The Magic of Disney Animation, Part VI: Renaissance Men--A Whole New World

Before Disney Feature Animation transitioned to making their films with the xerography process in the early 1960s (the first being 1961's 101 Dalmatians), they tested the technology on the climactic dragon fight in 1959's Sleeping Beauty. Thirty years later, The Little Mermaid did something similar. While being the last hand-drawn feature to use old-fashioned techniques of its time (specifically in terms of effects animation, such as coloring and the like), it tested a new ink-and-paint and printing system for one shot in the film.

Their next feature, 1990's The Rescuers Down Under, was the first animated film to use this process in its entirety. While backgrounds and characters were done by hand, the coloring and other aforementioned effects were done by a new program known as "Computer Animation Production System" (or, CAPS), created by a then-relatively unknown Pixar. This was also the first time Disney had greenlit and produced a sequel to one of its animated films, as Rescue Aid Society members Bernard and Bianca (voiced, once again, by Bob Newhart and Eva Gabor) are called on a mission to Australia to save a kidnapped boy and a magnificent eagle from a villainous poacher (voiced by George C. Scott).

While the sequel lacks the emotional weight of the 1977 original, it is nonetheless a fun and entertaining thrill ride, with terrific flight sequences involving the eagle Marahute (brilliantly animated by Glen Keane), impeccable art direction, and scene-stealing comedy from Wilbur the albatross (voiced by the late great John Candy, worth the price of admission alone). It also set the template for the look and style of Disney features for the rest of the decade and beyond.

1990's The Rescuers Down Under

"Tale As Old As Time"
Back in the mid-Eighties, as VHS tapes of the classic Disney titles started to gain more traction and revenue, studio CEO Michael Eisner and Chairman Jeffrey Katzenberg promoted an idea-pitching process known as the "Gong Show," which allowed artists and employees at the studio to contribute ideas for new titles in the feature film canon. Some of them included Pocahontas, The Rescuers Down Under, The Little Mermaid, and Beauty and the Beast. The latter, in fact, goes all the way back to the 1930s, when Walt Disney and his team were in production on Snow White and were considering ideas for future projects. They took a crack at adapting the classic fairy tale (first written by French novelist Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve in 1740) during the Thirties and Fifties, but they had trouble figuring out how to best tell the story (something they initially struggled with on Pinocchio as well).

A team of artists at the studio, who had been there since the late-Seventies or early-Eighties, went on a research trip to France and spent a few months developing twenty minutes of a non-musical version of the story, which didn't impress Katzenberg and company back in Burbank. Starting from scratch, they changed directors (story artists Kirk Wise & Gary Trousdale were given the helm) and writers (including Linda Woolverton, who became the first screenwriter on an animated film at the studio), and brought in composer Alan Menken and lyricist Howard Ashman (fresh off the success of 1989's The Little Mermaid) to adapt Beauty and the Beast into a full-on musical.

It may seem hard to believe, but the production of Beauty and the Beast was completed in two years, since several previous months had been spent on the initial version of the story. It generally takes four years for an animated film to be made. Even so, the results proved incredibly remarkable. ("20/20" even did a behind-the-scenes piece during the making of the the movie in 1991. Watch here, here, and here, in that order.) The same story is there, as an arrogant prince is turned into a beast by a mysterious enchantress, and must learn to love another--and earn that woman's love in return--to reverse the spell. What the 1991 version does is spin that simple story with various elements that subvert audience expectations.

Like Mermaid before it, Beauty and the Beast honors its literary and fantastical legacy while infusing a level of contemporary pop and modern appeal (something they did with their next two features as well, but got misguided on a few subsequent features, to be candid). Even its soundtrack was the first to include a "pop" version of one of its signature songs (in this case, the title track, sung by artists Celine Dion and Peabo Bryson). Combining elements of romance, adventure, action, comedy, mystery, genuine drama, fantasy, and showstopping music (Broadway, to be exact), this feature film perfectly balances the best of both the worlds of theater and cinema.

1991's Beauty and the Beast

The character arcs are just as compelling. The heroine Belle desires more than a village life, not to mention others' perceptions and expectations of her. She's also very proactive, independent, booksmart, and strong-willed, and willing to sacrifice her dreams and desires (like those in her books) for those she loves. She is arguably the most grounded of the Disney heroines. The Beast goes from being a selfish master to a prince capable of giving, and having something to live and fight for. The real villain, Gaston, is a chauvinist pig who believes Belle should be his by right, and goes from being a buffoonish jerk to a murderer who will kill the Beast, believing the Beast is in the way of his plans. The household objects in the castle (including French candlestick Lumiere, tighly-wound clock Cogsworth, teapot Mrs. Potts, and feisty teacup Chip) long to be human again, and make the castle (and film) feel welcoming and lively.

One of the studio animators described it like this: The Little Mermaid was the film that said, "Disney animation has returned for a new generation." But Beauty and the Beast was the one that confirmed its maturity and said, "We have come of age, and we are here to stay." As a child, this film was one of my introductions to Disney animation, and there have been many other amazing films to come out of that canon since then (like the next two I'll be mentioning shortly). But there's just something about Beauty and the Beast that's so special and dear. It's a culmination of elements I don't think we'll ever see again. As 2009's Waking Sleeping Beauty's tagline describes, it was "a perfect storm of people and circumstances [that] changed the face of animation forever."

More importantly, this timeless story is, perhaps, the most grounded fairy tale Disney has ever adapted, as its themes of love and redemption make it a truly maturing feature for the studio without sacrificing its general audience. The late Roger Ebert once wrote that the film "reaches back to an older and healthier Hollywood tradition in which the best writers, musicians and filmmakers are gathered for a project on the assumption that a family audience deserves great entertainment, too."

And the fact that Beauty and the Beast became the first-ever animated feature in history to be nominated for a Best Picture Academy Award (until Pixar's Up, 18 years later) is a testament to the dedication of the animators, writers, directors, and Disney staff. Ebert added that the film "reflects a new energy and creativity from the Disney animation people. They seem to have abandoned all notions that their feature-length cartoons are intended only for younger viewers, and these aren't children's movies but robust family entertainment." Good luck not getting choked up while watching this film. Like Belle, you may be left speechless.

Howard Ashman and Alan Menken

"You Ain't Ever Had a Friend Like Me"
1992's Aladdin set another new standard for Disney, for animation, and for movies. Best known for its rapid-fire comedy (in the spirit of Chuck Jones) and idiosyncratic visual style, those key contributions arguably go to two people: animator Eric Goldberg and the late Robin Williams.

Released at a time long before big movie stars headlined animated movies (something DreamWorks took advantage of in the early 2000s), audiences and critics have never before or since seen a character like the shape-shifting, improvisational, and impressionistic Genie, which was tailor-made for Williams' distinctive wild and hysterical persona.

To convince the beloved comedian and actor he was right for the role, Eric Goldberg did some test animation set to one of Williams' comedy albums, which the comedian loved. The result is a hilarious showcase for both artists, as well as an homage to 20th Century caricature artist Al Hirschfeld. This latter homage also reportedly influenced the look of the film from the get-go, from the iconic characters (including the hammy villain Jafar, his obnoxious sidekick parrot Iago, and even the magic carpet) to the impeccable art direction of the palace, the Cave of Wonders, and the general Middle-eastern setting of Agrabah. Talk about a "magic carpet ride."

