I still remember when I discovered the work of the great Hungarian animator Marcell Jankovics, who died on May 29th at the age of 79. In 1975, I saw Sisyphus in the 10th Annual International Tournée of Animation. The skill with which the artist captured the anatomy of the character, his frustration and the essence of his movements in a few elegant, calligraphic lines awed me. I tried to make the lines in my own drawing communicate as eloquently.

So I was delighted to meet Marcell when we both served as judges at the 1982 Ottawa Animation Festival, with Eunice Macaulay, Jannik Hastrup and Raoul Servais. We got to know each other at the judging session. Outside the screenings, Jannik preferred to go off by himself and Raoul knew many other artists. But Eunice, Marcell and I became fast friends.

When we returned for the Festival itself some weeks later, we each brought what we’d been working on to show the others. Marcell brought The White Mare’s Son. We were all taken with its brilliant visuals and powerful story. Frédéric Back, who had joined us, wanted to know why it wasn’t in competition as it was the best film at the Festival. I volunteered to write an English synopsis of The White Mare (which hadn’t been translated) and read it to introduce the film.

I made one mistake in the text: I thought the third time Treeshaker, the hero of the film, had hurled his newly-forged sword into the sky, it was so the fires of the stars could temper the metal of the blade. Marcell gently corrected me, saying the shots of the stars were just to suggest how high he had thrown the sword—but he accepted that interpretation.

Marcell was a scholar, as well as a great animator. Each character in White Mare has a symbolic significance. The heroic Treeshaker represents both nuclear energy and the sun at its zenith; appropriately, he weds Princess Summerfair, who represents the most beautiful of the seasons.

When he wasn’t animating, Marcell wrote learned books on mythology and symbolism. In Ottawa, he commented that unlike the digital watch I wore, his clockwork watch reflected the circular movements of the solar system. I have his only book that’s been translated into English—on solar myths and symbols.

After Ottawa, we remained friends and exchanged letters, back in those pre-email days. During the mid-80’s, he was approached by a wealthy businessman about making a three or four film cycle that would illustrate the Bible. In a letter from June, 1986, he wrote, “I am planning on immortalizing you in the Bible films as Joseph—may I? Frankly, it happened quite incidentally, my first sketches of Joseph were more or less Charleses…”

The Bible project never progressed beyond some storyboards; I missed becoming an on-screen icon. Marcell soon began a project he worked on for 23 years: The animated feature based on Imre Madách’s play “The Tragedy of Man,” which he completed in 2011. Many of his letters discussed his visions for the film, including how to adapt ancient Greek and Egyptian art to animation.

Marcell’s family had been ennobled by the Hapsburgs for fighting the Turks centuries earlier. The women who had woven the linen for the shirt he wore to the Festival awards ceremony had worked on his family’s lands. His father ran a clandestine radio station for the Resistance during the Nazi occupation. At end of the war, the Soviets captured his father, imprisoned and tortured him, then let him come home to die. The influence of his singular past can be seen in his films.

I wrote about Marcell and White Mare for every editor who would let me. I hosted a screening of it for the Motion Picture Academy in 1983—and at Animation Is Film in 2019. Although the film never received an American release, it is highly regarded within the animation community. Gabor Csupo had been a student of Marcell’s; he gave me a bootleg VHS tape of the film.

When Roger Allers was at work on Kingdom of the Sun at Disney and looking for an artist to help develop the mythological sequences, I showed him the tape of White Mare. The film Roger envisioned was never completed and Marcell’s artwork wasn’t used, but he received credit for “additional visual development.” Years later, Cartoon Saloon director Tomm Moore cited White Mare and Marcell’s shorts films on Hungarian folk tales as major influences on his work.

When I think of Marcell, I remember him laughing uproariously at a dinner in Los Angeles with Roger, Bob Kurtz, David Silverman, Scott Johnston and other animation friends. I remember his dismayed reaction when I persuaded him to try an American ice cream soda. I remember breakfasts in the fustian Lord Elgin Hotel in Ottawa, when we talked earnestly about animation, myths, art–and the stolidly unimaginative breakfast menu.

My last exchange with Marcell was a series of emails in March. David Marriott of Arbelos Films had asked me to write an essay to accompany the Blu-ray release of the 4K restoration of The White Mare’s Son. I sent the essay to Marcell, who offered a few minor corrections and thanked me, signing off—as he always did—“Hugs.”

I know Marcell’s work will continue to inspire animators for many years to come. I will continue to cherish the memories of an extraordinarily talented man and a good friend, whom I’m reminded of whenever I look up at the cel from White Mare that hangs on my office wall.