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1
 Acting and
Character Animation
 Acting and
Character Animation
The Art of Animated Films,
Acting, and Visualizing

Rolf Giesen and Anna Khan

CRC Press
Taylor & Francis Group
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Boca Raton, FL 33487-2742

© 2018 by Taylor & Francis Group, LLC

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No claim to original U.S. Government works

Printed on acid-free paper

International Standard Book Number-13: 978-1-4987-7863-3 (Paperback)

978-1-138-06981-7 (Hardback)

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Contents

Acknowledgments ix

Authors xi

Introduction: Neverland or No End to Childhood xiii

Part I The Story of Actors & Acting in Animation

1 Time for Creation: Homunculi 3

2 Chalk-Talking on a Vaudeville Stage 5

3 Magicians and Masquerades 9

4 An Actor’s Vision of Optical Poetry 11

5 Shadow Plays and Silhouette Films: The Adventures of

Prince Achmed 13

6 Rotoscoping: Dave Fleischer as Ko-Ko the Clown 17

7 The Peak of Character Animation: Walt Disney 21

8 Shamanism and Totemism 25

9 Famous Cartoon Animals 29

v
 10 Animators to Become Actors and Actresses (Sort of)? 35

11 The Flintstones and the Age of Television 41

12 Reason & Emotion 45

13 Theories of Acting 49

14 Voice Actors 53

15 Pixilation: Animating Actors or Becoming Animation 59

16 Dancing with Animation 65

17 Acting with Animated Characters 69

18 The Puppet Masters 75

19 Animated Characters around the World 91

20 Of Heroes, Antiheroes, Villains, and Men 99

21 Comedy and Comedians 103

22 Acting Against the Odds of Visual Effects and Animation 109

23 Avatar and Beyond: The Idiosyncrasies of 3D Animation

and the Art of Performance Capture 113

24 A Nod to Computer Games 123

Part II Creativity Training for Writers, Producers,

and Animators—A Practical Guide

25 Surprise Me! 131

26 Writing Animation: Role Profiles 135

27 Contradictions: The Key to Great Characters and Stories 143

28 Intercultural Differences between East and West 147

29 Preconceived Characters 157

30 Animals and Anthropomorphism 163

vi Contents
31 Animation, Toys, and Merchandising 167

32 Design, Posing, and Facial Expression 171

33 Understanding Body Language 177

34 The Eyes Have It! 185

35 It’s Personality That Wins 189

36 The Score 193

37 Psychological Projection 197

38 The Role of Producer and Director 205

39 Feel at Ease While Animating 207

40 Computer Graphic Characters, Performance Capture

Techniques, and the Future of Acting in Animation 211

41 Perceptions Exercises 217

42 Game of Imagination 219

43 Visualization Techniques: Creatures of the Mind 221

Part III Q & A

44 The Animation Film Historian: Giannalberto Bendazzi 235

45 The VFX Artist: Robert Blalack 237

46 The Creator from Italy: Bruno Bozzetto 241

47 The Replacement Animators from Argentina: Alberto

Couceiro and Alejandra Tomei 245

48 The Spanish Animation Producer: Manuel Cristóbal 253

49 The Stop-Motion Animator and VFX Director: Jim Danforth 259

50 The Belgian Animation Director: Piet De Rycker 263

51 The Game Expert: Thomas Dlugaiczyk 269

Contents vii
 52 The Artist from the Zagreb School of Animation: Borivoj
Dovnikovic’ -Bordo 273

53 The Animation Scholar from Hong Kong: Daisy Yan Du 279

54 The Disney Expert: Didier Ghez 285

55 The 3D Animator from Germany: Felix Goennert 289

56 The European Producer: Gerhard Hahn 295

57 The Stop-Motion Historian: Mike Hankin 301

58 The Late Stop-Motion Legend Himself: Ray Harryhausen 305

59 The World’s Leading Performance Capture Expert: Joe

Letteri 317

60 The German Animation Producer: Tony Loeser 321

61 The American Expert in 3D Scans: Karl Meyer 325

62 The Managing Director from Hungary: Ferenc Mikulás 327

63 The German Puppet Animator: Heinrich Sabl 331

64 The Animation Student from Romania: Veronica Solomon 339

65 The Czech 3D Producer: Jan Tománek 343

66 The Experimental Stop-Frame Animator: Grigori Zurkan 347

Selected Filmography 353

Bibliography 363

Index 369

viii Contents
Acknowledgments

In researching the topic of this book, the authors had the chance to talk to and
interview at various times Forrest J. Ackerman, Ray Bradbury, Linwood G.
Dunn, John Halas, Ray Harryhausen, Dr. Ronald Holloway, Antonín Horák,
Paul Christian Hubschmid, Nathan Juran, Sir Christopher Lee, Stanisław Lem,
Per Lygum, Dr. William Moritz, Lester Novros, Hal Roach, Curt Siodmak,
Dušan Vukotić, Albert Whitlock, Ferdinand Diehl, Gerhard Fieber, Wolf
Gerlach, Gerhard Huttula, Heinz Kaskeline, Dieter Parnitzke, Thilo Rothkirch,
Karl Ludwig Ruppel, Ernst Joachim Schienke, Herbert K. Schulz, H[ugo] O[tto]
Schulze, Professor Bernd Willim, Jürgen Wohlrabe who sadly are no longer
with us, directors Luigi Cozzi, Roland Emmerich, Terry Gilliam, Peter Jackson,
John Landis, Steven Lisberger, actors Martine Beswick, Caroline Munro, Andy
Serkis, VFX supervisors and assistants Volker Engel, Dave Gougé, Joe Letteri
(Weta Digital), Richard Taylor (Weta Workshop), Karl Meyer (Gentle Giant
Studios), Dennis Muren, John Nelson, Douglas Trumbull, FX make-up artist
Rick Baker, 3D FX animators Frank Petzold, Phil Tippett, animation execu-
tives, producers, directors and artists Hans Bacher, Peter Bluemel, Bruno
Bozzetto, Heinz Busert, Alberto Couceiro and Alejandra Tomei (Animas
Film Animations), Manuel Cristóbal (Dragoia Media), Jim Danforth, Piet
De Rycker, Pete Docter, Borivoj Dovniković (Bordo), Robi Engler, Dr. Hans
Michael Fischerkoesen, Ari Folman, Frank Geiger (brave new work film pro-
ductions/Little Dream Entertainment), Professor Gerhard Hahn, Herbert
Gehr and Neschet Al-Zubaidi (Hahn Film), Rolf Herken, Werner Hierl, Jeffrey
Katzenberg (CEO, DreamWorks SKG), Professor Barbara Kirchner, Raimund
Krumme, Ralf Kukula (Balance Film GmbH), Tony Loeser (MotionWorks),
Richard Lutterbeck (Trickstudio Lutterbeck), Ferenc Mikulás (Kecskemétfilm),
Mark Osborne, Maya Rothkirch (Rothkirch Cartoon Film), Dr. Michael
Schoemann (Benchmark Entertainment), Georges Schwitzgebel, Nelson Shin

