This is trickier than you might think. As a group, Pixar’s people take pride in their work.
They’re ambitious high achievers who want to do their best and then some. On the management side, we want the next product to be better than the last, while at the same time we need to meet budget and schedule requirements. Inspiring managers push their people to excel. That’s what we expect them to do. But when the powerful forces that create this positive dynamic turn negative, they are hard to counteract. It’s a fine line. On any film, there are inevitable periods of extreme crunch and stress, some of which can be healthy if they don’t go on too long. But the ambitions of both managers and their teams can exacerbate each other and become unhealthy. It is a leader’s responsibility to see this, and guide it, not exploit it.

If we are in this for the long haul, we have to take care of ourselves, support healthy habits,
and encourage our employees to have fulfilling lives outside of work. Moreover, everyone’s
home lives change as they - and their children, if they have them - age. This means creating a culture in which taking maternity or paternity leave is not seen as an impediment to career advancement. That may not sound revolutionary, but at many companies, parents know that taking that leave comes at a cost; a truly committed employee, they are wordlessly told, wants to be at work. That’s not true at Pixar.

The Beast thrives not only within animation or movie companies, of course. No creative business is immune, from technology to publishing to manufacturing. But all Beasts have one thing in common. Frequently, the people in charge of the Beast are the most organized people in the company - people wired to make things happen on track and on budget, as their bosses expect them to do. When those people and their interests become too powerful - when there is not sufficient push-back to protect new ideas - things go wrong. The Beast takes over.

In those first months, we also moved to bolster trust within the studio in another way: Just as we had refused to sign employment contracts, we now moved to eliminate contracts for everyone. At first, many people thought the move was an attempt to wrest power away from the employees and give them less security. In fact, my feeling about employment contracts is that they hurt the employee and the employer. The contracts in question were one-sided in favor of the studio, resulting in unexpected negative consequences. First and foremost, there was no longer any effective feedback between bosses and employees. If someone had a problem with the company, there wasn’t much point in complaining because they were under contract. If someone didn’t perform well, on the other hand, there was no point in confronting them about it; their contract simply wouldn’t be renewed, which might be the first time they heard about their need to improve. The whole system discouraged and devalued day-to-day communication and was culturally dysfunctional. But since everybody was used to it, they were blind to the problem.
I wanted to break that cycle. I believed that it was our responsibility to make sure that Disney Animation was a place that people would want to work; if our most talented people could leave, then we would have to be on our toes to keep them happy. When someone had a problem, we wanted it to be brought quickly to the surface, not to fester. Most people know that they don’t get their way on everything, but it is very important that they know they are being dealt with straightforwardly and that they, too, will be heard.

In short, Pixar had the kind of diverse problems that any successful company has. But chief among them, to my mind, was that more and more people had begun to feel that it was either not safe or not welcome to offer differing ideas. This hesitancy was difficult to see at first, but when we paid attention, we saw many clues that people were holding back. To me, that meant one thing: We, as leaders, were allowing some faulty ideas to take hold, and that was bad for our culture.

There is nothing like a crisis, though, to bring what ails a company to the surface. And now, we had three crises brewing at once: (1) Our production costs were rising and we needed to rein them in; (2) External economic forces were putting pressure on our business; and (3) One of the central tenets of our culture - good ideas can come from anywhere, so everyone must feel empowered to speak up - was faltering. Too many of our people - and to my mind, “too many” is the same as “any” - were self-censoring. That needed to change.

In advance of the meeting, I asked our studio head, Dick Cook, and his number two, Alan Bergman, to put together a presentation covering the last ten years of Disney Animation: every film we’d released, what they’d each earned at the box office, and so on. They were both concerned. “It’s going to be ugly,” Dick said.

“The numbers are horrible,” Alan added. “It’s probably not the best way for you to start out.”

Regardless of how dispiriting or even incendiary the presentation was going to be, I told the studio team not to worry about it. I then asked Tom Staggs and Kevin Mayer to do some research on how our most important demographic, mothers with children under age twelve, viewed Disney Animation versus our competitors. Kevin, too, said that the story wasn’t going to be a good one. “That’s fine,” I told him. “I just want a candid assessment of where we stand.