Norman McLaren.

It captured my imagination, but there was no way to learn much more about it. It remained a mystery to me until a fateful day in 1979, when I mustered up the courage to walk up to the door of his studio at the National Film Board, and knock. “Come in!” came a shaky voice from the back of the room. Shyly, I shuffled into Norman’s office/studio, and stood staring. It looked like a museum of old filmmaking and drafting equipment. McLaren was famous for not being interested in “new fangled” technology like the flatbed film editing machines of the day known as Steenbecks. McLaren stuck with his trusty old green Moviola for his entire career. His room was cluttered with strange objects, and piles of paper and books. It was wonderful!

He bade me come in, and asked how he might be of service. I told him outright that I was just fascinated with the work he had done drawing sound waves on cards and shooting and exposing them onto the optical film track. “Ah yes!” he exclaimed, “Let me show you!” He began frenetically foraging through filing cabinets, and shortly produced several large manila folders, brimming with notes and drawings and the original sound drawings on cards! “Take a look through these,” he said, “perhaps you’ll find something that interests you.”

Well, I’ll say it was interesting! It was all there, all the notes he had ever written on the topic. He said I should feel free to make copies of anything I would like to have. And then he offered to give me a little demonstration of how it works! Quickly he threaded a strip of unexposed film into his Moviola. Although he shook quite constantly, what he did next was just amazing. Focusing all his energy, he took a small scratching tool and made six precise little scratches on the optical track of the film.

One moment his hand would be trembling madly, and then he would deftly make these perfectly spaced little scores on the edge of the film. It was amazing how he could concentrate his energy. He then ran the film through the Moviola machine, and it made a little “blip” sound. “You hear that note?” he said. Then he made 12 little scratches, and ran it through again. Same “blip” note, one octave higher! He smiled mischievously, “And what do you think I would get if we made 18 little scratches?”

Perhaps I should have stayed with Norman a little longer that day. But I was only 21 years old, and extremely shy and nervous to be in the office of this living legend. I quickly ran off and made copies of his notes, and returned them to him. He was warm, friendly and smiled a great deal. I ducked out and scurried back to my work — heart pounding. It’s a testament to the nomadic nature of the animation business, that in the following years the notes that I copied that day, sadly did not survive with me.

I moved far too many times in the next two decades, and never hung on to my material possessions for very long at that point in my life. But I had been there, and rubbed shoulders with one of the truly great innovators and legends of our craft. God rest his beautiful soul. A far cry from the crusty old fart digging his whiskey out of a trashcan!

Now let’s fast forward to the early ‘80s, for a quick look at a unique “management” character, working on a major motion picture, somewhere in eastern Canada.

With her office down the hall from the coffee machine, door always opened to observe the comings and goings, watching, listening and observing every move by every artist and production worker on the sizable crew…. lived the Production Manager from hell. Nickname: The Dragon Lady. Unreadable. Intense, Focused. And dangerous. With a reputation for skinning people alive and firing artists quickly, without pity. Without hesitation. Show up at the coffee machine late, and you might get a “Hey you, so how are you this morning?” that could cut you right in half. Was she kidding? Were you about to get fired? Was that a smile? Or a sneer?

Seeing all, knowing all, the ultimate Production Manager from hell, tending to her errant flock. And then, late at night, the click, clack, click, clack of her high heels in the corridor, doing the rounds, watching, listening, checking. Never knew when she might come, so you always had to keep your head up! One night, at about 2:00 am, while I was doing clean up animation drawings, I felt a strange, menacing presence over my shoulder. Someone watching? I looked up nervously, to see her there behind me, arms folded across her chest, smirk on her face. “So this is how you get so much work done, eh?” she hissed. I looked up at her. She smiled. I smiled. We had a nervous laugh.