A Barrel of LAAFs

By Martin (Dr. 'Toon) Goodman

Few things are more satisfying to those of us who write monthly commentary than having a hot, timely topic thrown into our laps. The world of animation is certainly no exception to controversy, and it is with great relish that I look forward to this month's cause celebre, the increasing trend by major motion picture studios to reincarnate animated cartoons as live-action features. Recently I saw a piece by Entertainment Weekly cartoonist Barry Blitt lampooning this trend, including several mordant suggestions for future projects. Animation Nerd's Paradise has already featured lamentations by both our esteemed webkeeper, Michelle Klein-Häss, and most cogent contributor, Thomas E. Reed on this very subject. For the sake of brevity (if not verity), let's call these creations LAAFs (Live-Action Animated Features).

I suppose at this point I may as well lay my ideological cards on the table: These curious artifacts cheapen and distort the original intentions, design, and unique humor of the animated features they have mutated from. I read someplace that when cancer cells are examined they are found to retain features of the specified healthy cell they were originally intended to be; a sort of genetic signature pattern. In this way, LAAFs are analogous to cancer, and the analogy is not wholly inappropriate. Having stated my opinion I would now like to present some ideas as to why so many of these features have metastasized to our theater screens of late.

Ms. Klein-Hass stated that ever since a LAAF called The Flintstones appeared in 1994 to enormous profits, this reprehensible cinematic form was seen as a novel cash cow by the Hollywood moguls. Hungry for "the almighty buck", the suits put more LAAFs in the works. Mr. Reed factors in several other explanations as well, such as the tendency for studio executives to dismiss animation as "kid stuff" and schmooze with their counterparts who deal in live-action rather than consult the animation community. Therefore, this is a cinematic form that "fits the prejudices of movie executives". Other excellent points made by Mr. Reed include the notion that, in the minds of these executives, "success" and "market dominance" take precedence over the devotion, passion, and intensive labor needed to produce an animated feature.

Very good points indeed. It is undeniably true that LAAFs are made in the hopes of huge profits. Also true that studio executives still see animation as the poor relation of American cinema and would rather take the easy way out by producing LAAFs. A Best Picture Oscar nomination for Beauty and the Beast has not changed things much. But in the case of LAAFs it's worse, far worse than that. Mr. Reed alsomade mention of movies derived from comic books and referred to the genre known as "fan fiction" including his own difficulties with Paramount and Disney over use of certain characters found in Disney and Star Trek .

Rereading his column, I began to experience a sense of revelation. There was the tip of the dragon's tail; could the dragon be far behind?

The truth seems to be, once any cultural artifact reaches a certain level of popularity, market forces kick in that first turn that artifact into a saleable commodity, and then send that commodity through a full cycle of commercial and media exploitation aimed at maximization of exposure and profit. The original artifact is thus part of a self-perpetuating feedback loop in which exposure leads to profit leads to exposure until one of two things happens: The commodity loses its saleability through saturation, in which all possible permutations are eventually exhausted, or the commodity loses it's saleability due to gradual extinction of the popularity that spawned it (though this can sometimes be a renewable source). It should also be noted that the original cultural artifact that got the complicated ball rolling need not be tied to any particular medium. Final point: there has never been a greater proliferation of media forms in history.

Let's take these abstractions and apply them to a specific example: "Batman" ( taken as a cultural artifact). We all know that the Caped Crusader began his existence as a comic book, but as his popularity grew over the decades, each developing form of media co-opted him. Soon the character was given a comic strip. Then a bad series of grade-B movie serials. Then a number of comic book titles. A live action TV show. Live-action films. Video games. An animated series. "Batman" became an iconic figure, ripe for representation (and marketing) in all forms of media. And as long as the character is reinterpreted in unique ways (such as Frank Miller's 1986 graphic novel series), this marketability will remain.

As noted, original sources can be quite diverse: "The Flintstones"; animated series, comic book, comic strip, LAAF. "Mortal Kombat"; video game, live-action feature, animated series. "Addams Family": Charles Addams cartoon, live-action TV series, animated series, live action feature. Eventually, any and every concept is interchangeable among various media: Disney films become Shows on Ice and Broadway productions at the same time they hit the stores as interactive CD-roms. Complicating the picture further is the fact that multicorporations, those unique beast of the late 1980's and 1990's, own many of the entertainment industries as well as other subsidiary forms of media, guaranteeing widespread dissemination of a given artifact in multiple forms.

Eventually, LAAFs became inevitable, since the original popular artifact must go through all possible media permutations to ensure maximum exposure and profits. They are, under this system, not aberrations at all; rather, they are the natural and logical products of prevailing cultural and market tendencies. And they succeed. Despite Ms. Klein-Häss' fervent wish that the George of the Jungle LAAF go down in flames, the picture actually did quite well. Using our fond memories of the original cartoon as the basis of popularity, George was sent down the route previously described above, avoiding all trees in his path to over $100 million in profits. Actually, that was small bananas compared to what 101 Dalmatians eventually earned, LAAF-ing all the way to the bank.

The Hollywood suits cannot, therefore, be the sole source of blame; when any given artifact becomes popular enough, it takes on a multi-headed media life of it's own due to the potential (and public demand) for economic exploitation. Simply put, being sold in one form leads to the artifact being pre-sold in another. LAAFs are simply another facet of this cultural and economic phenomenon. Which brings us to fan fiction and why there is more of it than ever. Allow me to postulate two theses: One, once an artifact (let's call it, oh, "Star Trek") has reached media saturation, it actually does take on a life of it's own, seeming to be everywhere, all the time. The artifact is so prevalent it appears to belong almost in the public domain, having an iconic meaning in relation to the surrounding culture. The second theses is that another form of media, the World Wide Web, has enabled thousands upon thousands of fans to instantly communicate and send these artifacts through further changes which are populist rather than economic in nature.

Those who attempt to manipulate the economics through holding the artifact's copyrights are often not amused. They see fit to threaten and/or punish the populists. Still, it is extremely hypocritical for, say, Paramount or Disney to castigate Thomas Reed and friends for putting cartoon characters on the Enterprise when these companies are responsible in the first place for the proliferation of their characters into every conceivable form of media. And aren't these studios setting the examples themselves? I defy anyone to argue that the upcoming direct-to-video "Beauty and the Beast: An Enchanted Christmas" is (to coin an oxymoron) nothing more than a piece of corporate fan fiction. Paramount and Disney are simply reaping the whirlwind; their popular artifacts now truly have lives of their own in a way that these conglomerates could not have foreseen.

The die, unfortunately, is cast. Ms. Klein-Häss' mocking suggestion that a Scooby Doo LAAF may be next is, in fact, a current rumor (Cover Story, October 4, 1997). It appears that we are in for a barrel of LAAFs, with no end in sight. So what do the animation purists such as Michelle Klein-Häss, Thomas E. Reed, myself, and hopefully many of you reading this have to lend us solace in these dark times? Two things, dear readers: We have the integrity and honesty of the original animated cartoons, whether on video, through cable, or in our memories. No matter how many sequels (and sequelae) Space Jam may inflict upon us we still remember Bugs, Daffy, Taz, et. al. the way they were meant to be remembered. And we have the ability to dialogue and engage in mutual education with other hard-core animation fans everywhere who are as disgusted as we are. Together we can enlighten the next generation of animation aficionados who, disoriented by their saturation in the media flux, may be in danger of confusing a LAAF with a laugh.

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