Ray Harryhausen

RAY HARRYHAUSEN TITAN OF CINEMA VANESSA HARRYHAUSEN

RAY HARRYHAUSEN TITAN OF CINEMA VANESSA HARRYHAUSEN

Introduction Dad’s centenary My dad, Ray Harryhausen, was known to his fans and moviegoers as a creator of magical creatures, and as the man behind the stop-motion animation technique Dynamation.

He astonished and terrified his audiences with swordwielding skeletons, bronze giants and the iconic Kraken from Clash of the Titans. The 100th anniversary of his birth has given me the motivation to record the stories that reveal the kind, funny, fascinating family man behind these creations. With this book, I want to celebrate the fantastic collection of creatures and artworks which sprang from his incredible imagination. These are my own personal memories of this famous man’s life at home, as well as on set. Often, some of the people who knew him as a friend, colleague or mentor add their own revealing memories.

I so admire all of Dad’s achievements, and am proud to see what a legacy he has left. It’s exciting to see that people are still fascinated by Dad’s work, more than seventy years after he first animated for a major film. I still feel that what he created on screen was magical – from the initial seed of an idea in a drawing that sprang from his huge imagination,

to building a model which he then brought to life through animation. I had the opportunity of watching him create concept sketches and then construct the model at home.

The creatures all had very strong personalities – Dad was always able to create such distinctive characters.

There are sixteen classic films that Dad worked on throughout his career; I was around for five of these, from One Million Years BC (1966) until his final movie, Clash of the Titans (1981). I was fortunate to be present on many of Dad’s film sets as a child, and mingled with the famous actors and crew who worked with him.

Once animation on the films had been completed, Dad would allow me to play, from an early age, with the very models that had been seen on screen. Our house was filled with items from Dad’s films, and so alongside my regular childhood toys, I was able to have fun with dinosaurs and other creatures – this was the norm for me. We also had some interesting reading material – Dad’s good friend Forrest J. Ackerman, the science-fiction writer and publisher, would send over copies of Famous Monsters of Filmland magazine, which we would read over breakfast, much to Mum’s disapproval. She just didn’t think it was right to have such gruesome reading material at the breakfast table!

Opposite: Ray animating on The Story of Little Red Riding Hood (1949) Left: Ray with face painted by his wife, Diana, while he slept, with Vanessa Harryhausen Above: Ray (right) with Diana Harryhausen and Forrest J. Ackerman (left), inspecting a copy of Famous Monsters of Filmland magazine

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Introduction Dad’s centenary My dad, Ray Harryhausen, was known to his fans and moviegoers as a creator of magical creatures, and as the man behind the stop-motion animation technique Dynamation.

He astonished and terrified his audiences with swordwielding skeletons, bronze giants and the iconic Kraken from Clash of the Titans. The 100th anniversary of his birth has given me the motivation to record the stories that reveal the kind, funny, fascinating family man behind these creations. With this book, I want to celebrate the fantastic collection of creatures and artworks which sprang from his incredible imagination. These are my own personal memories of this famous man’s life at home, as well as on set. Often, some of the people who knew him as a friend, colleague or mentor add their own revealing memories.

I so admire all of Dad’s achievements, and am proud to see what a legacy he has left. It’s exciting to see that people are still fascinated by Dad’s work, more than seventy years after he first animated for a major film. I still feel that what he created on screen was magical – from the initial seed of an idea in a drawing that sprang from his huge imagination,

to building a model which he then brought to life through animation. I had the opportunity of watching him create concept sketches and then construct the model at home.

The creatures all had very strong personalities – Dad was always able to create such distinctive characters.

There are sixteen classic films that Dad worked on throughout his career; I was around for five of these, from One Million Years BC (1966) until his final movie, Clash of the Titans (1981). I was fortunate to be present on many of Dad’s film sets as a child, and mingled with the famous actors and crew who worked with him.

Once animation on the films had been completed, Dad would allow me to play, from an early age, with the very models that had been seen on screen. Our house was filled with items from Dad’s films, and so alongside my regular childhood toys, I was able to have fun with dinosaurs and other creatures – this was the norm for me. We also had some interesting reading material – Dad’s good friend Forrest J. Ackerman, the science-fiction writer and publisher, would send over copies of Famous Monsters of Filmland magazine, which we would read over breakfast, much to Mum’s disapproval. She just didn’t think it was right to have such gruesome reading material at the breakfast table!

Opposite: Ray animating on The Story of Little Red Riding Hood (1949) Left: Ray with face painted by his wife, Diana, while he slept, with Vanessa Harryhausen Above: Ray (right) with Diana Harryhausen and Forrest J. Ackerman (left), inspecting a copy of Famous Monsters of Filmland magazine

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Clash of the Titans. I always knew that I wanted to go to art college, as I loved drawing. Academic work was difficult due to my mild dyslexia but, nevertheless, I enrolled at the City and Guilds of London Institute for a foundation course, and achieved a diploma and degree in illustration.

Looking back, I sometimes feel I should have studied set design, as this aspect of filmmaking has always interested me since I saw the sets for Kali and the Centaur in The Golden Voyage of Sinbad.

