The Magic of Disney Animation, Part VIII: Standout or Underappreciated Gems From the Post-Renaissance

The Walt Disney Animation Building in the 1990s

Disney's Post-Renaissance of the early-2000s (as well as part of the late Nineties) was a lackluster time for the studio. Despite some quality animation and incredible people behind the scenes, their roster of hand-drawn features was generally forgettable, lacking strength and depth in their stories, and were reportedly created by committee. And yet, even as the decades-old art form was slowly competing with CGI hits from the likes of Pixar and DreamWorks into the new millennium (and seemed like it would end), the Mouse House still turned out a few exceptional or underappreciated films that have later been regarded as some of the finest produced by the studio. Here's a look back at six of them.

2000's The Emperor's New Groove

The Emperor's New Groove (2000)
A hilarious, laugh-a-minute comedy about a selfish Incan ruler, named Kuzko (voiced by David Spade), turned into a llama by his jealous advisor, Yzma (the late Eartha Kitt), and her dimwitted henchman, Kronk (the always funny Patrick Warburton), whose only help is from a kindhearted peasant (John Goodman), and is forced to learn that the whole world doesn't revolve around him. The film's style is more in line with classic Jay Ward cartoons (a la Rocky & Bullwinkle or Peabody and Sherman), but it's rapid-fire pacing and characterizations fit alongside Aladdin.

Watching the film, you wouldn't believe it had a troubling production up to its December 2000 release. The fully-dimensional and first-rate characters fit their voice talents like gloves, and serve as brilliant showcases for the animators who brought them to life (Nik Ranieri, Dale Baer, and Tony Bancroft, and Bruce W. Smith respectfully). Playwright David Mamet reportedly said this movie had one of the best and most "innovative" scripts that Hollywood had produced in years.

2000's Fantasia 2000

Fantasia 2000 (2000)
A continuation of the 1940 original masterpiece, synchronizing classical music with cutting-edge animation, was a nine-year labor of love for the studio. Thanks to the original's bestselling VHS release in 1991, several teams of artists created their interpretations of music selections for seven new segments (with the return of Mickey Mouse in the original "Sorcerer's Apprentice" as the exception). Guest host spots in the final feature are sort of dated by today's standards, but the animated sequences (some traditional, some CGI, some with both) are breathtaking and amazing to experience, even if they do seem shorter than those in their predecessor.

Beethoven's abstract Symphony No. 5 (with stylized birds). Respighi's "Pines of Rome" (with flying humpback whales). Gershwin's "Rhapsody in Blue" (with Al Hirshfeld-style characters in 1920s New York). Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto No. 2 (visualizing Hans Christian Andersen's "The Steadfast Tin Soldier"). Saint-Saens' "Carnival of the Animals" finale (with a yo-yo-swinging flamingo). Elgar's "Pomp & Circumstance" (featuring Donald Duck as Noah's assistance aboard the Ark). Stravinsky's "Firebird Suite" (featuring a woodland sprite against a volcanic beast). All of these short pieces collectively represent the height of the medium with state-of-the-art craftsmanship and affection. It's a must-see.

2002's Lilo & Stitch

Lilo & Stitch (2002)
Veteran story artist Chris Sanders had been with Disney since the Renaissance era, having worked on Beauty and the Beast, The Lion King, and Mulan. His original story of an unlikely friendship between a fugitive alien and a Hawaiian orphaned girl was originally pitched as an unpublished children's book in the mid-Eighties. Due to the box-office disappointments of some of the studio's features at the time, CEO Michael Eisner suggested making a feature that was low in costs but echoed the simplicity and charm of classics like Dumbo. In fact, Lilo & Stitch was the first film to use watercolor backgrounds since the 1940s, along with simple and warm character designs.