The Genie is one of cinema's funniest and most memorable characters, and the movie is one of the funniest ever made. (Late animator Chuck Jones, of Warner Bros. fame, went as far as to call it the "funniest movie ever made.") It's bittersweet looking back, since Williams' sad, unexpected passing in 2014, considering what a one-of-a-kind force of nature and talent he was, as well as a beloved presence that could cheer anybody up. His humor and sincerity continues to be dearly missed but never forgotten, including from the film's cast and crew. "He was a real-life genie," Goldberg said of Williams, "And boy, did he grant our wishes."

1992's Aladdin

The same could be said regarding the film's clever, witty, and catchy music. Howard Ashman had written a few songs in the movie's early stages of development, but sadly passed away from AIDS in March of 1991 (nine month's before the release of Beauty and the Beast, which was dedicated in his memory). Three of his songs for Aladdin ("Arabian Nights," "Friend Like Me," and "Prince Ali") ended up in the finished film, while new songs were co-written by Menken and lyricist Tim Rice. This would mark Ashman's final contributions to Disney Feature Animation. Menken had gone through a brief difficult period after loss of his friend and collaborator, and said that working with Rice on Aladdin positively opened a new chapter for him and gave him the confidence to continue in his career.

The story in Aladdin is conventional in a lot of ways, especially its romance subplot. Directors Ron Clements and John Musker (whose previous credits include The Great Mouse Detective and The Little Mermaid) and screenwriters Ted Elliot and Terry Rossio (a decade before they adapted Disney's Pirates of the Caribbean for the screen) deliver rapid-fire elements while making room for genuine thought. And while the film include some unfortunate instances of female objectification (some regarding Jasmine's midriff, shoulders, and wardrobe) a la Princess Leia in Return of the Jedi, the story otherwise does have its merits.

The theme of characters being "more than what [they] seem," and finding their "worth" is central, as are themes of characters being real with themselves as opposed to what they think they should be (like Aladdin's "Prince Ali" persona). Aladdin, Jasmine, and the Genie each long for a sense of freedom.

In the Genie's case, that means freedom from being imprisoned in his magic lamp. For Jasmine, she tires of her duties as a princess and (like Prince Eric in Mermaid) doesn't want to marry just for the sake of it, but for the right reasons. She also wants to get out into the world ("I can't stay here and have my life lived for me"), which makes her, in that regard, a proactive and firm heroine. Aladdin, on the other hand, longs for a better life, but must learn the hard way in being himself, even if it means surrendering his own desires and "wishes," something no genie can ever grant but any friend (including the Genie) can appreciate.

The Walt Disney Studios

"Remember Who You Are"
In the early Nineties, two teams of artists and filmmakers at Disney were working on two different animated projects simultaneously. One worked on a story based on the legend of Native American heroine Pocahantas. The other was a coming-of-age story (initially titled, "King of the Jungle") described by many studio personnel as "Bambi in Africa". Heads at the studio (and eventually others) believed the former project would be the more successful project. The result actually turned out to be the opposite. (More on that in my next post.)

Like Aladdin, the film that became The Lion King (released in 1994) transcends the Disney brand. Directed by Roger Allers (head of story on Beauty and the Beast and Oliver & Company) and Rob Minkoff (director of the Roger Rabbit shorts Tummy Trouble and Roller-Coaster Rabbit), the first thing that sets it apart from its predecessors is its rousing and powerful score by Hans Zimmer, as well as its songs by Elton John and Tim Rice. In telling the story of a lion cub who is destined to one day become king of his land, the film is thoroughly reverent of African culture (which wouldn't have as strong of an impact on film music again until 2018's Black Panther). From one of cinema's most unforgettable film openings to its equally impactful ending, this is, perhaps, the most transcending score of any Disney feature, or any film in general.

Besides having an impeccable voice cast and superb character animation (from Tony Fucile's mighty lion Mufasa to Andreas Deja's sinister Scar to James Baxter's wise old baboon Rafiki), the film's story and colorful, multi-dimensional characters take inspiration from Shakespearean tragedy (sibling rivalry, a kingdom overthrown), Biblical allegory (Moses and the burning bush, the Prodigal Son), and the wonders and dangers of nature (hence, the Bambi connection). Some of its characters provide much-needed comic-relief and even fourth-wall humor (many thanks to the Rosencrantz and Guildenstern types, Timon and Pumbaa). But the drama gets very deep, especially in the death of a major character (which is actually seen on screen, along with its sad aftermath), and The Lion King deals with grief in a stronger way than Bambi did. It also may be the first time the studio has dealt with such themes in a more powerful way since the "Golden Age" of the 1940s.

1994's The Lion King

Themes of accepting responsibility and fulfilling a difficult journey are central to this story; exciting as a child at first, until unexpected tragedy and a loss of innocence leads to a guilt-stricken lifestyle (e.g., what happens when we allow enemies to shape our worldview, whether we know it or not) and later a reality check, in terms of remembering one's identity and calling (not just because James Earl Jones said it). Many will see a lot of deep spirituality under these themes, considering the aforementioned allegorical elements (talk about a "return of the king"), which certainly matches the coming-of-age aspect with the now-transcendent "Circle of Life" motif. These are emotions and themes that ring universal, and which made The Lion King a blockbuster hit (and a new gold standard for Disney) upon its initial release.

It remains the most successful hand-drawn animated feature in history (adjusted for inflation, it ranks third behind Snow White and 101 Dalmatians, respectfully). It also marked the end of the "Renaissance" era that began with The Little Mermaid. Disney president Frank Wells unexpectedly died in a helicopter crash two months before the film's release, while Jeffrey Katzenberg (who had reportedly stirred equal amounts of attention and tension at the studio) resigned from his role as chairman after the film opened. (He went on to co-found DreamWorks SKG with filmmaker Steven Spielberg and music producer David Geffen.)

Michael Eisner kept his position as CEO, as did Roy E. Disney as Vice Chairman, while the rest of the Disney animators at the time worked on various projects throughout the decade and into the next. And although the following year saw animation go "to infinity and beyond," the Renaissance era will forever be remembered as an unprecedented period that took the medium to new heights while honoring its enduring legacy. Is it any wonder Aladdin and Jasmine sang about a whole new world?

The Magic of Disney Animation, Part V: Renaissance Men--Out of the Sea

CalArts Class of 1975.

Passing the Baton Through Dark Ages
By the early 1980s, most of the "Nine Old Men" had retired. Frank Thomas and Ollie Johnson had released their 1981 book, "The Illusion of Life," by then, which is considered by many as the definitive guide on the history and craft of Disney animation. In the mean time, a new generation of animators and artists were learning their craft from the masters themselves at CalArts in the 1970s.

Some of them got their start making short films, while others immediately got to contribute to some of the animated features of that decade. Some of them, on the other hand, were eventually let go by the studio for different reasons at the time (like Tim Burton, for his obscure and dark style in his short films Vincent and Frankenweenie; and John Lassetter, for his ambitions to incorporate computer animation into feature films after seeing 1982's TRON), yet went on to have successful careers as directors in their own right.

Others, however, felt the animation division wasn't on par with the "Golden Age" of the 1930s and 1940s, and wanted to return to that style and legacy. (It may be fair to say that the studio had been in something of a downward spiral for several years by this point.) The most famous example of this group was Don Bluth. Having been an assistant animator on films like Sleeping Beauty and The Sword in the Stone, he served as a directing animator on The Rescuers and Pete's Dragon (both released in 1977) before he and several other animators left the studio in 1979 to form their own company--and even competed with Disney at the box-office throughout the following decade.