I held a variety of jobs in the years that followed, from receptionist at a vet to running a small farm in North Wales – I always loved being in the countryside. I then moved to Scotland, where I have lived ever since. I used to

Throughout this book, I refer regularly to Mum’s support of my father’s work, travelling across the world with him whenever possible. Mum’s passion for everything Scottish played a big part in her support for the David Livingstone Centre in Blantyre in central Scotland, and led to Dad establishing his foundation in Scotland.

Above, clockwise from top left: Diana and Vanessa at home; Vanessa and Ray; Vanessa and Diana; Ray and Vanessa; Vanessa, Diana and Ray on the set of The Golden Voyage of Sinbad (1973); the Harryhausen family

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do illustrations and wood engravings to sell at craft shows, putting my degree to good use.

I married my husband Kenny, a hard-working farmer, in 2006. Mum and Dad both immediately liked Kenny, although Dad found his Scottish accent a little difficult to understand. He often used to ask Kenny: ‘Are you speaking English?’, to which he would reply: ‘No – I’m Scottish and proud of it!’ When Kenny asked Dad whether he could propose to me, he was very nervous, as he knew he would inevitably have to repeat the question. Sure enough, Below: Calendar made by Vanessa and Diana Harryhausen to plot activities while Ray was away filming, c.1968

Life with a titan of cinema I know that I am extremely fortunate in life because of my parents and grandparents, so I try not to take anything for granted. Dad ensured that I was never allowed to be idle for long; he instilled in me that I had to be independent, and that a good life would not just land in my lap without hard work. I suppose that he and Mum passed on their work ethic to me; I’m very grateful for this now.

Before I started my degree, Mum, Dad and I went on a long tour of South America and Polynesia – this was to celebrate me finishing school, and Dad finishing up on

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Clash of the Titans. I always knew that I wanted to go to art college, as I loved drawing. Academic work was difficult due to my mild dyslexia but, nevertheless, I enrolled at the City and Guilds of London Institute for a foundation course, and achieved a diploma and degree in illustration.

Looking back, I sometimes feel I should have studied set design, as this aspect of filmmaking has always interested me since I saw the sets for Kali and the Centaur in The Golden Voyage of Sinbad.

I held a variety of jobs in the years that followed, from receptionist at a vet to running a small farm in North Wales – I always loved being in the countryside. I then moved to Scotland, where I have lived ever since. I used to

Throughout this book, I refer regularly to Mum’s support of my father’s work, travelling across the world with him whenever possible. Mum’s passion for everything Scottish played a big part in her support for the David Livingstone Centre in Blantyre in central Scotland, and led to Dad establishing his foundation in Scotland.

Above, clockwise from top left: Diana and Vanessa at home; Vanessa and Ray; Vanessa and Diana; Ray and Vanessa; Vanessa, Diana and Ray on the set of The Golden Voyage of Sinbad (1973); the Harryhausen family

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do illustrations and wood engravings to sell at craft shows, putting my degree to good use.

I married my husband Kenny, a hard-working farmer, in 2006. Mum and Dad both immediately liked Kenny, although Dad found his Scottish accent a little difficult to understand. He often used to ask Kenny: ‘Are you speaking English?’, to which he would reply: ‘No – I’m Scottish and proud of it!’ When Kenny asked Dad whether he could propose to me, he was very nervous, as he knew he would inevitably have to repeat the question. Sure enough, Below: Calendar made by Vanessa and Diana Harryhausen to plot activities while Ray was away filming, c.1968

Life with a titan of cinema I know that I am extremely fortunate in life because of my parents and grandparents, so I try not to take anything for granted. Dad ensured that I was never allowed to be idle for long; he instilled in me that I had to be independent, and that a good life would not just land in my lap without hard work. I suppose that he and Mum passed on their work ethic to me; I’m very grateful for this now.

Before I started my degree, Mum, Dad and I went on a long tour of South America and Polynesia – this was to celebrate me finishing school, and Dad finishing up on

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Ray’s King Kong bronze Above: Ray sculpting bronze of King Kong and Tyrannosaurus Rex Opposite: King Kong and Tyrannosaurus Rex. Bronze on wooden plinth, 40 x 38 x 26 cm

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John Landis on Ray’s bronzes Ray sculpted beautiful re-creations of many of his creatures and had them all cast in bronze: the Rhedosaurus from The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms (1953) destroying a lighthouse; Talos the gigantic man of bronze from Jason and the Argonauts (1963); the Cyclops from The 7th Voyage of Sinbad (1958); and Sinbad himself battling a different, smaller dragon. For the fiftieth anniversary of King Kong (1933), Ray created a magnificent bronze tableau of Kong fighting the Tyrannosaurus Rex from the film as a tiny Fay Wray cowers in fear. Both Rays, Harryhausen and Bradbury, along with Forrest J. Ackerman and Fay Wray herself, were there when I won this gorgeous bronze in a charity auction.

Ray’s King Kong bronze Above: Ray sculpting bronze of King Kong and Tyrannosaurus Rex Opposite: King Kong and Tyrannosaurus Rex. Bronze on wooden plinth, 40 x 38 x 26 cm

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John Landis on Ray’s bronzes Ray sculpted beautiful re-creations of many of his creatures and had them all cast in bronze: the Rhedosaurus from The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms (1953) destroying a lighthouse; Talos the gigantic man of bronze from Jason and the Argonauts (1963); the Cyclops from The 7th Voyage of Sinbad (1958); and Sinbad himself battling a different, smaller dragon. For the fiftieth anniversary of King Kong (1933), Ray created a magnificent bronze tableau of Kong fighting the Tyrannosaurus Rex from the film as a tiny Fay Wray cowers in fear. Both Rays, Harryhausen and Bradbury, along with Forrest J. Ackerman and Fay Wray herself, were there when I won this gorgeous bronze in a charity auction.

