I Tried This: Motion-capture workshop with Planet of the Apes star Terry Notary

Last year, director Ruben Östlund’s tongue-in-cheek satire of the high-class art world, The Square, scooped an Oscar nomination. There was one scene that got the critics talking. Entering a formal gala dinner of billionaire museum donors, a shirtless, brooding man stalks into the gilded room and performs a pitch-perfect impersonation of an ape.

That person was Terry Notary.

The performer has a storied career. Beginning as a cast member in the Cirque du Soleil, he was swiftly discovered by director Ron Howard who employed him as a movement coach on Dr. Seuss’ How the Grinch Stole Christmas. Next came a job as a stunt performer and movement coach for the 2001 Planet of the Apes film, and a torrent of titles including Superman Returns, Avatar, Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen, all three Hobbit movies, and Avengers: Infinity War. With his comprehensive résumé, Notary has established himself as one of the most in-demand motion-capture and movement performers in Hollywood.

Despite that packed schedule, the actor still finds time to lead one-to-one workshops for those wishing to follow in his shoes. That’s how I found myself at Burnaby’s Animatrik Studios.

Covered from head to toe in a black suit that sat somewhere between Lycra and Velcro, I met the performer for the first time. His muscular frame coursing with energy, it was clear that Notary rarely sits still. Naturally in motion, he chose to forgo his lunch as a technician stuck countless white balls on my suit, electing instead to stretch his limbs and roam around Animatrik’s cavernous sound stage.

When our workshop began, however, Notary was immediately focused. Sitting opposite each other on chairs, we began a meditative, shamanistic process of becoming, in his words, “a blank slate”. As I relaxed muscles I was unaware of tensing, the performer had an uncanny ability to recognize the tiniest movement or correction, coaching me patiently how to sit without overcompensation—a feat that no physio has ever accomplished.

Notary’s talent transformed the simplest of daily motions. Standing and sitting—actions I thought I had perfected—were tweaked by the smallest degrees, taking strain off certain muscles and creating a frictionless, smooth transition. Tolerantly teaching the difference in tiny shifts of weight, the actor realigned my movements, stripping my body of its idiosyncrasies.

Next came walking. A history of knee surgeries has left me with a lopsided lope, and a preference of favouring my right leg. Notary noticed immediately. Ambling in circles around the warehouse, he straightened my posture, teaching me to tilt my pelvis at a stronger angle and walk with a pace and thickness that implied a quiet power. “This is homework,” he said.

Approaching the monitors for the first time, I noticed what the cameras were picking up. On the screen were two monstrous characters, one a hulking rhino with a hunchback, and the other a top-heavy, winged lizard. As I lifted my arm, so did the rhino. As Notary walked, the lizard stepped with him.

Together we moved in front of the cameras, the onscreen avatars picking up the slightest shift in motion and transforming their gait. The training allowed me to be conscious of how I was walking, sitting, or standing in the motion-capture suit, with the characters taking on new personalities from the way we held ourselves. Perfecting the digital actions, we performed an impromptu scene, letting the avatars interact with each other and giving them a backstory.

The occasion was playful yet serious, mixing moments of intense study with improvisation and fun. Motion-capture has never been my calling, but a short time with Notary taught me to appreciate my smallest movements in detail. More than embodying a 500-pound rhino, I discovered how to project my body to the world—conquering issues that have baffled physios for years.

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