Reflections and Moments with Richard Williams and Mo Sutton

This ordinary street had a very ordinary house. Terraced housing you find all over London. This heavy wooden unpainted fire door could feel tapping. The buzzer on the right found a finger landing to be sure the knock was heard. Two pairs of eyes staring straight ahead, a male and female. ‘Hello, come in,” I said. They were no ordinary couple.

Richard Williams and his wife Mo, my sister. Given what had just happened, they needed company. The Thief and the Cobbler and 25 years had just been taken away. Richard was in shock. Their shoes took a left turn, landing on a hard wooden floor. Coming into the living room. Old floorboards sanded down to reveal their rich color. Richard looked across, saw a short low white wall, went over putting his bottom on the floor, with his legs stretched out. Above him a window, morning light coming through thin white curtains. The wall could feel his back leaning on it. Those legs in front looked like his eyes were staring at his shoes.

But I looked closer, revealing they were in a haze, a daze, unfocused. Completely lost in thought. He looked devastated. Shattered. Because he was. I could see he was far away. Trying to understand how and why. Going through the years of sheer passion reaching 25 years ago. When work first started on The Thief and the Cobbler. Arriving there the mind turned around, moving slowly forward to now. Might it be that Canadian autumn maple leaf falling through the sky? 15 years ago. Before the success of Roger Rabbit.

That maple leaf twisted, it turned, fell a bit and twisted again. It was light, in no hurry. It was dancing down alone, through that crisp Canadian autumn air.

His mind goes through the hours, the days, the weeks, to draw that falling maple leaf. This for an Air Canada TV commercial. That maple leaf was needed to help fund his one passion. That would take 25 years. The Thief and the Cobbler.

But it was in a cafe that changed everything. Two men walked in, saw an empty table and sat down. Two coffees were ordered. “Tell me what have you got in mind?” “This.” A hand reached up for a pencil in his top pocket. The lead pencil came down landing on a paper napkin. His left thumb and fingers pressing down, holding that white paper napkin tight. Just like the maple leaf before, the pencil turned, twisted, turned again, racing across that soft tissue of napkin paper. And so, it emerged. The viewer could almost not keep up. The speed of that lead pencil. Long floppy ears emerged on a head with a whiff of hair. With only one front tooth, two huge eyes alive with energy, their sheer excitement. Below exploding cheeks, how that lead pencil moved. Down it went, the dungarees now appeared. The arms found soft gloves at their end, finally huge feet with no socks to hold that body up.

Richard asked, “What do you think?” “That’s it. Roger Rabbit,” said Robert Zemeckis. So, Roger Rabbit was born in a London cafe in Camden Town. The labor took just five minutes. Coming alive on that white soft paper napkin.

This was going to be the most complex film ever of mixing live-action with animation. To a standard of craftsmanship animation film making had not been reached before. That napkin had not far to travel. Across the road was a 90-year-old five story warehouse. It was turned into an animation studio. The producer’s desk had a packet of round soft biscuits. Underneath were stocks in reserve. The person didn’t drink, didn’t smoke. But was addicted to round soft biscuits. Production had now started. Below that warehouse roof a large team drew, painted, bringing Roger Rabbit alive. The person at that desk gave direction, orders, instructions to the different teams. Oh, how they labored. Each day they carefully, slowly painted a cell. This takes time. Needing 24 painted cells for one second of film. It can be done with 12 cells per second but then you don’t get such great animation. It is painstaking work requiring suitcases of patience arriving at the start of each day.

Like a submarine, half the crew works while the other half sleeps. The animation was done in London, but the Walt Disney Company was in Los Angeles, 6,500 miles away. With daily conference calls and an eight-hour time difference, this went on late into that London night. The person eating the biscuits had the responsibility to stay awake and continue working. Discussing, explaining what had happened during that day and any fresh requirements needed thousands of miles away. This was Mo Sutton, Richard's wife. Those fingers and thumb holding tightly that cafe pencil were producing animation never possible before. Below that warehouse roof the film was now in full production. The teams of animators organized, guided by the biscuit eater. At the heart of the studio were half a dozen master animators bringing drawings alive. Lead by Richard. Electric pencils sharpeners were installed close to the storyboards holding the animation paper. Only the pencil sharpener breaks the quiet. The very success of this animation was reaching Los Angeles on a daily basis.