ix
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(Akom Production Co., Ltd.), Rainer Soehnlein, Stefan Thies (nfp animation),
Jan Tománek (Art And Animation Studio), Wolfgang Urchs, Aygün & Peter
Voelker, Tony White, Richard Williams, Juan Pablo Zaramella, our Chinese
colleagues Cai Zhijun (CCTV Animation, Inc.), Chang Guangxi, Dong Hang,
Wang Borong, Wang Liuyi, Zheng Liguo (President, Jilin Animation Institute),
Daisy Yan Du, Gavin Liu, Juan Zaft, Professor R.P.C. Janaka Rajapakse
(motion capture specialist, Associate Professor, Tainan National University of
the Arts), voice artists Peter Krause (Germany’s Donald Duck voice), Oliver
Rohrbeck, fellow writers and scholars Klaus Baumgart, Giannalberto Bendazzi,
Bob Burns, Dr. Michael Flintrop (Cineways Festival Braunschweig), Dr. Ralf
Forster, Joseph Garncarz, Didier Ghez, Jeanpaul Goergen, Mike Hankin,
Ed Hooks, Daniel Kothenschulte, Dr. Arnold Kunert, Carsten Laqua, Peter
Maenz (Deutsche Kinemathek/German Cinematheque Berlin), Annick Maes
and Gerardo Michelin (Cartoon Brussels), Raymond Pettigrew, Dr. Volker
Petzold, Nadja Rademacher (Deutsches Institut für Animationsfilm Dresden),
Florian Schmidlechner, J. P. Storm, Caroline Hagen-Hall and Christel Strobel
(who granted access to the estate of late silhouette film artist Lotte Reiniger),
Professor Ulrich Wegenast (International Trickfilm Festival Stuttgart), Thomas
Dlugaiczyk (Games Academy), Professor Ulrich Weinberg (Hasso Plattner
Institute), Jutta Diebel, Professor Frank Gessner, Professor Felix Gönnert, Dr.
Veit Quack, Veronica Solomon, Professor Christina Schindler, Benedikt Toniolo
(Film University Konrad Wolf Potsdam-Babelsberg), and Ulrike Bliefert.
Images courtesy of Animas Film (Alberto Couceiro and Alejandra Tomei);
Little Dream Entertainment (Frank Geiger); Manuel Cristóbal; Jim Danforth;
Deutsches Institut für Animationsfilm (Nadja Rademacher); Film University
Babelsberg; Felix Goennert; Hahn Film (Gerhard Hahn and Herbert Gehr);
The Ray & Diana Harryhausen Foundation (Vanessa Harryhausen and Connor
Heaney—www.rayharryhausen.com); Jilin Animation Institute (Gavin Liu);
MotionWorks (Tony Loeser and Jana Wernicke); Primrose Productions Ltd.
(Caroline Hagen-Hall and Christel Strobel); Sabl-Film (Heinrich Sabl): J. P. Storm
Collection; Benedikt Toniolo; Weta Digital (Dave Gougé); and Grigori Zurkan.
Special thanks are due to Rainer M. Engel, Schrift-Bilder GmbH Berlin, who
assisted with formatting images and stills.

x Acknowledgments
Authors

Rolf Giesen Berlin-based screenwriter who specialized in animated feature

films and film historian. For more than 20 years curated the stop-motion col-
lection of the late Ray Harryhausen, worked with directors and artists such as
Roland Emmerich and Albert Whitlock.

Anna Khan Took acting classes and enrolled in dramatics at Free University
Berlin. Experienced actress and director who later got specialized in acting for
animation.

Both authors were invited to lecture in universities and academies in China and
Taiwan and prepare exhibitions devoted to animation.

xi
Introduction
Neverland or No End to
Childhood

Animators should focus on the acting… make the characters think and act… start
with the body first, next focus on the eyes, and last focus on the mouth. When review-
ing reels we look at the acting first.

John Lasseter*

A mosquito flies into the picture. It looks like an insect and at the same time
like a human although it wears only a human hat and carries a bag, with big
eyes that are neither human nor beastly but are part of the world of caricature.
Interestingly enough, the character on screen, like many great cartoon stars, was
based on a comic strip where it looked less human, had no hat, no bag: completely
insect-like. “Its” or “his” cinematically changed personality is created by the way
of acting, lifting the hat with one leg to introduce itself to the spectators, look-
ing around gleefully for a victim that appears in the person of a well-clad, fat,
tired, not really likeable gentleman. In anticipation of our spitefulness, we know
that what’s going to happen serves this man right. The insect follows him to his
apartment and gets inside an open door window to the man’s bedroom. While
the unknowing man sleeps, the mosquito goes to work, sharpens its needle. The
man snores. The mosquito sucks blood. Half-sleeping the man tries to catch it
but the mosquito is persistent and escapes the man’s hand. Finally, the mosquito

* John Lasseter, Pixar Lecture at the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences in Los Angeles
on November 4, 1996.

xiii
is sucked full of blood, its body a balloon. But it hasn’t had its fill of body fluid.
It’s still greedy, sucking more right under the man’s nose, scratching its head.
The balloon circles above the man’s head, landing again, doing a handstand
on the man’s nose, boisterously performing its antics for the audience expect-
ing applause, sucking again and—exploding: boom!, having overdone its job.
The whole animation industry as we know it today is based on that little picture
because it’s the first time that not the novelty of movement and metamorphosis
counts but the unique character itself.
Not done by a computer but by ink and paint: consisting of more than 8000
drawings. Five minutes of first-class animation, more than a 100 years old and
surpassing most of nowadays’ standardized animation. While the few animators
in other countries, like Émile Cohl in France, were satisfied to have their sim-
ple Fantoche characters just moving around, pleased just by movement, Winsor
McCay, the creator of Little Nemo (New York Herald, October 15, 1905) who
did the mosquito in 1912, aimed for good caricatures, drawn in perspective, and
above all personality. How a Mosquito Operates, a little silent film, nothing else
than pencil and ink, never misses its effect on the audience up till today.
The art of acting through animated characters lies in detail, in gesture, in
little unexpected things that make a character memorable even after 100 years,
maybe not so much the acting itself but rather personality. And these tiny ges-
tures and unexpected movements reflect the personality of the animator as well.
Let us quote the late Darlyne O’Brien, widow of the animator who brought King
Kong to eternal screen life: Willis O’Brien. She told that she would recognize
her husband in every gesture of the famous giant gorilla. Having been close to
O’Brien’s protégé, stop-motion artist Ray Harryhausen, we only can confirm this
sentiment. Having known Harryhausen for 35 years, we watched him mimic in
a church in Bologna, Italy, and pounding against the huge gate like mighty Kong
against the entrance of the native village of Skull Island. It was imitative behavior
inspired by an unforgettable childhood experience. Sometimes, in very private
moments, this great animator showed an infecting sense of humor and copied
people. He was a fan of comedian Stan Laurel and revealed that at one time he
and his lifelong friend and buddy Ray Bradbury planned a pilgrimage to Laurel’s
home in Santa Monica.
Germany lost a fantastic Hungarian actor in 1933 when the Nazis came to
power. His name was Peter Lorre (1904–1964). He was the child murderer in Fritz
Lang’s M and toward the end of his life acted in Edgar Allan Poe films directed
by Roger Corman. Colleagues described him as a brilliant scene stealer. When he
would walk over a bridge in the comedy version of The Raven (1963), accompa-
nied by two other old timers, Boris Karloff and Vincent Price, all eyes would be
on him, not on the fellows.
Lorre was born with a face. It was director Howard Hawks who once said
those actors make the best stars who are easily to be caricatured. Just see the cari-
catured star portraits (even in animation) of Clark Gable, complete with over-
sized ears, Katharine Hepburn or Peter Lorre who, alongside Bugs and Daffy,

xiv Introduction
became a mad scientist character in Warner Bros. cartoons Hair-Raising Hare
and Birth of a Notion.
Character animation is about personality, no matter if it’s human, animal or,
well, unearthly demon. Monsters, the bigger they are, remain uniquely memo-
rable just for their proportion: Kong, The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms, the Ymir
from 20 Million Miles to Earth, the intimidating, eye-rolling, nightmarish bug-
bear of a Cyclops in The 7th Voyage of Sinbad, Suffer the Little Children as Stephen
King would put it: an extraordinary hybrid creature, goat-legged, lips of a camel,
jagged teeth of a boar, nails of a lion, the horn of a unicorn.
Doing research on a Walt Disney favorite, Fantasia, John Culhane inter-
viewed master animator Vladimir “Bill” Tytla, called by his associate Lester
Novros the animator, and asked him how he approached the animation of
Chernabog, the powerful monstrous Devil on Bald Mountain. According to
Culhane, Tytla would build himself up, like an actor getting back into an old
role: “I imagined that I was as big as a mountain and made of rock and yet I was
feeling and moving.”*
Although he doesn’t do any evil in his scenes, the horned, giant Chernabog
acts like evil supreme. He unfolds his enormous wings, stretches, summons fire,
demons, and harpies. His eyes reflect satanic pleasure, but like Lugosi’s vampire
the light of the rising sun forces him to retreat.
In Culhane’s view, Bill Tytla shared with Disney an overwhelming empathy
with all creation that was almost Franciscan. He once said that they approached
things with a great deal of emotion. You have to feel yourself to make others
feel the same. As an animator, you have to be an emotional character. Tytla was
emotional and made us feel with the seven dwarfs, with Stromboli, Pinocchio’s
puppet master, Dumbo the flying elephant, or Chernabog’s predecessor, the giant
who rolled a cigarette from a haystack, used the roof of a house as a seat and was
conquered by Mickey Mouse, the Brave Little Tailor.
The greatest of animators, like Tytla, commanded two skills still highly
important, particularly in the digital age: the skill of imagination and the skill
to visualize this imagination. Actors act, according to their imagination, visual
artists of course visualize it.
Although being no professional actor, Tytla became the character, he felt
and grasped the character and enthusiastically filled in, like diminutive Haruo
Nakajima became a giant creature inside a Godzilla rubber suit at Toho Studios
in Tokyo.
Tytla maybe belonged to the first who truly understood the importance of
acting in animation, sort of an heir to Winsor McCay’s legacy because it was
one of McCay’s films, Gertie the Dinosaur, that inspired and started him on
the road. Like McCay, Tytla did his job instinctively by balancing motion and
emotion.