It may also be the last hand-drawn Disney feature (until, maybe, 2009's The Princess and the Frog) to have such a cultural impact (seriously, people love Stitch, even when he crashed fake trailers for Disney classics). Its idiosyncratic blend of science-fiction, Hawaiian culture, unlikely friendships, and Elvis music (Stitch dresses up as the King in one scene) still holds up. More important, it illustrates strong themes of broken or dysfunctional individuals and the need for familial love. If that isn't out of this world, what is?

1998's Mulan

Mulan (1998)
Okay, I'm cheating a little bit here. But in all fairness, I didn't fully mention this late-Nineties entry in any recent posts. Through the decade, some viewers and critics have taken issue with some of Disney's leading ladies and their wardrobe choices (from Jasmine to Pocahontas to Esmeralda). With the exception of Belle, Mulan (based on the Chinese legend) was the most active, modest, and intellectual heroine in the Disney canon at the time. Her story as a young woman who can't meet the expectations of her family, her country, and her ancestry are profound and grounded ("If I were to be my real self, I would break my family's heart"). Disguising herself as a man, she takes her wounded father's place in the Imperial army, accompanied by a charming cricket and a fast-talking dragon, named Mushu (voiced hysterically by Eddie Murphy), looking for his own self-respect.

The style of the film is simple yet dynamic, although the Mongolian charge is an impressive standout of a set piece. Longtime film composer Jerry Goldsmith even received an Oscar nomination for his sweeping and epic score, and some of the film's songs (including the meditative "Reflection" and the training-fueled "I'll Make a Man Out of You") leave a mark. Some (like animation historian Jerry Beck) have criticized the story, however, for combining elements of drama and comedy--describing the latter as out of place--while a few subtle risque elements (i.e., cross-dressing references, "bathing" in a lake) masquerade as not-really-G-rated territory. Nevertheless, themes of warfare, honor, strength and discipline retain the story, including a powerful moment of honoring the fallen and putting innocence behind.

1999's Tarzan

Tarzan (1999)
"Deep Canvas" technology goes back to an ambitious concept from the 1980s, by inserting hand-drawn characters into a three-dimensional environment. For Tarzan (another late-Nineties entry here), these techniques carried on Walt Disney's tradition of discovery and innovation, making the film a cinematic roller-coaster and viewers a part of the visual (and visceral) experience. (Glen Keane's expert animation of the titular ape-man sliding and swinging through the jungle--with attention-to-detail on human anatomy and physique--is a knockout.)

Edgar Rice Burrough's novels have been adapted hundreds of times. The Disney artists, along with directors Kevin Lima and Chris Buck, accomplished the impossible by giving the character (and Burrough's novels) new life, in a surprisingly fresh, contemporary and exciting way. It's also a very moving and emotional story, emphasizing themes of inter-species communication and family (animation is the best form for expressing those themes here), and owing to Phil Collins' and Mark Mancina's heart-pounding music.

2002's Treasure Planet

Treasure Planet (2002)
Imagine if Robert Louis Stevenson's pirate adventure novel Treasure Island was written as science-fiction. This idea was pitched by directors Ron Clements and John Musker back in the Eighties, alongside The Little Mermaid, but wasn't greenlit until the directing duo finished Hercules in the late-Nineties. Released one year after Atlantis, Treasure Planet sadly suffered the same outcome, as both films didn't do well in theaters initially. Even so, it's, perhaps, a better movie than you remember, with creative characters, inventive worlds, bracing action, and songs by artist John Rzeznick.

The film gets right into action as a young, rebellious Jim Hawkins (voiced by Joseph Gordon-Levitt) journeys in search of lost pirate treasure. The directors and artists utilized "Deep Canvas" to create a distant world where humans and aliens co-exist, including a crescent moon-shaped space port, as well as a CGI mechanical arm for John Silver. The result is a little crowded, but not as dated as other 2-D/3-D hybrids like Fox's Titan A.E. or DreamWorks' Sinbad. It does underplay some of its characters (Silver is the best, while Martin Short is a riot as B.E.N., and shape-shifting Morph steals every scene he's in), but emphasizes its themes of abandonment and surrogate father figures well.

