Walt Disney Feature Animation has been around for more than eight decades now. Later this year, the acclaimed and beloved studio will be releasing its 59th animated film (titled, Raya and the Last Dragon). And since we're in a new decade, not to mention last fall's launch and advent of the Disney+ streaming service and immense access to its nearly-entire library of classic films, it's an amazing time for new and old generations to be introduced to (and to recap, respectfully) on the legacy of the Mouse House's animation canon, something not even Pixar, Star Wars, the Avengers, or even Fox come close to. (Sorry, Baby Yoda.)
And it seems only "fair" to start this series of pieces by going back to the feature film that started this revolution in not only animation but filmmaking itself.
"Mirror, Mirror on the Wall"
Filmgoing (which had been a novelty since the late 1890s) was still in its relative infancy when Walt Disney began releasing animated short films in the 1920s. He had revolutionized the use of synchronized sound in 1928 with Mickey Mouse's now-iconic debut Steamboat Willie, as well as Technicolor in 1932's Flowers and Trees, music in 1933's Three Little Pigs, and the innovative multiplane camera techniques in 1937's The Old Mill. But his biggest ambition was breaking into the feature film business.
Films in the early 20th Century were silent, black-and-white features that relied on nothing more than images, performances/pantomine, character emotion, skilled filmmaking, and accompanied music to tell a story. (D.W. Griffith's 1915 epic and controversial The Birth of A Nation was once the pinnacle of this era.) That all changed with 1927's The Jazz Singer.
And while critics were delighted with Disney's shorts (or, "Silly Symphonies," as they were known), they nonetheless couldn't believe that audiences would be able to sit through 80 minutes of technicolor and animation. Thus, the ambitious adaptation of the classic fairy tale, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, was declared "Disney's folly."
There's a legendary story where Disney himself presented a pitch to the head of the Bank of America when the project was running low on costs. Being the brilliant storyteller and producer he was, Disney knew how to tell a great story, and how to entertain and engage audiences with characters and genuine investment, music, laughter, thrills, and drama, and not just various forms of color and nuance. The banker was reportedly so enamored, he was quoted as saying, "That thing's gonna make a million dollars!"
It soon became a surprise when critics and audiences felt the same way when the film was released in December of 1937.
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| 1937's Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs |
"Heigh-Ho"
I was fortunate enough to be around when Disney classics were in their final years of being periodically re-released in theaters (something the studio had done since the 1940s). The last time Snow White was theatrically re-released was in 1993, and like most Disney classics (including those released at the time), I was captivated.
In fact, many thematic and spiritual undertones throughout this Grimm Brothers story (whether intentional or not) have even become common tropes or cliches throughout some of Disney's other early adapted fairy tales, including a live-action storybook opening and closing, a jealous (and even murderous) villainess, a "sleeping death" that can only be revived by "true love's kiss," animal sidekicks to talk and sing to, a princess forced into servant hood, who longs for a better life and even a "Prince Charming"; and of course the subtle battle between good and evil, and the triumph of hope and love.
In all fairness, more discerning viewers will agree that many of these tropes wouldn't fly today, like entering a home without consent, inviting a suspicious stranger (in this case, a scary witch) in, and waiting for (and putting hope in) "true love"--in this case, a prince who's not even known throughout the story.
These elements notwithstanding (as well as frightening moments, like Snow White's terrifying run through the woods, and the Queen's transformation into the old witch), it amazes me how well this film still holds up, despite being a product of the 1930s. For one thing, every time I revisit this film, none of the dwarfs' dialogue sounds dated. Furthermore, the clearly distinct personalities, comic timing, and animation of these characters (Dopey has always been a personal favorite) make the experience worth the price of admission. Is it any wonder that this classic story (and fairy tales in general) still resonate(s) with young and old?
Snow White stands as one of several key films that changed American and world cinema (and moviegoing) in the 20th century. Pioneering filmmaker Sergei Eisenstein once called it "the greatest film ever made." It also had a profound impact on the fairy tale/fantasy genre, leading MGM to greenlight 1939's The Wizard of Oz. The late film critic Roger Ebert put it this way: "Walt Disney . . . conceived of this film, in all of its length, revolutionary style and invention, when there was no other like it--and that to one degree or another, every animated feature made since owes it something."
In that regard, Snow White was only the beginning of a parade of unforgettable animated features, each based around various forms and styles, starting with a workshop puppeteer wishing upon a star.
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