* John Culhane, Walt Disney’s Fantasia. New York: Abradale Press/Harry N. Abrams, Inc.,
Publishers, 1999, p. 194.

Introduction xv
 Another of Disney’s master animators was even more aware of that art. His
name: Milt (Milton Erwin) Kahl—and to many he was the best right after Tytla.
To Kahl, who animated Pinocchio and Bambi, animation was a very difficult
medium that requires pretty good craftsmen who are able to draw well enough to
turn things at every angle. One has to understand movement and, Kahl adds, one
has to be an actor, put on a performance, and be a showman.
Animation has to do with acting, at least to some degree. But there is no true
acting involved, of course not, as animators do not enter the stage themselves,
but rather animate the character that acts, and if they are lucky they are able
to avoid the standardized, mechanical mass production that Richard Williams
once called just animating matches (but even cheap animation needs a certain
amount of characterization). In the best case, actors as well as animators explore
and develop characters thoroughly and become one with them. So both, acting as
well as animation, is a highly creative process. This is what they have in common.
And they have, as we will see, the same origins.
But contrary to film stars who shine on the silver screen (and art that is exhib-
ited in galleries and museums worldwide and sometimes sells to astronomical
prices), animators in most cases remain in the dark. Their names are only known
to insiders, and in the early years many spectators would naively speculate if Walt
Disney was the artist who drew all his animated films himself.
The same is true for actors used in motion or performance capture. Andy
Serkis, an exceptional actor, may be the only one whose name is known to bigger
audiences thanks to his performances as Gollum in the Lord of the Rings trilogy
or as Supreme Leader Snoke in Star Wars: The Force Awakens.
Vice versa, live actors who share the screen with animated characters have
problems, too, to win the “competition.” In many cases, they won’t. A live actor
simply cannot win against animals, kids, or cartoons. They just might catch up
as the late Bob Hoskins did in Who Framed Roger Rabbit.
This book is divided into two parts: From film history we learn about the
importance of actors and the range of personalities and related arts that goes into
animation. Then we will turn to the animator’s, the writer’s, and actor’s point of
view to describe the various techniques involved.
There might be doubts about mixing history and technical guidance. Some
might call the project too academic (don’t worry, it’s not), more appealing to
film historians than animators themselves. Who is this book being written
for? Is it for historians, film buffs, and fans? Is it for character animators? Is
it for screenwriters? Is it for actresses and actors who might look to animation
as an additional source of income? It seems to fall between all these stools.
It is no history book in the proper meaning of the word. It is no manual. It
is more like a brainstorm of facts and ideas that demonstrate the variety of
animation.
The reason for this kind of confusion has mainly to do with our relation to
the science of history. Our fast-paced society considers it superfluous to look
back to understand what we are doing today. To many viewers, everything that

xvi Introduction
precedes Avatar doesn’t simply exist. It is predigital, isn’t it? Black-and-white film
and silent, in the worst case. They forget that animation techniques themselves
do depend on neither film nor digital media. So past, present, and future have the
same purpose in recording movement. We wouldn’t be able to judge and classify
what we are doing without the knowledge of the history of moving images. If we
don’t know where they come from, we don’t know where they go to. This preju-
dice against history transferred to the stage would mean that Shakespeare has no
significance in theatre today.
Animated images surround us since a Stone Age artist drew a wild boar
with eight legs on a wall in the Cave of Altamira in nowadays Cantabria,
Spain. Why did he do so? Because the very idea of animation is in our head,
therefore, not necessarily tied to the silver or the computer screen: mentally
saving, reconstructing, and re-enacting movement is the objective target. And
by re-enacting telling a story. While we talked about the effect the shine of fire
would have on these, thanks to stone protrusion, almost 3D cave paintings,
Tommy Lee Jones, on a visit to Berlin’s Museum of Film and Television to
promote Men in Black, all of a sudden gave a private performance and dem-
onstrated to us how a Stone Age storyteller’s shadow would act while speak-
ing and spinning yarns in the shine of fire. One can say that this was the first
motion-picture theater.
Since then the field is not exclusively reserved to professional cartoonists and
animators (of course not), but in the digital age, in the realm of synthetic media
where even acting is artificial, they come closest to the domain of actor-storytell-
ers: from Stone Age right into the future of virtuality.
Animators must bring drawn, sculpted, or digitally created figures to life.
Actors must develop characters as well, but they draw on their physical body
shape and their gender (although not in every culture: when male actors imper-
sonate females). Animators can portray anything from plant life (Walt Disney’s
Technicolor Silly Symphony Flowers and Trees) to animals, from humans to
robots and non-humanoid aliens. For humans it’s rather difficult to portray
goat-legged satyrs or multi-armed, sword-wielding horrors. When Hollywood
planned to film Edgar Rice Burroughs’ John Carter of Mars stories in the 1960s,
stop-motion artist Jim Danforth naturally pleaded for animation to portray the
four-armed green giant barbarians who are part of Burroughs’ universe, but
the VFX supervisor-to-be, Larry Butler, wouldn’t sympathize with that idea and
would have handled the effect by tying two large basketball players for each
giant and having a special headpiece made. The multi-armed silver maid from
the 1940-Thief of Bagdad was choreographed in a similar way by the same Butler.
(Ray Harryhausen would eventually animate the six-armed Kali in a sword-
fight sequence from The Golden Voyage of Sinbad.) Decades later, when John
Carter of Mars was eventually produced by Disney, the computer would take
over. Animation had become a major ingredient of most American blockbusters
with a strong report to VFX. Genuine live-action scenes that hadn’t been pixel
touched became scarce. Before the digital age, however, VFX and design people

Introduction xvii
antagonized animation, particularly stop motion, for being jerky. MGM’s chief
production designer Cedric Gibbons despised the studio’s decision to have
Willis O’Brien come down to Culver City to try a stop-motion adventure titled
War Eagles, an epic that consequently never was. Of course, there was misun-
derstanding on both parts. Gibbons’ associate A. Arnold Gillespie, for many
years in charge of models, ships, planes, and special effects at Metro studios,
described the movement of the hanging miniature dolls that filled the stadium
to watch the 1925 Ben Hur chariot race and were arranged like the tiny players
of table soccer as—animation. There was not much love lost between live action
and animated films. The heads of international film festivals would prefer to
walk alongside live stars over the red carpet rather than present themselves with
cartoon characters in silly costumes. The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and
Sciences rarely would acknowledge animated effects in live-action films up to
the 1960s and only would award Mighty Joe Young in 1950. Ray Harryhausen,
assistant to Willis O’Brien who received the Oscar, was present during the cer-
emony and felt the tension of the nominated O’Brien. But Ray himself had to
wait a long time for his well-deserved Oscar. That signals that animation is dif-
ferent from all other cinematic experiences. Jim Danforth recalls that, in those
days, even members of the VFX Academy Award committee didn’t understand
the intricate Harryhausen process.
The process of animation begins in preproduction with developing the char-
acter, a joint effort of specialized writers and skilled artists supervised not exactly
by the director but by the producer who in most cases is the project’s driving
force, in Europe (as we sadly had to learn) with a lot of unwelcome interference
from TV editors and distributors, and with devising the model sheets that show
posing and facial expression of the respective character. The livelier a single pose
is the better. On stage there are art directors, set designers, costume makers, and
make-up men who support actors in their performances. The actor himself will
contribute what we call emotional expression, using his mimic art, voice, and
body movement. But in animation everything depends on the animator provided
he is going to work with a solid design of the character that means something to
him, that inspires him. In TV mass production, the design is even more impor-
tant as there is no ambitious detailed animation possible for budgetary reasons
and time constraints.
Actors have learned to express emotion by facial expression, gestures, breath-
ing, and voice. The tools actors and animators use are basically the same: body
talk, mood, and movement—with the exception that to them this kind of per-
forming is an out-of-body experience.
Animators and actors have at least one thing in common. Animators, like
actors, are avid watchers. They carefully observe and study animals as well as
humans. For Bambi, the popular cartoon version of Felix Salten’s 1923-book,
Disney got real deer, two fawns, christened Bambi and Faline, to his old Hyperion
Studios as reference for the animators where they could be studied. The same
approach these writers noticed at the animation department of Beijing Film

