In order to be part of this same world you have to have a rather line-heavy, angular cast of characters who are readable against this landscape. Nowhere is this need for visual and emotional readability more important than in the protagonist of the story - Milo. He is on screen for nearly all of the film’s 90 plus minutes of running time - quite possibly the most amount of footage of any single Disney character in a feature film. Most characters in comics are in dynamic poses - as if always in motion. It’s part of what makes them stand out in an ink-laden environment. But Milo is not exactly a dynamo - he is timid, less “robust�?, less active than his peers on the expedition, and bookish by nature. That said, the marvel of Milo Thatch under John Pomeroy’s guidance is that he looks the most “at home�? in this world. It is as if Pomeroy and his crew understood not only the specifics of the character (both as written by Tab Murphy and as storyboarded) but that they also understood the iconography of comic art.

In no other Disney feature does a character feel so influenced in his or her movement by the overall design of the film, with the possible exception of Maleficent. From among the second generation of Disney artists, Pomeroy’s Milo is a visually captivating achievement, especially for an artist who began his career by venturing out for a place where this very “un-Disney�? kind of look was an anathema. This is hardly the classic storybook prince that was part of the Disney tradition calling Pomeroy’s name when he left starry-eyed and determined alongside Bluth.

Of particular note is a scene at the end of the second act where Milo wrestles with the decision to rescue Kida. Framed by the massive back of Dr. Sweet in shadow on the left of the screen, and cool blue drapery behind him and to the right Milo has very little space in which to play out an emotional outburst. He is spouting off a litany of failed attempts and poor choices. But this confined space is used by Pomeroy to great advantage. It’s the moment of dynamic explosion for the character and rather than break the frame, he bursts inside of it. The scene runs an un-edited 24 plus seconds and it stands out as a true Atlantean gem of a moment.

Supported by an outstanding vocal performance by Michael J. Fox, Pomeroy explains that he started the work on this scene by video taping himself. “On Pocahontas, “ says Pomeroy, “ the directors wanted live action reference footage for nearly the entire film. We didn’t have the budget for Atlantis and so I decided to videotape myself acting out this scene, over and over and over to the vocal track. Then I took stats that I blew up from the video performance and I worked my first extremes for the scene off of those stats.�? But if you think Pomeroy cheated, think again. “I acted out several versions, and sort of played paper dolls with all these different version until I had a framework. And then I’d throw away the stats and work from the extremes and then throw away the first set and work from the refined animation, and kept going until the movement became instinctual. It was a happy accident of finding a series of movements that communicate the nuance of Michael’s vocal performance. The scene comes from a place of such strength. I used the video as a foundation for understanding movement and then discarded it so as not to begin to rely on it. I discovered movements and gestures not at all in the footage, but which only could have been triggered by understanding the sort of things you can forget about unless you observe live action very carefully.�?

With every frame the animator makes purposeful and specific use of the character’s design: the hard, blunt ends of his hair and chin, the perspective of his shoulders as he turns and the play of his eyes from behind the glasses make it impossible to hide any rotoscoping or stats. Even the barest hint would bleed through and break the momentum of the scene. There is simply no trace here of whatever it was that Pomeroy started with. It’s as instinctual and passionate a moment of great animation as you’re likely to see for a long, long time. It’s a lesson in human observation. It’s reality heightened to fit inside a comic-book world. Pomeroy does here what only great animators can do, he inhabits Milo like slipping on a second skin. But it wasn’t an easy skin to shed.

In the time since “Atlantis�? wrapped, Pomeroy has quite possibly been to hell and back. “When I agreed to renew my contract�? and learn the MAYA program under Feature Animation’s training program offered to a handful of core artists “I was excited. I told Roy Disney that I was committed to staying because I truly believe in this place. Roy said to me ‘God Bless you, John.' I took the reduction in salary which was a universal cut of as much as 65% taken by the artists remaining with Feature Animation, but that was fine with me because I truly believed that we were about to see a rebirth at the studio. An explosion after an implosion." But not long after that he went through what he defines as “the lowest point in my career. From a career high to a career low, no kidding!�?

The spiritual passion of Pomeroy is evident as he tells this story. His pace quickens and a sort of animated proselytizing enters his voice. This is an artist re-born. Here he was, poised at nearly the same place he was in 1979 and his faith in the founding principals of Disney storytelling were being tested once again. And although he decided differently this time, the payoff wasn’t going to be as obvious or as quick as it had been before.