1981's The Fox and the Hound

Bluth and company (known by the press as "the Disney Defectors") had been working on the studio's next animated feature, The Fox and the Hound, and their leaving caused the film's initial release date to be pushed back by six months. (It was finally released in the summer of 1981.) On the other hand, this film represented the last contributions from Thomas, Johnson, and Wolfgang Reitherman, on a Disney animated feature. (Eric Larson did serve as a consultant on other features in the decade until his death in 1988.) But The Fox and the Hound represented a "passing of the baton" onto the next generation. Some of these up-and-coming artists included Chris Buck, Randy Cartwright, Ron Clements, Mark Henn, Glen Keane, and John Musker.

The story follows a young fox and a hound dog pup who form a friendship and are later tested by the pressures of society and nature. Themes of bigotry and prejudice are woven throughout the film, but always handled in the most subtle and dramatic way. It received mixed reviews upon release, but has subsequently become regarded as an underappreciated classic, recalling the dramatic intensity of Bambi and the like. It may be too intense for young viewers, on the other hand, what with its strong themes and scenes of violent nature (including a climactic and memorable bear fight). But that's nothing compared to the studio's next animated feature.

New Management and a Post-Production Overhaul
In 1984, management at the Disney Studio had changed, with the replacement of then-CEO Ron Miller (son-in-law of Walt Disney) with former Paramount Pictures head Michael Eisner (as Chairman and Chief Executive Officer) and former Warner Bros head Frank Wells (as President and Chief Operating Officer), as well as Paramount's Jeffrey Katzenberg to head Disney's film division (as Chairman), Roy E. Disney (nephew of Walt) to oversea the Feature Animation department (as Vice Chairman), and Peter Schneider as president of Feature Animation. The company's expansion of the Disney theme parks continued, with the openings of Disneyland Tokyo and Disney-MGM Studios in 1983 and 1989, respectfully, while the establishment of the Touchstone Pictures banner expanded the company's feature film division to more adult-oriented films, like 1984's Splash (starring Daryl Hannah as a mermaid) and 1988's landmark Who Framed Roger Rabbit (a live-action/animated hybrid that many credit as the film that reignited peoples' interest in and excitement for animation). The advent of videotapes became another enterprise as many of the "classic" film were released on home video for the first time, and led executives to seek new titles and ideas from current artists and filmmakers.

1985's The Black Cauldron

By the mid-Eighties, the animation department had been at work for several years on an ambitious adaptation of Lloyd Alexander''s five-part fantasy book series, "The Chronicles of Prydain," going back to the Seventies when Ollie Johnson and Frank Thomas suggested it could make an amazing film if done properly. The film, renamed The Black Cauldron, would mark many firsts for the studio, along with being the most expensive animated movie at the time. It was their first non-musical in years, instead focusing on an action-adventure story to capitalize on the blockbuster hits that audiences were into at the time (i.e., Star Wars, Raiders of the Lost Ark). It was the first (and only other) time they utilized the 70mm Technirama widescreen scope since 1959's Sleeping Beauty, along with a six-track Dolby digital sound system. And it was the first feature that many Disney animators of the Nineties worked on at the studio, including Ruben A. Aquino, Andreas Deja, and Rob Minkoff.  The company had even changed their studio logo from "Walt Disney Productions" to "Walt Disney Pictures" with an iconic white silhouette of the Magic Kingdom castle against a bright-blue backdrop, set to a variation of "When You Wish Upon A Star."

The Black Cauldron also became the first animated Disney film to receive a PG-rating. But it almost would have likely received a higher rating, if not for some last minute edits. The story follows a trio of medieval characters (a farm boy, a princess, and a minstrel) on a quest to stop and evil king from destroying their kingdom with a magical cauldron, hence the film's title. What they encounter proved too "violent and scary" for audiences at the time. Katzenberg, who was appalled by much of the violent footage upon a test screening, insisted it be cut from the film. The controversial move pushed the film's initial 1984 release date by six months, as well as the eventual layoff of some of the filmmakers involved.

The Black Cauldron is, at times, technically dazzling and full of a few standout characters, including Hed Wen the mystical pig, Gergei the mischievous creature (whose voice may have inspired Andy Serkis's version of Gollum in The Lord of the Rings years later), and the villainous Horned King (voiced by the late John Hurt). But it proved a huge financial disappointment for the studio, as well as a missed opportunity. Although it has its fans nowadays, The Black Cauldron lacks the pathos and story investment (and coherence) it should've had. And that was an issue that the animators and filmmakers made sure to correct on the next feature.

(l-r) Peter Schnieder, Roy E. Disney, and Jeffrey Katzenberg
at the Walt Disney Studios in the 1980s

"Elementary, My Dear Dawson."
When Eisner and Katzenberg started at the studio, the first feature they were pitched was a detective story called "Basil of Baker Street," based on the book by Eve Titus. (Imagine if Sherlock Holmes was a mouse.) Co-writer Ron Clements proposed the idea as getting back to "what Disney animation should be," as the 2009 documentary Waking Sleeping Beauty recalls through home movie footage.

"Basil of Baker Street" (later renamed The Great Mouse Detective by the marketing department, a heated debate at the time) actually has more significance to the history of Disney animation than most people give it credit for. Because The Black Cauldron lost the studio millions of dollars, faith in the Disney animation brand had reached an all-time low by then. But The Great Mouse Detective proved a respectable financial success, as well as critical hit, that the studio regained confidence in its animation department, setting the stage for greater things to come.

Centered on the clever sleuth's search for a little girl's missing father (with assistance from the Watson-like Dawson and faithful hound dog Toby) and his egocentric competition with the mastermind Ratigan, The Great Mouse Detective represented a return to form for old-fashioned and simple storytelling, with all the classic elements of engaging characters and personalities, comedy, and investment that simultaneously appealed to many children of the 1980s. And the fact that the incredible score was composed by Henri Mancini (of Pink Panther fame), and that Ratigan was voiced by none other than 20th-Century horror film icon Vincent Price, added to its visceral aesthetic. Film critic Roger Ebert believed the movie had "a freedom and creativity of animation that reminded me of the earlier Disney feature-length cartoons," and that it "looks more fully animated than anything in some 30 years."

At the same time, the film evokes a sense of adventure and mystery not seen in Disney animation since, perhaps, Ichabod Crane's encounter with the Headless Horseman in 1949's Ichabod and Mr. Toad. That being said, The Great Mouse Detective does include a few intense moments (including some jump scares from Ratigan's sidekick bat Fidget), as well as an unnecessary risque dance in a bar scene full of smoking and drinking. Those elements are unfortunate in what is otherwise a fun and entertaining film, which is also notable for being one of the first uses of computer graphics in hand-drawn feature films. Though The Black Cauldron used said graphics for specific character props, Mouse Detective's Big Ben sequence is a visual tour-de-force, and set the stage for what was to come, including the setting of New York City in their next movie.

1986's The Great Mouse Detective

"Why Should I Worry?"
Pitched as Charles Dickens' "Oliver Twist" but with dogs, 1988's Oliver & Company portrays the titular character as a naive orphaned kitten who joins a group of street-smart dogs (including the savoir-faire leader Dodger and fast-talking chihuahua Tito) and their pick-pocketing owner Fagin (the only contribution to a Disney movie from veteran voice actor and comic Dom DeLuise). The setting is changed from 19th century England to modern-day New York, as Oliver encounters everything from hot dog vendors, a sweet little girl named Penny (no connection to the 1977 movie The Rescuers, for the record), and the cold-hearted loan shark Sykes.