xviii Introduction
Academy where they animated a feature about a dog and had a tiny puppy caged
in the studio.
Certainly both, animators as well as actors, have to watch. In fact, Augusto
Fernandes, Argentine stage director, sent his actors to the zoo to study animal
behavior. Animals and nature play an important part in the life of many anima-
tors in every country of the world, in every culture. Before animating Mighty Joe
Young, Harryhausen did just that: going to the zoo and studying live gorillas.
“I even became a vegetarian for some time,” Harryhausen would say.
But contrary to the actor on stage, an animator is not only copying nature.
He can change it. He is almost free from it and the limits of physics. In the world
of animated characters, Béla Balázs wrote, nothing is impossible as miracles are
part of the daily routine. The drawn lines function in accordance with the shape
they assume. Saying that he referred to the antics of Felix the Cat, the screen’s
first cartoon star that, by the way, was modeled after Charles Chaplin’s little
tramp with certain characteristics that later were borrowed from and paid for by
Buster Keaton. To a creature made of lines, Balázs observed, everything should
be achievable. Felix the Cat, for instance, can roll his tail into a wheel and ride off
on it as if it were a bicycle. In another case, Felix loses his tail. He wonders what
to do and while he ponders, a question mark grows out of his head. Felix seizes
it and sticks it on his rump. There you go. These images are absolute. There is no
difference between appearance and reality.*
With an uncertain nod to the future, Balázs wonders himself, what would be
gained if this was to become reality?
Above all technique, however, we must play. Play like children. That is being
curious and imaginative and having fun doing so.
As children we have looked up to the sky and imagined the clouds to be
animals, giants, pirates, adventurers, cowboys, and Indians riding horses. The
source of all inspiration is childlike imagination, and Pixar even devoted one
of its shorts to simply that, Partly Cloudy, creating an anthropomorphic cloud
character from pixel animation. It was Max Reinhardt, Germany’s great pioneer
of the stage, who once said, “I believe in the immortality of the theatre, it is a most
joyous place to hide, for all those who have secretly put their childhood in their
pockets and run off and away with it, to play on to the end of their days.”
The same should be true for animators. Children and animators are not nec-
essarily acting. To them it’s all like truly playing. Playing is also dreaming: great
dreams, wishful dreams, and occasionally, as part of the game, nightmares.
Playing staggers the imagination.
Hayao Miyazaki, the great Japanimator, echoes Reinhardt’s sentiments when
he says that children aren’t interested in logic; to them, all is pure imagination.†
It’s a dream that is best expressed in Peter Pan, James Matthew Barrie’s story
of a mischievous boy who never grows up, who never will become an adult. He is

* Béla Balázs, Early Film Theory. New York/Oxford: Berghahn Books, 2010, p. 174.
† Anime Interviews. San Francisco, California: Cadence Books, 1997, p. 31.

Introduction xix
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the leader of a gang of lost boys and flies to a place behind the clouds: the island of
Neverland with lots of imaginary characters like pirates, fairies, and mermaids.
In Greek mythology, the god Pan, who idles in the countryside of Arkadia play-
ing panpipes and chasing Nymphs, represents natural life that Barrie contrasts
with the effects of civilization.
Therefore, this book is more about Playing than about Acting in Animation. At
least it should be. It’s about imagination and about the Pan-like figures that come
out of those dreams and begin to live.
It was Ray Bradbury, author and fantasist, who once remarked that Charles
Laughton, the Hunchback of Notre Dame, Nero, Dr. Moreau, Captain Bligh and
the Canterville Ghost in one and the same person, was the biggest child of them all.

xx Introduction
 Part I
The Story of
Actors & Acting
in Animation
 1
Time for Creation
Homunculi

Acting and animating are arts of simulation and reproduction: the dream of cre-
ating animal and human life by means other than natural reproduction.
The so-called Homunculus was the realm of Doctor Faustus, the legendary
necromancer and astrologer who became a durable character in the literature
where he sold his soul to the devil, a predecessor of Frankenstein, and it was the
realm of the Swiss alchemist Theophrastus Bombast von Hohenheim, otherwise
known as Paracelsus, a sixteenth century master of holistic medicine and natural
healing, who is said to have been interested in artificially made human beings, a
concern that in those days came close to black magic.
In Universal’s The Bride of Frankenstein (1935), VFX experts John P. Fulton
and David Stanley Horsley created such homunculi optically by miniaturiz-
ing live actors while an artist like Ray Harryhausen even animated a (winged)
homunculus stop-frame, as an evil magician’s aid in his “super-spectacle” The
Golden Voyage of Sinbad.
Today’s alchemists who call themselves scientists create artificial life through
genetic engineering and human cloning. Animators, however, accomplish the
process in a much simpler way. They create their little men (this is what homun-
culi means translated from Latin) by using digital imagery or simply a pen.

3
 Facing auspicious occasions, animators will have a chance of not only acting
but also creating. In some early animation, as in the Out of the Inkwell series by
Max Fleischer, the hand of the animator appears and it looks as if the drawn
character was touched by the hand of God. Animators invent characters that vir-
tually do not exist. In such cases, some of them actually might feel like being
God and say so. “Now I know what it feels like to be God!” Colin Clive screamed
when portraying Frankenstein in front of James Whale’s camera. This attitude
was parodied in Chuck Jones’ short cartoon Duck Amuck (1953) in which Daffy
Duck fights the malicious hand of a mischievous animator who turns out to be
Bugs Bunny. But sometimes the creations might be more powerful than the cre-
ator itself. They seem to develop a life of their own like Pinocchio did.
In 1965, famed Czech stop-motion producer Jiří Trnka (1912–1969) wrote and
directed an 18-minute short film, a parable titled Ruka (The Hand) that dealt
with personality cult: A harlequin potter is happy to create his daily output of
flower vases, but then a huge Stalinist hand appears that threatens and manipu-
lates him to sculpt nothing else than memorials of a giant hand.

4 Acting and Character Animation

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During this scene not an Itzaex moved. Each head
touched the ground. The warriors were silent as well as
motionless.

“Rise, my people!” commanded Chaka, in clear, ringing

tones. They obeyed, and now a legion of dark eyes was
fixed full upon the youth confronting them. “The Itzaex
are still brave and dauntless,” continued the young
atkayma. “The Mopane cats are punished for their
crime. The murder of the great and noble Tcheltzada,
my father, who has ruled you long and wisely, has been
quickly and terribly avenged. I thank you.”

Now the chieftain of the party, an enormous grizzled

warrior, stepped forward and said:

“Tell us, then, O Atkayma, where you have been; why

now you are here.”

“Then listen to my words,” was the reply. “It is nine 121

years since I led a band of young men to the sea. The
Mopanes fell upon us and cut my comrades down.
Some, I hope, escaped. I found a boat and fled across
the great water, the enemy following. A ship of the
white people—the powerful Americans—saved me and
took me on board, repelling the Mopanes. I was carried
to far lands, with no way to return to my people. Years
passed by. I found a good friend among the white men,
a friend who has now helped me to come back to you.
He is yonder, with seven others who have assisted me.
On our journey to Itzlan we were surprised by Mopanes.
You may see how many we have destroyed.”

The warriors glanced around. The ground was literally

covered with bodies. They well knew they had not slain
all these themselves.
“My white friends,” continued Chaka, “must become the
friends of the Itzaex nation; my people must become
their friends. To them you owe the safe return of your
atkayma.”

This last statement was the first to be received with

disfavor. There were sundry grunts of protest and
gestures of dissent. The old chieftain bowed low and
made reply.

“Never, O Atkayma Chaka, has the white man been the 122
friend of the Itzaex,” said he.

“Time changes many things. These white people have

been like brothers to me,” announced Chaka, in a firm
voice. “I know them. In their hearts is no treachery;
they seek no conquest; they are good and true. Tell me,
Gatcha, have they not destroyed many of the enemies
of the Itzaex? Have they not given you back your
hereditary atkayma, just as the gods have permitted my
father Tcheltzada to meet his doom? If you fail to greet
my preservers as friends, the gods, from whom I am
descended, and for whom I speak, will surely punish
you.”