But it created a problem. Can we somehow ease out, lower, how much credit Richard should be getting on the opening film credits? The animation was so good it was going to dominate the film. Rightly so. Because it was going so well, with such complex filming, why let the creator and inventor get much of the credit? Rumors can travel quickly. Bad ones faster. This one left L.A. going east, across land and sea to England. It reached the Camden Town warehouse turned studio. The problem? It was not a rumor but a fact. Those fingers holding that cafe pencil on a napkin were going to be cheated, stolen out of the full credit due. Downgraded. Richard was having none of that. He was upset and angry. The body holding that pencil had a heart. Inside a passion. But don’t steal it, oh no. Oh no. So, with a heart and passion onboard, he took off, catching a plane going 6,500 miles, a 14-hour flight.

All to make sure, in person, that he was going to get full credit. What made the film so special was the groundbreaking animation, how it matched with live-action so well. The stress, the pressure, the creative problems, long days into longer nights. How can you keep working, focused, the concentration, that attention to detail? Keep that up? At such a pace and standard. A normal person would have a breakdown. The answer was the trumpet. Oh, how important that trumpet became in making the film. Those wet lips of Richard pushed hard on that mouthpiece. Spitting air into the lead pipe, rushing round, jazz coming out the bell at the front. That trumpet had no idea how important it was. Just another Jazz player. So, it thought. Each Sunday at lunchtime under the roof of the Britannia hotel in London, that trumpet de-stressed Richard. The drummer, the bass guitar, guitar, clarinetist, double bass, trumpet made jazz. With nobody to take credit.

And the question was, Who Framed Roger Rabbit? How can you create an image, a picture so the animator gets full credit? One morning, in a South London framing shop, hung an empty antique gold frame. Lonely, with no picture in it. Something the shop owner said. Putting into words what he saw in front of him. “The Frame. That’s it,” I said. He had no idea why I was so excited, He knew nothing about Roger Rabbit being made and in production.  So, he didn't know he had solved both a problem and puzzle for me. The animation director, Richard Williams, is framing Roger Rabbit. I was excited. I had to ring Richard and tell him. He agreed to do an oil painting of Roger Rabbit. Spending so many hours, so many months drawing him, he knew the character so well.

I bought that empty antique picture frame and explained what we needed to do. He agreed. 10 days later he drove in his mustard-colored Ford Fiesta car from Belsize Park to East Dulwich in South London. Arriving out of the car boot is Roger Rabbit. Looking ever so happy, now in an oil painting. He looks excited. Roger Rabbit had never been this size before. He clearly enjoyed it. Roger Rabbit's arms pushed up in the air, opened mouthed, a huge smile with one front tooth.

Upstairs on my first floor East Dulwich apartment, we lifted and hung Roger Rabbit. It was a great painting of Roger Rabbit. There he hung and stayed still. Using transparent fishing line, the empty antique gold frame was now hooked up, in front of the Roger Rabbit painting. The fishing line was taking the weight of the empty frame. Richard held the lefthand side, his right arm across to look like he was holding up the whole frame. Richard framing Roger Rabbit. Roger Rabbit didn’t mind at all. I went back to my tripod holding a Hasselblad camera. I looked down into the viewfinder, pressed the shutter and we had our picture.

The film became very successful, second only to Rain Man in 1988. So much so Richard was getting an Oscar for a lifetime achievement in animation. And for Roger Rabbit he was nominated for an Oscar for best visual effects [editor’s note – the Oscar for Best Animation wasn’t awarded until 2002].

So, he was guaranteed one Oscar for a lifetime achievement and could get two. I came up with an idea and over the telephone shared it was him. He liked it, so off to London's West End I went shopping. I was to discover that it is possible to get an Oscar without being nominated. You don’t have to be in the film business at all. There is a theatrical shop that sells them in Covent Garden. This happens only outside America as it’s illegal to make and sell them there.

I walk in the shop and buy two. While doing this Richard is off hiring a tuxedo and black tie. The next day he comes to my South London apartment dressed in it. With a bright white wall behind, I give him one of the Oscars. He throws one arm up in the air with a “I just won it” look, his face beaming. My finger presses the shutter and we capture that. I now give him the other one, his arms shoot up, his hands clutching two Oscars. Looking even more happy now. There is no speech, no clapping, no audience, just a shutter clicking. The following week he has the photographs. He now draws Roger Rabbit holding one, then two Oscars in the photograph with him. Roger Rabbit is looking very happy. So is Richard.

With such a large time difference between L.A. and London at the Oscars we wanted to have the photographs ready for the media in advance. Mo said, “We want to thank you for your work, would you like to come to the Oscars?” So, I got invited to come. I arrived a few days before. With time to spare I am walking around L.A. near my hotel. Across the road is a policeman standing on the curb. He starts looking at me. So, I look at him. He then keeps looking at me. So, I keep looking at him. It’s been a long time since I saw a real American policeman. He looked just like you see in the films. But he was real, the gun ready at the waist, black uniform with a gold badge to prove he was one. His stare became intense, stronger and I couldn’t understand why. A wide road, traffic began to appear and I stopped staring. I recalled this moment later in the day to a local person.

