Victory Through Air Power

So far we’ve looked at a number of forgotten filmic curios amidst discussions of more familiar Disney movies. Today we’ll be taking a quick look at what may be the oddest film produced by Walt Disney Productions: 1943’s Victory Through Air Power.

Based upon the 1942 book by Russian expatriate Major Alexander P. de Seversky, the movie is basically an illustrated (or rather animated) lecture, in which de Seversky (who appears in the film) spells out his theories regarding the importance of an airborne fighting force in the currently-raging World War. Walt Disney had read de Seversky’s book and, his righteous patriotism inflamed, immediately began production on a filmed version, paying for the endeavor personally. Besides being a case of “putting his money where his mouth was,” this self-funding may have been necessary due to the studio’s poor cash-flow at the time (noted in previous posts.) Production was pushed ahead at a feverish pace, as Disney felt the speed by which he could present de Seversky’s message was of the utmost importance. Aimed primarily at government officials and military decision-makers, it’s somewhat surprising (especially from today’s perspective) that such a work of persuasive propaganda, created at the behest of the head of a major movie studio, would even get made - let alone released to the public.

The film opens with a lengthy “History of Aviation” segment, which presents a humorous look at the progression of aeronautics. Much like the lightweight “Cold-Blooded Penguin” sequence which opens the otherwise manic The Three Caballeros, this segment orients the audience to expect the airy style of humor associated with the studio’s cartoon shorts - making the serious feature that follows all the more impactful. Despite it’s silly humor, this opening segment is fascinating nonetheless, as it presents viewers with some interesting historical tidbits. For example: did you know that the very first airplane developed for the U.S. military was designed and built by the Wright brothers? Well, now you know … and knowing’s half the battle.

Only vun ving? Very interestink...

For the live-action sequences, in which de Seversky addresses the camera directly, Disney chose H.C. Potter to direct. Potter was a respected working-director whose previous credits included 1941’s Helzapoppin (a film whose title I attempt to inject into as many conversations as possible,) and Disney felt it best to have an already established "Hollywood man" to assist non-actor de Seversky in his performance. It seems like it paid off, since the heavily-accented de Seversky comes across as quite natural; he is kept moving around the small set (meant to look like a military office, one assumes,) frequently gesturing with his hands and making steady emphases to keep from drifting into droning monotony.

Victory Through Power Suits

It helps, of course, that de Seversky is backed up by animated maps and charts created by some of Disney’s foremost artists. Direction of the animated sequences was spread amongst three of the studio's best visualists: James Algar, Clyde Geronimi and Jack Kinney. As a result of the film’s rushed production, much of the animation on display is more limited than in the studio's other features. The clear and direct animation, however, actually helps to break down and illustrate the sometimes complex concepts of military strategy and supply-lines to audiences; de Seversky’s points are not only made comprehensible, but all the more persuasive.

The Americas are blocked in by a yellow daisy and an evil Trivial Pursuit piece

It also doesn’t hurt that Disney, clearly all-in with the arguments presented, has no problems “fanning the flames” of a nation at war. Viewers are therefore presented with a short animated summary of the war up to that point, which portrays the German military machine as a foreboding monster ploughing mercilessly over much of Europe. Despite continued attacks from the occupied mainland, England is portrayed as bravely holding back the machine with its dedicated Royal Air Force. This sequence is capped off by a brief but potent animated reenactment of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor - which surely would’ve struck a raw nerve in the minds of the U.S. audience.

As the discussion proceeds, the associated imagery slowly becomes more fanciful. Once the film has adequately demonstrated the futility of ground assaults against a well-defended perimeter surrounding the enemy’s centers of military production (demonstrated by a circular “hub-and-spoke” metaphor - curiously, an idea that would later well-serve the design of Disneyland,) a number of possible “flying fortress” prototypes are demonstrated. The strength and ferocity which dramatizes some of these possible “Axis-destroyers” is sometimes alarming - such as the large bomb that would be designed to strike fault-lines below the surface of an enemy city, creating a factory-destroying earthquake. It’s no surprise that the British Royal Navy, impressed with the film’s demonstration of a concrete-breaching bomb that could potentially destroy German U-boat pens, soon developed its own 4,500-pound “bunker buster” - nicknamed “the Disney bomb.”