That seemed to settle the case with the Itzaex. Once

more they prostrated themselves before Chaka in token
of obedience, and the chieftain Gatcha said:

“It is well, O Atkayma. If your uncle, the mighty

Datchapa, receives the white men, we have no
objection to offer to them.”

The youth frowned and drew himself up haughtily.

“Who, then, is master; my Uncle Datchapa or Chaka?” 123

he demanded.
There was no response.

Chaka turned and came back to us.

“Do not fear,” he said in English. “My people will obey

me. Come; let us go.”

We gathered up our traps and followed the new

atkayma to where his warriors stood awaiting us. I
observed that they regarded us who were white with a
disdain that was scarcely tolerant and decidedly
uncomfortable. Nux and Bryonia, however, won favor
immediately—doubtless because of their color; perhaps
for their imposing forms and composed demeanor. The
latter was not unlike a notable characteristic of the
Itzaex warriors.

Paul, who headed us, placed his right hand on the left
shoulder of the chieftain Gatcha, which was the native
salutation of peace and friendship. The old fellow
seemed pleased and gravely responded. I followed suit,
understanding this custom was expected, and so we all
in turn saluted the warrior, who we afterward discovered
was the most famous general of the nation.
Then, without more ado, we started away, our party 124
occupying a central position beside the Atkayma Chaka,
who stalked along with a newly assumed dignity that
was rather amusing, although I must admit the boy had
always displayed considerable dignity.

The Itzaex had doubtless seen white men before, or at

least heard of them; yet I am sure the peculiar manner
in which we were garbed astonished them. Not that
they allowed themselves to show surprise; they were
too phlegmatic for that; but even this secluded race
realized that no such queer rigging was ever worn by
human creatures before, white or black, and since they
had no reason to laugh at us they must have been
impressed with the fact that we were distinctly unusual.

Any present danger to us seemed now eliminated, for

with this superb escort we would surely be able to
penetrate to the heart of Itzlan, where the capital city
called Itza was located. Two days’ journey from here,
Chaka had called it; but the Itzaex marched with such
long, swinging strides that they covered the ground
more rapidly than we have been able to do before.

125
 CHAPTER XI
WE ENTER THE CITY OF ITZA

We held no unnecessary converse with one another on

the trail, not being anxious to appear as chatterboxes
before these silent natives; but when we had camped
for the night in another small clearing, which we
reached at dusk, we gathered in a group and in English
talked over the day’s adventures and our future
prospects. Chaka came and sat with us after he had
indulged in a somewhat lengthy interview with Gatcha
the chief, and he looked rather solemn and thoughtful.

“My father was out hunting with a small party of

twelve,” said he, “when the Mopanes, who had long
been lying in ambush, seized and assassinated him. One
warrior made escape and aroused the City, so Gatcha
gathered his men and gave chase. Before he left Itza,
however, the chief tells me that my Uncle Datchapa,
believing me to be dead, as had my father, caused
himself to be proclaimed atkayma. That is bad, my
friends, for now Datchapa will not be glad to see me.”

“Is he as bad as that?” I asked. 126

“My Uncle Datchapa,” returned Chaka, slowly, “is an old

man, and a wise man as well. He has renown as a
warrior and a statesman, and my people respect him
greatly. Also he is ambitious, and as a boy my mother
warned me to avoid him, lest he seek my death that he
might succeed my father as atkayma. Gatcha, who has
no love for Datchapa, but fears him, tells me my father
also watched his ambitious brother carefully, being
afraid to trust him at the head of the army. Gatcha is
not sure that my uncle did not secretly send for the
Mopanes and then induce the Atkayma Tcheltzada to
hunt with a handful of followers. If this is true—but I
hope it is not true—then Datchapa will be much
disappointed when I return.”

“Never mind,” said Paul, soothingly. “My brother Chaka

is the royal one.”

“Also is Datchapa royal,” was the reply. “He is my

father’s brother. But our laws forbid him to become
atkayma as long as his brother’s son lives.”

“Then we must be careful,” I suggested. 127

“It is not for myself, Cap’n Sam, that I fear,” returned

Chaka, “but for my white comrades. Datchapa, wicked
and ambitious as he is, dare not oppose me openly. But
he is Chief of the Council, which directs our laws, and
he may show enmity to my white friends and try to
arouse the people to destroy them.”

“In that case,” said Joe, “I advise you to clap your

precious uncle into jail as soon as you arrive. It will be
the safest plan.”

Chaka made no answer to this.

We now began to appreciate the advantages of the

gauze protectors with which Paul had supplied us,
perhaps at Chaka’s suggestion. The natives had
promptly built smudge fires of damp forest leaves, in
order to drive back the hordes of mosquitoes and other
insects that settled in the camp as soon as we did. My,
how those mosquitoes did sing! The Itzaex, accustomed
as they were to the pests, squirmed and swatted the
blood-suckers continually, while we in our armor and
head-gear were proof against attack. Chaka himself,
who had seemed until now too proud to pose before his
people in any foreign attire, hastily assumed his outfit
and slept in it all night. Old Gatcha the chief, who
proved not a bad fellow on better acquaintance, frankly
expressed his admiration for our devices and asked if
we had any more “cages” in the chests. Since we could
not accommodate him he lay down naked beside the
smudge of a fire and let the winged vampires bleed him
at their leisure.

All were up bright and early next morning and so swift 128
was our progress during the day that when we again
made camp Chaka assured us we were but three hours’
journey from the capital.

During this day we passed no villages, being told that

the great City of Itza was the only congregation of
dwellings on this side of their territory. To the west and
south were a dozen or more important towns, with
cultivated fields and orchards connecting them; but
ages of warfare with the fierce Mopanes had taught
them the danger of establishing villages in this district.
Itza really served as a barrier, it being too populous and
powerful to be attacked.

Chaka estimated the total population of Itzlan at over 129

fifty thousand people, while the Mopanes could number
no more than ten thousand, all told. This border
warfare, however, was regarded as a mere incident in
life by the Itzaex, who had other foes at the opposite
borders of their domain. Nor did they devote all their
time to fighting; they were mighty hunters and
fishermen, as well as skilled in agriculture and certain
crude manufacturers. According to the youthful atkayma
there were no other tribes in Yucatan so powerful and
civilized as the Itzaex, and I am inclined to think he was
right.

By the way, the similarity of the names Aztec and Itzaex

has induced some scholars to think they were originally
one and the same race; but the earliest conquistadors,
who knew both people, declared that the Itzaex were
much the handsomer and more intelligent people,
although their buildings and civilization were somewhat
inferior to those of the race of Montezuma. We must
take into consideration, however, the fact that the
Spaniards were never able to penetrate far into Itzlan,
while they conquered the Aztec territory with
comparative ease—by the aid of treachery and
audacious trickery.

On the second morning we were up before the dawn 130

and a brisk march brought us presently to a broad, flat
plateau that was very beautiful and enticing, as its
green fields and waving grain lay glimmering in the sun.
We were all glad to be out of the dark forests, and
before long, on mounting an incline, we saw before us
the white, low buildings of a vast city, built around the
shores of a placid lake and shaded by groups of
magnificent trees.

The extent of this great City of Itza amazed us all, and

Chaka smiled proudly as he pointed out the royal
palace, the great temple, and the strong walls and
gateways.

On nearer approach the whiteness of the buildings

became more grimy and weather-stained and the
houses were found to be generally small and greatly
scattered. We afterward learned that Itza has a
population of nearly twenty thousand, which is certainly
an extensive settlement to be hidden in the wilds of
Yucatan. The walls included not only the buildings but
the lake itself, and were thick and strong if not very
high.

Beyond the city we saw for the first time the sierras, the 131
highest mountains in the peninsula. It was mainly a
range of rounded knolls, most of them being covered
with verdure and easily accessible. Directly in the center,
however, were four small rocky peaks and one towering
one that seemed to rise into the clouds. The sides of the
latter mountain seemed precipitous and formed of
straight walls of rock.

Runners had been sent forward and before we reached

the walls of Itza people came pouring out of the nearest
gate in a dense throng, every eye being set in our
direction. There was no confusion or excitement
apparent—I wonder if an Itzaex ever could get excited?
—but they plainly showed their interest in their newly
discovered youthful atkayma by trooping out to meet
him.

And Chaka received a right royal welcome.

