Experiments don't always produce the results we desire. Or, to quote Mythbusters, failure is always an option. Both are valid taglines for my first attempt at an animation studio.

Several years ago, I set off on a path with a long time friend to build an animation company. Biggest problem: I had no animation experience. My friend, on the other hand, had spent years working on major animated motion pictures. He'll be the first to tell you he wasn't an animator. He was a lighting expert. But, in his spare time, he had spent years learning Unreal Engine. He demonstrated to me how to light animated scenes in the gaming engine much quicker than using traditional studio methods. One had real time feedback and near real time renders compared to the other's overnight (or sometimes multi-day) renders.

The efficiency intrigued me. This was a cutting edge way to create animated stories faster and more affordably than the big studios. The production quality wasn't as good as Pixar, but it didn't need to be. I thought we might build short animated web series mixed with the type of behind-the-scenes content we've loved since we first made movies together in the early 2000s. I wanted to focus mostly on YouTube, because that seemed like a path to revenue we couldn't get any other way. Animation costs a lot of money.

My friend is creative. He's an idea person in the best possible way. He has big ideas, big visions, big dreams. But wild aspirations can be a liability if you don't rein them in. I, too, can be guilty of this, and that combination may have doomed us from the beginning. Endless revision. Endless scope creep. As they say in the technology world, "You gotta ship."

Our first big effort went sideways. He had a cool idea for an animated series. He dreamt up a new world with parallel universes and parallel characters. He had the rough outline of a pilot, but he didn't have time to perfect it because he was busy creating the 3D models and environments while holding down a full time job. He was definitely stressed and overworked.

Given I have some experience with long form writing (not to mention a college degree in it), I offered to help. I also offered to hire a writer to really focus on story while our attention was on development. He agreed. So I brought in a writer. I paid her for a rewrite on the pilot script. Shortly thereafter, he panicked a bit and decided we should work on a different story, because he didn't like the direction the writer had chosen and wanted to develop the world more himself.

I wasn't happy, but I also wasn't going to force him. It was his idea, and he wasn't ready to let it go. As someone with my own creative ideas, I understand and sympathize with that sense of ownership. But I also doubted he would ever finish the concept and produce anything on his own. It's too big, and he'll be iterating forever. This is a pattern. It's difficult to overcome. I struggle with it myself. But perfection is impossible, and new ideas can cause paralysis. You gotta ship.

I tried to steer us toward smaller web-digestible content for two reasons. We could ship faster. And quality wouldn't need to live up to the standards he was accustomed to in big animation studios. Plus, with a 7-10 minute story, there's only so much room for new ideas to bog you down. Make it an episodic series, and you always have room for new ideas in later episodes. Plus, the YouTube algorithm prefers those more frequent videos over twice a year releases.

We found the tiniest bit of traction. He released some super short scenes he made in Unreal, along with behind the scenes updates about how he made them. I produced a video about Move.AI, a machine learning motion capture solution, that became our biggest hit. We started to gain followers, and it was time to get back to original stories.

Alas, our next big effort also went sideways, but not as quickly as the first.

He proposed several different concepts for a new series. Like I said, he's full of awesome ideas. I gravitated toward one about the misadventures of a ragtag spacecraft crew. As proposed, it was a single location comedy set on the bridge of a spaceship. Limited characters. Limited sets. Short episodes. An idea that seemed within our ability to produce.

Despite his great ideas, brilliant characters, memorably written scenes, and epic visuals, he lacks confidence, particularly when it comes to writing. But I had already tried to bring in a writer, and I wasn't going to make that mistake again. So we worked through the story. Meeting after meeting, for almost a year. We would discuss ideas, then he would make modifications to outlines and the pilot script. Over time, the short episodes grew into long episodes. Comedy became action. I was hesitant to push back too much, because I feared he'd pull the story like he did the first one. And suddenly we had an epic intergalactic space series on our hands. Instead of 95% of the action taking place in a single set, it now spanned an entire galaxy. Planets, ships, space battles, alien races.

Importantly, the story is AMAZING. And timely. And prescient. It's about a future where AI handles everything for humans, and so the only job left is to stream. Humans quickly discover there is an entire universe of streamers, all controlled by one omnipotent, omniscient villain: The Algorithm. I still love it and want to watch it.

Sadly, we couldn't possibly make it for a realistic budget. Which led to fights, and disagreements, and misunderstandings.

This lead to tension. And ultimately, we were each frustrated by the other, and the entire endeavor collapsed upon itself.

I could probably write another ten thousand words about it. And he probably could to. But why?

He's an incredibly talented and skilled creator, and I wanted to help him break out of the studio grind. I consider this my failure, but he's the one who faces the harder road to come.

We decided to part ways. He retained the studio name and youtube channel, and we agreed to a split on any revenue that comes from the project we developed together. We don't really talk much these days, which is sad. But I have no hard feelings. Perhaps we'll mend the friendship when enough time has passed.

The most important takeaways for me :

1) No more 50/50 partnerships. You need a tie breaker. Either a majority owner or a third partner.

2) Defined roles. We stepped on each other's specialties and visions, which caused hesitancy and confusion.

3) Despite the apparent ease of use on many of these new technologies, putting all the pieces together to create a unique animated story remains complicated.

4) Better communication remains key. But that shouldn't mean endless meetings. It probably means agreeing earlier to a vision with key check-in points where you plan to reassess progress and pivot if necessary. Too much pivoting is bad. But the expectation that pivoting may be on the table is good, especially if you can define the data points that might dictate a pivot.

5) No one likes telling a friend what to do. We both fell into this trap.

So where does that leave my animation interest? Hard to say. I remain intrigued by the efficiency and the ability to create amazing visuals from home. I know I don't have the time, patience, artistic talent, desire, or youthful exuberance required to become an expert at Unreal Engine this late in life. That may also be part of what doomed us. But I shall continue to dabble. Perhaps I'll make a thing or two in the future.

For now, I'm going back to what I know: software development. Stay tuned for details.