Is Jimmy Neutron this decade's Felix the Cat? © 2001 Paramount Pictures and Viacom International Inc. All rights reserved (left) and © Felix the Cat Prods.

Those of you keeping up with scientific theory circa 1866 have no doubt noted the evolutionary musings of one Ernst Haeckel (1834-1919). Haeckel was the German biologist who originated "recapitulation theory," better known to modern-day students through the phrase "Ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny." This high-blown phrase simply means that, as the embryo of a given species develops, it re-enacts the entire evolutionary development of that same species. When Haeckel peered at human embryos during their early formation, he noted what appeared to be gill slits, and thus deducted that the human race once passed through a piscine stage and then went through subsequent reptilian and mammalian stages, eventually developing into the writer and readers of this month's column.

This theory has since devolved into fish food. Science has marched on, leaving poor Ernst Haeckel behind as a belated whipping boy for the creationist camp. Dr. Haeckel's theory may be a dead end in the biological sense, but it remains perfectly applicable in animation 140 years later. To be frank, the early years of CGI feature films have somehow replicated the early years of traditional animation and we can most readily see that in two areas. One is the progressive development of realism in animating the human figure. The other is the overwhelming preponderance of animal protagonists in animated works.

Animating people in a convincing manner had never been easy in the early days. That is not to say that humans and humanoids were completely absent from the scene; Winsor McCay produced some spectacular work featuring detailed, proportionally correct humans. Several studios endlessly animated Mutt and Jeff. Bobby Bumps, a young chap developed by Earl Hurd, was a rather sophisticated piece of work for the pre-1920s era. Figures that were more primitive also graced the first decades of American animation, such as Colonel Heeza Liar and Paul Terry's Farmer Alfalfa.

Still, humans were a tougher test for animators than animals were. Studios were mostly content to animate human caricatures with "rubber hose" limbs and faces to match. The mechanics of movement mattered little, anatomy less and gravity was used more for the purpose of gags than for the disposition of actual weight on a living human body. So it was as far back as 1915, when computers were yet the stuff of science fiction.

Max Fleischer was as much a technician as he was a filmmaker. In conjunction with his brother Dave, Max developed the rotoscope. This device allowed filmed images to be traced and then inked, in effect turning a filmed subject into a cartoon. Dave cavorted in a clown suit while Max filmed away; the result was Ko-Ko (later Koko) the Clown, who stunned audiences with his lifelike antics -- and the agility of his movements. The means to produce realistic humans for animated films had taken a huge step forward.

Sort of. Although the Fleischer studio would use rotoscoping in the decades to come, problems emerged with the process. The strengths and limitations of rotoscoping can be observed in the first feature produced by the Fleischer studio, Gulliver's Travels (1939). In their portrayals of Gulliver, actors Nelson Demorest (and later Sam Parker) are meticulously rotoscoped from live-action film. The light that falls on Gulliver, the folds of his clothes and the nuances of his facial expressions are startlingly lifelike. Still, Gulliver is a jarring figure, so realistic that he comes off as a special effect in an animated world comprised of far less sophisticated character designs. Then too, there was the problem of action.

It was apparent that animated movement had to be as much a simulacrum of actual kinesis as animated people were of their flesh-and-blood templates. The translation of motion from live-action film to animation often resulted in stiff movements that lacked fluidity. Beginning roughly around 1935 Walt Disney began a strenuous effort towards realism in his animated endeavors. His chief instructor, Don Graham, held rotoscoping in great disdain and urged Disney's artists to study live-action film as a frame of reference for animated movement. The Disney crew ultimately validated Graham's teachings in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937). Some rotoscoping of the Prince was done near the end of production due to cost and time limitations and this animation is generally recognized as the weakest in the film.

Rotoscoping never disappeared entirely. For example, Ralph Bakshi used the process in his films during the 1970s and 80s. Richard Linklater's A Scanner Darkly is an advanced twist on the venerable technique of rotoscoping. The same can be said for the Miramax release, Renaissance (Aside: I recall that some readers looked askance at me for suggesting in an earlier column that a stylish animated feature could be made in black and white. Well, here is your proof in chiaroscuro). As Disney's artists and methods disseminated to other theatrical studios, animated shorts and features tended to follow the Disney model of using live-action film as a reference, if at all.