Unused concept sketch for Ymir from 20 Million Miles to Earth

Opposite: Early concept sketch for Ymir from 20 Million Miles to Earth (1957). Pencil on paper, 28 x 20.5 cm Below: Plaster cast for Ymir prototype, 20 x 20 x 14 cm

For the design of the Ymir in 20 Million Miles to Earth (1957), we hold some interesting early sketches and doodles which show Dad’s thought processes leading to the character’s eventual design. These are all vastly different, ranging from various Cyclops-type creatures to bizarre alien concepts.

In fact, one of his Cyclops designs was very similar to the one which was eventually used in The 7th Voyage of Sinbad (1958); it’s interesting to see how Dad would hold on to unused ideas and sometimes return to them for later films.

The drawing here shows a two-horned design for the Ymir, which must have been one Dad favoured, as he made a plaster bust for this concept. This prototype was one of the exciting discoveries which were found in Dad’s LA garage, still in wonderful condition, and held in our collection to this day. Sadly, the original Ymir no longer exists – only the resin skull remains, and so it’s nice to have this record of Dad’s early ideas for the film.

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Unused concept sketch for Ymir from 20 Million Miles to Earth

Opposite: Early concept sketch for Ymir from 20 Million Miles to Earth (1957). Pencil on paper, 28 x 20.5 cm Below: Plaster cast for Ymir prototype, 20 x 20 x 14 cm

For the design of the Ymir in 20 Million Miles to Earth (1957), we hold some interesting early sketches and doodles which show Dad’s thought processes leading to the character’s eventual design. These are all vastly different, ranging from various Cyclops-type creatures to bizarre alien concepts.

In fact, one of his Cyclops designs was very similar to the one which was eventually used in The 7th Voyage of Sinbad (1958); it’s interesting to see how Dad would hold on to unused ideas and sometimes return to them for later films.

The drawing here shows a two-horned design for the Ymir, which must have been one Dad favoured, as he made a plaster bust for this concept. This prototype was one of the exciting discoveries which were found in Dad’s LA garage, still in wonderful condition, and held in our collection to this day. Sadly, the original Ymir no longer exists – only the resin skull remains, and so it’s nice to have this record of Dad’s early ideas for the film.

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Skeleton model from The 7th Voyage of Sinbad Of all Dad’s creations, it is the skeletons which are most frequently remembered by film fans.

Even though The 7th Voyage of Sinbad (1958) was before my time, the fight scene between Sinbad and the skeleton on a spiral staircase is particularly special to me.

The choreography for this sequence was incredible. I have been lucky enough to practise some basic swordplay with Scottish battle re-enactors in the past, and so appreciate the level of concentration and timing required by the actor Kerwin Mathews in this scene. Mathews would spend hours and hours rehearsing his movements with the stuntman Enzo Musumeci Greco; then, when it came to shooting the live-action sequences, Mathews would be alone, fighting his invisible foe. Of course, Dad then animated the skeleton model to match with Mathews’ movements, and the end sequence was brought to life by Bernard Herrmann’s score.

This sequence was so successful that Dad decided to use skeletons in his 1963 film Jason and the Argonauts.

This original skeleton was reused, as well as six additional models. For many years, Dad claimed that he had forgotten which of his skeletons the original from 1958 was. However, as we prepared for our exhibition at the Oklahoma Science Museum, our conservator Alan Friswell realised that this particular model was the original, after some close examination. We decided that he should be reunited with his 1958 sword and shield, just in time for the film’s sixtieth anniversary.

Director John Landis on The 7th Voyage of Sinbad A Hollywood producer once said: ‘Those who make movies are in the transportation business.’ That exactly describes my first encounter with the work of Ray Harryhausen – I was transported!

The eight-year-old me was no longer sitting in my seat at the Crest Theater in Westwood, LA: I was on the beach of the island of Colossa, and as awe-struck and fearful as Sinbad and his crew when the first Cyclops made his appearance.

I was spellbound by Sinbad’s adventures, and marvelled at the Cyclops, the two-headed Roc, the fire-breathing dragon and the skeleton brought to life by the evil magician Sokurah.

Only later did I learn that these extraordinary beasts were really brought to life by the magician Ray Harryhausen.

The 7th Voyage of Sinbad was a truly life-changing experience for me. Thrilled by the movie, I went home and asked my mother: ‘Who does that? Who makes the movie?’

She replied: ‘Well, a lot of people, honey, but I guess the right answer is the director.’

And that was that: I would be a director when I grew up.

All of my energy went into that goal, and I read everything about film that I could get my hands on.

Original skeleton model from The 7th Voyage of Sinbad (1958).

Latex with metal armature, 25 x 12.5 x 12.5 cm

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Skeleton model from The 7th Voyage of Sinbad Of all Dad’s creations, it is the skeletons which are most frequently remembered by film fans.

Even though The 7th Voyage of Sinbad (1958) was before my time, the fight scene between Sinbad and the skeleton on a spiral staircase is particularly special to me.

