Raven Tales in Education: 2010

A word of explanation first - Raven Tales is a 26 episode television series, but more - all along it was developed as an educational tool for Native American children. As part of this first entry I thought it might be interesting to blog an interview about the origins of Raven Tales.

Christopher Kientz traces his Native ancestry back to the Eastern Cherokee

nation of Tennessee and the Dawes Rolls. For the past ten years,

Kientz has worked as an independent producer and animator, developing

multimedia projects for commercial clients in both Canada and the United

States. He has scripted, produced, and directed award-winning video, animation,

interactive media, and website projects for numerous clients. Growing

up among the Navajo, Zuni, and Hopi people of New Mexico gave

Kientz a great respect for North American Indigenous art and culture. Raven

Tales represents the culmination of this interest. Raven Tales is both an animation

and production company founded in 2004 by Kientz and Simon

James, and the name of a cartoon series, the first six stories with Raven as

the central character. In subsequent episodes that shifted from Raven, Kientz

and Simon have consulted with First Nations elders to develop stories from

respective Indigenous groups.

Linda Morra interviewed Kientz via the Internet in November 2007.

lm Might we begin with a brief history of the inception of Raven Tales? How

did the idea come about?

ck I grew up surrounded by fairy tales, either in book form or as told to me

by my mother and father. For the most part, these stories were in the

usual pan-European tradition. However, since my mother is half-Cherokee,

I was also introduced to a number of traditional Native American

stories and characters. All of these stories had a profound and lasting

effect on me, but the most memorable were always the stories of the

Cherokee people, which my mother had told me and which she had

learned from her father. Quite a few of these stories featured tricksters

of one kind or another, like Rabbit and Water Beetle. Even as a child, I

always found their adventures more interesting than those of, say, Aesop

or the Grimm brothers.

There was something liberating in the idea of a central protagonist

who wasn’t necessarily or always moral and certainly not an innocent à

la Snow White, Cinderella, and Pinocchio, but a character driven by

self-interest, especially because his or her self-interest almost always

served a greater good. For example, Rabbit inadvertently ends up giving

fire to the First People out of a wish to smoke them out of his home.

He succeeds in smoking them out, but they end up with fire, which

makes their lives better and advances their culture. In the same way,

Water Beetle begins the creation of the whole world by tricking other animals

to bring earth up from below the ocean that, at the time, covers all

things. He tricks them because he wants a place where he can rest for

a bit. From self-interest and trickery comes the beginning of all things.

These trickster stories were in stark contrast to the very direct moralizing

of so many of the other fairy tales with which I grew up, and seemed

richer somehow in their moral complexity. As a child, I couldn’t know

this complexity was part of the attraction, but I know I was always drawn

to trickster stories.

I also grew up in New Mexico, so traditional Native American stories

and sacred objects like Katsina and Navajo weavings and sand paintings

were simply a part of day-to-day life. A number of my friends were also

Native American, primarily Apache, so growing up in New Mexico I

learned more about Kokopelli and Coyote, who were central creation figures

in the southwest, and also about our tricksters. Coyote especially

fascinated me because he was both a physical reality—actual coyotes

skulked around our orchard—as well as a spiritual being responsible

for the birth of the First People, the scattering of the stars, and so much

more. The day-to-day experience of dealing with coyotes informed part

of this fascination. My Apache friend Richard made sure that I knew to

avoid the stare of a coyote, to turn around and take another road if one

crossed my path, and to gather up its scat and bury it around the house

so spirits wouldn’t come in and so forth.

When I moved to Vancouver, I was introduced to the central character

of the Northwest folklore, Raven, and I knew immediately that I

wanted to tell not just his stories, but all of the stories I remembered from

my childhood—stories of Coyote and Rabbit and the Rough Faced Girl

and so on. The main reason for wanting to tell these trickster stories was

to give them a central place alongside pan-European stories and to

introduce the trickster, generally denigrated to second-rate status as a

character of folklore, to a new audience who could see the figure as I

did—as a bringer of light, an embodiment of life in all its complexity.

A big part of this initial impulse came from talking to other people in

the Vancouver area who had no idea that Raven was such an important

character of folklore. They knew all of the pan-European stories and

characters—but none of the local ones such as B’gwus, Dzunukwa, Kolus,

and many more. Yet these stories and characters were every bit as compelling.