***
Just a theory, but maybe Jim's character angst and struggles paralleled where the studio was at, while trying to maintain what they had. Perhaps Silver's words in the movie are retrospectively noteworthy for the next (and up-and-coming) generation of animators and artists at the studio: "You got the makings of greatness in you. But you got to take the helm and chart your own course, stick to it." Even if not all of their features at the time were memorable, Disney nevertheless attempted to branch out from the conventional norm. And that certainly came in handy years later.

The Magic of Disney Animation, Part VII: A New Identity Crisis, Age-Appropriateness, and Dramatic Irony

But It's So . . . Serious
In the mid-Nineties, the Disney studios made a few animated features that pushed storytelling into more ambitious and mature territory. And while all were brilliantly animated and represented new styles for the company (and have their fans and merits, to be sure), they nevertheless generated controversy and divisive responses for their respective subject matters. Not to mention they tested the limits of their not-really-age-appropriate "G-ratings," given by the Motion Picture Association of America (MPAA) at the time, as well as challenging the "status quo" of the company's wholesome reputation.

Produced and developed simultaneously with The Lion King, 1995's Pocahontas, for starters, was hailed by a majority of executives and animators as the more successful project. In comparison, it was, perhaps, a greater risk to make a film based on the Native American legend. The results, ironically, were below expectations.

Though it did feature impressive art direction, incredible attention-to-detail in its human characters, a powerful score by Alan Menken (including the Oscar-winning nature ballad, "Colors of the Wind"), and a strong female lead (courtesy Glen Keane's supervising animation and actress Irene Bedard's beautiful voice work), the film took on themes of colonization, racism, and pantheism, as English settlers set sail to 17th Century America and Captain John Smith meets and falls in love with the Native chief's daughter, with animal sidekicks, Meeko the raccoon and Flit the hummingbird, providing comic relief.

1995's Pocahontas

But that's nothing compared to 1996's The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Adapted from Victor Hugo's classic novel about a deformed man, named Quasimodo, who longs to be part of the world he sees everyday from the cathedral of Notre Dame in 15th Century Paris. Encouraged by friendships with the beautiful gypsy Esmerelda (an outcast herself), the dashing captain of the guards Phoebus, and three wisecracking gargoyles (two that are amusingly named after Hugo himself), Quasimodo overcomes the reign of his sinister master, Judge Frollo.

Though reportedly not as heavy as the Gothic novel, the film adaptation still retains Hugo's themes of persecution, religion, tolerance, hypocrisy, and sexual tension (mature elements that should have, by no means, warranted a G-rating to begin with). And speaking of Frollo, the film practically opens with the tyrannical judge (who "longs to purge the world of lice and sin") murdering Quasimodo's mother and trying to drown a baby. If that's not enough, an entire music number, titled "Hellfire," is devoted to the villain's twisted worldview, as he objectifies Esmerelda while failing to recognize the frailty in himself.

This controversial segment (the filmmakers compare it to Fantasia's "Night On Bald Mountain" sequence) notwithstanding, the rest of the music by composer Menken and lyricist Stephen Schwartz (who also collaborated on Pocahontas) is breathtaking, haunting, and evocative, in the spirit of Les Miserables and Amadeus. It even has powerful statements about faith and hope for the less-fortunate. The thing is, there is something a bit askew when expressing serious themes in musicals, especially if they're targeted to kids and families. Sure, classic musicals like The Sound of Music and West Side Story are hallmarks in the genre, but that doesn't that mean all of their songs or lines (especially from the latter) are worth reciting, no matter how amazingly written or stirring the soundtracks might be.