Men, women and children “bit the dust,” as Archie said, 132
by prostrating themselves before him. The boy looked
very handsome in his gleaming copper skin and the
single heron feather set in his hair, and he walked into
his hereditary kingdom as proud as a peacock, as well
he might.

Just within the gates stood an impatient group clad in

flowing robes embroidered with colored feather work. I
think I omitted saying that most of the people of the
city wore single loose robes similar to the togas of the
ancient Greeks or the burnous of the Egyptians. Only
those engaged in hunting or upon an expedition of war
cast aside all covering but the loin cloth.

A curious fact which I observed was that all the robes

were of colors or tints. Among the common people dark
blues and purples were much affected. The merchants
and middle classes, including the warriors, wore greens
and yellows. The nobility adopted delicate shades of
lavender, rose and saffron. I saw no red, as yet. Pure
white was reserved for the royal family alone, and the
foremost figure in the group I have mentioned was an
old man arrayed in soft flowing white and bearing over
his arm another garment of like texture and color.

As Chaka entered the gate this ancient dignitary—I 133

knew at once it was his precious Uncle Datchapa—
raised an arm to bar his way and gazed shrewdly into
the young man’s countenance. It did not take long to
convince him, for in a moment he threw the extra robe
over Chaka’s head and then knelt before him as the
others had done. All the group, members of the nobility
and the royal council, followed suit, and there they
remained until the new atkayma bade them rise.

It seemed to me that we, Chaka’s friends and comrades,

were somewhat important and distinguished ourselves,
and entitled to consideration; but old Datchapa and his
backers disregarded us utterly, affecting to ignore our
presence. We stuck stubbornly at the atkayma’s heels
and except for his uncle, whom he retained at his side,
all the other big bugs were forced to fall into the
procession behind us.

A procession it really became now. Musicians were 134

present who blew weird sounds upon reed flutes and
beat tom-toms to keep us all in step. The streets were
lined with spectators, who uttered no cheers of
welcome but fell on their faces automatically as Chaka
approached and rose again when he had passed on. It
seemed as if we tramped miles and miles before the
royal progress finally reached the shores of the lake,
where stood the palace. It was a great, rambling
building, two stories high and built of blocks of rough
marble with pillars and ornaments showing much clever
carving.

Chaka mounted the broad steps to the entrance and

then turned and addressed the crowd. He told them
how he had been carried away from Yucatan nine years
before and of how he had managed to return. He
praised his “white brothers” for their noble assistance
and introduced Allerton to them especially, placing his
hand on Paul’s shoulder in token of his friendship. He
then expressed his joy at beholding again his native
land, his sorrow at the terrible death of his beloved
father, the former atkayma, and his intention of ruling
his people wisely and with consideration. He called upon
them to prove their allegiance and pledge their support
at all times to their royal ruler, the Child of the Gods,
who promised to protect them in return.

135
They answered the speech by raising their right arms
[2]
and shouting a single word: “Kaym!” in unison, after
which the throng quietly dispersed.

Posed just before the entrance door to the palace I had

noticed three interesting figures which, during the
proceedings, had remained motionless as statues. They
were all three tall and imposing, with sharp, thin
features and alert eyes. Their robes were of a blood-red
color and had a cape or broad collar of white. Upon
their heads they wore high, round, brimless hats of
white feather-work, the first headdresses of any sort I
had seen.

Chaka now turned to this trio and knelt humbly before

them. One after another placed a hand upon his bent
head and muttered a few words, after which they all
three turned and disappeared through a small doorway.

The atkayma remained kneeling for several moments,

while we stood watching him. Then he soberly regained
his feet and motioned to us to approach.

“Follow me closely,” he said in English. “There is danger 136

all about you, so try to be discreet, my brothers.”

Then he entered the broad arch that led into the palace.

137
 CHAPTER XII
WE SIGHT THE QUARRY

As compared with the palaces of civilized nations I

cannot say much in favor of Chaka’s royal dwelling.
When I consider that it existed in the heart of an
isolated, practically unknown wilderness, I admit it was
something to win approval. It must have been centuries
old, for the mark of ages was upon it everywhere, as it
was upon most of the buildings of Itza. Built of square
blocks of a coarse and unpolished but durable marble,
set with cement, there had been little attempt at
architectural display on the part of the builders. The
palace covered nearly an acre, having several wings
which had been added at different periods. The interior
was cool but dirty; the walls and floors had never been
scrubbed, I imagine. The ceilings of the main floor were
so low that I could reach up and touch them; those on
the second floor, to which we ascended by means of a
narrow, steep stair without a rail, were more lofty.

The place was full of servants, officials and hangers-on; 138

but Chaka managed to recognize the chief steward, or
whatever he was called, and after a brief interview with
that factotum had us ushered into a big bare room on
the second floor, in one of the wings.
We took our precious chests with us, of course, and
prepared to camp. That’s the right word to use, for the
only furniture in the room was a row of stone benches
around the wall. Aside from the doorway were two
outside openings intended for windows, over which a
network of vines grew, keeping out the sun but
admitting light and air and permitting us to get a limited
view of the street. Over the doorway hung a sort of
portiere of wool and feather-work, gorgeously colored.
The chamber was a primitive abode, indeed, yet we
approved it because our position could be defended and
we knew not what to expect from the bigoted,
unresponsive Itzaex.

Relying on Chaka’s ability to protect time, at least, we 139

now divested ourselves of our bulky equipment. That
was a distinct relief, for it was the first time since
leaving the ship that we had lain it aside. We replaced it
with thin white duck trousers and jackets which we had
brought along for such an occasion in one of the chests.
Ned Britton proposed strolling out and seeing the town,
but Allerton thought it wiser to remain where we were
until we had word from Chaka.

About noon a troop of Indian girls entered, bearing food

in various pots and earthen dishes which they set upon
the floor before us. I have remarked upon the beauty of
the male Itzaex, but I must confess their women are
not up to the standard. Nearly all are short and dumpish
in form, with dull eyes and apathetic countenances. I
never saw a pretty Itzaex girl while I was there.

The food was plentiful and of good quality, but poorly

seasoned and carelessly cooked. The meats were
mutton or wild game, supplemented by various
vegetables such as rice, barley and a root resembling
turnip. The bread was heavy and tough; but we
managed to eat it, nevertheless, and I am sure we
ought to have been satisfied for the feast was as good
as the natives were able to provide.

After dinner we waited in vain for Chaka to come to us. 140

As the hours rolled by Allerton began to be uneasy and
disturbed. Not until the sun had sunk low upon the
horizon and we had come to heartily detest the blank
walls of our room did our friend, the atkayma, finally
appear. He seemed grave and thoughtful as he entered,
and after a word of greeting he squatted on the floor
before us.

“They have kept me busy,” he said in English. “I could

not come before. There have been councils and
discussions all day. Just now I have come from the
great temple, where the priests have been telling me
my duty.”

“Poor Brother!” said Paul. “It is not easy to be a king.”

Chaka shrugged his shoulders.

“Not that, Brother Paul,” said he. “But it is not easy to

run against the traditions of an ancient people, to defy a
powerful priesthood and stand alone against a nation.”

“Have you done that, Chaka?”

“I had to do it. Otherwise you would all now be dead.” 141

“Do they object to us so strongly?” I asked.

“White men,” said the atkayma, “centuries ago deceived

my people, who destroyed them. Never since have they
permitted a white man to penetrate into their country.
Their one great hatred—greater than that for the
Mopanes—is this hatred of the whites. When I, as the
head of the nation, brought you here, the people
submitted reluctantly; but now they demand your death
—that you be sacrificed upon the funeral pyre of my
murdered father. It is the custom to sacrifice to the gods
on such an occasion.”

“I suppose your precious uncle is at the bottom of this,”

remarked Archie.

“He has induced the priests to demand you as sacrifices.

I have just come from the great temple, which is on an
island in the lake. The priests will not listen to my
protests. They are determined to destroy the hated
white men and the blacks who are with them. According
to our law no strangers may exist in our land or leave it
alive.”

“We’ll show them a trick or two,” remarked Ned Britton, 142

smiling.

Chaka hesitated; then he added:

“The priests and the council have hinted that unless you
are all delivered up to them at daybreak to-morrow
morning, when my father’s body is to be cremated with
much ceremony, they will assassinate me, their
atkayma, and place my uncle at the head of the nation.”

We looked at one another a little bewildered at this.

Chaka had misjudged his power over these stubborn
people, and a serious complication had unexpectedly
arisen.