Released six months after Who Framed Roger Rabbit, Oliver & Company was divisive with critics. Some, like Gene Siskel, called "fragmented," while animation historian Jerry Beck (in his 2005 book, "The Animated Movie Guide") considered it "the final dress rehearsal" of Disney's animated roster before the studio really revitalized themselves at the end of the decade. In all fairness, the animation style here does seem inconsistent with the typical Disney brand. And the tone here does feel a little too harsh at times. Its animal characters, on the other hand, are very well-designed and colorful. (There are even some nice cameos from characters from Lady and the Tramp and 101 Dalmatians, for extra fun.)

Children of the Eighties have more of an appreciation for this movie, which was a box-office hit, and continued the studio's growing incorporation of computer graphics with hand-drawn animation. In this case, taxi cabs, skyscrapers, Sykes' car and Fagin's motorbike were rendered. In the mean time, superstar talents of the time, like Billy Joel (as the carefree Dodger) and Bette Midler (as the snooty, pedigreed poodle Georgette), lended their voices to give the movie a broad audience appeal. If the movie is remembered for one thing, though, it is its signature song, "Why Should I Worry," a catchy tune that encompasses the story's adventure through the Big Apple. Another lesser-known track (the Huey Lewis-sung "Once Upon A Time In New York City") was the first Disney song to be co-penned by an up-and-coming songwriter named Howard Ashman. A songwriter who would forever change the way audiences and critics thought and felt about Disney animation, beginning what would become known as the "Disney Renaissance."

1988's Oliver & Company

"Part Of Your World"
The progress that the Disney studio's Feature Animation division had been making throughout the decade had been building up to something, one way or another. And in 1989, it came in the form of a mermaid who raised her head out of the ocean and literally spoke (and sung) to a new generation.

Based on Hans Christian Andersen's classic fairy tale about a mermaid who longs to be human, The Little Mermaid became the most committed and lively feature the studio had made in so long at the time. Disney had put more resources into this feature than any other in the decade, and had the most elaborate water effects created since Fantasia and Pinocchio in 1940. (Seriously, the time they put into animating the millions of underwater bubbles alone is fascinating.) Not to mention some of the most electric and catchy songs ever written and composed in the studio's history, including the showstopping "Under the Sea" and the perfect serenade melody "Kiss the Girl".

It's also one of their most complex films, in terms of the character dynamics and relationships, adding a contemporary spin while honoring its literary and fantastical legacy. Ariel's character traits, for one thing, redefined the role of a Disney princess for a new generation. As animator Mark Henn described, while the "classic" female characters (Snow White, Cinderella, and Aurora) were "reactive," Ariel and subsequent others (Belle, Jasmine, etc.) were more "proactive," taking their own actions in their respective journeys/stories. Ariel wants more than the stuff of human life (she keeps hundreds of such items in a secret cove); she wants to really live. If one looks closely, they may find some surprising spiritual aspects in Ariel's dreams ("Up where they walk," anybody?). She also expresses universal body language when she's on land without her voice (a testament to the animation by Henn and Glen Keane).

1989's The Little Mermaid

For the sake of discerning families reading this: while Ariel is an amazing character (voiced and sung memorably by Jodi Benson), she can be rebellious, angsty, have "daddy issues" (something Jasmine from Aladdin would later have in common with her), and make questionable choices, such as instantly falling for a young man she barely knows. Plus, the subplot of her making a deal with an undersea witch where she trades her beautiful voice for human legs (the scheming Ursula is, no doubt, one of the scariest and most dynamic Disney villainesses, alongside the Queen, Maleficent, and Cruella DeVil) probably wouldn't fly well today. On the other hand, the theme of the cost of selling yourself in exchange for something else may have some cautionary undertones to it.

On that same note, the role of Prince Eric proves more than just a one-note leading man (as most iterations in previous Disney fairy tales have been the case). His intentions in waiting for the "right" girl and not just marrying for the sake of it are noble. Plus, he does demonstrate actions in sacrifice, redemption, and noble acts of love. In terms of the role of King Triton (while questionable at times as well), there's the theme in letting children grow up and allowing them to live and lead their own lives (as the scene-stealing crab Sebastian says).

Revisiting the film recently, I just marvel at the colorful and beautiful animation, the emotional arc of the story (especially the iconic "Part of Your World" motif, which was almost cut from the film a la The Wizard of Oz's "Over the Rainbow"), the unforgettably-catchy music by Ashman and Alan Menken (his first of many classic contemporary Disney scores), and thrills from its strong sound design and aforementioned underwater effects. The result is enchanting and entertaining. This also turned out to be the last hand-drawn film made by the studio the old-fashioned way, before transitioning to a digital ink-and-paint system that would redefine the look of the modern Disney feature.

The Magic of Disney Animation, Part IV: A New Style or, The Nine Old Men Carry On . . .

"The Nine Old Men"
(l-r) Milt Kahl, Wolfgang Reitherman, Mark Davis, Les Clark, Frank Thomas,
Ward Kimbell, Eric Larson, John Lounsbery, and Ollie Johnson

Entering into the 1960s, Walt Disney continued wearing multiple hats when it came to the many different aspects of entertainment he was involved in. By this time, he was a pioneer in theme park attractions (Walt Disney World had been completed and opened to the public by the mid-1950s), a producer of television programs and live-action feature films, and a conceptual innovator of many new technological innovations (such as animatronic puppets at Disney World). By the mid-1960s, he was planning a secret property in Florida, aptly named "The Florida Project."

As for the animation department, Walt had been less involved in recent years than he had been since the late 1920s and early 1930s, as animator Frank Thomas describes in the extraordinary 1995 documentary, Frank & Ollie. Though he still produced the features that came out of the division, Walt had entrusted these projects to his core group of animators, which he called the "Nine Old Men."

They included Les Clark (an expert animator who had been with Walt and company since the "Silly Symphonies" of the late-1920s), Marc Davis (who could craft both heroines and villainesses, like Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty's Aurora and Maleficent), Frank Thomas and Ollie Johnson (two of, perhaps, the most sincere of all nine animators, whose real-life friendship helped influence their work), Milt Kahl (probably the most disciplined draftsman of them all), Ward Kimball (who excelled with zany, loose, or off-the-wall characters, like the Mad Hatter in Alice in Wonderland and Jiminy Cricket in Pinocchio), Eric Larson (who had also been with Walt and company since the 1930s, and who later passed on the department's legacy to the next generation of animators), John Lounsbery (an expert at exploring various facets of a character, like Ben Ali the dancing alligator in Fantasia and Tony the chef in Lady and the Tramp), and Wolfgang Reitherman (an expert in battle sequences, like the chase with Monstro the whale in Pinocchio or the dragon fight in Sleeping Beauty).

1961's 101 Dalmatians

"Fifteen Spotted Puddles Stolen? Oh, balderdash."
By the early 1960s, the staff at Disney Animation had reduced. Sleeping Beauty had lost money at the box-office in 1959, and Walt had to figure out a way to cut production costs, even as there was talk of closing down the animation department. Many had thought, "Why bother with animation, Walt? You've got all this other business with the theme parks and television and live-action movies."

One must remember that animation is what made Walt and company such a success and milestone in the first place, since Mickey Mouse premiered in the late-1920s and especially since Snow White in the late-1930s. So it made sense to continue in that medium.