1996's The Hunchback of Notre Dame

Audiences had reportedly found both Pocahontas and Hunchback "too dark" for the Disney animated brand (similar things were said for 1988's Who Framed Roger Rabbit and 1993's The Nightmare Before Christmas, both released under the studio's more adult-oriented Touchstone Pictures label), that the makers of 1997's Hercules decided to up the humor and comedy, along with its subversion of larger-than-life Greek mythology and pop culture sensibilities. (Directors Ron Clements and John Musker had used this latter element well before in Aladdin.) Even if the titular hero (voiced by Tate Donovan) is arguably a bit whiny as he journeys to prove himself a hero in order to return to Mount Olympus, many of the other characters make up for it. From the diminutive training satyr Phil (voiced by Danny DeVito) to the wisecracking, temperamental adversary Hades (hilariously voiced by James Woods) and the sassy Meg (voiced and sung by Susan Egan), these characters deliver in spades.

But that doesn't diminish the film's dark imagery (including Godzilla-sized monsters, and a bleak Underworld with a chilling river of death) and excessive violence (so much punching and body slamming). On top of that, some of the songs have some spiritual misguidance, including the opening three-part number "Gospel Truth," which will easily put off more discerning viewers and families, no matter how rousing and inspiring of an anthem "Go the Distance" may be otherwise.

Ratings vs Age-Appropriateness
Animated films since Walt's time have been appealing to all ages. Established by Motion Picture Distributors Association of America (later, MPAA) president William Hays in the 1930s (the same decade Snow White was released) the Ratings Code was designed to follow censorship guidelines in terms of what was and was not acceptable or permissible in Hollywood films. That changed in 1968, when succeeding president Jack Valenti established a new rating system that was "voluntary" in allowing parents to determine age-appropriate content for their children and the like. The G- and PG-ratings have been there since, and all of Disney's animated classics had been approved for "general audiences," until 1985's The Black Cauldron, which was criticized for its dark subject matter, but barely escaped a beyond-parental-guidance-but-not-quite-restricted PG-13 label (a middle-ground rating created at the suggestion of filmmaker Steven Spielberg one year earlier).

1997's Hercules

Almost twenty years later (and interestingly enough), Pirates of the Caribbean became the first film in Disney's history to be given the "Parents Strongly Cautioned" rating (outside of their Touchstone and Miramax subsidiaries). Ironically, this rating has become the norm for most live-action cinematic blockbusters nowadays, particularly from Marvel and Lucasfilm (both owned by the Mouse House for almost a decade). No animated feature in Disney's history has ever been given the teenage-rating, and I hope it doesn't come to that. I will say, though, if Hunchback were released today, it would most likely qualify for that rating. (The upcoming live-action version of Mulan rightfully did, unlike its G-rated counterpart.)

To be fair, many of Walt Disney's classics contain scary elements that remain so today. From Snow White's terrifying run through the woods, to Chernobog's demonic mayhem on Bald Mountain, to Ichabod Crane's nightly encounter with the Headless Horseman, and the tragic death of Bambi's mother, hypersensitive parents reportedly still complain about how such scenes traumatized them as kids, as well as their own children. On the other hand, those respective films were of their time, considering the change in trends and styles and audience sophistication over the decades. (Remember the blockbusters of the Eighties?)

Still, any animated feature above a PG-rating in the Nineties would seemingly hurt the brand, and alienate the company's (and film's) target audience. Looking back at Pocahontas, Hunchback, and Hercules put together, many may wonder how the people who rated each of these movies got away with endorsing their content as kid-friendly without even some parental supervision. Now, I'm not suggesting these films are bad because they were rated the wrong way, nor am I saying that these films should be forgotten entirely. (To reiterate, they do have their merits.) What I am suggesting is they can be learned from, for better or worse, in order for people to make better choices and disclaimers for what the films are like and what they represent.

2001's Atlantis: The Lost Empire

In the end, it shouldn't be about the ratings. (They're more like guidelines, as they say in Pirates of the Caribbean.) It's about age-appropriateness. To their credit, all but five of the Disney animated films in the 2000s received PG-ratings, mostly for their action or intense scenes of violence, and deservedly so. But many of them (especially in the early part of the decade) weren't well-received, though some of them have gained better reception and even cult status in subsequent years.