Saying “I had this policeman staring at me, so I stared back.” I was puzzled because I had done nothing wrong. The look on the person's face was one of disbelief. It was an answer all on its own.

‘You stared back?!” “Yes.” “You must never stare at a policeman.” She had fear in her voice. Now I thought back to that morning. It now made sense. It was the most unpleasant look that the policeman gave me. He had no idea I was English and had just arrived.

Two nights later is Oscar night. Richard does win two Oscars. At the side of the main auditorium is the photographers’ room to capture the happy winners with their Oscars. In this case two. Looking up at a sea of 50 photographers, he can’t see me. So, he shouts, “Jake?” I of course can see him so clearly and take photos. He is really happy. Fighting for that credit so many months earlier was worth it. The Oscar committee agreed.

It’s a long night. I am seated with thick white cotton cloth covering round tables falling down its sides. White plates, knives, folks join wine glasses that rest on it. It’s the Oscar dinner. Gold painted chairs surround the tables. Waiters start to appear; those glasses feel wine pouring in. I am wondering what to talk about to the man on my left. So, I say “In my camera bag here on the ground I have two Oscars, can I show you?” He looks puzzled. My arm reaches down to pick one up. He sees this. In a slow firm but friendly voice he says, “Please don’t bring them up. I am on the Oscar committee.” Those two Oscars I had bought in London were here in my camera bag. Next to my shoes. I couldn’t have done something more silly and stupid than bringing them 6,500 miles to the heart of the real Oscars. It was asking for trouble and didn’t know it. Clearly the man this evening was in a good mood. He knew all the winners because he chose them. And I was not one of them. More so winning two. We went on to enjoy our meal.

The next day was one of celebration. Richard at his hotel had an outdoor swimming pool. Richard happened to be a great swimmer. The pool shared a garden of tall palm trees overlooking it nearby. The two Oscars can’t swim but seemed very happy in the sunshine. The winner was happy too, never quite enjoying a swim like this one. On the edge of the pool watching him, two Oscars. Time for a little rest, so he joined the Oscars at the edge of the pool. By chance one of the Oscars created a perfect shadow on his face, which I photographed. The Oscar was proud and so was he.

The day was rounded off by a visit after lunch to the Walt Disney Animation Studio. Here I met the head of animation looking at portfolios from students around the world. I asked him what he was looking for. And his answer was not what I thought. He said, “Classic draftsmanship.” Outside the studio I photographed Richard, arms shooting in the air, his hands proudly holding two Oscars with the Walt Disney Animation Studio sign behind. What happens if you fly all the way from England to L.A. but don’t get an Oscar? I was to find out soon enough. How do you behave? Should you be pleased for someone else who has? I felt you should be. L.A. airport has a lounge for first class ticket holders.

On Sunday mornings at the Britannia Hotel, Governor Sq London I would see Richard come in. In his right hand holding a wooden box with a strong handle. Inside resting his trumpet. That same wooden box entered the first-class lounge of L.A. airport. Inside was no trumpet but his two Oscars. A man was seated facing the door in a comfortable chair. He looked up. Watching Richard and I come in. His eyes blinked, ever so gently his head moved, just a little bit up and down. You almost missed it. In recognition to say I know Richard. He had been at the Oscars too. He had been nominated for one.

This man had also come all the way 6,500 miles just a few days ago, taking 14 hours. But unlike Richard he had no trumpet case. He had no Oscar. I thought he was going to get up. He also had no congratulations.

It felt strange. He just stayed in his chair, looking up. It just didn’t feel right to behave like this. This was surely the moment to be pleased for someone. A little while later we were asked to board the plane. Disney had bought Richard's first-class ticket. He had bought my economy ticket. He boarded first being first class. When I did, I explained to the air hostess that a passenger in first class had just won two Oscars. Could I, two hours before we landed at Gatwick, come into first class and photograph him with them? She agreed. 12 hours later I walked from economy into first class. Richard is resting by the window seat. We chatted, and I suggested that it would be nice to open the trumpet case and lay the two Oscars on the empty aisle seat next to him. Out they came looking comfortable travelling first class too. It’s their first plane trip. He now brings out a drawing book. A pencil joins it, starting to move across the paper.