Ka-boom!

The final sequence of the film, unaccompanied by narration (though preceded with a “ra-ra” final rally from de Seversky,) dramatically imagines an air-powered U.S. armed force striking at the well-defended island of Japan. As the repeated air-strikes intensify, the island nation (and it’s far-reaching military force) morph into a giant Octopus, it’s tentacled limbs stretching over the Pacific. The air-forces soon change into a screaming Bald Eagle (naturally,) which strikes at the Octopus with it’s gleaming talons until the beast lays dead. The Japanese war machine now a smoking wreck, the Eagle flies back across the sea, coming to rest atop a high-flying U.S. flag, ending the film on a not-so-subtle bit of patriotic propaganda. The animation on display in this sequence reaches such a dark intensity, the closest parallel I can think of is Gerald Scarfe’s animation for Pink Floyd’s The Wall, produced decades later.

Gonna fly like an eagle...

Victory Through Air Power is a hard film to categorize (and review!), beyond the fact that it’s non-narrative; part history lesson, part propaganda film, and part persuasive essay, the film is one few have seen or heard of. During its theatrical releases in 1943 and ‘44 (and making the rounds in the United States and British war offices,) the film was received rather poorly by an uninterested public. Though the “History of Aviation” segment was later shown separately as a short-feature, the film in it’s entirety would go unseen for decades, outside of the occasional print surfacing in film-study courses or at underground animation festivals. It wasn’t until 2004 that Disney officially released the film on DVD, as part of its “Walt Disney Treasures” line of collector’s releases (accompanied by an introduction by the ever-hyperbolic Leonard Maltin, who claims that the film “changed FDR’s way of thinking” about air power - despite the fact that the U.S. had decided to pursue long-range bombing two months before Roosevelt saw the movie.)

Unlike most of Disney’s other animated (or mostly-animated) features, however, this “odd duck”  was made for specific and time-sensitive purpose, rather than timeless entertainment.

USA! USA! USA!

The Parent Trap

Anyone who knows me (or reads this blog) can see that I love the works of Disney, as much as one can love works of consumer art. Perhaps I don’t think of “the brand” or its varied productions in quite the same way as some other fans; mention “Disney” and I’m just as prone to think of EPCOT’s ExxonMobil-sponsored Universe of Energy pavilion as I am to picture Snow White or Goofy. Neither my kitchen nor my bedroom is littered with Mickey Mouse bric-a-brac (despite a number of such gifts from well-meaning relatives.) I also don't really hold to the stubborn idea that everything Walt Disney did, said or dictated is some kind of untouchable gospel; nor am I the kind of fan who’s blindly devoted to the company and whatever it’s current agendas are.

When I started this blog my intent was not to bury Disney, nor to praise it - I simply wanted to share my thoughts on a bunch of movies. Some of these I’ve appreciated more than expected, while others have gotten my goat for one reason or another. That I happen to think something like The Lion King is overrated, for example, doesn't stem from some desire to feel superior to “the masses”; hell, I wouldn’t be discussing Disney at all if that were the case. Besides, there are many popular films I’ve reviewed (and will continue to) that I enjoy and appreciate. When watching these films and taking my review notes, I’ve sometimes had to spread my viewings out over a few evenings. This could've been due to family circumstances, prior engagements, or just being too damn tired. So far, however, I haven’t had any trouble getting through a movie because of the movie itself … until I recently sat down to watch The Parent Trap.