Even though they were surrounded by masks and carvings with

these characters present, they had no idea who they were, or what larger

role they played in communities that lived in their presence.

lm So what became the driving impulse of this project?

ck Part of what drove me was the idea that these stories were generally

only to be found in anthropological journals or books, and that most of

these retellings lacked the humour of the originals or oral versions I

remembered. I also thought the stories were perfect for animation, given

the fantastical nature of the medium and the young audience. I wanted

other children to know these stories as I had, as something different, with

all of the moral ambiguity and humour intact. So I guess the initial idea

was to do two things: tell the stories of Raven and his ilk as characters

central to a rich and fascinating tradition, and to put them into a format

that would be accessible to young children and general audiences.

lm In terms of satisfying the impulse to create in “a format that would be

accessible to young children and general audiences,” might you elaborate

on your audience? Do you have priorities in terms of for whom you

create this animation series? Might you elaborate on your (or your

team’s) objectives?

ck Ultimately, we found a studio in Calgary called New Machine Studios,

which already had about twenty percent of their staff with Indigenous

status. They were also willing to work with us in relation to hiring some

specific talent we had found, such as animator Caleb Hystad, now one

of our directors and editors.

We create largely for an audience that is comprised of six- to elevenyear-

olds, which is the major demographic for animation. Our first

hope was to ensure that Indigenous children in Canada, and Native

Americans in the United States, would have a show that would be based

on stories from their own communities with Native-based characters

that were positive. We even went out into the community at friendship

centres and hogans and asked the children what stories they wanted to

see and wrote scripts based on those requests. But we also hoped for a

wider audience that would embrace these stories much like the folklore

from Europe and Asia. So, in addition to Native American children,

children from all cultures could see and appreciate these stories.

lm How did you begin the process?

ck I roughed in the general concept of retelling traditional folklore from

the point of view of a few major characters—Frog, Eagle, and Raven.

Then, by happenstance, I met Simon James, a Native-American animator

who was also working along the same lines. He and I worked

together to generate the first six stories we wanted to tell. All of the stories

had Raven as a central character who, by his actions, helps the First

People to progress towards one kind of enlightenment or another. After

that, we approached First Nations Chiefs to ask permission to tell the

stories as we’d told them.

lm How might you characterize your interactions with the First Nations

Chiefs when you and Simon approached them to ask permission to tell

the stories? Obviously, their response was ultimately positive because

you are proceeding with the animation series, but was it consistently

so? Were there reservations expressed? Did they have—or do they continue

to have—input in the process?

ck Our interactions with First Nations councils and hereditary Chiefs have

been uniformly positive, although they were all initially somewhat puzzled

by our approach. Traditionally, First Nations councils and Chiefs

are not asked permission by authors or television producers to have

their stories told. Since all of the material is already in the public domain

(via anthropological texts), First Nations no longer have any legal control

over their oral traditions or artwork. That’s why you find so many

knock-off prints and masks that are not Native American in origin but

made in China.

We were actually advised by a lawyer not to ask permission from the

councils, as that might imply some legal ownership on their part. But

we felt it was the right thing to do—they did own these stories—so we

asked anyway. The Haida were especially happy to have us ask for their

input because, in the past, government groups like the National Film

Board created adaptations of Haida stories without any of their input.

We also made sure to create some revenue streams back to the community

in the form of various donations to American Indian Study programs.

In addition to getting permission, we’ve also worked with Indigenous

representatives to help shape the scripts and, just as with the

process of getting permission, this part has been a great experience,

keeping us honest, really. It’s also helped us solidify support for Raven

Tales as a cornerstone for Indigenous education in Canada.

lm Does that mean that there are plans in the works to do animated trickster

stories that are Cherokee in origin? Please, correct me if I am

wrong—the animated stories I have seen thus far seem to be Haida in

origin. What are the plans for future animations vis-à-vis the trickster?

