Animation is a great way to work. No early morning call times

When John C. Reilly declared, “Animation is a great way to work. No early morning call times, no make-up chair. In live action, you're always fighting the clock; the sun is always going down too soon,” he was not merely speaking as an actor, but as one who had tasted two different worlds of creation. His words reveal the hidden burdens of live performance and the liberating timelessness of animation. For in animation, the body is unshackled from the demands of appearance and the tyranny of the sun, while in live action, every hour and every ray of light is a fleeting adversary.

The origin of this quote lies in Reilly’s long career, moving fluidly between live-action cinema and voice work in celebrated animated films such as Wreck-It Ralph. As an actor, he knew the grind of early mornings, of painted faces, of shooting schedules that bowed to the setting sun. But in animation, he discovered a form of performance freed from such burdens, where the voice carried the soul of the character and the body could rest from the weight of production. His words thus express not only preference but gratitude: for the voice is eternal, while flesh is bound to time.

History itself reveals this same tension between labor and liberation. The theater of ancient Greece required actors to stand beneath the burning sun, their masks heavy, their voices straining to reach vast crowds before daylight faded. Yet the bards and poets who merely recited their works by firelight could share their art unbound by such limitations. Reilly’s words echo this eternal divide: the performer in flesh must bow to time, while the performer in word and voice transcends it.

There is also in his reflection a deeper meditation on art and mortality. Live action reminds us of the brevity of life—the actor must rise early, endure transformation in the make-up chair, and race the sun before it falls. But animation preserves the moment beyond time. A voice recorded in a studio may live for generations, detached from the clock, carrying vitality even after the body is gone. The sun may go down on the set, but it does not set on the voice immortalized in film.

Reilly’s words also speak to the different essences of performance. In live action, the actor’s body and presence must create the illusion, and so the physical burdens are as much a part of the craft as the art itself. In animation, however, performance is distilled to its purest element: the spirit expressed through sound. This purity allows the actor to focus entirely on intention, rhythm, and heart, unencumbered by costume or cosmetic mask. One form is bound by earth and light, the other freed into the timeless realm of imagination.

The lesson for us is profound: seek the places where your gifts are freed from unnecessary burdens. Know that some forms of labor, though noble, drain the body and chain the spirit to the clock. Others, though less adorned, may allow your essence to shine more purely. Choose wisely where to spend your energy, for time is the great adversary of all. To find your own “animation”—that space where your soul is expressed without being bound—is to discover a path toward lasting joy.

So let us remember Reilly’s words: “In live action, you're always fighting the clock; the sun is always going down too soon.” Hear them not only as an actor’s lament, but as the universal truth of human striving. We are all fighting the clock. And yet, like Reilly in the recording booth, we may discover places where time cannot chain us, where our voice, our spirit, our creativity outlive the setting sun. Seek those places, and in them, you will find freedom.