The 1961 film stars Hayley Mills (“and Hayley Mills!”) as long-separated twins Sharon and Susan. A chance meeting at summer camp leads them to discover the truth of their upbringing: their parents, Mitch and Maggie (played by Keith David and Maureen O’Hara, respectively,) divorced after they were born and decided to raise them separately. The two hatch a scheme to switch places with each other, to learn more about their estranged parents and eventually reunite the couple. This, they hope, will bring the whole family back together.

No doubt many readers are already familiar with the film, as it’s one of a handful of Disney’s live-action films that seems to have remained popular amongst non-hardcore fandom. From repeats on television to continual re-releases on home video and DVD (as well as a highly-regarded remake from 1998,) The Parent Trap seems to be a fond childhood viewing for many. This is another one that I never really watched when I was young (what can I say? If it didn’t have a corresponding Disneyland ride, I couldn’t be bothered,) though one or two prior viewings in my adulthood have proven it to be a fairly amusing, if overlong early ‘60s comedy (it seems that if Walt got directly involved, very little ended up on the cutting room floor.)

She's a little bit country ... and I'm a little bit rock n' roll!

The first section of the film, set at “Miss Inch’s Summer Camp for Girls” is actually pretty fun. The sisters find themselves at opposite ends of feuding cabins, getting into harmless mischief at each other’s expense. Their squabbling soon leads them to trouble, as they knock over a few tables and get cake in the faces of some camp counselors during an inter-camp dance. Camp owner Miss Inch states that “in the history of our camp, that was the most infamous, the most revolting, the most disgusting display of hooliganism we have ever had.” Wow, really? A couple of knocked-over tables and some splattered cake? I don’t know what Walt thought went on at camp, but it’s certainly much worse than that.

...and I'll never have that recipe again ... oh nooooo...

Thus far the film had played out as most Disney comedies of the time did - harmless, lightweight fun. Once we learn, however, about Susan and Sharon’s parents and their agreement to split them up, I found that I simply could not get past this oft-ignored plot-point. So we have two people, Mitch and Maggie: both are shown to be financially successful - he possessing a big, gorgeous ranch in Carmel, she living in a Boston mansion with her family. The two could not get along with each other, and so decided to divorce - fine. While somewhat looked down upon, divorce wasn’t a shameful, unheard of thing by the mid-1950s (when they would've split) - especially for people as well-off as these two. Yet apparently they were so pissed at each other that not only was reconciliation out of the picture, but they wouldn’t even work out a standard custody arrangement? Hell, they not only decided to each raise a daughter without letting them know they had a sibling, but were also okey dokey about voluntarily being absent from one of their own children's lives!

Okay then - the titular parents should indeed be trapped … and then dragged out into the street and shot.

The conceit of having the twin girls switch places and impersonate one-another is clever, and leads to some fine comedic chemistry between Hayley Mills and … herself. But it’s a shame that their ruse is being done to bring their parents back together, when they should be calling C.P.S. on their despicable asses. Once we meet these so-called “parents” I was hoping to at least get some sympathetic characterizations from respected actors David and O’Hara, but this was not the case. Rather than delve into any deep characterization or attempts at making their original decision seem difficult, we are given weak authority figures who exist merely to participate in the film’s toothless comedy. O’Hara is presented as a glamorous but thinly-drawn socialite, seemingly only concerned about her daughter after she’s tricked into thinking the girl plans to run away and get married. Must keep up appearances, after all. Keith David always gives off the air of a put-out drunk who’d rather be doing anything other than acting, especially in something as vapid as this. His talents were much better suited to the multitude of westerns he was frequently cast in.

THE. WORST.

When Sharon attempts to grill her father about why she’s never met her mother, Mitch attempts to dissuade her from the subject by stating “oh, you wouldn’t like your mother … besides, she’s fat - really fat.” Tee-fucking-hee, you miserable asshole. Now I know this should be viewed as an “oh, ha ha, silly guy talk that was funny in 1961” thing, but then Sharon responds with “Then why did you fall in love with her?” I guess fatties are destined to die alone in Uncle Walt’s ‘60s.