One thing that helped their next feature (an adaptation of Dodie Smith's 1956 children's book "The Hundred and One Dalmatians") was a photocopying technology known as Xerography (or, Xerox). This process was invented by studio veteran Ub Iwerks (who also animated Mickey Mouse in 1928's Steamboat Willie, and pioneered the multiplane camera technology since the 1930s) allowed animators to photocopy their animated cels, instead of going through the extra expense of being refined and perfectly outline by ink and paint artists (many of whom were laid off at the time). This new process--and new style of a scratchy, hard-edged look, subsequently used for every Disney animated feature until the 1980s--allowed animators to see their work on the screen just as they had created it at their desks. Some would consider this a lazy approach. Others (especially Walt himself, sadly) disliked it, having missed the "romantic" look of previous features like Snow White, Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty. The animators themselves saw it as a testament to the "magic" of their work, as well as fresh and exciting.

The process did, in fact, cut the production costs in half, considering the visual complexity of animating several spots on hundreds of canine characters. Famed "Looney Tunes" animator Chuck Jones once said that only Walt Disney could make a film called "One Hundred and One Dalmatians." Said Jones, "If I had tried to make One Dog Named Spot for [then Warner Bros. producer] Leon Schlesinger, he would not let me do it. Spots cost money." It also became one of the studio's most successful hits, and (adjusted for inflation) currently stands as the second highest-grossing animated film in history. But it wasn't the technological transition or style alone that made it such an endearing hit.

Studio veteran Bill Peet had become Disney's head of story by this time, and the one who (amazingly) storyboarded the entire movie himself. Since the 1940s, he had contributed many story ideas for films like Fantasia, Dumbo, and Cinderella. He would go on to storyboard 1963's The Sword in the Stone and an early version of 1967's The Jungle Book before leaving the studio in 1964 after an apparent falling out with Walt. (He did go on to have a successful career as a childrens' book author.) For 101 Dalmatians, he had kept in touch with author Dodie Smith, sharing sketches of his ideas. Smith, in turn, felt that Peet and the Disney studio had improved her story. And Peet's commitment really shows.

1963's The Sword in the Stone

The amazing thing about 101 Dalmatians is how much story is told in it's nearly-90-minute runtime, and yet how simple and universal (not to mention contemporary) it is. This is perhaps the first time since Bambi where characters don't break out into song (with the exception of the catchy "Cruella DeVil"); although music is incorporated into the story (especially in the creative opening credit sequence). Instead, characters are shown doing regular, contemporary activities and attitudes that were commonplace and groundbreaking in the 1960s. They play music. They sit down and drink coffee. They watch television as a family.

And if you look and listen real closely, you'll see a story that transitions from the meetings of two single couples to the creation of a family, to the intrusion of an adversary who wants part of that family for her own wealth and lifestyle (the character of Cruella DeVil is both flamboyant and outrageous, as well as a final showcase for animator Marc Davis), to the daring rescue mission that wouldn't be possible without the support and service of others (hence, the "Twilight Bark" sequence, which features cameos from Lady and the Tramp characters), to the adventure and perilous journey to get everybody back home, even welcoming others without a home. If that's not interesting enough, there's even a change of each season throughout the story. The film takes its time, but it all pays off and proves surprisingly universal and artful, as well as an amazing story of community and family.

"For every high, there us a low / For every to, there is a fro" 
The studio's next feature, 1961's The Sword and the Stone, wasn't one of their most well-received. As a loose and zany adaptation of the legend of King Arthur, this story of the future ruler of England as a boy (named "Wart") and his friendship and tutelage from the wizard Merlin felt "weak" and lacking in depth. It is, however, remembered for two things. There's the unforgettable image of Wart retrieving the titular sword. And many animation historians have singled out one sequence as one of the best examples of character animation on film: the "Wizard's Duel" between Merlin and the conniving Madame Mim, who shape-shift into different animals to outdo one another, all while retaining their distinct personalities.

On a more underappreciated note, The Sword in the Stone was the first Disney film with music by the Sherman Brothers, Richard and Robert, the songwriting team who would create many unforgettable tunes for the studio, including "It's A Small World," "Winnie the Pooh," and the music for 1964's Mary Poppins. Many consider this latter film to be the crowning achievement of Walt Disney's filmmaking career, thanks in part to its charming live-action/animated sequence, the joy of Julie Andrews' performance as the titular magical nanny, and the Sherman's wonderful songs, including the Oscar-winning "Chim Chim Cheree". (Andrews won a Best Actress Oscar for her performance as well.) This was also the first and only time a film personally produced by Walt or the studio was awarded a Best Picture Oscar by the Academy. (He had won an honorary statue for Snow White, along with seven little trophies.) This feat wouldn't be achieved again until 1989's Dead Poet's Society and especially 1991's Beauty and the Beast.

1967's The Jungle Book

"I Wanna Be Like You"
For the studio's next animated feature, Walt decided to become more hands-on than he had been in recent years. Based on Rudyard Kipling's acclaimed novel "The Jungle Book," Walt disregarded Bill Peet's initial work and encouraged his team of animators and writers (including story artist Floyd Norman) to go in a different direction, focusing instead on the characters and their personalities (something he had strived for since the 1930s as well, as animators Frank Thomas and Ollie Johnson agreed).

While the final film retains the names of Kipling's original characters and Indian jungle settings, and despite the many story liberties it takes (and there are a lot of them), the heart of all of those elements are in the right place. Furthermore, many Disney animators of the 1980s and 1990s have said that the character animation in The Jungle Book is what made them pursue careers in their respective fields. From the smooth walks and runs of Baghera the panther to the coiling schemes of Kaa the hypnotic snake, to the thumping military marches and weight of Col. Hathi and his army of elephants, to the loose boogie dancing from King Louis the orangutan and his band of apes ("I Wanna Be Like You" is the most fun tune in the whole film), to the powerful presence of the villainous tiger Shere Kahn, to the barbershop quartet of vultures, to the genuine friendship between Mowgli the man-cub and Baloo the bear. The result is an impeccable and unsurpassed blend of character personalities, comedy, drama, lush backgrounds, and the Sherman's music. This was also the first time where characters were partly inspired by the actors who voiced them (predating Robin Williams' game-changing work as the Genie in 1992's Aladdin, and subsequent animated films from that decade on).

While the story is episodic, it does showcase many worthwhile themes as well. Themes of friendship (which were very much reflected by animators Thomas and Johnson, who reportedly animated roughly half of the movie). Themes of what is good in life, and yet recognizing what's good for others and their well-being over ourselves. Themes of courage. Themes of adventure.

The Jungle Book ended up being the last animated feature personally supervised by Walt Disney, who sadly passed away in December of 1966 during its production. Even before the film was released in October of 1967, the remaining head animators questioned whether the film would be successful without Walt's involvement. Like Cinderella and 101 Dalmatians before it, had The Jungle Book failed, the animation department would have been done for. But like those features, it proved a hit with critics and audiences, and encouraged the animation department to carry on the legacy of their mentor.

Disney Animation's filmography from 1967-1977

Carrying On, and Passing the Baton 
Before his passing, Walt had appointed animator Wolfgang Reitherman as the supervising director of the animation department at the studio, while Frank Thomas, Ollie Johnson, Milt Kahl, and company supervised the animation. Their next feature, 1970s The AristoCats, was the last feature to get the nod from Walt himself. It follows a family of wealthy cats in early-1910s France, who are kidnapped and left in the countryside by their greedy butler Edgar (a brilliant showcase of character animation by Kahl). They soon get help from a smooth-talking alley cat named Thomas O'Malley, as well as a gang of jazz-loving felines, to find their way home.