Take 2001's Atlantis: The Lost Empire, for example. The same team behind Beauty and the Beast and Hunchback (including directors Gary Trousdale and Kirk Wise, and producer Don Hahn) wanted to make a film that challenged the perception of Disney being all about princesses and musicals and fairy tales and talking animals. At the same time, they wanted to pay homage to classic blockbuster adventures like Star Wars and Indiana Jones (one of the ambitions the makers of The Black Cauldron had as well), as well as a category of Disney adventure films of the 1950s (like 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea) that most of the public had apparently forgotten. (Quite a cinematic thrill that Pirates of the Caribbean was released two years after Atlantis.)

The Fifties were a radical period of innovation and exploration for Walt and his team, venturing beyond animated films and into different endeavors like television, live-action moviemaking, and of course certainly theme parks for the whole family. The crew behind Atlantis reportedly wore shirts during production, which read, "Atlantis: Fewer Songs, More Explosions."

With that in mind, Atlantis' story gets right into action and doesn't let up, and its visual effects and animation style (inspired and consulted by comic book artist Mike Mignola) are spectacular. Meanwhile, it does take its time with most of its colorful characters, including eager linguist Milo Thatch, mine-digger Mole, surgeon Dr. Sweet, teenage engineer Audrey, and explosives expert Vinnie. The story, though, seems formulaic and rushed at times (especially in its second-half), focusing on the discovery (and defense) of an apparently-dying lost city.

Fitting as the studio was going through a middling period at the time.

2000's Dinosaur

Is This the End of Hand-Drawn Feature Filmmaking? 
Because many hand-drawn features (Atlantis included) hadn't done well with audiences in the early 2000s (at Disney, DreamWorks, Fox, and Warner Bros), many industry insiders and studio heads believed that making CGI movies was the wave of the future, considering the financial success of such hits as Fox/Blue Sky's Ice Age, DreamWorks' Shrek, and Pixar's Finding Nemo and The Incredibles.

Even Disney had made a couple CGI features by the middle of the decade. 2000's Dinosaur (2000) had fully-digital characters set against live-action backgrounds--technology and hype that was groundbreaking at the time, but hasn't aged a lot. (It is notable for James Newton Howard's incredible score, which has become a staple soundtrack for various Disney animation montage videos on YouTube, including this one.) 2005's Chicken Little, meanwhile, took its cues from the classic "sky is falling" fable--with a sci-fi twist-- and peppered its silly story with colorful (if Saturday-morning-cartoon-esque) characters, including some voiced by late acting veterans Don Knotts, Garry Marshall and Adam West.

As for the studio's hand-drawn division, 2003's G-rated Brother Bear was set against the American landscape hundreds of years ago, as a young Inuit hunter is turned into a bear and journeys to the Northern Lights to change back into a man. Despite only a few emotionally-resonant scenes and some good voice work from Joaquin Phoenix (as the titular Kenai), the late Michael Clarke Duncan (as a massive grizzly), and "McKenzie Brothers" Dave Thomas and Rick Moranis (as a pair of Canadian moose), the story is a bit convoluted, as well as heavy-handed and murky with its angst-ridden characters (too intense for G-level kids) and spiritual elements (i.e., pantheism, animism).

2004's PG-rated Home on the Range follows a trio of dairy cows on a mission to find a herd-stealing outlaw and save their farm. With the resemblance of screwball shorts a la Goofy from the Forties and Fifties, the movie does have silly and hysterical slapstick comedy, what with a wannabe-ranger horse, a one-legged jack-rabbit, and a yodeling adversary.

What's ironic is how G-ratings were perceived heading into the 21st Century, how certain ratings were (and are) considered "risky" depending on their contexts or audiences or both [2], and how hand-drawn animation, compared with most CGI, became "a scapegoat for bad storytelling".

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.