By this point, I was pretty much done. I left the movie playing for a while, glancing up from the eBay app occasionally to see it getting progressively worse. The movie throws in a sadly over-used and clichéd “gold digger” character in the form of Vicky (Joanna Barnes,) who’s after Mitch for his money. Thus, the twins are given a target to take down in their plot to reunite their parents, and audiences are provided with yet another “nasty woman” to root against and distract from the fact that Mitch and Maggie are horrible, horrible people. Hell, we even get an extra layer of “wicked stepmother,” as Vicky’s own mother is revealed to be in on the “gold digging,” encouraging Vicky to put up with Sharon (or Susan - whatever) long enough to get her hands on his money. Sure, why the hell not? Why don’t we reveal Vicky as a Nazi sympathizer? Or that she’s secretly a cannibal? Or whatever the hell else we can pile onto this glaringly misogynist scapegoat character? Joanna Barnes, a talented columnist and fiction-writer in her own right, was often typecast as attractive secretaries or “party girl” types throughout her acting career, and honestly deserved better.

Cutie the bomb, met her at a beauty salon...

You know, I can understand why people like this movie. On the surface, it’s the same as any of the other fluffy comedies Disney churned out in the ‘60s - inoffensive, harmless entertainment. People continue to enjoy it for the nostalgic value, or they watch with the mindset of “well, it was good for the time it came out” - to which I say bullshit. A movie can’t be “1961 good” and suck now. Why should I give a pass to something that hasn’t aged well? Why can’t I simply enjoy a movie that’s actually good, like Night of The Hunter or The Apartment; something well-crafted, that doesn’t need it’s inadequacies explained away by the year it came out?

I’ve never been one to dismiss a film out-of-hand because it’s “dated.” Movies, like any other works of art, are made at a certain point in time and should reflect this, regardless of when the stories themselves are set. However, there are some films that I can’t bring myself to get into because of certain “accepted mindsets” that just don’t sit right with me. That’s why I’ve never been a fan of John Frankenheimer’s original Manchurian Candidate, with it’s over-the-top portrayal of “Evil Communism" and forced, chemistry-free “you’re a dame and I’m a fella” love-story between Frank Sinatra and Janet Leigh. There are many things I can look past or forgive as being redolent of the past - and others that just plain stink.

Even for someone who enjoys a lot of older movies, each possessing their own outmoded or questionable elements, I just couldn’t get over my sense of distaste while watching The Parent Trap. After another 15 minutes or so, I finally gave up - I couldn’t focus enough on the film to make any notes beyond “this is shit.” I did attempt to revisit the film again and again over several nights, but didn't get much further. Why am I wasting my time with something I’ve quickly come to hate? Besides, I could already guess where the story was headed, and a quick perusal of Wikipedia confirmed my suspicions: the twins get everyone together for a camping trip, where Vicky is revealed to be *gasp* not the outdoorsy type. After more prodding from the girls, Vicky is ousted, and Mitch and Maggie decide they’re in love again. Swell - maybe they can stay together long enough to produce another child they can screw over.

Whoop-de-fucking-doo

So my apologies if this is a favorite of anyone out there - and hopefully I’m not disappointing anybody with this rant. I may (or may not) attempt to watch this again sometime, maybe coming at it from a different angle (or while drunk.) As I noted in a previous post, Disney went on to make three TV-movie sequels to this in the late ‘80s, and re-make it in 1998 with Lindsay Lohan in the twin role. So there is an opportunity for one of my week-long review marathons, provided I can locate the latter two TV sequels - but I really can’t think about that right now. For the time being, I've got some better movies to watch.

Never Cry Wolf

Today we go on another perilous journey into the wild - but this time it’s a bit different. While anticipating an adventure film like A Far Off Place, instead I was treated to something much more fascinating. Here are my impressions of 1983’s Never Cry Wolf.

