Walt Disney had made history in 1937 with the release of (supposedly) the first full-length animated feature ever produced, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. Far exceeding the expectations of critics who initially declared it as "Disney's folly," the film captivated, thrilled, moved, and entertained audiences, young and old, with its magical and engaging storytelling, unforgettable characters (Dopey remains a personal favorite) and memorable songs. The next question on everybody's mind was, "Now what?" "What could be better than that?"
In fact, Disney and his team of animators were secretly already at work on their next anticipated projects, including an adaptation of Carlo Collodi's Pinocchio, as well as a "concert feature". Said the late Roger Ebert, in his 1990 review, "Walt Disney did not invent animation, but he nurtured it into an art form that could hold its own against any 'realistic' movie, and when he gathered his artists to create Fantasia [released in 1940], he felt a restlessness, a desire to try something new."
One story goes that Disney had met with famed composer Leopold Stowkowski to discuss collaborating on an animated telling of Paul Dukas's "The Sorcerer's Apprentice," starring Mickey Mouse (who recently celebrated his 90th anniversary, since his 1928 debut Steamboat Willie). It was from this concept (synchronizing animated segments to selected pieces of classical music) that led to the idea of other such segments being created, ranging from Bach to Tsiolkovsky to Stravinsky. Talk about tremendous potential.
Some may argue for Snow White. Others, Pinocchio, or even for Mary Poppins. But the magnum opus in both animation and feature-film storytelling by Walt Disney and his crew is arguably Fantasia. Furthermore, the various segments put together represent the boundless possibilities of what the medium of animation (at least, hand-drawn) is capable of, as well as the various genres and forms that storytelling is capable of (something the sequel, Fantasia 2000, also achieved remarkably well, sixty years later). It also set a new benchmark in cutting-edge stereophonic sound--known then, and only then, as "Fantasound". In terms of appealing to audiences (especially children), it was an unprecedented way of introducing classical arrangements and Stowkowski to those unfamiliar with such. Film consensus site Rotten Tomatoes even argues that Fantasia became an influence on the "music video".
According to Disney himself, "Fantasia represents our most exciting adventure," and that "it open[ed] up whole new possibilities." In other words, there was more that the medium of animation had to say and show than just making people laugh or smile from talking mice and singing animals, not to mention "silly cartoons". Disney wanted his animators to be experimental, and, in a way, monumental.
Animation historians Brian Sibley (in his commentary for the 2010 Bluray/DVD release of the film) and Jerry Beck (in his 2005 book, "The Animation Movie Guide") agree that one of the best ways--if not the best way--to review Fantasia is to look at each segment individually.
The live-action segments were narrated by American composer and classical music critic Deems Taylor, while Stowkowski (in an iconic image on the podium) conducted the Philadelphia Orchestra, who even perform an improvised jam session during the intermission. Between each segment, Taylor narrates what each them represent, beginning with Bach's "Toccata and Fugue in D Minor." An example of absolute music--that is, music written for its own sake--the segment opens with different colored lights in specific sections of the orchestra, before transitioning to equally abstract imagery that illustrates the concept of synchronized sight and sound.
While still fantastical and magical, Peter Tschikovsky's "Nutcracker Suite" is given a different treatment by the Disney animators than the typical wooden nutcrackers, mouse kings and sugarplum fairies. Instead, we have forest fairies, flowers, mushrooms (perhaps the most unforgettable here), and angel fish, each representing different nationalities and seasons from Chinese to Arabic to Russian.
Dukas's "The Sorcerer's Apprentice" is the segment that is most remembers, with its fantasy storytelling and entertainment value. In his most famous "role" (aside from "Steamboat Willie"), Mickey Mouse plays an apprentice who dabbles with his master's magic hat and tricks, by simply bringing brooms to life and making them do all of his work while he fantasizes about stars and waves, as if he's conducting the magic on a mountain top. As Taylor puts it best, "[This apprentice] was perhaps a bit too bright, because he started practicing some of the boss's best magic tricks before learning how to control them."
Igor Stravinsky's "Rite of Spring" was reportedly a representation of the "growth of life." Set during the prehistoric era of dinosaurs--or, a scientific view of the beginning of life on earth--this segment of drama and action is claimed by some as an influence on Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968), and maybe even an inspiration for the Universal Pictures logo (just a thought).
The "Soundtrack" interlude during the intermission is a wonderful visualization of sound and expression, as what appears to be a simple line illustrates various shapes, volumes and colors of different instruments.
Beethoven's "Pastoral Symphony" was written as an expression of a day in the countryside. Although considered by many to be the weakest segment in the whole film (and although it features sensual imagery of male and female centaurs, and naked babies with wings), it's still an artful showcase of Greek mythology (which the studio would revisit in the late Nineties with Hercules), with unicorns, the thunder-striking Zeus, and the scene-stealer Bacchus drinking and feasting with his donkey friend.
Ponchielli's "Dance of the Hours" is an outrageous pastiche of absurdity, comedy and dance, involving ostriches and hippos in tutus, elephants blowing bubbles, and alligators in capes. The most amazing thing about these anthropomorphic animals (as with all the best animation) is the believable weight and precision on display, and not just the different "hours" represented (dawn, noon, evening, and after dark)
The concluding pairing of Modest Mussorgsky's "Night on Bald Mountain" and F.P. Schubert's "Ave Maria" illustrates a "struggle between the profane and the sacred". "Night" centers on the Slavic demon Chernobog--or, "Satan and his followers"--and contains imagery that still frightens children (and angers parents) today as it did in 1940. This horror piece is, perhaps, the closest depiction of Hell ever done by the Disney studio (although Maleficent of Sleeping Beauty fame, as well as 1996's The Hunchback of Notre Dame, aren't far behind). The proceeding conclusion of "Ave Maria," on the other hand, represents, according to Sibley, a "triumph of hope and life over the powers of despair and death." It's an uplifting, inspiring, and hopeful conclusion to the entire program, with a perfect final shot.
Fantasia was the first feature film to apparently have no opening or closing credits, considering it had a roadshow exhibition at the time, and in subsequent re-releases. For its premiere home video release in 1991, the runtime was cut from 126 minutes (from its initial uncut release) to 120 minutes. Even so, it still holds the record for the longest animated Disney film in history. For its 2000 DVD release, the "uncut" version was restored, with longer segment introductions, despite Taylor's lost voice-over work being dubbed by voice actor Corey Burton. This version, although brilliant, plays like an actual concert and loses some of the moviegoing experience.
Personally, the 1990 release (which was the last time the film had been shown in theaters) is the best. All the animated segments are there, as are Taylor's original vocal recordings. They're short, but they're enough to tell you about each segment while letting the images speak for themselves and making the whole experience immersive, universal, and worthwhile. Plus, the opening Walt Disney Pictures logo and title card adds to the excitement, as do the closing credits (which included the crew that remastered the film, as well as the orchestra leaving and the curtains closing). The result is astounding and breathtaking.
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