestingly enough, in 1928, the ark featured as a parallel story line for a Great War film that included a performance by Myrna Loy, who later found fame alongside William Powell in "The Thin Man" series. The first Disney animation came in the form of a "Silly Symphony" cartoon (1933), and was revisited in "Fantasia 2000" to the accompaniment of "Pomp and Circumstance," shown here. It's a fun clip. You might recognize several of the animals from previous Disney films, including ostriches from the original "Fantasia" (1940), skunks from "Bambi" (1942), elephants from "The Jungle Book" (1967), and an opening that strongly resonates with "The Lion King (1994).

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Notice the dragon, unicorn, and phoenix around the 2:22 mark? Similar idea to Lewis. My approach, however, was not that the mythical creatures scoffed at the idea of boarding the ark. Rather, they were impeded from doing so...[dun dun dun!] Like this short, my story was also told from the animals' point of view, which is apparently the plan for a 2010 CG film version. While my initial response to this news was devastation that someone has beaten me to the punch, the $35 million budget ("UP" was made for $129M, to give you some comparison) and vocal talent of Rob Schneider assures me that there may still be room for my vision in the future.

In any event, I include all of this to give some contexts for my final project for DPP, which is to be a high-definition DVD lasting 30 seconds. My chosen theme, of course, is Noah's Ark. With this in mind, I have been asked to come up with three proposed styles. Thus, the .jpegs seen here:

Judaica


Watercolors


Stained Glass

Saturday, September 19, 2009

So what is a pixel?

Might as well start at the beginning. Luckily, my professor for "Digital Production Process" (DPP) thinks so, too.

A pixel, derived from "picture element" (a quasi-portmanteau), is the smallest unit that comprises a digital image. If you were to take a photograph and lay a sheet of grid paper over it, each square would be a pixel--although your photograph wouldn't look so great in a computer. That's because computers run on binary code (0 and 1), where 0=off and 1=on, so your pixel would either be black or white. To get around these 2 options, we then break down each option into two again (0, 1), and again, and so on, creating shades of gray until we reach 2^8 power, or 256 shades. At 256, the human eye can no longer distinguish between each shade, so the progression from black to white looks like a continuous scale. This is the minimum for the illusion, also called 8-bit graphics, which progresses upwards to 16-bit, 32-bit, etc. The higher you go, the better the quality of the image. The same holds true for the number of pixels in an image: the number of pixels across by the number of pixels high equals the image resolution. We see these kinds of numbers when purchasing digital cameras or adjusting our computer monitor resolutions; my computer is set at 1200 x 800 pixels and 32-bits.

Fun fact: The story goes that the Pixar name is yet another portmanteau for "pixel art." This is, however, untrue. Here is the version I was given by Alvy Ray Smith, who co-founded the company and whom I interviewed for my "Rat" thesis:

"
I grew up in New Mexico with Spanish all around. The verb infinitive in Spanish ends in '-er,' '-ir,' or '-ar.' I proposed to Rodney Stock and Loren Carpenter and Jim Blinn one day over burgers that we name our new digital optical printer with a name that, like 'laser,' was a noun that looked like a Spanish verb. I proposed 'pixer' as in, 'to make pictures.' Loren, or perhaps Rodney (Loren says it was he), said that the word 'radar' was very high-tech sounding, so what about spelling it 'pixar.' I immediately agreed because that is another Spanish word form...So the name of our device became the Pixar (or Pixar Image Computer). When we were looking for a company name, we just couldn't decide on one...We were called simply the Computer Division at Lucasfilm because we could never decide on a sexy name like 'Industrial Light & Magic.'...Finally, in desperation because we needed a name for our company documents, I said, "Well, the word 'Pixar' is now associated with us, so why don't we call the company that?' Everyone groaned, but said unenthusiastically, "Welllll, okkkkkk" [sic]. So I can justly claim that I named the company, but as you can tell it was not greeted with rousing cheers at the time."

Friday, September 11, 2009

The Proverbial New Leaf

Welcome to my new coping mechanism, because I have no idea what I just got myself into.