His two new friends coated in gold take no notice looking straight up. Behind them in an aisle seat is that man with so little to say in the lounge. The empty window seat next to him has no Oscar lying there. This man is going to be puzzled why I am not photographing him. The two Oscars clearly enjoy being photographed at 38,000 feet up. The captain agrees I can come into the cockpit with them. By the tinted slanting windows, strong, bright sunlight pours in, bounces off that gold directly into the flight deck. Below the airspeed indicator, the attitude indicator, the altimeter and heading indicator are busy at work. I thank the captain for being in the cockpit. I now go back into first class with them. There now sits one director, two Oscars and three windows. It’s a photograph, well above the clouds, the sunlight pouring in. In the corner of my eye that man is looking at me. Confused because he thinks I have not recognized him. He is Phil Collins. [editor’s note - Collins was nominated for Best Original Song, “Two Hearts,” from the film Buster.]

The plane arrives at Gatwick airport. There is nothing at customs to say you need to declare two Oscars, so we walk straight through. 20 minutes later we are on the express train to Victoria. The driver, the passengers nearby, have no idea what is inside that trumpet case. With the great success of Roger Rabbit, Richard has negotiated funding to finish his own film, The Thief and the Cobbler. With already 25 years in the making, he wants to finish it. Production gets underway. There is a complex scene with playing cards going through the air. I know he enjoyed such a drawing challenge. He clearly was pleased with the result and showed me. The climax of the film came not inside it but outside it.

This drama was equally complex. Money. The film was going over budget badly. To see the film reach the cinema, Richard was asked to take 10 minutes off the end. Not to animate it. The 10 minutes were going to cost between $250,000 and $300,000, which the film company refused to spend. Taking 25 years to get this far, how could they ask him to take off 10 minutes? The insurance company had the right to take away the film. He refused to take off 10 minutes. So, they did.

Now, here he was a few days later on my wooden living room floor. Soho London 30 years before was the heart of the British film industry. It was full of cutting rooms, editing films. On Saturdays and school holidays, a 14-year-old girl would come into one of these to learn about film editing. One day a man came in and noticed this keen and enthusiastic student learning the trade. He had a short film that needed editing and was going to use this cutting room and company. She left an impression on him. 15 years later she became a film producer at the BBC. Over a number of years, she started a series of documentaries on specialist trades working in Soho. One was a violin maker. Soho Square has former townhouses, one a four-story olive-green building. Inside, a Canadian animator, his team and studio. Could he agree to a film being made about him? So said the letter he opened and read from the BBC.

Now grown up, arriving through the olive-green door, she introduced herself as the producer. His mind went back to that small cutting room off Wardour St, in Soho. She became both his wife and manager. Given a major movie to make, Richard needed a trumpet to de-stress each Sunday. When a major film is taken away you need an island. Salt Spring. In the late 1980’s I had been on a business trip on the West Coast, Orange County, L.A., San Francisco. Sponsored by the UK government. We crossed the border into Canada, finishing in Vancouver. I had a spare day off. I noticed that off the coast there were a group of islands known as the Gulf Islands. You can take a ferry, which I did. By mistake I got off at the wrong one, not the one I had wanted to see. The mistake was Salt Spring. A most charming island, pleasant, relaxed, with a touch of the old west about it. Everything was made of wood. When you live in London it is something you notice, because there is none. The ferry landed at Ganges, all the shops had wooden decks to walk on. There was something else I didn’t see in London. The cars with their windows half open with the keys still in the ignition while the owner shopped. In the Toronto region with its harsh winters, the climate of Salt Spring was a major attraction. It felt European, mild in winter with little snow; summer was warm but never hot.  Something else I was to discover later was that people dressed down.

A week later I was back in London visiting Mo and Dick telling them about my mistake. I remember I had trouble summing up that atmosphere I had so enjoyed. I said, “Well, it’s like spring water.” I saw their reaction. “We’ve got to go and see it.” By chance they had a trip coming up to L.A. Mo said, “We will go up after visiting L.A.” And they did. Like me, they fell in love with Salt Spring. They saw a house they liked overlooking the sea and put an offer in. Back in London now, they put their ground floor apartment in Belsize Park on the market and sold it. Dick turned the Salt Spring house garage into a studio. He took himself off to weekly drawing classes in Ganges. Saying, “I need to keep my hand in.” An elderly lady modelling, just sitting on a chair in the center of the room. Dick was rightly proud as he showed me and Mo the result. It had great detail.