The choreography for this sequence was incredible. I have been lucky enough to practise some basic swordplay with Scottish battle re-enactors in the past, and so appreciate the level of concentration and timing required by the actor Kerwin Mathews in this scene. Mathews would spend hours and hours rehearsing his movements with the stuntman Enzo Musumeci Greco; then, when it came to shooting the live-action sequences, Mathews would be alone, fighting his invisible foe. Of course, Dad then animated the skeleton model to match with Mathews’ movements, and the end sequence was brought to life by Bernard Herrmann’s score.

This sequence was so successful that Dad decided to use skeletons in his 1963 film Jason and the Argonauts.

This original skeleton was reused, as well as six additional models. For many years, Dad claimed that he had forgotten which of his skeletons the original from 1958 was. However, as we prepared for our exhibition at the Oklahoma Science Museum, our conservator Alan Friswell realised that this particular model was the original, after some close examination. We decided that he should be reunited with his 1958 sword and shield, just in time for the film’s sixtieth anniversary.

Director John Landis on The 7th Voyage of Sinbad A Hollywood producer once said: ‘Those who make movies are in the transportation business.’ That exactly describes my first encounter with the work of Ray Harryhausen – I was transported!

The eight-year-old me was no longer sitting in my seat at the Crest Theater in Westwood, LA: I was on the beach of the island of Colossa, and as awe-struck and fearful as Sinbad and his crew when the first Cyclops made his appearance.

I was spellbound by Sinbad’s adventures, and marvelled at the Cyclops, the two-headed Roc, the fire-breathing dragon and the skeleton brought to life by the evil magician Sokurah.

Only later did I learn that these extraordinary beasts were really brought to life by the magician Ray Harryhausen.

The 7th Voyage of Sinbad was a truly life-changing experience for me. Thrilled by the movie, I went home and asked my mother: ‘Who does that? Who makes the movie?’

She replied: ‘Well, a lot of people, honey, but I guess the right answer is the director.’

And that was that: I would be a director when I grew up.

All of my energy went into that goal, and I read everything about film that I could get my hands on.

Original skeleton model from The 7th Voyage of Sinbad (1958).

Latex with metal armature, 25 x 12.5 x 12.5 cm

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Elephant model from The Valley of Gwangi Pinky the Elephant was one of my particular favourites as a child. I would pop up and visit Dad when he was working away upstairs in his studio at our house. One time, the elephant had been brought out so I that could play with it on Dad’s desk. I had a small bag of Maltesers to share with Dad and the elephant, and miraculously the chocolates gradually disappeared whenever I looked away. Later that week, I was again up in Dad’s studio looking for stationery; Dad directed me to one of his desk drawers, and as I opened it a small bundle of Maltesers rolled towards me!

After some thought, the penny dropped, and I realised that Pinky never ate the chocolate – oh, my shattered dreams!

I was upset when I saw Pinky being killed by Gwangi in the final film, and accused Dad of killing ‘my elephant’.

However, I was also sympathetic to Gwangi, who had been forced into an unnatural environment by his human captors.

Dad reassured me that Pinky and Gwangi were both safe back at our home.

Above left: Vanessa as a child with elephant model from The Valley of Gwangi (1969)

Opposite, top: Stand-in model of Pinky the Elephant from The Valley of Gwangi (1969). Resin, 24.5 x 14.5 x 30 cm

Above right: Ray and Vanessa on the set of The Valley of Gwangi

Opposite, bottom: Early comparison sketches for Pinky the Elephant.

Pencil on paper, each 41 x 51 cm Overleaf: Ray animating elephant and Gwangi models for The Valley of Gwangi

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Elephant model from The Valley of Gwangi Pinky the Elephant was one of my particular favourites as a child. I would pop up and visit Dad when he was working away upstairs in his studio at our house. One time, the elephant had been brought out so I that could play with it on Dad’s desk. I had a small bag of Maltesers to share with Dad and the elephant, and miraculously the chocolates gradually disappeared whenever I looked away. Later that week, I was again up in Dad’s studio looking for stationery; Dad directed me to one of his desk drawers, and as I opened it a small bundle of Maltesers rolled towards me!

After some thought, the penny dropped, and I realised that Pinky never ate the chocolate – oh, my shattered dreams!

I was upset when I saw Pinky being killed by Gwangi in the final film, and accused Dad of killing ‘my elephant’.

However, I was also sympathetic to Gwangi, who had been forced into an unnatural environment by his human captors.

Dad reassured me that Pinky and Gwangi were both safe back at our home.

Above left: Vanessa as a child with elephant model from The Valley of Gwangi (1969)

Opposite, top: Stand-in model of Pinky the Elephant from The Valley of Gwangi (1969). Resin, 24.5 x 14.5 x 30 cm

Above right: Ray and Vanessa on the set of The Valley of Gwangi

Opposite, bottom: Early comparison sketches for Pinky the Elephant.

Pencil on paper, each 41 x 51 cm Overleaf: Ray animating elephant and Gwangi models for The Valley of Gwangi

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Minaton model from Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger The character of Minaton saw one of the rare occasions that Dad alternated between a stop-motion model and an actor in a resin suit. In this case, the actor was the 7-foot 3-inch hospital porter Peter Mayhew, who would go on to appear as Chewbacca in the Star Wars movies. This was his first film role, after Charles Schneer saw an article in a local paper about a particularly tall man with large feet. Everybody who worked with him said that he was a very gentle, kind man.

