Pixar's Girl Story

(4 of 6)

Brave progressed nicely for a few years after the Scotland trip. Then the thing that happens to nearly every Pixar movie happened to this one: it got stuck. The story wasn't propulsive. The characters were murky. When a movie hits a wall at other studios, executives give notes that have to be executed. At Pixar, directors receive criticism only from the Brain Trust, a group of fellow Pixar directors and writers. The Brain Trust has been known to suggest that large segments of a movie--even one that's nearly finished--get "plussed" with major improvements or thrown out entirely, which can swell the budget and push back the release date. Every four or five months, the Brain Trust watched a "milestone" screening of Brave, then sat down over lunch and ripped it apart for two hours.

Changes suggested by the Brain Trust are not mandatory. Chapman was free to listen or not. Disney execs aren't allowed to interfere. The final film is always the director's cut.

But Lasseter can fire the director. He has replaced a director halfway through production three times: on Toy Story 2, Cars 2 and Ratatouille. When you ask Pixar employees what exactly happened in the case of Brave, everyone gets circumspect, which is a circumspect way of saying they get vague. There were creative differences. Management problems. Things were taking too long.

The short version is that Lasseter replaced Chapman, his first female director.

And he hired Andrews. The sword-fighting guy.

In January, after 18 months on the film, Andrews bounds to the middle of the Pixar screening room at 9 a.m. for the daily shot briefing, where he reviews updates on five-second snippets of the movie. Andrews, who was head of story on The Incredibles and directed the Pixar short One Man Band, is charming and energetic. Like Sarafian, he grew up in Southern California's San Fernando Valley. He's grown his hair long and straggly to seem more like a Scottish guy in the Middle Ages, to the dismay of Pixar publicists. ("I got in my hotel room at the Grand Californian at Disney World," he says, "and there's a pair of scissors on my bed and conditioner. There was a note that said, 'Either/or.'") He has a George W. Bush--like tendency to bestow nicknames on co-workers--"Papa Bedouin," "Tab-Tab," "Mr. Popper," "Stinkowitz."

Surrounded by about 20 animators sitting on couches, Andrews is explaining how the characters should move. He pops up from his chair to act out a sword fight, then a horseback ride, then the princess's dad dismounting. He's close to working up a sweat. "Look at Touch of Evil when Orson Wells gets out of the f---ing car and it's all intimidation and we don't like him. It's all this f---ing fat and blubber coming at you," he yells in his gravelly voice. Then he describes what he wants out of a shot framing the beautiful, red-haired princess. "We want the most bitchin'-ass, f---in' pose! That's a badass poster in itself of this princess heroine!"

Sarafian sits in the front row. She is eight months pregnant and sipping tea. Assistants are typing up everything Andrews says, but they remove all the curse words before they distribute the notes, at Sarafian's request. Andrews owes the curse jar nearly $1,000; Sarafian has decided that the money will go toward gifts for the crew that she can hand out at the wrap party.