In the fascinating 2009 documentary Waking Sleeping Beauty, narrator (and Disney veteran producer) Don Hahn described this as a period where the studio "made sweet, harmless animated comedies for kids." Nowhere is that better suited than with The AristoCats, which is nevertheless a charming and entertaining story. Plus, its songs by the Sherman Brothers (including "Scales and Arpeggios") are an equal delight.

1973's Robin Hood was sort of a different story. On one hand, it creatively took the famous rogue (originated on the silver screen by Douglas Fairbanks in the 1920s), who "robbed from the rich and gave to the poor," and made him a fox in a world of anthropomorphic animals. On the other hand, the movie is notorious for recycling animation from previous Disney films, with the main culprit being the dance sequence that reuses animation all the way back from Snow White. They even went so far as "casting" Baloo from The Jungle Book in the role of Robin's trusty sidekick, Little John (which I have no problem with, to be honest. I mean, who doesn't love hearing Phil Harris's voice?) In spite of those elements, the movie does have terrific comedy and humor, including scene-stealing characters in Lady Cluck, Prince John, Sir Hiss, and the Sheriff of Nottingham.

In the mean time, the studio released their first "packaged" feature since 1949's Ichabod and Mr. Toad. 1977's The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh was a collection of short films based on the beloved books and characters first created by author A.A. Milne and illustrator E.H. Shepard in England in 1924. Beginning with 1966's The Honey Tree (the only Pooh short Walt Disney saw before his passing) and continuing with 1968's Oscar-winning The Blustery Day (the best of them all) and 1974's Tigger, Too, these charming short features helped make Milne and Shepard's creations a national treasure and household name outside of Europe.

1977's The Rescuers

By the end of the decade, only two of the "Nine Old Men" had passed away (Lounsbery in 1976 and Clark in 1979), while most of the remaining members headed one of the first programs in character animation at the California Institute of the Arts (or, CalArts) to train new, up-and-coming animators on the basics and fundamentals of the medium. Most of these veterans would retire by the early 1980s but would contribute to subsequent features as consultants. As mentioned above, Larson was the most passionate in training the next generation. Many of the new starts had opportunities to make their own short films, and even contributed to feature films, such as 1977's The Rescuers.

Animators Johnson and Thomas consider this adaptation of Margery Sharp's childrens' books "The Rescuers" and "Miss Bianca" as their favorite film without Walt Disney, as they believe it had the most pathos and character investment of all the films made since then. And their work (including animation on the titular characters Bernard and Bianca, Rufus the orphanage cat, as well as Kahl's final expert work on the villainous Medusa) really shows. The story follows two "Rescue Aid Society" mice as they search for a missing girl, named Penny, and save her from the clutches of a diamond-seeking pawn-shop owner.

And to think this all happened, as Merlin referred to in The Sword in the Stone, during a "dark age" for the Disney studio.

The Magic of Disney Animation, Part III: A Silver Lining or, A Glass Slipper

Walt Disney in the 1950s

Following 1942's Bambi, the rest of the decade was deeply affected by the output of the Second World War, along with its aftermath. The Disney Studio was busy making propoganda war films, but found time to make "package" features on the side. That is, collections of short films assembled to fill the length of a feature film.

Some of these were inspired by South American benefit tours made by the studio in the early part of the decade (resulting in 1943's Saludos Amigos and 1944's The Three Caballeros, which featured Donald Duck on colorful and vibrant adventures with his parrot friend Jose Carioca). Some of these were simple "double features" (i.e., 1947's Fun and Fancy Free starred Jiminy Cricket MC-ing stories of circus bear "Bongo," told and sung by actress-singer Dinah Shore, and Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck, and Goofy in an update of "Jack and the Beanstalk," told by famed ventriloquist-performer Edgar Bergen; while 1949's The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad had Sherlock Holmes veteran Basil Rathbone telling the story of "The Wind In the Willows," and singer-actor Bing Crosby telling the story of "The Legend of Sleepy Hallow"). And some were even anthology pieces that came close to Walt's original ideas for continuing 1940's Fantasia (1946's Make Mine Music and 1948's Melody Time).

There was also The Reluctant Dragon (released during the 1941 Writer's Strike, in which several animators and staff never returned to the studio, in spite of the film being a tour of the studio itself), and 1946's controversial Song of the South (set during the post-Civil War Reconstruction, and based on the "Uncle Remus" stories by historian Joel Chandler Harris). This film holds the distinction of being, perhaps, the only film the Disney company has almost completely ostrasized, due to its controversial subject matter and outdated depictions. It's last theatrical re-release was in 1986, and it has never been fully released on home video or other media since then. (Its signature song, "Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Da," has become a studio favorite, while animated characters Br'er Rabbit, Br'er Fox, and Br'er Bear became central to Disneyland's "Splash Mountain" attraction.)

Many of these shorts and features were creative and fun (they were even some of the first to combine animation with live-action), but they didn't turn a profit for the studio. After all, they hadn't had a successful hit since Dumbo in 1941. So, after surviving the war years--and just as they did with Snow White--, Walt and his team decided to turn to what helped them become successful to begin with: a fairy tale.

1950's Cinderella

"Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo"
Walt connected with the rags-to-riches story of Cinderella, because he believed his own life story was as such. Adapting the Charles Perraut version of the classic story, Disney's version retains all the fairy tale/princess conventions that would become commonplace for said features in his lifetime. Yet, despite the central character falling for a Prince Charming and dreaming of a better life (even if she just sings about it), Cinderella is a fairy active and positive character, who shows kindness to strangers, friends, and even to her enemies (specifically her cruel stepmother and stepsisters).

This was one of the first Disney films I remember watching a lot on VHS with my siblings growing up. One of the first powerful movie moments I remember as a child was the scene where the stepsisters tear Cinderella's dress apart, while stepmother Lady Tremaine keeps a cold distance. In fact, there are many other powerful and striking moments throughout the film, even as it balances subplots involving a group of charming mice against the house cat Lucifer, and camaraderie between the castle's King and Duke, respectfully. (The latter was somewhat revisited in 1959's Sleeping Beauty, in scenes between two kings.) Both subplots give the story a fresh angle here, with brilliant humor, physical comedy, and first-rate suspense (such as when mice Jacque and Gus are trying to get the key up the stairs, or when the clock strikes midnight as the coach turns back into a pumpkin). Despite its cartoony elements, there is quality filmmaking here, especially in the framing and timing of various elements.

This was also one of the first feature films where Walt's core group of animators (known as "the Nine Old Men") had a hand in. They included Les Clark, Marc Davis, Ollie Johnson, Milt Kahl, Ward Kimball, Eric Larson, John Lounsbery, Wolfgang Reitherman, and Frank Thomas. The film has wonderful character animation (including Davis's work on Cinderella, Thomas's Lady Tremaine, and Kimbell's mice), as well as amazing art from Mary Blair (who had a huge influence on the style of Disney animated features in the 1940s and 1950s). Walt had stated that his single favorite piece of animation was the transformation of Cinderella's dress (pictured above). I would argue that the most amazing visual moment in the film involves her reflection in hundreds of soap bubbles.

The film's timeless themes of hope and faith and perseverance struck a chord with audiences and critics, and helped revitalize the Disney studio. Furthermore, the success of this film allowed Walt to expand his talents into the growing advent of television, as well as live-action filmmaking (beginning with 1950's Treasure Island), and perhaps his biggest endeavor, a theme park. Even with all this going on, Disney still produced several animated features throughout the decade, the next being an adaptation of a story that, interestingly enough, helped put him on the map.