When I met with his co-star, Kurt Christian, he said that he rarely complained during filming, despite the fact that he was in such an uncomfortable suit in the baking sun.

Left: Minaton model from Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger (1977).

Latex with metal armature, 44 x 16 x 13 cm

I thought that Minaton was a tremendous character – he looked as though he had been constructed from bronze, and I love the dramatic scene where Margaret Whiting’s character Zenobia brings the creature to life. I remember meeting Margaret on set – I thought she was lovely, and fantastic as the female villain in Dad’s third Sinbad film.

Opposite: Peter Mayhew as Minaton in costume on the set of Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger (1977) Above: Minaton head as worn by Peter Mayhew in Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger

Dad asked me to take care of the Minaton’s head that Peter Mayhew had worn for the role, many years after the film had been released. I lived in Scotland by this time, and our estate had a little more wall space than Dad’s house in London. He suggested that I mount the head like a hunting trophy, and display it alongside the stag heads, swords and targes that were up on the wall already. The head is made of fibreglass, and so is not particularly heavy – however, there are no holes for air or sight, and so I can’t imagine what it would have been like to wear on location.

Thankfully, I don’t think Peter had to wear it for long.

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Minaton model from Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger The character of Minaton saw one of the rare occasions that Dad alternated between a stop-motion model and an actor in a resin suit. In this case, the actor was the 7-foot 3-inch hospital porter Peter Mayhew, who would go on to appear as Chewbacca in the Star Wars movies. This was his first film role, after Charles Schneer saw an article in a local paper about a particularly tall man with large feet. Everybody who worked with him said that he was a very gentle, kind man.

When I met with his co-star, Kurt Christian, he said that he rarely complained during filming, despite the fact that he was in such an uncomfortable suit in the baking sun.

Left: Minaton model from Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger (1977).

Latex with metal armature, 44 x 16 x 13 cm

I thought that Minaton was a tremendous character – he looked as though he had been constructed from bronze, and I love the dramatic scene where Margaret Whiting’s character Zenobia brings the creature to life. I remember meeting Margaret on set – I thought she was lovely, and fantastic as the female villain in Dad’s third Sinbad film.

Opposite: Peter Mayhew as Minaton in costume on the set of Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger (1977) Above: Minaton head as worn by Peter Mayhew in Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger

Dad asked me to take care of the Minaton’s head that Peter Mayhew had worn for the role, many years after the film had been released. I lived in Scotland by this time, and our estate had a little more wall space than Dad’s house in London. He suggested that I mount the head like a hunting trophy, and display it alongside the stag heads, swords and targes that were up on the wall already. The head is made of fibreglass, and so is not particularly heavy – however, there are no holes for air or sight, and so I can’t imagine what it would have been like to wear on location.

Thankfully, I don’t think Peter had to wear it for long.

161

Medusa model from Clash of the Titans This is one of Dad’s most complicated stop-motion models.

I remember him creating a key drawing of Medusa on his easel in his workshop at home – I returned home from boarding school just in time to see the artwork being finished. At the time, Dad was debating whether to include a ‘boob-tube’; he was concerned about American censors raising objections to a topless Medusa, regardless of the fact that she was a reptilian creature. In the end, it was decided that the garment should be removed; Dad felt that this allowed for a more authentic and effective Medusa.

I was on set during the filming of the live action for Medusa at Pinewood Studios near London, and remember the sequence where Medusa’s arrows were taking out Perseus’ companions, one by one. The scene where a supporting actor receives an arrow to the back and falls face down into a pool of water in Medusa’s temple required multiple reshoots, and I recall feeling very sorry for the actor, who was repeatedly dunked into the somewhat murky water!

Photographing Medusa, by Andy Johnson I was captivated by the model of Medusa, which I vividly remembered from Clash of the Titans (1981). It was quite scary as I recall, but here I was carrying the piece to set up for photography. We were going to ask Ray to stand behind Medusa and move her as if he was working on a film sequence. I was so concerned that this fragile model would come apart or be damaged, but Ray began to move the various articulated joints through their sequences, and all seemed fine. We wanted to create a small sequence of movements to emulate the way it was photographed for the film, twenty-four images in a second. It was at this time that I fully realised how difficult it must have been; there were a dozen or so snakes on her head to manipulate, the arms, facial expressions, tail; and all the while, keeping them all moving in the correct direction – quite unbelievable.

Colin Arthur on Clash of the Titans Ray and I worked together on Clash of the Titans. Again, he produced a waterfall of inspired drawings and visited my studio while I sculpted the Kraken and made some full-sized two-headed wolves. With the Kraken completed and in store, and an assistant finishing the wolves, I went off to shoot a Burt Lancaster film. But soon, calls came in looking for the Kraken for shooting in Rome. I loaded all Ray’s monsters, the Kraken and my tools into my Winnebago and drove to Rome.

A mammoth trip in a very short time, leaving on Saturday and arriving in Rome on the Monday – Ray had summoned me!

As shooting drew to an end, we began to plan the make-up for the character Calibos, with his goat’s legs. I was keen to do the whole sequence for real with an actor and prosthetic goat’s legs, but in the end Ray decided to stay with stop-motion, and I did the close-ups. We were working on a very tight timescale, and we had little time to do the finishing work. Thank goodness for the wonderful Ted Moore, our lighting cameraman – Ted would say ‘no problem’ and, with subtle shadows and clever lighting, make things better than I had dreamed possible.