ck The first four stories were all Haida, so your sense of that is correct. All

of that had to do with the affiliations of the major producers. We knew

from the start we wanted to feature folklore from across North America,

but we wanted to establish a base first. The second part of the first

season, episodes ten and twelve, are both Cherokee stories. Episode

ten, for example, is the story of how sickness entered the world. This story

features designs and words in Cherokee; it is book-ended with the regular

characters being told the story via Frog. So we stay in the same

Northwestern setting with the same major characters, but we move

around geographically as part of the story being told. We’ve done this

with episodes eight to thirteen actually, so we’re expanding our base of

stories and are moving across North America as we tell them. We even

have two Coyote stories, so we will feature other tricksters as the series

continues. As for future animation, I am working with Gerald McDermott,

a famous children’s author, to create some animation based on

his own series of trickster tales.

lm Aside from Simon James and Gerald McDermott, how did you develop

your current production team?

ck Simon and I spent a long time trying to pitch Raven Tales to existing studios

in Canada, but none was interested. They didn’t think there would

be demand from broadcasters. Even after we found a broadcaster willing

to put the show on the air nationally, studios still didn’t want to do

the show. They felt like we couldn’t find enough foreign broadcasters.

Studios also felt our wish to have a studio willing to hire at least a good

proportion of the animation talent from the Indigenous population was

out of line. We found there were quite a few Indigenous artists and animators,

but few were working steadily in the business, and we wanted to

change that.

lm If one of the challenges you faced was trying to persuade or locate willing

broadcasters, what would you say have been other challenges? How

did you resolve these?

ck Even before we got to the stage of seeking broadcasters, we found it

very difficult to find financing. When we first started out creating Raven

Tales, we sought funding as a non-profit agency from groups like the

Ford Foundation, CPB/PBS, the National Film Board of Canada, the

Gates Foundation, and the National Indian Education Association

(NIEA), among others. They all suggested that the medium of computer

animation wasn’t something they could support because it didn’t

reflect the authentic or traditional standards for Native American art.

My belief, and Simon’s as well, is that the stories, the people who tell

them, and the quality of the final piece are the most important aspect

of the work, not the medium, so it was perplexing to us as Native American

artists to be told we should self-censor our work to meet the demands

of a group of non-Natives so they could be assured that what they were

supporting was “authentic.” So we turned to private finance and became

a for-profit company. We ended up leveraging our personal equity to get

loans to make the show.

We also found it hard to find production companies actually willing

to produce the show. Even with full financing in place, production companies

saw the show and the market as too limited to invest their time

and production team. I don’t blame them really, since classically Native

American or First Nations programming is ghettoized to time slots or

channels with a limited audience. Eventually, we found a production

company who could see that there might be a larger audience if the

show was designed and produced to be mainstream while it still avoided

homogenization. We resolved all of these issues through sheer will and

perseverance. Both Simon and I felt strongly enough about telling these

stories not to give up. We also had the support of First Nations communities

who were eager for a show that would tell their stories.

lm Although, as you said earlier, you believe animation appeals to children

(one of the primary audiences targeted), what do you think are the

implications of using this form, especially when we consider the original

oral transmission of the said trickster stories?

ck Simon and I thought a great deal about the use of animation to tell

these stories and the differences between an oral tradition and the

medium of animation. Clearly, there are some major differences—an oral

presentation allows the teller of the story to improvise, elaborate, and

interact with the audience. It is a more egalitarian and immediate form

of storytelling, fluid and interactive. Animation, on the other hand, is

a fixed medium with the creator and the audience removed in space

and time. Animation also forces upon the audience a more passive role,

much more than both an oral retelling or even a written transcript. It’s

pretty much impossible to form a direct parallel between the two medi-

ums.

Among non-Natives, especially anthropologists, there is a sense often

that the removal of a story from the oral tradition and adaptation to

another medium, especially a contemporary one, invalidates the experience.

This response may be valid; however, it assumes that the oral tradition

of storytelling is the only way Indigenous populations tell stories

that can be adapted, which is far from the reality. Indigenous people also

have dance, sculpture, and the visual arts, with which we may draw closer

parallels to more contemporary mediums like animation. Ultimately,

Simon and I felt like the medium of animation had more in common

with traditional carving and dance; both of these mediums require a

great deal of craftsmanship and preparatory work, allow less for improvisation,

and require a more rigid, formal sensibility. Carving and dance,

like animation, also remove the creator from an interactive relationship

with the audience. In the case of dance, the audience is involved only

as a spectator; the audience is a passive participant for the most part.

In the case of a totem, the audience reads the work from bottom to top,

but otherwise the work is more spectacle than narrative.