1951's Alice In Wonderland

"Off With Her Head!"
Walt had created several short films in the 1920s, titled "the Alice Comedies," which featured a live-action girl in an animated wonderland. He had hoped to make a live-action feature of the shorts somewhere down the road, but eventually settled on an animated version. The film that would become 1951's Alice in Wonderland isn't so much story-driven (it does retain the central plot of Alice falling down a rabbit hole and into a strange world of wonder, imagination, and illogical nonsense).

Animator Ward Kimbell stated that the film "suffered from too many cooks." In other words, several directors and animators involved worked to top the other with their own wild and crazy sequences. (Even Walt found the resulting film disappointing because it lacked "heart".) But maybe that's what makes the movie such an unforgettable one. If it does have a story, it's all over the place, but its animation and characters (including Tweedledee and Tweedledum, the White Rabbit, the Cheshire Cat, the Queen of Hearts, and the smoking caterpillar) are some of the most inventive, bizarre, psychedelic, colorful, and unpredictable ever put on screen. In addition, the central "Un-Birthday Party" involving the Mat Hatter and the March Hare is generally a delight. The result is arguably admired more by arthouse cinephiles than by the general public, even though Disney included clips of the film on his "Wonderful World of Disney" TV program in the 50s.

Child actress Kathryn Beaumont (who later voiced Wendy in Peter Pan) keeps the experience grounded as the curious Alice escapes from reality, only to realize how such curiosity can sometimes lead to colorful madness. It's more daring and unpredictable than, say, Dorothy going to Oz. But Disney's next animated adventure--instead of rabbit holes--would involve flying to Neverland. Not to mention fairy dust.

1953"s Peter Pan

"Second Star to the Right, and Straight On 'Til Morning"
The 1953 animated version of J.M. Barrie's classic story of Peter Pan, the boy who refuses to grow up, and the Darling childrens' journey to Neverland, was reportedly the last feature in which all of the "Nine Old Men" were collectively involved in. And their work really stands out, whether in Milt Kahl's skillful weightlessness of Peter, Marc Davis's spunkiness in Tinker Bell (who has since become a household name), Frank Thomas's scheming and comedic Captain Hook (an ideal villain), Ollie Johnson's jittery Smee, or Woolie Reitherman's hysterical battles between Hook and the tick-tocking crocodile (a scene-stealer). And in compliance with a tradition in the original play, actor Hans Conried voices the roles of both Mr. Darling and Hook

The film did (and still does) receive controversy over its stereotypical portrayal of Native American Indians, with Davis stating in subsequent years, "I'm not sure we would have done the Indians if we were making this movie now. And if we had we wouldn't do them the way we did back then." Some have also criticized the film for "Americanizing" Barrie's original story (which is what many Lewis Carroll puritans supposedly said about 1951's Alice In Wonderland). Even Walt was "displeased" with the final film, feeling that Peter came across as "cold and unlikable" (one aspect, oddly enough, many Barrie experts praised).

These elements notwithstanding, Peter Pan does retain its own sense of magic, adventure, and flight (the scene where Peter and the Darling children fly over London, predating digital animation, really has a sense of vertigo and wonder). And its themes of childhood memories, family, and growing up really come across in the end, fitting with Disney's own connection between childhood and adulthood.

1955's Lady and the Tramp

A Tale of Two Dogs
1955's Lady and the Tramp represented a rarity for the Disney Studio. It's one of the only animated features based on an original idea. Conceived by writer-artist Joe Grant (and subsequently inspired by stories Walt recalled from his childhood, as well as a story in Cosmopolitan magazine by Ward Greene), the story follows a household Cocker Spaniel, named Lady, whose relationship with her owners, Jim Dear and Darling, changes when a new baby arrives. She soon meets and falls for a stray, footloose mutt, named Tramp.

While being one of the most iconic romance stories in film history (live-action or animated) as well as one of the most contemporary (though still a product of the 1950s), the animation of the animal characters here is one of the most masterful since Bambi. Each character is engaging and has clearly defined traits and personalities, not to mention commentary (an element the studio would revisit in 1961's 101 Dalmatians) from "life on a leash," on the streets, and even imprisoned. Its cinematic filmmaking, like Cinderella before it, is also first-rate, with strong, sharp cinematography, art direction, and staging (including the iconic spaghetti scene, thrilling fight scenes involving Tramp, and Lady's first views of the baby).

Joe Grant had worked at the studio since the 1930s, contributing character designs and story concepts to Snow White, Fantasia, and many of the packaged features of the 1940s. He left the studio in 1949, but returned in the late 80s and contributed to many beloved animated features (such as 1991's Beauty and the Beast, 1995's Pocahantas, and 1998's Mulan) up until his death in 2005. And it wasn't until around that time that he got the credit he never received for Lady and the Tramp.

1959's Sleeping Beauty

"Once Upon A Dream"
1959 represented the end of an era for Disney animation in Walt's lifetime. Their ambitious and expensive feature Sleeping Beauty was the last feature made with a sense of romanticism, before the animation department made their subsequent features using the Xerox process (which we'll touch on later). It was also the last fairy tale they made for thirty years, until 1989's The Little Mermaid.

On the other hand, it's a rather simple story where the title character (Princess Aurora) has rather little screen time compared with the other central characters (that is, three three good fairies, Flora, Fauna and Merryweather, and the unforgettably wicked Maleficent), whom the film is primarily about. The theme of the story centers on the protection over the beauty and innocence of a princess who is cursed at birth, and sentenced to a "sleeping death" by a jealous fairy. (Sound familiar?) The approach to the story makes it distinct from Snow White and Cinderella, even though it features many other familiar tropes, such as "true love's kiss" and talking/singing to forest animals. The main difference with Aurora is that, while memorable in character and voice, lacks depth in comparison.

Sleeping Beauty is best remembered for its impeccable and lavish art direction and set pieces, especially in widescreen. The filmmakers used a process known as Technirama, following Lady and the Tramp's Cinemascope aspect ratio (movie theaters had to compete with television at the time, thus both films took great advantage of the widescreen process), and would only be revived one other time, twenty-six years later, with 1985's The Black Cauldron. The characters of the fairies are humorous and trustworthy (and carry fairy dust different from Tinker Bell's), while Marc Davis's design and animation of Maleficent and Aurora has stood the test of time. Even Milt Kahl's animation of Prince Phillip and his horse Samson are active and engaging. All elements are brought together in one of the film's central moments: the climactic battle between Phillip and Maleficent as a dragon.

Another highlight involves Aurora's dance with the forest animals while singing "Once Upon A Dream" (set to Peter Tchaikovsky's unforgettable "Sleeping Beauty" ballad), showcasing the animators' skill in movement, weightlessness, balance, and synchronization. It recalls the animation of Pinocchio as a marionette, or Dopey and Sneezy dancing with Snow White. It's moments like these that recall the dreams that Disney had that came to fruition, that still live on and inspire. And even though the medium of animation would change for Disney in the 1960s, the medium (and Walt's ambitions) would still carry on.

The Magic of Disney Animation, Part II: The Golden Age

Dopey Drive at the Walt Disney Studios

With the amazing success of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs in the late 1930s, many audiences and critics who experienced the first full-length animated feature film ever made naturally asked themselves, "What could be better than this?"