An adaptation of author and environmentalist Farley Mowat's 1963 autobiographical novel, the film tells the story of a government-employed biologist named Tyler (played by Charles Martin Smith,) who is sent to the Canadian Arctic to discover why the Caribou population has dwindled. Called “Project Lupine,” the central goal of his assignment is to confirm that the Caribou have been slaughtered by Wolf-pack attacks. Following a harrowing flight into the remote wilderness with a crazed bush-pilot (played by Brian Dennehy,) Tyler faces a trial by ice during his first day in the sub-zero temperatures. After receiving assistance from a passing Inuit named Ootek (Zachary Ittimangnaq,) Tyler eventually locates the den of a beautiful white Arctic Wolf, whom he names “George” in his notes. Camping within sight of the animal's den to observe and catalogue it's behavior, a sort of peace is established as George becomes used to Tyler’s not-too-close presence; he even lets his mate (whom Tyler names “Angeline”) and trio of cubs out into the open.

Peek-a-boo!

The majority of the film follows Tyler carrying out his observations of the daily lives of this family of Wolves. Though he has no direct contact with the creatures (other than an initial peacemaking act of territory-marking, in which he and George take turns urinating around the edges of his encampment,) he comes to form something of a bond with them and the wilderness around him. When Tyler observes that the Wolves seem to sustain themselves with a steady diet of mice (rather than Caribou,) he decides to test whether a large mammal can survive on a primary diet of rodents by eating them himself. This also solves the problem of his camp’s mouse-infestation. He comes to admire the Wolves - unlike himself, they seem at peace with their world, and form warm familial bonds amongst themselves and with other traveling Wolf-packs. Eventually, Tyler heads south to encounter a passing herd of Caribou, and discovers that a small pack of Wolves does indeed take down one of them. Upon inspection of the felled beast’s bone-marrow, however, Tyler realizes that the Wolves are hunting down only diseased Caribou, naturally leaving the strong ones to re-populate and thrive - just as local Inuit legend says.

You're next, Mickey...

Of all the Disney films I’ve reviewed thus far, none has taken me by surprise more than Never Cry Wolf. Almost right from the start, I didn’t feel like I was watching a ‘Walt Disney Pictures’ film - and I mean that in the best way. One of only six films directed by Carroll Ballard (best known for 1979’s The Black Stallion,) this is a stark, thought-provoking and deliberately slow-paced film. Every individual element of the piece seems to work in harmony to create a pervading atmosphere of isolation - from the bleakly beautiful cinematography of Hiro Narita (which won a National Society of Film Critics Award) to the sparse, almost ambient electronic music by Mark Isham. The sound design is excellent as well, being bold and overbearing when need be (as when strong winter winds blow, or the Caribou herd thunders across the tundra,) but notable for what you don’t hear. For example, when Tyler is first left alone in the wild, the sound of the departing airplane slowly fades away until there is absolute silence on the soundtrack, finally broken by the gentle rustling of the character’s own parka as he takes in his vast and empty surroundings.

I'm all out of s'mores!

Applause to Charles Martin Smith, who spends the majority of the film as the lone human onscreen. The character actor, familiar from roles such as Terry "The Toad" Fields in George Lucas’ American Graffiti, devoted nearly three years to the film, becoming deeply involved in the production. Smith would spend weeks at a time as the sole on-set actor, which lends the finished performance a very real air of loneliness. The actor became lifelong friends with author Farley Mowat, and ended up writing most of the voiceover narration that plays throughout the film. Smith also garners the cheeky distinction of being the first actor to have his bare buttocks on screen in a Disney movie. This occurs during a bathing scene, as well as a lengthy sequence near the conclusion where the character (and actor) ends up running naked alongside the stampeding herd of Caribou - in temperatures below freezing. Much like his character, Smith also became so enamored by the stark beauty of the Northwest filming locations that he moved to Vancouver, British Columbia a few years later.