So, in the case of Raven Tales, we placed an emphasis on adapting

carved and dance works in forging the animated series. For example, we

modelled the characters to look like traditional Northwest Coast carvings

and also created walk cycles and character movements to mirror

Raven or Eagle dancers. We also placed an emphasis on dialogue, as in

dance performances in which the dialogue is sung, as well as an overarching

narrative voice, which is also present during dance presentations.

On a final note: in creating the series, our hope was to make Raven

Tales a starting place for children, not a capstone to their experience of

Indigenous stories. The ideal response to seeing Raven Tales would be

to seek out more cultural resources, including elders who can tell these

stories in their original language and form.

lm Might you track for me the manner in which you and Simon—and perhaps

other members of the production team—negotiate amongst yourselves

about the stories you select and how you choose to represent them

(for example, a character’s voice)?

ck Generally, Simon and I suggest the stories first with the idea of concentrating

on a particular character with the story somehow impacting his

or her life. The idea is to give each character in Raven Tales a chance to

grow and learn. Since this is a children’s show, most of the lessons we

concentrate on relate to basic value lessons—for example, the importance

of honesty, or believing in yourself, or helping others and work-

ing together. So, in the case of Sea Wolf, for example, we reworked a

Coast Salish story about the first totems to be about a character named

Gwai, who learns an important lesson about keeping promises and finding

his own particular skill. Once Simon and I agree on the general

outline, I write the story, then I work with the cast members to finalize

dialogue and narration. Then we go to the appropriate First Nations

council—in the case of Sea Wolf, the Cowichan—and make sure we

aren’t doing anything out of step with the original intent of the story.

With their approval, we write the final script. The animators also work

to give each character its own individual quirks. Once we move into

production, the script rarely changes, but we give the cast some latitude

in relation to how they do their voice work. Overall, the whole

process is highly collaborative and also pretty rewarding.

lm Let’s talk about your most recent work. How does your new partnership

with Atomic Cartoons and the development of Task Force Shaman

relate to or fit into the ideological parameters of Raven Tales?

ck Task Force Shaman was something I came up with as we travelled around

the world as part of the National Geographic All Roads Film Project

and showed Raven Tales to various Indigenous communities. Each time

we’d show Raven Tales, whether it was in New Zealand with Maori children

watching, or in Norway with Sami children, they all talked about

wanting a show about their own culture, or a show with characters from

their communities. I also noticed that many children outside the immediate

Indigenous community knew more about American superhero

characters than local folklore. For example, a group of children from an

Australian school in Sydney had never heard of the Rainbow Serpent or

Dreamtime, two amazing folklore elements from the Aboriginal communities

that were part of their own country’s heritage. I found the same

thing in British Columbia, where schoolchildren could tell you all about

Batman or Superman, but had no idea who Dzunukwa was, or Kolus, or

any number of local folkloric characters. One school in Campbell River

actually had a totem with a Sea Wolf design across the street, yet most

of the students had never heard the story of Sea Wolf or knew the connection

to Campbell River. So, I got it in my head that what I’d like to

do after Raven Tales, albeit along the same ideological line, is to create

a series that puts a group of Indigenous children from across the globe

in a contemporary setting and make them the heroes of the series. I

thought such a series would have a broader appeal and find a larger

audience than Raven Tales, even as it remained a celebration of Indigenous

folklore. That led me to talking to people like Cliff Curtis, a Maori

actor, as well as contacts I’d made from my travels, to see what they

thought. All of them loved the idea. I also got to thinking about commonalities

in terms of Indigenous cultures and came up with the shaman

angle. All of these cultures still have elements of shamanistic rites and

still abide by shamanistic ritual. I thus created a backstory that would

bring together these different characters and give them a reason to be

heroes in a contemporary setting, while still using folkloric elements

from each culture. As with Raven Tales, we’re still going to work with

Indigenous communities to craft the stories and make sure we aren’t

fudging anything—only, this time, we’re going to move the action from

the past to the present, and give the whole series a more global focus.

lm And give us something more to which to look forward. Thank you very

much, Chris.

ck Thank you.

Raven Tales in Education

Sunday, April 4, 2010

Working with Google Earth

Sunday, March 14, 2010

Answering the Why of My Grant Request

Monday, February 15, 2010

Monday, January 25, 2010

Raven Tales in Education

Blog Archive

About Me