“In that case,” said Allerton slowly, “something must be

done to-night.”
Chaka nodded, but made no other reply. He sat on the
stone floor, swaddled in his robe of royalty and hugging
his knees in a very unroyal attitude. Paul eyed him
thoughtfully, likewise refraining from speech. We others
knew it was an occasion when we were not called upon
to interfere with the promoters of the expedition.

Gradually the sun sank. After a brief twilight darkness 143

flooded the room. We were growing impatient when
Chaka slowly arose and said:

“Come, my Brother Paul. Also you, Cap’n Sam; and

Cap’n Joe, as well. We must talk. It will be a small
council. My other friends will remain here and wait for
us.”

“I don’t like dividing our party,” said I, doubtfully.

“There will be no division.”

“Where are you going, then?” asked Ned.

“To the roof above. Soon we will return. Wait.”

Allerton, Joe and I followed the atkayma to the door.

Just outside another narrow stair led to a small opening
through which I saw a starry sky. We ascended these
stairs and stood upon a flat roof surrounded by a low
parapet.

The sky was a clear blue, set with myriads of diamond

stars. Already a full moon was rising above the city,
shedding its soft light so broadly that we could clearly
distinguish the surrounding landscape. The air was dry,
hot and perfectly still.
“Yonder,” said Chaka in English, as he faced the south, 144
“stands the great mountain of Aota. Around it are the
four peaks of Gam. That country is barren and covered
with rocks. There are secret caves in which dwell fierce
animals with evil spirits, and deep wells that draw one
to his death. So my people have always been told, and
they believe the tale. No Itzaex ever go to those
mountains; they are considered sacred to the spirits of
evil.”

“And where lies the hidden city?” asked Paul, eagerly.

“In the very center of Aota, whose steep sides it is

impossible for man to climb.”

“It can’t be a very big place,” I remarked.

“That mountain is bigger than it seems from here,”

declared Joe.

“Yes,” said Chaka; “it is a big mountain, and in its

center, so my father told me, is a big valley where all
things beautiful grow and flourish. The people are not
many as compared with the Itzaex. Perhaps they
number a thousand—perhaps two thousand—I do not
know. But they are a powerful race, descended from
those who once came from Atlantis, and in their valley
they find all that they need to support life.”

We stood looking thoughtfully at the barren, towering 145

peak. No wonder elaborate preparations had been made
to invade such a stronghold.

“I wish we had their gold and rubies without the trouble

of going there,” I said.
“Well,” said Allerton, awakening to a more alert mood,
“we haven’t; and the journey must be made. What do
you propose, Chaka? Can we steal away from the city
to-night and start toward Aota?”

The atkayma shook his head.

“Look!” said he, pointing below. “The walls are guarded

by my warriors. I myself might easily pass through, but
not the white people. Already the word has gone abroad
that the priests demand your lives. The funeral pyre of
the dead atkayma requires victims. My uncle has
aroused public hatred against you and the Itzaex nation
thirsts for your blood.”

“That’s pleasant,” commented Joe.

“But what’s the program, then?” I inquired. “We don’t 146

agree to be murdered, of course, however thirsty your
people may be. That isn’t what we came here for.”

“No,” said Chaka. “We have really little to fear. If my

Brother Paul and my other friends approve, I will show
them how we may escape.”

“Speak, my brother,” returned Paul.

“It is not wise to go to-night,” began Chaka, “for I do

not know the way to the mountain very well. All I know
is that by some means we must get to the top of Aota.
There is no wind. If we ascend into the air now we will
remain suspended over the city, except for the small
progress we could make with our wings, which have
never been tested. In this country a breeze always
springs up in the morning. It blows from the north and
the north-west. That would help to carry us away
toward the mountain, or at least far away from the city.”
“But aren’t we to be burned on the funeral pyre at
daybreak?” demanded Joe.

“At daybreak I am commanded to deliver you to the 147

priests at the great temple,” said Chaka. “There will be
many ceremonies. You will be taken to the top of the
temple, which is a pyramid, and there, in the sight of
the people below, you are to be slain. Afterward your
bodies will be laid upon the funeral pyre. My plan is to
allow all this to happen but the killing. We will inflate
our gas-jackets in readiness and at the right time, while
the breeze is blowing, mount into the air and escape.”

“Well, I’m game,” said I, drawing a long breath, for I

saw exciting times ahead.

“I’m with you, Chaka,” added Joe in his quiet voice.

Allerton walked to the parapet and stood there several

minutes, thinking deeply. Then he returned and placed
his hand on Chaka’s shoulder.

“It is a good plan, my brother,” he said. “We will follow it

to the end.”

We went below and told the others. Nux and Bryonia

grinned and nodded as if they had been invited to
attend a circus; Ned asked a few questions and said he
was satisfied; Pedro shook his head and vowed it
seemed “ver’ much danger” but he would go with the
crowd. Archie was asleep and growled when we woke
him up. “Settle it to suit yourselves,” he said, yawning.
“I’m agreeable to anything but keeping awake all night.”

I’m ashamed to say I slept very soundly myself, worn 148

out by our long journey and its excitements. I think
every one slept, for that matter, unless it was the
Mexican. When the atkayma went away he sent us
some soft mats which we spread upon the benches and
reclined upon.

It was still dark when Chaka again aroused us. He was

accompanied by two tall Itzaex in red robes, who bore
lighted torches. A group of Indian maids came behind
them with a simple breakfast of fruits and milk.

We first ate and then proceeded to don our equipment.

There was a word of protest from one of the priests, but
Chaka silenced him and to the amazement of the torch-
bearers calmly began to put on his own gas-jacket and
electrite outfit. He refrained from assuming the head-
gear and threw his ample robe over the other fittings,
thus effectually hiding them. I believe these priests,
shrewd as they seemed, were wholly unable to guess
what our strange apparel was for. After all, it matter
little to them, so long as we came quietly to our fate.

When finally we were fully equipped and the surplus 149

material had been packed into a chest, the atkayma
produced a small but very strong cord made from hemp,
with which he proceeded to loop us all together in a
string, himself being attached to one end and Paul to
the other. Archie began to protest at this, but Allerton
told him it was intended as an additional safeguard.

Then we started on, the priests going first and Chaka

following, drawing the rest of the string after him. The
ropes had been left long enough for us to trundle the
chests along easily, and so far as I was concerned the
only uncomfortable thing was my wings, which kept
getting in my way. These had been left to dangle at our
sides until such time as we chose to thrust our arms
through the loops, in order to use them for flying. In
their folded state they did not resemble wings at all,
and although the Itzaex prided themselves on never
showing a trace of curiosity I am quite sure we had
them guessing in more ways than one.

150
 CHAPTER XIII
WE SEEK SAFETY IN FLIGHT

Once outside the palace we found a great concourse of

natives awaiting us, headed by some twenty red-robed
priests. In spite of the evil looks cast upon us there was
no insulting word or jibe uttered. I gave the Itzaex
credit for saving their breath when it was not needed.

Although the sky had now begun to lighten and all near-
by objects were fairly distinct, the torches were still
carried ahead as we began our march. This was brief.
Soon we came to the lake and were led upon a large
flat-boat which at once set out for the temple, urged by
a score of rowers with long paddles. The people
tumbled into hundreds of other craft, big and little, and
followed at our heels.

Arriving at the island the priests took us in charge and

escorted us up the steep steps forming the side of the
great temple.

This was the largest building in Itza. It was shaped like 151
a pyramid, with steps on all four sides leading to the flat
top, some hundred feet from the base. Openings here
and there showed that the center of the pyramid was
divided into rooms, where the priests doubtless dwelt
and held their secret rites and ceremonies. All great
public events, such as our proposed carving, were held
on top the temple in plain view of the populace
gathered below.

Just as we had reached the top—a long and weary

climb—the sun rose red over the horizon, and at once
there was a clang of gongs and bells and a shrill
blowing upon many conch-shells. While this lasted—a
full minute, perhaps—we quietly gazed about us.

We stood upon a platform about fifty feet square, the

outer edge being lined with priests standing in
statuesque attitudes. In the very center of the place
was a cube of marble with a hollow space at the top, in
which lay a glistening knife. It was not a pretty sight, I
assure you, and for an instant it made me shudder.

Now the priests set up a low chant, while at the bottom 152
of the steps appeared the three patriarchs I had noticed
at the palace the day before. This was the holy
triumvirate, and they ascended with dignified
deliberation while the multitude below and those still
occupying the fleet of boats all prostrated themselves
reverently.

