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| Fig 1: Head Concept for Mr. Plimsolls |
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| Fig 2: Body Concepts for Mr. Plimsolls |
Here are some initial head and body concept art for Mr. Plimsolls in the style of the 1930's. I have decided to go down the route of the surreal cartoon style of early animation, influenced by the early Walt Disney and the Fleischer Studio cartoons. I decided upon this style because I like the appeal of the style and there is a lot more to work here then with my other style choice. Because the animation at the time was very experimental, it lead to very bizarre and, in a way, scary cartoon shorts and because of this I feel as though this style would fit with my theme of childhood bogeymen very well.
Feedback on this post would be most welcome.
Hey Katie - well, I think the principle quality your Mr Plimsolls boogyman needs to have is that he needs to be a bit creepy, so I think your challenge here is guard against making something that is too comedic - for me, Head No. 7 is creepy as opposed to simply 'grumpy'... I like it - but I think all the bodies are very humorous (some nice rubber-hose inspired drawings), but I think 2 is promising, because there's a hint of monster there. I do like these drawings and I think you're hitting on the style nicely, but 'creepy' needs to be dialled up.
ReplyDeleteI like the glasses on No. 7, anything that doesn't show the eyes is usually creepy. I do like the small beady eyes coupled with the scrunched face of No. 1 as well. The body of No. 2 is my favourite, the hunchback adds to the creepiness :)
ReplyDeleteBetter late than never....
ReplyDelete‘Polo’
When I was a little boy – maybe 5 or 6 – we lived in a council house next door to two Polish brothers who, it seemed to me, were impossibly old and undoubtedly weird.
One of the brothers I almost never saw. He was a shadow. The second brother I referred to as ‘Polo’ and he scared me. I never saw him leave his front door. I never saw him in the village shop. I only saw him through the wires of our garden fence as he moved slowly and silently through the great fountains of green fennel that grew in his garden.
Polo wasn’t scary because he had terrible teeth or staring eyes; when I think about him now I see his soft pale grey bulk between the fennel stems – more like an adult-sized baby – bald and neckless, padded out in woollen layers, and grey like some rare shy creature of the forest. Polo was scary because he was nothing like any of the adults I knew. He was a mystery to me and I’d watch him through the fence. I sometimes thought he must be some kind of witch or warlock, gathering ingredients from his garden. Anyway, this was what I told my friends. I’d be out in the garden sometimes – it could be a sunny day, my Spiderman helicopter firing missiles at passing butterflies and bees – and I’d hear the tell-tale rustle of foliage coming from Polo’s garden and know he was there and I’d feel cold – his strangeness like a touch of winter.
I hardly ever heard Polo speak – and when he did speak, I didn’t understand a single word he said. Sometimes, during the long Summer holidays, my friends and I would knock on his door and run away to hide behind cars, from where we’d watch Polo’s door open as one of the two pale brothers answered the door to find no one there – again. One Summer I think we did this a lot.
When my mum found out what we’d been doing – as mums are duty-bound to do – she was furious. She may have even used the word ‘persecution’. She went on to talk about concentration camps and survivors and I’m not sure I understood everything she said and why she was so disappointed in me. I understand it now.