Movies

The Unheralded Imagination of Early DreamWorks Animation

Remembering the genuine creative risks of DreamWorks’ early repertoire, and the heat death of traditional animation.
By  · Published on May 18th, 2017

The Road to El Dorado (2000)

Dir. Don Paul and Eric Bergeron

“You fight like my sister!” yells Miguel. “I’ve fought your sister!” retorts Tulio, “That’s a compliment!” In more ways than one, Road to El Dorado reminds me of The Princess Bride, least of all because the dialogue is so sharp it could slice cheese (and there’s plenty of it). More explicitly, El Dorado pays homage to its namesake, the “Road” comedies made famous by Bing Crosby and Bob Hope—a delightful, if deeply unusual springboard for an animated feature. Like their charismatic predecessors, Tulio and Miguel are contagiously endearing scoundrels, our guides to an upbeat, zesty, and quasi-mythic world. Watching El Dorado feels like reading a pulp novel in a hammock. And for what it is, it’s thoroughly successful: a  swashbuckling-throwback road trip comedy filtered through Rudyard Kipling.

Chicken Run (2000)

Dir. Nick Park and Peter Lord

There is a moment in Chicken Run that, to me, perfectly encapsulates what makes this film so devilishly unique: when an underperforming chicken named Edwina is carted off to the barn (“ooh, is Edwina off on holiday?”) and we hear an unmistakable and decisive chop. If there was any doubt, we later spy a ribcage on a dining table, flanked by potatoes and brussel sprouts. Chicken Run fearlessly straddles the tricky line between the morbid and the sweet. It glows with the warm, distinctly British whimsy that comes with the tactility of bits and bobs. At the same time, there is a distinct cruelty to it: the darkness and grit of the mud; how Mrs. Tweedy says “pies” with her teeth clenched. Chicken Run hits its stride when it speaks the language of The Great Escape and Stalag 17, and more disturbingly, the savage automation of concentration camps.

It’s to DreamWorks’ credit that they let Aardman Animations dabble in their darker and more quirky eccentricities. Even if it meant that Chicken Run’s critical success fell more publicly on Aardman’s shoulders.

Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron (2002)

Dir. Kelly Asbury and Lorna Cook

That Spirit’s animals don’t talk, that we are invested in the story through animation alone, is a seriously ballsy creative gamble. Spirit’s technical brilliance supports its visual storytelling; the traditional animation, CGI aids, and cel-shading blend together seamlessly, resulting in a fluid, compelling, and immersive world. When the film fires on all cylinders—I’m thinking particularly to when Spirit curls up with Rain after she’s been shot and wordlessly runs the gamut of emotions—it’s a work of art. The dynamic between Little Creek and Spirit, the trust and respect they slowly develop for one another, is particularly effective. So effective, that it reappeared a couple years later as the emotional cornerstone of How To Train Your Dragon. Spirit commits to its heartfelt and experimental concept; there is no adorable sidekick, no self-effacement, and no punches pulled with its anti-colonial message.

Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas (2003)

Dir. Patrick Gilmore and Tim Johnson

The less Sinbad focuses on the man himself, the more it leans into the supernatural and the fantastic, the more lively and creative it becomes. The action set pieces are kinetic and inventive, my favorite being when the Roc gives chase in the tight corridors of a frozen ruin, and, more quietly, when Rat swings above the ship, lighting lanterns as the sun sets. The film contains some stunning visual concepts, the least of all being Eris, the goddess of fucking shit up. The way she moves is astonishing. Eris coils around every inch of the screen, spilling out of time and space like a sensuous trail of smoke. She moves like a dream. She takes bubble baths in the cosmos. Her minions are constellations. To impersonate Sinbad, she creates a dummy and slips into its skin. Her ingenious design alone makes this film worth the watch. 

Those of you playing along at home may have noticed that I unceremoniously skipped over arguably the most significant film in DreamWorks’ early history. In 2001, while Disney was hemorrhaging money via Atlantis: The Lost Empire (Titan A.E. tanked the previous year, causing Fox Animation Studios to shut down), DreamWorks dropped Shrek, putting the final nail in the coffin for traditional animation at DreamWorks. At the risk of oversimplifying things, there are three horsemen of the traditional animation apocalypse: 1) raw figures; 2) release dates that overlapped with I.P. giants like James Bond, Harry Potter, and Pirates of the Caribbean; and 3) gross parental negligence on the part of marketing. There’s some truth to audiences being swayed by new tech, but studios sandbagging their own films certainly didn’t help. The merits of a film’s storytelling don’t mean much if studios fail to entice people to see the film in the first place.

In a 2003 interview regarding the death of 2-D, Shrek 2 co-director Kelly Asbury had this to say:

There are plenty of movies that have great character and great stories that aren’t box office bonanzas…I think that because there are so few animated films being made, they’re in some kind of spotlight…I think one of the great tragedies happening in terms of popular filmmaking across the board, live-action and animation, is the emphasis put on box office.

Like I said, these films aren’t without sin: Antz’ garishness hasn’t aged particularly well; Prince of Egypt isn’t immune to ineffectual comic relief; Road to Eldorado’s music leaves something to be desired; Chicken Run falls prey to plot contrivance; Spirit has the misfortune of being mortally wounded by the incongruity of Matt Damon’s narration and Bryan Adams’ soundtrack; and Sinbad tends to feel rather perfunctory. But for all their faults, these were imaginative films that weren’t afraid to chip at expectations about what animation could accomplish as a narrative medium.

Though there are exceptions (most recently, Trollhunters), I’m not sure the same can be said these days. And I get why DreamWorks plays it safe, why they’ve nestled into formulaic and derivative sequels, particularly with something as costly and labor-intensive as animation. But even if, let’s say, Madagascar 4 is a critical and commercial success, you’d be hard pressed to convince me that it was a creative risk. I worry about DreamWorks betting against its own history, and I hope it finds its way back to the beaten path it abandoned in 2004. 

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Based in the Pacific North West, Meg enjoys long scrambles on cliff faces and cozying up with a good piece of 1960s eurotrash. As a senior contributor at FSR, Meg's objective is to spread the good word about the best of sleaze, genre, and practical effects.