“I think I'm extinct.”
For film nerds, it’s a behind-the-scenes quote that carries almost as much weight as “You’re gonna need a bigger boat.”
Visual effects wizard Phil Tippett famously uttered those words after first watching the groundbreaking digital dinosaur tests for Jurassic Park. For a guy who’d spent so much of his early career perfecting stop-motion animation techniques, it was a gut punch.
Overnight, he faced the potential obsolescence of his entire art form.
That quote bounced around my head quite a bit last week when news broke that Tippett Studio was closing its longtime Berkeley headquarters with a three-day liquidation sale to unload four decades’ worth of cinematic history. Everything must go, apparently, including AT-AT Walker models from The Empire Strikes Back, props from RoboCop, and miniatures that would make any good geek weak in the knees.
(Reminder: My birthday’s not until February, but it never hurts to plan ahead.)
Like a good Pisces, I handled the news with grace and emotional maturity.
“The magic is gone,” I furiously texted my friends.
“Movies are finished,” I barked at my helpless barista.
“PHIL!” I pleaded, eating my feelings in the back corner of an In-N-Out. “Why hast thou forsaken me?”
Fortunately, my panic was a tad premature.
Early reports implied that Tippett had made the decision (willingly or not) to shutter his entire operation. But a statement from the company, which you can read in full here, clarified that while the Berkeley facility is closing, the company isn’t. Seems it’s just not necessary to maintain such a large physical footprint in 2026.
Okay. Whew. So, not an ending as much as a pivot.
And pivoting, I’ve come to realize, has been one of the defining themes of Phil Tippett’s storied career.
The Man Who Refused His Extinction
I’ll admit, when it comes to Phil Tippett and his contemporaries, I have zero chill. Zilch. Stan Winston, Rick Baker, Dennis Muren, Rob Bottin... these geniuses were the architects of my imagination, creating the images that shaped my love of the movies.
Ten-year-old Mike practically lived in the library, rifling through books about special effects. How’d they do it? I learned many of their techniques over the years, but I still have no clue.
With his embarrassingly long list of accomplishments, Phil Tippett sits comfortably amongst those giants. I mean, come on: Jabba the Hutt, ED-209, Vermithrax Pejorative—
What, no Dragonslayer fans out there?
His fingerprints are all over modern filmmaking. And not just because of his talents. His success has had almost as much to do with adaptability. Every time filmmaking changed, Tippett found a way to change with it.
In the early ‘90s, there was plenty of ballyhooing about how the latest VFX tech would put all the creature shop folk into an early, unwanted retirement.
(Sound like a familiar setup, nudge-nudge-wink-wink?)
While I respectfully reject the premise that newer is always better (give me a Yoda puppet over a digital model any day), technological leaps are always paired with the fear of who will be left behind.
But for Phil Tippett, this upheaval was an opportunity to demonstrate that his artistic value extended far beyond one skill set. In fact, proving people wrong has become a bit of a habit.
Tippet vs. The Future
Phil Tippett and his studio have faced many seismic changes, yet they’ve always found a path forward. What’s even more remarkable is that they’ve somehow emerged stronger on the other side. Here’s a look at just a few of their biggest evolutions:
Star Wars (1977)
I’ll spare you the history lesson here.
What can be said that hasn’t already been said about George Lucas’ 1977 megahit? Along with Steven Spielberg’s Jaws, this film ushered in the post-modern “blockbuster” era, rewriting our perception of what movies could look like. Tippett’s work was an enormous part of that. He helped develop creatures and methods that carried us into the most explosive period in the special effects industry.
He helped create the Dejarik holochess set in Star Wars, the towering AT-AT Walkers and Tauntauns in The Empire Strikes Back, and Jabba the Hutt in Return of the Jedi (which earned him his first Oscar). And if that wasn’t enough, he co-developed the groundbreaking “go-motion” process that added realistic blur to traditional stop-frame animation, exemplified in the mind-blowing Battle of Hoth sequence.
I could go on.
Star Wars is the moment everything changed, and Tippett was an integral part of the movement it created.
Jurassic Park (1993)
Before the almighty computer, creatures, models, and miniatures were built by hand.
Like so many in his field, Tippett is a devoted acolyte in the religion of Ray Harryhausen, the grandfather of stop-frame animation. Following Harryhausen’s death in 2013, Tippett wrote, “Now most who create visual effects do it with computers, but the lessons are the same. Just having someone look at the dreadful mess you just made and say, ‘Yeah, I’ve done that before … here, try it this way. Don’t give up.’”
Tippett was originally hired to bring Jurassic Park’s dinos to life with the go-motion technique he helped develop at Industrial Light & Magic, but an impressive CGI test from that same studio convinced director Steven Spielberg to change course.
Tippett was, as the kids say, shook.
Yet he didn't fight progress. Instead, he took a new role as Dinosaur Supervisor (probably the single coolest profession in all of history), using his experience to teach the animation team how the creatures should move and feel. Computers created the images, but Tippett gave them weight. In the process, he even developed an armature-like device that let animators directly pose their creations in the digital space.