It may come as a surprise to many, but even before Snow White was complete, Walt Disney and his staff of animators, technicians, and innovators were already at work on their next projects. And with the money made from the 1937 feature, they were able to form a new animation building (pictured above) and take advantage of new pioneering techniques and methods never before (or since) attempted. These projects included an adaptation of a beloved children's book by Italian writer Collodi, a story of nature and animals, and (perhaps the most ambitious of all) a concert feature starring Mickey Mouse.

1940's Pinocchio

When You Wish Upon A Star
Pinnochio is the classic story of a wooden puppet who longs to be a real boy, and sets off on an episodic adventure to prove himself, with the help of his "conscience" Jiminy Cricket (a character who has become just as ageless and undated as the Seven Dwarfs). The film stands as one of the Disney studio's most meticulous and superb (the production design, character animation, and even the wooden clocks in Geppetto's workshop are a sight to behold), as well as one of its darkest (not nearly as much as Collodi's original book, but still a scary adventure at times).

Furthermore, it stands as a cautionary tale about the consequences of temptation, and the imperfect nature of humanity. (Talk about "no strings attached".) The titular character is given life by a magical blue fairy, is constantly tested and tried, and learns many lessons the hard way, especially in what it means to be "brave, truthful, and unselfish." Whenever he encounters adult characters who try to take advantage of his innocence and naivete for their own exploits (including puppet master Stromboli, the sly fox Honest John and his associate cat Gideon, or the wicked Coachman who whisks troublemaking boys away to the mysterious "Pleasure Island" and turn them into donkeys, a horrifying scene if ever there was one), such moments are sometimes expressed through song and/or fantasy, but never sugarcoated. Which is reportedly what Disney was aiming for, and which makes the story more plausible and emotional.

Even so, there are many spiritual and moral undertones that can be found in Disney's adaptation, such as the theme of the Prodigal Son, or Jonah in the belly of a whale (in this case, the aptly-named whale Monstro). It's a film that boasts some of the most impressive animation and effects and characters, but never overshadows the heart or moral of the story. Not to mention, its central song, "When You Wish Upon A Star," has since become an anthem for all things Disney.

1940's Fantasia

A New Form of Entertainment 
The studio's next feature would be even more of an experiment, yet would showcase the various ways the medium of animation could be used. Walt Disney once said, "I only hope we never lose sight of one thing: that this was all started by a mouse." Mickey, to be exact. So it's only fitting that the genesis of what was initially known as "The Concert Feature" began as a conversation between Disney and famed composer Leopold Stowkowski in adapting Paul Dukas' "The Sorcerer's Apprentice" into a short feature starring Mickey Mouse. The idea proved so ingenious that eventually Disney and Stowkowski decided to expand it and set other forms of classical music to various styles of animation.

The feature that would be known as Fantasia encompassed a wide range of styles and genres, from Bach's abstract "Toccata and Fugue in D Minor" (with equally abstract figures coming across all sides of the screen and orchestra), Tsiolkovsky's "Nutcracker Suite" (a ballet with dancing mushrooms and flowers instead of toy soldiers and dueling mice), Dukas' "Apprentice" (featuring Mickey donning a magician's hat as he brings brooms to life), Stravinsky's "Rite of Spring" (centered on a scientific view of the creation of life on earth, complete with dinosaurs), Beethoven's "Pastoral Symphony" (set in mythological Greece, with centaurs, flying horses, and the lightening-bolt god Zeus), Ponchelli's "Dance of the Hours" (a farce featuring dancing hippos and alligators), and Mussorgsky's "Night on Bald Mountain" (a terrifying depiction of hell, with the demonic Chernobog at the center) and "Ave Maria" (a hopeful, meditative, and perfect conclusion). As Disney historian Brian Sibley stated, "I know of no other motion picture that takes you on such an astonishing and stimulative voyage of visual and aural exploration." (You can check out my full review here.)

1942's Bambi

"Man Was In The Forest" 
The last ambitious feature in this roster of "Golden Age" animated features had the longest production of any film at the time, in part because of its attention-to-detail in the anatomy and movement of forest animals. Based on the bestselling book by Austrian writer Felix Salten, Bambi is a story of the innocence and experience of life, centered on the beauty and dangers of nature, paralleled with the change of seasons year-round. It's the first Disney film centered solely on animals (human characters are merely implied), as well as the first where songs are sung by a background chorus instead of from characters themselves--and the film is all the better for it.

The animation of animal characters had certainly come a long way in the short span of five years, between Snow White and Bambi (ditto the film's beautiful backgrounds). It's just incredible to watch the way the characters move, such as when Bambi walks through the woods or learns how to ice-skate for the first time with the scene-stealing rabbit Thumper (a scene I remember fondly as a child, although my favorite piece of animation is when Thumper rolls back laughing when they meet Flower the skunk for the first time).

Obviously the scene people remember the most is the sad and sudden death of Bambi's mother off-screen. Arguably, as a child, this was one of the first films I remember seeing that had such striking and powerful imagery, such as the fight scene between an adult Bambi and a jealous deer (the colors are so strong and sharp in this sequence). I also remember the deer marching and galloping in the woods (and towards the screen), and running from "Man" for the first time. (I wonder if the musical cues for "Man" had an effect on John Williams when he wrote the score for 1975's Jaws.)

Nevertheless, Bambi expresses many ranges of emotions, not only through themes of birth and death and growth, but also through bravery and even laughter. (The "twitterpated" sequence is an example of great humor.) It was also one of the first times Walt Disney expressed themes of conservation and his love of nature, which later became evident in the nature documentaries he produced for film and television.

1941's Dumbo

"It Ain't Nobody's Fault You Got Them Big Ears"
As monumental and ambitious as these feature films were, it's hard to imagine they didn't initially turn a profit on their releases in 1940 and 1942, respectfully, in part because the beginning of the second World War cut off the European market overseas. And those they have subsequently become revered classics, the studio needed a hit film to stay afloat and lucrative. And it came in the form of a big-eared baby elephant with a sidekick mouse. (Go figure.)

Upon the financial losses of Fantasia, the studio decided to produce a feature with a smaller budget and a simpler story, echoing the "Silly Symphonies" that put them on the map. Their resource came from a children's book by Helen Aberson and Harold Pearl, and was adapted for the screen by veteran story writers Otto Englander, Joe Grant, and Dick Huemer. The story follows the iconic baby elephant, who is ridiculed for his oversized ears, becomes an outcast, is separated from his mother, and overcomes many obstacles thanks to the help of his friend Timothy the Mouse, and even from a group of lively and catchy crows (memorable, if caricatured, characters, to be sure).

In terms of characters, you can feel a sense of weight from the elephants, and constantly sympathize with one of the best pantomime characters to ever grace the silver screen, as he discovers that his deformity is what makes him soar. The two scenes best remembered are the tear-jerking "Baby Mine" lullaby and the psychedelic "Pink Elephants" sequence.

Despite an ending that doesn't really go with the rest of the movie (I thought Tim Burton's 2019 version did it better), this is a charming piece of animation and storytelling that became a sensation and returned a profit to the studio. And at 64 minutes, it remains one of the shortest animated features Disney ever produced. It also proved to be the last animated feature made by a group of animators who had been with the studio since the late 1920s. The Disney animated features that followed would be co-supervised by a core group of artists that Disney dubbed "the Nine Old Men".

The rest of the decade was deeply effected by the Second World War, with the studio focusing on propoganda films and, on the side, several "package" features, some based on the South American benefit tours they made in the middle of the decade, as well as attempts to continue his ambitious work-in-progress of Fantasia.