Ray was always there too and was concerned about the mix of techniques that were involved, but in the end we had a relaxed shoot. When the film was released, Ray came to me and admitted that the goat’s legs would have been more interesting with prosthetics and not stop-motion – but that was the way of our work, constantly breaking new ground, using unknown and unconventional materials, trying new ideas.

Alas, Ray’s next project never came to pass, and the technology changed into real-time special effects, then CGI and Star Wars, and the world changed for us. It was time to bow out graciously.

It also meant that I could then be in the UK, spend time with Ray, and indirectly give a small amount of support to the Harryhausen Foundation – what a pleasure to spend time with him, an old comrade and so much more than just a friend.

Medusa model from Clash of the Titans (1981). Latex with metal armature, 46 x 26 x 34 cm

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Medusa model from Clash of the Titans This is one of Dad’s most complicated stop-motion models.

I remember him creating a key drawing of Medusa on his easel in his workshop at home – I returned home from boarding school just in time to see the artwork being finished. At the time, Dad was debating whether to include a ‘boob-tube’; he was concerned about American censors raising objections to a topless Medusa, regardless of the fact that she was a reptilian creature. In the end, it was decided that the garment should be removed; Dad felt that this allowed for a more authentic and effective Medusa.

I was on set during the filming of the live action for Medusa at Pinewood Studios near London, and remember the sequence where Medusa’s arrows were taking out Perseus’ companions, one by one. The scene where a supporting actor receives an arrow to the back and falls face down into a pool of water in Medusa’s temple required multiple reshoots, and I recall feeling very sorry for the actor, who was repeatedly dunked into the somewhat murky water!

Photographing Medusa, by Andy Johnson I was captivated by the model of Medusa, which I vividly remembered from Clash of the Titans (1981). It was quite scary as I recall, but here I was carrying the piece to set up for photography. We were going to ask Ray to stand behind Medusa and move her as if he was working on a film sequence. I was so concerned that this fragile model would come apart or be damaged, but Ray began to move the various articulated joints through their sequences, and all seemed fine. We wanted to create a small sequence of movements to emulate the way it was photographed for the film, twenty-four images in a second. It was at this time that I fully realised how difficult it must have been; there were a dozen or so snakes on her head to manipulate, the arms, facial expressions, tail; and all the while, keeping them all moving in the correct direction – quite unbelievable.

Colin Arthur on Clash of the Titans Ray and I worked together on Clash of the Titans. Again, he produced a waterfall of inspired drawings and visited my studio while I sculpted the Kraken and made some full-sized two-headed wolves. With the Kraken completed and in store, and an assistant finishing the wolves, I went off to shoot a Burt Lancaster film. But soon, calls came in looking for the Kraken for shooting in Rome. I loaded all Ray’s monsters, the Kraken and my tools into my Winnebago and drove to Rome.

A mammoth trip in a very short time, leaving on Saturday and arriving in Rome on the Monday – Ray had summoned me!

As shooting drew to an end, we began to plan the make-up for the character Calibos, with his goat’s legs. I was keen to do the whole sequence for real with an actor and prosthetic goat’s legs, but in the end Ray decided to stay with stop-motion, and I did the close-ups. We were working on a very tight timescale, and we had little time to do the finishing work. Thank goodness for the wonderful Ted Moore, our lighting cameraman – Ted would say ‘no problem’ and, with subtle shadows and clever lighting, make things better than I had dreamed possible.

Ray was always there too and was concerned about the mix of techniques that were involved, but in the end we had a relaxed shoot. When the film was released, Ray came to me and admitted that the goat’s legs would have been more interesting with prosthetics and not stop-motion – but that was the way of our work, constantly breaking new ground, using unknown and unconventional materials, trying new ideas.

Alas, Ray’s next project never came to pass, and the technology changed into real-time special effects, then CGI and Star Wars, and the world changed for us. It was time to bow out graciously.

It also meant that I could then be in the UK, spend time with Ray, and indirectly give a small amount of support to the Harryhausen Foundation – what a pleasure to spend time with him, an old comrade and so much more than just a friend.

Medusa model from Clash of the Titans (1981). Latex with metal armature, 46 x 26 x 34 cm

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Ray’s marbles In later years, Dad would regularly say that he was worried people would think that he was ‘losing his marbles’. He was still as sharp as ever, but it would occasionally take him a little longer to recall things, and he was anxious about what people thought of him because of his age.

John Landis used to visit Mum and Dad whenever he was in London, and would always bring Dad a burger from McDonald’s, or a cake, or something delicious. He was a joy to Dad, and Mum adored him too, for his humour – he used to make them both smile. John must have picked up on Dad’s concerns about ageing, because on one occasion he arrived at the house and produced a lovely bag of colourful marbles, saying to Dad: ‘See, Ray? People can’t say you’ve lost your marbles now!’

Dad loved this, and kept the bag of marbles by the kitchen table. At breakfast time, he would periodically lift the bag of marbles and say: ‘I haven’t lost them … yet!’

I will always be grateful to all of the people who took the time to come and visit my parents in their later years – it was very thoughtful of John, and it meant such a lot to them both.

