ALAN FRISWELL: Happy Birthday Ray

In attempting to write a birthday greeting to Ray, I have to admit that it’s very difficult to know where to start. I could try to put into words what Ray and his films have meant to me, and the magic spell that he has cast over my life, but then I would have enough words to fill a whole book, and I don’t have that much space.

So perhaps the following story will be enough to illustrate why Ray means as much to me as he does.

I discovered stop-motion at the age of four, when my parents sat me in front of a Christmas screening of King Kong (1933). At that tender age, I had no idea of how the movie was made, but I knew that I had discovered something magical and fantastic, and while some might say that I was perhaps a little young to realise one’s great interest and fascination in life, I don’t believe that you are ever too young or too old to experience an epiphany, because believe me, that’s what it was.

Directly because of Kong, I became deeply interested--and that’s a euphemism--obsession is probably a more accurate word--in ‘effects films’, as my dad called them, monsters in general, and dinosaurs in particular. I would sit for hours making plasticine models of Kong and various dinosaurs, placing them onto a wooden base that my dad made for me, and built up quite a collection of both dinosaur books and ‘monster magazines’, principally the wonderful Famous Monsters of Filmland.

At the age of six, my parents took me to see a re-issue of One Million Years BC, and although my mum and dad told me: “It’s a dinosaur film, you’ll like it.”, I had no idea of what I was about to encounter.

I was in shock for about three days. To see animals that looked exactly like those that I had seen in my dinosaur books, and in living colour, was an awesome, haunting experience. To see them moving around with such realism and dynamic power, was almost beyond belief.

I had never heard of Ray Harryhausen before then, but I regularly noticed his name in the monster magazines, and started to study what he was up to very closely. As I began to catch up with Ray’s films both in the cinema and on TV, I realised what I wanted to do with my life. When I announced to my parents that I was going to be the next Ray Harryhausen, they didn’t--bless ‘em--tell me to get a grip and be sensible. They encouraged my interests, by taking me on trips to the Natural History Museum to see the dinosaurs, re-screenings of One
Million Years BC and Gwangi, and buying me supplies of plasticine, plaster of Paris and--when I was old enough not to spill it all over the floor--latex rubber. When I was eleven, my dad bought me a back-issue of a British fantasy/horror magazine called Supernatural. In the back pages, was a large interview with Ray, in which he discussed Gwangi, Sinbad, and described some of his technical processes. I decided to contact the editor, in the hope that he would send me Ray’s address so I could write him a fan letter. The editor replied--quite
correctly--that he could not reveal Ray’s address, but if I sent my letter care of the National Film Theatre, it would probably be passed on to him. So with some help from my dad, I scribbled it out, saying the usual stuff; that I was a great fan, and that I wanted to be an animator etc, etc, enclosing two drawings of an allosaurus and
megalosaur. My parents warned me that Ray was obviously a very busy man, who receives fan mail all the time, and that he might not have time to answer. But I lived in hope, even including my phone number in the letter, and posted it off.

Two weeks later, I received a phone call from Ray’s wife Diana. I nearly passed out. She told me that Ray had loved my letter and drawings, and that although he was currently in America, he would be home the next week, and I would be welcome to ring him for a chat.

The next week came, and to put it delicately, I was passing bricks. At that age, I had no idea whatsoever of what to say to someone who had completely coloured and inspired my childhood. In fact, I might have lost my bottle entirely, had it not been for my mum, who effectively ‘dared’ me to call him. So I stormed out into the passage, and dialled the number almost without thinking. It was Ray who answered.

I think Ray knew instinctively that I was terrified, because he put me at ease immediately. I told him about my ambitions and dreams, and through it all, I felt like I was talking to an old friend. I didn’t realise at the time, but Ray was up to his ears in work, on Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger, I think, but he spoke to me for nearly three quarters of an hour, patiently listening to an eleven-year-old banging on about building plasticine dinosaurs, and his hopes of being Dagenham’s premier stop-motion animator.

Through all this, Ray was incredibly encouraging, stressing the need to experiment and endlessly practice any and all aspects of special effects techniques, and I told him how difficult it was to get some things right. Ray answered with this, and I’ve never forgotten it. He said:

“Always be ready to make mistakes, always be ready to get it wrong. In fact, always be ready to fail, because that’s the nature of the process. But the one thing you should never be ready to do is give up, because that’s not what your life is about. Your life is about making your dreams come true, and absolutely refusing to let mistakes and problems stand between you and what you want. The more you practice and experiment, the better you’ll get, and the key to it, is to never lose your dreams, and never lose your imagination.”

I think if an adult had heard those words, it would have been pretty amazing, but I was eleven when Ray Harryhausen said that to me, and I felt like Moses receiving the Ten Commandments.

I took what Ray said, and my subsequent ambitions, very seriously. I did manage to achieve my dream and work in stop-motion, and--CGI notwithstanding--I hope that I will continue to do so.

You can’t possibly repay a whole childhood, and many adult years filled with wonder, magic and inspiration, but I can certainly thank Ray for being one of the most important people in my life, and one of the main reasons why my life has been happy.

And so, from your eleven-year-old ‘pupil’ who never lost the faith, and the Alan that he became, have a very happy birthday, and thank you Ray, thank you for everything.