Once upon a time, I regarded blogging as an act of self-indulgence and mild desperation: the keeping of a public diary designed to elicit pity and sympathy, a place where like minds could commiserate anonymously in cyberspace.

But no more. I get it. Even more amazing? "Julie and Julia" had nothing to do with it.

In brief, I have spent the last year turning in circles, twiddling my thumbs, and pondering existential questions such as: "What is the meaning of life?"; "Why did the worst recession since the '30s have to coincide with my graduation?"; etc. etc. I graduated from NYU with a BA in English and Cinema Studies; I went to work answering phones at a cancer hospital 5 months later. It's an amazing institution--if you aspire to work in health care. However, if you spend your last semester of undergraduate life writing a thesis on Pixar's "Ratatouille," the transition to answering call bells for dying patients can be a bit jarring.

Needless to say, I was miserable. Also, I had Lauren (then stepmother-to-be, now legalized Wicked Stepmother) encouraging (badgering, nagging, etc...) me to go back to school and "learn a trade." First she tried law school. No way. Then she suggested journalism. Yes, I love writing, but I could care less about reporting. Lastly, she went for graphic design. Interesting, but...

I was hesitant. However, after multiple commutes home from NYC (stepmother also works at the hospital), the idea of graphic design began to stick. It also evolved beyond graphic design. We began speculating on how I, the person who wrote the "Ratatouille" thesis, could somehow make animation relevant to the hospital that I felt I didn't really belong in. And lo, there was the niche. Apart from its more obvious application to medical illustration, I could use animation for patient education--especially pediatrics.

I scouted out suitable programs. Despite my vow to never give them another penny for as long as I live, NYU had the most viable option: a Master's of Science (good selling point for those laboratory people trying to cure cancer) in something called Digital Imaging and Design, which specializes in 3D graphics and animation. I met with Admissions and determined that I would have about 3 months to put together a solid portfolio and enroll in the spring--if the hospital approved me for reimbursement ($10,000 per calendar year, but really more like $7500 since Bush decided to tax it. Thanks for that, Dubya).

I wrote up a proposal for work and steeled myself to defend it to the death. I imagined myself standing in a windowless room full of faceless people, trying to convince them that my education was worth the investment. What I didn't expect was to get a response, via email and without any form of interview whatever, in a matter of days that read: Good news. We will pay for this degree.

Did I mention that my work is an amazing institution?

Now I had 3 weeks, not 3 months, to put together that portfolio, because starting in the fall semester meant more money for me. I raided my 29878172310 photos from studying abroad for the most "artsy" captures. I feverishly sketched 11 characters from my feature length animated screenplay, "Avalloc," and designed the entire package around it. Miraculously, it was enough. I submitted my material on a Thursday. In an unexpected show of efficiency, NYU accepted me on Monday.

My first graduate classes are "Art, Technology, and Design," and "Digital Production Process," and I am increasingly aware of the fact that what I have essentially signed on for is digital filmmaking. I am also acutely aware of the fact that I have zero background in all of the technical applications that I am required to use; I believe that one other person, in a class of 14, also has no prior experience. I am also one of two to be working full time while enrolled. My professor has already stated categorically that he will not take it personally if we fall asleep in class.

"Digital Production" requires that we maintain a blog with NYU, which I have done. However, I don't find it a suitable outlet for venting frustrations and gushing over triumphs; the former will, I'm sure, crop up in spades during this semester and beyond. So I have started this one, giving it a title that I hope is apt. "How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Love the Pixel" exists to chronicle my journey into Firewire drives and 8-bit color schemes, and will contain everything I post to my academic blog and then some--including clips and articles that pertain to my great love for all things animated.

There are moments when I feel that I have gotten in over my head by enrolling in this program. But then, I also felt that I was in over my head when I began my employment with the hospital. The funny thing is, on this side of graduate school, I don't resent the last year as much as I thought I did. I worked a position that I never thought I could handle, in a high-stress environment, with people who were determined to push me over the edge--only I wouldn't go over. So I'm not afraid of what's in store for me in CADA (that's the Center for Advanced Digital Applications--my program's official title); in fact, I'll probably end up surprising myself. I suppose that isn't surprising at all then, is it?

Stay tuned.