Hollywood Walk of Fame star

John Landis on visiting Ray In his office on the upper floor of his house in London were many of the creatures Ray had created, keeping him company as he worked at his desk on his correspondence.

Many famous filmmakers and fans would come to visit, as his fame only grew with each new DVD and Blu-ray re-release of his pictures. With digital restorations from the original film negatives, we can now watch wonderfully crisp and clear copies of his classics.

As the animator Terry Gilliam said, Ray was a true digital animation pioneer because his creatures, these miracles of movement, were created using digits: ‘What we do now digitally with computers, Ray did digitally long before, but without computers. Only with his digits.’

Ray was an artist whose work influenced countless filmmakers and entertained the world. And, best of all, he was a warm and generous man.

Below: Coloured marbles, presented to Ray by John Landis

On 10 June 2003, Dad was awarded a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. Appropriately enough, this was located opposite Grauman’s Chinese Theatre, where he had first gone to see King Kong (1933) on the film’s release.

I finally had the chance to see his star during a visit in May 2014. It was a very emotional and proud moment, particularly as both Dad and Mum had passed away the previous year. It was a difficult time for me, but seeing this monument to Dad’s work among so many other iconic actors and filmmakers was truly amazing.

Right: Ray with John Landis during Ray’s ninetieth birthday celebrations, London, 2010

Above left: Ray receiving his star of the Hollywood Walk of Fame, 2003 Above right: Vanessa Harryhausen visits her father’s star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame in 2014

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Ray’s marbles In later years, Dad would regularly say that he was worried people would think that he was ‘losing his marbles’. He was still as sharp as ever, but it would occasionally take him a little longer to recall things, and he was anxious about what people thought of him because of his age.

John Landis used to visit Mum and Dad whenever he was in London, and would always bring Dad a burger from McDonald’s, or a cake, or something delicious. He was a joy to Dad, and Mum adored him too, for his humour – he used to make them both smile. John must have picked up on Dad’s concerns about ageing, because on one occasion he arrived at the house and produced a lovely bag of colourful marbles, saying to Dad: ‘See, Ray? People can’t say you’ve lost your marbles now!’

Dad loved this, and kept the bag of marbles by the kitchen table. At breakfast time, he would periodically lift the bag of marbles and say: ‘I haven’t lost them … yet!’

I will always be grateful to all of the people who took the time to come and visit my parents in their later years – it was very thoughtful of John, and it meant such a lot to them both.

Hollywood Walk of Fame star

John Landis on visiting Ray In his office on the upper floor of his house in London were many of the creatures Ray had created, keeping him company as he worked at his desk on his correspondence.

Many famous filmmakers and fans would come to visit, as his fame only grew with each new DVD and Blu-ray re-release of his pictures. With digital restorations from the original film negatives, we can now watch wonderfully crisp and clear copies of his classics.

As the animator Terry Gilliam said, Ray was a true digital animation pioneer because his creatures, these miracles of movement, were created using digits: ‘What we do now digitally with computers, Ray did digitally long before, but without computers. Only with his digits.’

Ray was an artist whose work influenced countless filmmakers and entertained the world. And, best of all, he was a warm and generous man.

Below: Coloured marbles, presented to Ray by John Landis

On 10 June 2003, Dad was awarded a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. Appropriately enough, this was located opposite Grauman’s Chinese Theatre, where he had first gone to see King Kong (1933) on the film’s release.

I finally had the chance to see his star during a visit in May 2014. It was a very emotional and proud moment, particularly as both Dad and Mum had passed away the previous year. It was a difficult time for me, but seeing this monument to Dad’s work among so many other iconic actors and filmmakers was truly amazing.

Right: Ray with John Landis during Ray’s ninetieth birthday celebrations, London, 2010

Above left: Ray receiving his star of the Hollywood Walk of Fame, 2003 Above right: Vanessa Harryhausen visits her father’s star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame in 2014

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Acknowledgements Heartfelt thanks to the Foundation’s collections manager, Connor Heaney, for your support in helping me to write this book. I couldn’t have done it without you.

Thank you to everybody who has contributed to or assisted with this book; it has been so wonderful to catch up with so many of Dad’s friends and colleagues from over the years. Every memory or anecdote that has been shared for this book has given a unique perspective on Dad’s life and work, and I’ve learned so much from those who knew him. Thank you to Colin Arthur, Martine Beswick, Rolf Giesen, Mike Hankin, Gareth Knowles, Susan Nixon (née Bradbury), Gilles Penso, Alexandre Poncet, David Schecter and Mark Wolf for your contributions and photographs.

Thanks to my fellow trustees at the Ray and Diana Harryhausen Foundation, John Walsh and Simon Mackintosh, and to our lawyer Mark McKeown. You have acted as a sounding board for all of my ideas and concerns, and have helped steer the Foundation through some tough times since Dad’s death.

My humble thanks to Randy Cook for his devotion, enthusiasm and advice, both to Dad and to me over the years. I can’t think of anybody who would have been better to assist me when working through the treasure trove of items in Dad’s LA garage – you made it so much fun!

Thank you to the Foundation’s official conservator, Alan Friswell, for the most incredible work in conserving and repairing Dad’s creature collection over the past ten years. I know that Dad would be so proud of how his models have been restored for future generations to enjoy – and it has been a pleasure to watch Alan return some of Dad’s most iconic creations to their original glory.

