In the last century animation, like other media, has undergone a series of significant technological advancements, each causing artists to redefine the way they interpret the world. Of these, Max and Dave Fleischer’s rotoscope stands out as a benchmark in the effort to successfully capture the essence of human form, including gesture and movement. Patented in 1917, the tool projects live action footage frame by frame through a piece of glass over which animators trace. (Furniss, 76) By solving the problem of how to accurately represent the complexities of human movement, new choices for animators opened up. One of these was how to garnish this new body, or rather, since the body obviously does not need to be traced exactly as it appears through the rotoscope, what is it going to be? The Fleischers turned to the unique dance styling of Cab Calloway, using his rotoscoped body as the model for their character, Koko the Clown, in a series of films called Out of the Inkwell. One of these films is Snow White (1933). This essay explores Fleischer’s Snow White, and examines how abstraction can help define the relationship between the ‘physical’ and the ‘uncanny’ through imagery, narrative, and the rotoscope itself with particular reference to Calloway’s performance as Koko the Clown.
In her article, “Cadaver of the Real: Animation, Rotoscoping, and the Politics of the Body”, Joanna Bouldin theorizes the nature of animated being-ness, “comparing the ontological status of the photographically recorded image with its powerful ability to conjure the physical presence and materiality of the original object…” (Bouldin, 7) Note that the very act of conjuring a physical presence acknowledges the absence of such. In terms of iconographic portrayal of such an absence, few images are as effective and universally acceptable as the ghost. [1] “Saint James Infirmary Blues” portion, which makes up roughly a third of the film, is rich with such imagery.
For example, shortly after Koko begins his serenade, the Queen uses her Magic Mirror to transform him into another creature. His new body is composed thus: a small, white sheet, split down the middle with ragged ends; a head and two arms, which appear to be covered by the sheet; two long, white, rubbery legs; and a pair of white slippers. This relatively abstract form, though obviously no longer Koko the Clown, bears strong resemblance to the “white sheet ghost” image popular in western tradition, and for that reason I will refer to it as ‘Koko the Ghost.’
There are two main indicators that this is indeed Koko’s Ghost. First, the Queen’s role in the transformation creates a narrative link between the two bodies. Second, while the bodily form changes, its overall size, gestures and movements continue seamlessly. The invisible, rotoscoped image of Cab Calloway manifests itself, clearly indicating that this more abstract figure is, in fact, the ‘ghost’ of Koko the Clown.
Interestingly, though not rotoscoped, the background and other animated elements in the sequence reflect a similar ‘ghostly’ motif. Ghastly faces in the form of gaping caves, along with caricatured skeletons make up most of the background. A specter flies from one end of the frame to the other as it changes forms inclucing a snake, a skeleton, and an owl. The reference of each of these images to popular traditions regarding the supernatural helps to further indicate Koko’s transformation as a ‘spiritual’ one. Though not actually rotoscoped, these direct allusions the supernatural help assert the relationship of animation to the perception of the uncanny. The effect of this imagery is heightened as it operates according to a framework, provided by the narrative.
The supposed dichotomy of body and spirit permeates much of Western folklore. Often such tales, or ‘ghost stories’ indicate a reaching out for, yet uneasiness about something familiar, though absent. The exact reason why the Fleischers combined the Snow White folktale with the song, “Saint James Infirmary Blues” is unclear, however; it may have something to do with similar thematic references to the uncanny.
N.J. Giradot, in an essay about Snow White, asserts that fairy tales contain a dimension concerned with “the mythic, sacred, religious or sublime- what Freud called the ‘uncanny’…” (Giradot, 278) The Queen’s magic mirror provides a good example. An object used for the objective interpretation of one’s physical self, when given magical properties and a personality, becomes a subjective instrument of character discovery, and in this instance, produces self-loathing. Incidentally it is the Queen’s self-loathing that creates the primary conflict of the story. Furthermore, the mirror functions in a way similar to the rotoscope itself, a subjective filter of the ‘real.’ It is no wonder then, that it is the very instrument with which the Queen transforms Koko the Clown into Koko the Ghost.
Now, as we look at the story contained within Koko’s musical number, “Saint James Infirmary Blues,” possible reasons for combining the pieces begin to emerge. Like much the folklore with which Snow White is associated, this musical piece has somewhat ambiguous origins, derives from a European folk tune, and exists in many different versions. The version contained within the film follows:
Folks, I'm goin' down to St. James Infirmary,
See my baby there;
She's stretched out on a long, white table,
She's so sweet, so cold, so fair.
Let her go, let her go, God bless her,
Wherever she may be,
She will search this wide world over,
But she'll never find another sweet man like me.
Now, when I die, bury me in my straight-leg britches,
Put on a box-back coat and a stetson hat,
Put a twenty-dollar gold piece on my watch chain,
So you can let all the boys know I died standing pat.
An' give me six crap shooting pall bearers,
Let a chorus girl sing me a song.
Put a red hot jazz band at the top of my head
So we can raise Hallelujah as we go along.
Folks, now that you have heard my story,
Say, boy, hand me another shot of that booze;
If anyone should ask you,
Tell 'em I've got those St. James Infirmary blues.
The lyrics, when divided into two sections, point to the physical world and its relationship with and distance between that of the imagined, or spiritual world. First, Koko tells of a visit to pay last respects to a deceased lover. Although he describes her as beautiful, for better or worse he believes she will not be able to do better than him, presumably in the afterlife. Next, he details the manner in which he would like to be buried. His fantasized self-image is as that of a stylish, carefree, jazz enthusiast; yet that abstraction seems only obtainable in death. Just as the images of rotoscoped bodies are under the control of the animator, the animated Ghost of Koko, had he freedom from the animator, would have painted a much different picture. In fact, that picture looks a great deal like Cab Calloway.
It should be noted that this analysis covers only one example of rotoscopy, and many variations on the technique have emerged over the years. It is likely that what is said about one piece of work may not apply across the board, especially across various authors, nations and variations of the technology. As Bouldin puts it:
…although the rotoscope offers potentially liberatory possibilities in terms of deconstructing problematic corporeal and media boundaries, such subversive potential is not a necessary or inherent product of rotoscoping. Indeed, as Langer astutely points out, films can either foreground the co-presence of the rotoscoped body (thereby enhancing the resulting spectatorial unease) or they can obscure the use of the rotoscope and repress its unsettling double… In keeping with their long tradition of self-reflexive animation, (Snow White was) designed to accentuate the viewer’s awareness of the rotoscoped body and its corporeal co-presence by openly referring to the human body upon which it was mapped.” (Bouldin, 16)
[1] I will use the term ‘ghost’ alongside terms such as ‘specter’, ‘spirit’, and ‘uncanny’ in two ways. First, to draw upon iconographic ‘ghostly’ images in order to create a distinction between the ‘real’ and the ‘abstract.’ Second, I will use these terms in the more traditional or ‘literal’ sense, (stemming from the Christian concept of the “soul of a deceased person”) but only as it applies to fictional characters within the story. .