Oh, and the film won Tippett Oscar #2. Not bad for a forced career pivot.
Starship Troopers (1997)
If Jurassic Park forced Phil Tippett to rethink his approach, Starship Troopers proved that his adaptation wasn’t just a one-time thing.
By the time Paul Verhoeven’s science fiction satire moved into production, Tippett Studio had very much reimagined itself as a digital animation facility, expanding dramatically to produce hundreds of CG creature shots. Tippett served as the film’s visual effects supervisor, charged with bringing an insect army to life.
He brought with him the lessons he’d learned studying anatomy, weight, timing, and performance through his stop-motion work. Just watch the bugs and you’ll see the Harryhausen influence.
The technology provided a new canvas. Tippett’s team also took the opportunity to develop a hybrid approach, using practical puppets and figures for close shots and CG for the larger sequences involving whole swarms of the aptly named Arachnids.
Tippett wasn’t on his heels. He was writing new rules for the future of the industry.
The Project That Wouldn’t Die
Sometime around 2010, Phil Tippett made what might become his most meaningful pivot. After decades spent bringing other filmmakers’ visions to life, he returned to his own passion project.
One that had been percolating since the late ‘80s.
Mad God (2021)
30 years is a looong shoot.
In many ways, Tippett’s whole career dovetails into Mad God. This wasn’t a paycheck. It wasn’t created to win an award. No, he made it because he wanted to.
As the story goes, Mad God was conceived around 1987. A series of stops and starts saw the project pushed aside as Tippett tended to the demands of his A+ career. More than two decades later, members of Tippett Studio convinced him to revisit the thing.
He wrote, directed, produced, and designed the feature himself. And he served as an animator (naturally), working alongside a crew of studio artists and volunteers on weekends and between projects. With a little grit and some Kickstarter funding, Tippett’s crew toiled for another decade, putting the feature together piece by piece.
Lo and behold... they pulled it off.
Mad God premiered to rave reviews at the 2021 Locarno Film Festival and began streaming on Shudder in June of 2022. With an estimated production budget of about $150K, it reportedly pulled in over $325K during its limited theatrical release. More than double its cost. Not too shabby for a strange little fever dream.
The film is wild. It’s a cliché to call it a love letter to a fading art form, but it’s as apt a description as I can muster. Not a rejection of modern techniques so much as a singular artist simply choosing the right ones. Importantly, it’s something only Phil Tippett could have made.
You should see it. More appropriately, you should experience it.
When Technology Changes, Craft Endures
We love to map the careers of directors, actors, and writers in romantic language. We talk about themes and phases; the forks in the road and the times when they zigged instead of zagged. It’s interesting that we don’t always do the same for craftspeople. In my humble opinion, we should.
Phil Tippett is a one-of-a-kind talent whose career reminds us that great artists aren’t defined by the tools they use. They’re defined by the tastes and instincts they spend a lifetime developing, and by the unique humanity they bring to their work.
Like everyone else, I hem and haw about the future. Specifically, what it’ll look like as technology plays a larger role in just about everything. But in the last few months, I’ve started to feel more optimistic that humanity is a commodity people will always value, especially in art. Imperfection is a feature, not an obstacle to overcome.
I see the signs everywhere. Just look at a field like production accounting, which once revolved around paper timecards, handwritten reports, and stacks of payroll paperwork. Today, those workflows look dramatically different. Timecards are submitted digitally. Payroll moves faster. Reports can be available almost instantly. But none of this has diminished the value of a good production accountant.
The Monsters Still Have Teeth
If there’s a single thread running through Phil Tippett’s career, it’s that when times changed, his talent and drive never failed him. In fact, his propensity for reinvention carried him and his studio into new creative territory. He learned the new tricks but let his mastery of the old ones drive his success. The full-circle moment he gave himself with Mad God is further proof that no one should be quick to throw the baby out with the bathwater.
Singular, authentic voices feel increasingly valuable in a world of noise. Personal vision still has a place. When I first read the news about Tippett Studio’s Berkeley headquarters, it felt like I should be mourning the end of something.
“I’m retired from the racket,” Tippett said, speaking with Berkeleyside.
But retirement from the day-to-day grind of running a physical studio is not the same thing as throwing in the towel. He later told CBS News, "I will die with my sword in my hand."
Yes. Yes. That’s more like it.
I’ll happily watch this master spend the rest of his career making exactly what he wants to make.
Every great technological leap began with a human’s expertise. Phil Tippett has proven time and time again that the future belongs to those who understand the practiced craft beneath the hottest new tools.
When technology provided new possibilities, Tippett’s artistry and talents showed him how to take advantage of them. Perhaps there’s a blueprint there.
I’m excited to see Tippett Studio’s next act, whatever it may be.
Mad God 2: Madder God, maybe?
C’mon, Phil. I’ll do catering. I’ll swing the lights. Anything.
You ain’t done yet. I just know it.