Photographers Andy Johnson and Mark Mawston have donated so much of their time and expertise in capturing the spirit of Dad’s collection over the years. Thank you both for your amazing images, and for all of your anecdotes.

Thank you to my husband Kenny for the good times we share – and for the laughter and frights you continue to give me!

A special thanks to Greg Kulon for his ongoing enthusiasm for Dad’s work.

Thank you to Violet Olabisi and Marlowe Javier in particular, as well as the other home carers who helped my parents in their later years. You treated my parents with

kindness, dignity and professionalism – as well as some much-needed humour at times!

It is always wonderful to see filmmakers and specialeffects artists who have been influenced by Dad’s work.

Thanks go to Rick Baker, Phil Tippett, Merlin Crossingham, Mark Caballero and Seamus Walsh for giving an expert’seye view of Dad’s work for this book. Thanks too to Jim Danforth, for your decades of friendship with Dad, and for your help with assessing material in the LA garage in 2008.

John and Deborah Landis have been so incredibly supportive to our family over many years – thank you for your ongoing friendship. Thank you for giving Dad so many cameos in your films – I know that he always enjoyed doing these small roles!

To Sue Isaac, my godmother, thank you for your endless love and support throughout my good times and bad times.

You have been my pillar of strength and inspiration.

Caroline Munro has been a lifelong friend, and my mum and dad adored her just as much as I do. Thank you for your support, both personally and in helping with the Foundation.

Tami Hamalian – my dearest, lifelong friend. Thank you for all of our fun times together, and for being there whenever I need you.

Finally, thank you to my publishers at the National Galleries of Scotland, Ann Crawford and Jennifer Mcllreavy.

Dad had so many hundreds of friends over the years, and was shown such kindness from his fans around the world during his appearances at conventions and festivals.

It would be impossible to list the names of everybody whom Dad befriended over the years, but I would like to extend a heartfelt thank you to you all.

205

Acknowledgements Heartfelt thanks to the Foundation’s collections manager, Connor Heaney, for your support in helping me to write this book. I couldn’t have done it without you.

Thank you to everybody who has contributed to or assisted with this book; it has been so wonderful to catch up with so many of Dad’s friends and colleagues from over the years. Every memory or anecdote that has been shared for this book has given a unique perspective on Dad’s life and work, and I’ve learned so much from those who knew him. Thank you to Colin Arthur, Martine Beswick, Rolf Giesen, Mike Hankin, Gareth Knowles, Susan Nixon (née Bradbury), Gilles Penso, Alexandre Poncet, David Schecter and Mark Wolf for your contributions and photographs.

Thanks to my fellow trustees at the Ray and Diana Harryhausen Foundation, John Walsh and Simon Mackintosh, and to our lawyer Mark McKeown. You have acted as a sounding board for all of my ideas and concerns, and have helped steer the Foundation through some tough times since Dad’s death.

My humble thanks to Randy Cook for his devotion, enthusiasm and advice, both to Dad and to me over the years. I can’t think of anybody who would have been better to assist me when working through the treasure trove of items in Dad’s LA garage – you made it so much fun!

Thank you to the Foundation’s official conservator, Alan Friswell, for the most incredible work in conserving and repairing Dad’s creature collection over the past ten years. I know that Dad would be so proud of how his models have been restored for future generations to enjoy – and it has been a pleasure to watch Alan return some of Dad’s most iconic creations to their original glory.

Photographers Andy Johnson and Mark Mawston have donated so much of their time and expertise in capturing the spirit of Dad’s collection over the years. Thank you both for your amazing images, and for all of your anecdotes.

Thank you to my husband Kenny for the good times we share – and for the laughter and frights you continue to give me!

A special thanks to Greg Kulon for his ongoing enthusiasm for Dad’s work.

Thank you to Violet Olabisi and Marlowe Javier in particular, as well as the other home carers who helped my parents in their later years. You treated my parents with

kindness, dignity and professionalism – as well as some much-needed humour at times!

It is always wonderful to see filmmakers and specialeffects artists who have been influenced by Dad’s work.

Thanks go to Rick Baker, Phil Tippett, Merlin Crossingham, Mark Caballero and Seamus Walsh for giving an expert’seye view of Dad’s work for this book. Thanks too to Jim Danforth, for your decades of friendship with Dad, and for your help with assessing material in the LA garage in 2008.

John and Deborah Landis have been so incredibly supportive to our family over many years – thank you for your ongoing friendship. Thank you for giving Dad so many cameos in your films – I know that he always enjoyed doing these small roles!

To Sue Isaac, my godmother, thank you for your endless love and support throughout my good times and bad times.

You have been my pillar of strength and inspiration.

Caroline Munro has been a lifelong friend, and my mum and dad adored her just as much as I do. Thank you for your support, both personally and in helping with the Foundation.

Tami Hamalian – my dearest, lifelong friend. Thank you for all of our fun times together, and for being there whenever I need you.

Finally, thank you to my publishers at the National Galleries of Scotland, Ann Crawford and Jennifer Mcllreavy.

Dad had so many hundreds of friends over the years, and was shown such kindness from his fans around the world during his appearances at conventions and festivals.

It would be impossible to list the names of everybody whom Dad befriended over the years, but I would like to extend a heartfelt thank you to you all.

205