I didn't sign up for Naked And Afraid!

This is certainly not a movie for everyone, of course. As stated above, it’s a slow-moving film that makes one appreciate the character’s journey by taking things at a contemplative pace. There are many sequences where we simply observe the daily behaviors and rituals of the Wolves, just as Tyler does, without any unnecessary editing. This lends much of the film the feeling of a docudrama, with lengthy shots of the Arctic landscape interspersed throughout. When Tyler eventually begins to let his mind wander away from the stated goals of his assignment, and begins thinking about life and his place in the world, it stems naturally from the journey that we have followed him through. By the end, Tyler realizes that by seeking and observing the Wolves, he will unwittingly and inevitably lead others there as well. Soon civilization will come and consume the beautiful land and the creatures that dwell there, as surely as the winter will return and cover the lands with frost. He must therefore force himself not to continue watching the traveling Wolf-packs, as perhaps he can help them to live on by not seeing where they go.

I keep missing the Amazon drones...

A critical hit upon release, the slow-burning (but sometimes intense) Never Cry Wolf is credited with leading Disney to create their Touchstone Pictures label to distribute more adult fare, so as not to harm their family-friendly image. There are many other surprises in this film, but I’m hesitant to give away much more. As some readers may have noted, I tend to go into more detailed plot-summaries when reviewing films that I’m certain most people haven’t seen - also comfortable in my assumption that they won’t watch them after (hence my lack of “spoiler” tags, joking aside.) In this case, it actually saddens me somewhat that this movie isn’t a well-known film or held in higher esteem amongst cinephiles. While not the most harrowing or meditative film portraying a “lone wolf” in the wild, for this studio (and this viewer,) Never Cry Wolf comes as a chilly breath of fresh air.

Who's watching who?

Brave

Stories about mothers and daughters are rare in popular cinema, and nearly unheard of in Disney's animated canon. Daughters with missing or deceased mothers seem to be prevalent; think of Belle, Ariel, Jasmine or Pocahontas. Likewise there are those who are orphaned completely, like Penny from The Rescuers or the Frozen sisters. There are a few examples of full families in Disney's films, such as Moana’s mother and father, and Aurora’s largely absent parents in Sleeping Beauty (though honestly her mother registers as such a non-entity that her voice-actor isn’t even credited.) When one thinks of “Disney mothers,” the popular notion that springs to mind is that of the “evil stepmother,” which has been a recurring theme in the animated canon from the very start (Snow White’s Queen, Cinderella’s stepmother, all the way to Rapunzel’s Gothel.) Off the top of my head, the only healthy relationship between a mother and daughter that comes to mind is the one between Tiana and her mother in The Princess And The Frog - yet even then Tiana spends more time working toward her restaurateur dream in service of her deceased father’s memory than anything else.

By the way, I’m not discounting Lilo and Nani’s relationship in Lilo & Stitch, although they’re technically sisters - and their relationship requires the intervention of a psychotic alien experiment who eats his own boogers.

Not surprisingly, it would fall on Pixar to produce Disney’s first full story of a daughter and mother coming together - 2012’s Brave. In doing so, Pixar’s filmmakers took their first leap into fairytale storytelling, and made what may be their most “Disney-like” film to date.

Merida, please hear my cry - and let your arrow fly...

Brave tells the story of headstrong teenager Merida (voiced by Kelly Macdonald,) daughter to Medieval Scottish King Fergus (the ever-crazed Billy Connolly) and Queen Elinor (Emma Thompson.) From a young age, Merida has been in possession of a fiercely independent streak; in her spare time, Merida rides her horse around the Highlands, climbing cliffs and perfecting her archery skills. Her mother, Elinor, is the very picture of the perfectly poised Queen, a graceful and regal counterpart to the gruff and boisterous King. Elinor has been prepping Merida for her eventual role as Queen from a young age, and the years of training and royal restrictions have created a friction between the two. Following the announcement of Merida’s pending betrothal to a son of one of her father’s allies (and her subsequent refusal to participate in the tradition,) the pair’s relationship strains to a breaking point. From here, the story veers off into fantasy, as Merida encounters a witch (voiced by Harry Potter franchise stalwart Julie Walters) who provides her with an enchanted cake that will supposedly change her fate. Believing her fate to be in the hands of her stubborn mother, Merida gives the cake to Elinor - who is promptly transformed into a bear.