“It’s time to inflate the gas-jackets, boys,” whispered

Allerton.

He uncorked a canteen of water and saturated the

crystals of themlyne in his case, afterward handing the
canteen to me. One by one we all followed suit, while
the chanting priests eyed us doubtfully but forbore to
interfere. The gas generated freely and began to fill the
hollow jackets, which swelled until we were just able to
keep our feet on the platform. Pedro let in a little too
much, and would have floated had not Chaka quickly
shut off the valve and released some of the excess gas.
Pedro, frightened at his own buoyancy, managed to
regain his feet with difficulty, and the incident made the
priests surrounding us all the more suspicious.

“Are your electrites ready?” inquired Paul.

We nodded.

“Use them if necessary,” he commanded. 153

Then we waited. I looked anxiously for the promised

breeze, which so far had failed to put in an appearance.
But it was yet early.

Slowly the holy three mounted the steps and we were

all ready for them when they arrived at the top. Scarcely
glancing at us they turned to the people and
commanded them to rise, an order that was speedily
obeyed.

Then one of the three began a harangue in a loud

impressive voice. He said they were gathered to witness
a sad and solemn but most important ceremony,
decreed by the all-wise gods of their fathers. The former
atkayma, the noble and wise Tcheltzada, a direct
descendent of the gods, who had ruled the nation for
many years, had finally met his fate fighting nobly
against their enemies the Mopanes, who had beheaded
him. By the command of the royal Datchapa a terrible
revenge had been taken upon the murderers and the
noble victim’s head and body had been recovered.
These now lay at the foot of the pyramid on the funeral
pyre, and in order to please and propitiate the gods,
who had loved and cherished the great Tcheltzada, a
number of strangers, including several of the hated
white people, were to be slain and their blood sprinkled
upon the ashes of the lamented atkayma. All this in
honor not alone of the dead, but of his son the new
Atkayma Chaka and his most holy brother, the wise and
esteemed Datchapa, who as leader of the royal council
had decreed the interesting ceremony that was about to
take place.

I could see how cleverly the priests favored old 154

Datchapa by giving him the credit of catering to the
people’s hatred and lust for blood. It boded ill for
Atkayma Chaka’s future that his wiley uncle practically
controlled the powerful priesthood.

As the chief priest concluded his speech he turned

about and asked:

“Who condemns these prisoners to the sacrifice?”

“I do,” answered a voice, as Datchapa stepped from

behind a row of priests. “As head of the Royal Council of
Itzlan I condemn these prisoners to be slain and their
blood mingled with the ashes of Tcheltzada—if the gods
consent to accept the tribute.”

At this all eyes were fixed upon an ugly little image of 155
the god Bacáb, which was perched upon a shelf about
midway up the front of the pyramid.

“Do the gods so consent?” demanded Chaka in a loud

voice, taking his part in the ceremony.

The three priests knelt and stretched their arms toward

the grinning Bacáb, and to my astonishment the image
nodded its head in a very natural way.

“The gods consent!” cried aloud the three, in unison.

At that moment I saw Chaka protrude the nozzle of his
electrite from his robe and point it at his uncle. Every
other eye was at that instant turned intently upon the
horrible figure of the god.

Suddenly old Datchapa threw up his arms and toppled

backward. He was standing near the edge of the
platform, so the people might observe his dignified form
as he condemned the prisoners, and the result of his fall
was that he began to bound down the steps in an inert
heap, slowly at first and then with more rapid bumps
and leaps until at last he fairly rose into the air and
tumbled full upon the funeral pyre of the defunct
Tcheltzada.

A cry of horror went up as priests and populace alike 156

observed this dreadful scene, none able to interfere. If
the gods approved the sacrifice it seemed like a queer
way of attesting their delight.

There had been no sound of firearms, nothing to

indicate from whence came the blow that had felled the
royal Datchapa. While the consternation was at its
height Chaka cried aloud:

“The gods disapprove! Beware, oh, Priests, the

vengeance of the gods!”

For a silent, repressed people, the Itzaex now indulged

in as near an approach to pandemonium as they will
ever come. Some of the natives sided with the priests
and some against them. The priests themselves were
frantic with anger not unmixed with fear, and shrewdly
realized their prestige was at this moment in sore
jeopardy. Moreover, Chaka’s attitude was defiant; he
claimed the whites as his friends, and whatever strange
thing had happened to Datchapa might logically be
attributed to his doing.

In a fit of unreasoning fury one of the triumvirate 157

caught up the knife from the altar and leaping full upon
the young atkayma strove to plunge it into his heart.
The armor prevented the blade from penetrating, but
the impact knocked Chaka from his feet and priest and
potentate were now rolling together dangerously near
to the steps. Ned caught Chaka’s leg and saved him,
and as the priest clung to his victim and again raised
the wicked blade to strike I sent a charge from my
electrite against him and he quit the struggle then and
there.

But it was war, now, and no mistake. With a savage

growl the whole posse of priests was upon us, and what
we did in the next few seconds startled us almost as
much as it did our audience. Every man brought his
electrite into full play and we mowed down the red-
robed rascals like blades of grass. So effective was the
electric current discharged that the victims had no time
to even gasp: they simply tumbled down and lay still.
Moreover, the charge spread at such close quarters, like
small shot from a blunderbus, and one charge
sometimes paralyzed three, or even four, at a time. A
few fell upon the steps, but none experienced the
sensational descent of old Datchapa. Before we realized
it the platform was cluttered with motionless bodies and
not one enemy remained erect or animate.

Our remarkable victory ought to have won the 158

admiration and applause of the people; but it didn’t. On
the contrary the natives burst into a hoarse roar of
ferocious rage and with a single impulse started up the
pyramid.
From all sides they rushed, vengeful and furious, and
we decided not to await their coming.

“Turn on the stop-cocks and let more gas into your

jackets,” said Paul. “Be careful not to get too much—just
enough to float us comfortably.”

“Where’s the breeze?” I asked as I obeyed.

“Never mind the breeze. Let’s get off this hill.”

“How about the chests, sir?” inquired Ned.

“Chaka and I will inflate their coverings. Hurry, my lads

—there’s no time to lose.”

Roped together as we were it was funny to see the 159

effect of adding to the gas already in our jackets. Nux
and Bryonia, accustomed to prompt obedience, were
first to float, and each held on to a chest until that, too,
was rendered light enough to float. Ned and his chest
soared next; then Archie, Joe and I went up. Pedro’s
chest started upward and he lost hold of its handles. I
don’t know whatever would have become of that
precious box had not Archie grabbed its wheel as it
went by and held on to it like grim death. Next moment
Chaka and Allerton together left the top of the pyramid;
but something was wrong with Pedro; he could not find
the cock that admitted the gas to his jacket.

He was roped between Bryonia and Ned, and his weight

threatened to hold us all anchored when Paul and
Chaka, on the ends of the string, appreciating the
danger, turned more gas into their own jackets and
drew big Pedro gradually off his feet. Slowly—too slowly,
altogether—we rose into the air.
The Itzaex, during this time, had been scrambling up 160
the sides of the pyramid. Now the foremost to reach the
top, a big, powerful fellow, made a leap and grasped
Pedro by the leg, anchoring the lot of us again, although
the Indian could not drag us down, but hung clinging
while Pedro swore and kicked at him with the other
foot.

I thought this was a good time to work my electrite, and

down fell the Indian, crumpling several of his fellows
who had rushed forward to help him, while our anxious
bunch gained new headway and slowly mounted
skyward. Ned found the supply cock and gave Pedro’s
jacket its full allowance of gas; so now we kept together
better and were soon a good fifty feet above our
starting place and perhaps a hundred and fifty feet
above the ground of the island.

“That’s high enough,” said Paul. “Press the valves gently,

each one of you, and let out gas until we cease to rise—
but not enough to start a descent.”

We did the best we could, but some of course

blundered and lost too much gas, being then obliged to
let in a new supply. Finally, however, we had both the
chests and ourselves in a condition of “statue quo” and
hung motionless just above the pyramid. It was a queer
sensation to be “up in the air” like this. I felt a bit dizzy
at first, and I noticed poor Pedro kept his eyes shut as if
afraid to look down.

Few of the Itzaex were armed that day, as none had 161
expected a fight; so except for a few darts hurled
toward us with uncertain aim we were not molested. It
was interesting, though, to look down and see that
great pyramid black with human beings who stood in