One day I am in their Salt Spring kitchen when there is a funny moment. “You tell him.” “No, you tell him.” “No, you tell him.” “Oh, all right.” “I’m pregnant Jake.” Natasha was going to have a brother. I seem to remember a joke about something in the Salt Spring water. Dick had been looking for fellow jazz players on Salt Spring. He did and formed the Dix Six. There was a bar come restaurant with a large deck overlooking Ganges Harbor where each Sunday they played. Salt Spring, a new baby, a new Jazz band all helped to put losing The Thief and the Cobbler behind him.

A few years later on a visit to Pembrokeshire, West Wales, they were visiting Philip and Heather, my parents. Between their house and the railway station of Tenby a sign was hanging on the side of the road. For Sale. With time to spare before getting on the train, they went down a narrow country lane, trying to find the house. Just off the road on the right it was, discovering the man coming to the door was German. The attraction to Dick was not only the house but what was on the other side of the road. A large barn. Mo and Dick had decided to produce a book on animation. It was time to come back to Britain. They bought the house. A local builder was hired to turn the barn into a studio-office. Here Dick got production underway. Mo approached Faber & Faber in London who agreed to publish it once finished. An upstairs platform was created at the back of the barn where Dick drew the images for the animation book.

The book was almost finished now and Mo asked me to take a photo of Dick for the back cover. Like many of the drawings for the book, which were explaining how to draw a walking character, we wanted a photo of Dick walking to reflect what was inside. With space in the barn and a white neutral background I got Dick to walk up and down until I got what I wanted. It reminds one of a Beatles photo of crossing the Zebra crossing in Hampstead, London. But Dick had his shoes on. With so much experience going into the book it was no wonder the idea of doing Masterclasses came up. The major animation film studios on the West Coast were approached. Computer animation was becoming more developed and improved around this time. But the film studios wanted their animators to know classic animation to use the computers. There was nobody better than Dick they could learn from. One of the first Masterclasses was held in Denmark. Walt Disney Animation, Pixar, DreamWorks, Blue Sky & Warner Bros sent their best animators. They were a great success and more followed around Europe. Each one took Mo six months to prepare, plan and organize. Not only from California but around the world, animators would fly into the next venue and Masterclass. Each was held over four days. Most were limited to 50 animators. From this came the idea to make a film of the Masterclass. The next one coming up was going to be in New York. This was filmed, edited and turned into a 16 DVD box. Becoming the A to Z of master animation. [editor's note - “The Animator's Suvival Kit” is his seminal book, with an app, DVDs, and mini-guides.]

In between these Masterclasses was Dick’s trumpet. Living in South Pembrokeshire now, he sought and found five jazz players to make a Dix Six band. Playing together at local pubs or hotels at Sunday lunchtime.

I look back and remember a phone call 30 years ago. It was Mo calling from Belsize Park. “Jake, me and Dick are getting married. Would you, Rad and Claude like to come? We are getting married in Canada. We will arrange the tickets.” What Dick had done was ring his brother in Orangeville outside Toronto.

He told his brother he is getting married. Then asked will you marry us? His brother got a marriage license to marry them in his living room. With two other sisters and children, my parents Philip and Heather, 11 of us boarded an Air Canada plane from London’s Heathrow to Toronto on Christmas Eve. There was great fun on the plane. We had never been together like this before, a first. It was like being in a living room but 38,000 feet up. We took up two rows of seats. We were about to arrive in a Canadian winter. Mo and Dick hired a taxi. I had pre-booked a people carrier. By the time we left the airport it was beginning to get dark. The problem I had was trying to keep up with the taxi in front. I had no idea where we were going and couldn’t lose it. It seemed the taxi driver had completely forgotten that Mo and Dick had told him that the car behind was to follow him. His driving was getting faster and faster, making me take risks trying to keep up. With snow on the side of the roads and possible ice on the road, I could see it would be easy to lose control, I felt I was. It was almost completely dark now, making it harder to see the condition of the road. All I had now were its back lights to follow. I have no idea how I managed not to lose that taxi.

The motel we arrived at outside Orangeville had a 20-foot waterfall, freezing water pouring down. Each day more ice appeared on it until it completely froze. It was now -17c and I felt it. On this day, we went off just a few miles away to the most domestic of marriages in a living room. Here, Richard's brother officiated; Mo and Dick were now husband and wife. The extreme cold outside only added to a lovely warm intermit atmosphere inside.

Nobody has experienced the challenges, the highs and lows of animation more than Dick. Dick had three passions in his life, animation, his wife Mo and that trumpet. He was what he was because of all three.

Painter with 2 portrait books published for The British Museum, former Time magazine photographer, personal photographer to Prime Minister Tony Blair, and cameraman for CBS News, BBC News, and AP TV News in Afghanistan.