Magic mirror in my hand, who's t - OH SHIT A BEAR!!

I recall being somewhat blindsided by Elinor’s transformation upon first viewing this film. Already the advertising for Brave focused heavily on the action/adventure elements of the film, so when the film turned out to be about the relationship between Merida and Elinor it was already a surprise. The magical metamorphosis and resulting “my mother the bear” storyline seemed to come out of nowhere. Taking the film as a whole, though, it actually makes perfect sense. The prologue, in which we first encounter the royal family celebrating young Merida’s birthday, sets the stage for both Merida and Elinor’s relationship, as well as King Fergus’ ongoing vendetta against the ferocious bear Mor’du. The Mor’du plotline, and its associated ursine imagery, comes to overshadow much of the film that follows, even as Merida’s family issues are developed. Until Elinor is revealed to have been changed into a large black bear, it’s not clear how the two plotlines will converge. It’s an unusual solution to this problem of plotting, but a unique one to be sure.

Hey Merida - I think Rapunzel may be able to recommend a good detangler...

It seems strange that the two can only learn to communicate when one of them (Elinor) is unable to speak, being a bear and all. But it does force her to listen to her daughter’s point-of-view without being able to interrupt, and to witness some of Merida’s useful survival skills first-hand. Likewise, trying to interpret her mother’s grunts and growls helps Merida to better understand the core of Elinor’s feelings, unfettered by traditions and royal necessities. Proof of this can be seen in the relative ease by which Merida is able to interpret her mother's pantomime sign-language while delivering a speech to the clan leaders. To top it all off, there’s nothing better than a little “life or death” in a film to force two parties into mutual understanding; the dangerous encounters with a vengeful Mor’du see Elinor putting the bear beat-down on the brute in order to protect her offspring.

No jamborees in this bear country

When it becomes clear that Mor’du is actually an ancient king of Scottish legend, himself turned into a bear, the true connection between Elinor’s transformation and the rest of the film becomes clear - but it also raises a few questions. When we first encounter the slightly-unhinged witch, she is trying her hardest to disguise her magical powers. This, she claims, is due to problems with “too many unsatisfied customers.” This got me wondering: is this same witch responsible for the transformation of Mor’du? If not, is the mention of “unsatisfied customers” simply a humorous aside? It’s possible, as much of the witch’s scenes are played for laughs. It just seems odd that the same spell (or a very similar one) would’ve been performed by two separate enchantresses for seemingly different reasons. True, Merida surmises that Mor’du became a bear because, like herself, he wanted to “change his fate.” Perhaps there’s some Celtic witch glossary that translates “change your fate” exclusively to “become a bear?” Based on the manner of the witch we meet, it seems more likely that all she’s capable of doing is transforming people into bears; even in her wood-carving business she only seems capable of carving bear totems.

And Pizza Planet trucks...

Interestingly (if predictably,) the solution to Merida and Elinor’s problem is presented in the same prologue that sets up the source of their antagonism. When we first encounter the pair, they’re engaged in a game of hide-and-seek, and Elinor clearly loves her daughter very, very much. Just minutes later, King Fergus gifts Merida her very own bow, encouraging her adventurous nature. Elinor is apprehensive, bemoaning to the King “a bow, Fergus? She’s a lady …” From this point on, mother and daughter seem to naturally diverge in their views. However, besides the obvious need for the two of them to actually sit and listen to one another, the key to their peace can be seen as a matter of shedding all of the baggage that their lives have loaded them with and getting back to basics. Much like Merida’s diplomatic speech to the clans, in which she preaches the importance of remembering their bonds of trust and friendship; in the end what needed to be done was to “go back to the beginning,” and realize that they were still the little girl and young mother who loved nothing more than to spend time being together.

Hush me wee bairn, don't you cry ... Och! 

At Brave’s conclusion, the clans are at peace, and Merida and Elinor are once again enjoying each other’s company; they work together on a new tapestry, ride horses together, and Elinor has even begun to wear her hair down. When forced into mutual understanding, both ended up seeing the world differently, realizing that they were not each other’s enemies. Beyond its considerable technical achievements and action-packed story, Brave is at its heart a story about the deep connection between mothers and daughters. For this alone I feel the film deserves a place as a cherished modern fairy tale - whether made by Disney, Pixar, or anyone else.

Sometimes you eat the bear, sometimes the bear eats you

The North Avenue Irregulars

Time to do some undercover work and review a surprisingly entertaining tale of small-town crime-busting: 1979’s The North Avenue Irregulars - based on a true story!

The North Avenue Badasses

The film tells the story of a small town plagued by illegal gambling, which is allowed to operate due to a bribed police force and frustratingly blasé populace. The late Edward Herrmann (of Gilmore Girls fame) plays Michael Hill, a widower and single-father who is the recently-hired minister of the North Avenue Presbyterian Church. Following a spirited protest against the town’s organized crime on local television, Hill is recruited by a pair of agents from the US Treasury (Michael Constantine and Steve Franken) to round up volunteers and help shut down the gambling racket. After most of the town’s men refuse to help, he turns to a motley crew of ladies from the church choir: soccer-mom Vickie (Freaky Friday’s Barbara Harris,) young bride-to-be Jane (Karen Valentine,) lonely single fashionista Claire (Cloris Leachman, playing a goofier variation of her character from The Last Picture Show,) tough and dedicated Cleo (Virginia Capers - The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air’s Hattie Banks!) and sassy old Rose (Patsy Kelly.) After a series of failed stakeouts lead the group to become targets of the town mafia (and following the shocking firebombing of the church itself,) no-nonsense Anne (Susan Clark,) the church secretary and daughter of its former minister, decides to join in the fight.

This isn't what they meant by "Get your motor running" ma'am...

The supporting cast is made up of many “where have I seen them before?” character actors, including appearances by the Skipper himself, Alan Hale Jr. (as the world’s most likeable bookie,) and Laugh-In's Ruth Buzzi (as a presbytery representative who may or may not have slept with an entire Elk's Lodge.) The main cast are all supremely likeable and totally convincing in the roles, with each having their own individual reasons for agreeing to take part in the caper. Virginia Capers is a standout, as her Cleo Jackson is more willing than the rest of the stodgy parishioners to go along with the new minister’s attempts at revitalizing the church; she's also the first to volunteer for his crime-fighting team. Between scenes of trying to shepherd his would-be vigilantes over a ham-radio, Edward Herrmann - tall and rich-voiced as always - has a few tenderly acted moments with his children, including a 12-year-old Melora Hardin as his daughter, Carmel. Most of the best gags go to Barbara Harris' harried Vickie during the disastrous stakeout scenes, as she attempts to discreetly "report in" via walkie-talkie while corralling an unruly little-league team or transporting a car full of family pets.



Hunting for crooks and GMO's all at once
(also: actual NuttyO's recipe)

It’s in these stakeout sequences where The North Avenue Irregulars puts forward some subtle feminist messages​. Minister Hill’s attempts at recruiting a force of men from the town (most of them small-business owners) reveals them as either too cowardly to step up for fear of reprisal, or too lazy to care - some even suggesting that Hill is crazy for even caring. So the only ones who willingly offer themselves up for the “observe and infiltrate” mission are a group of women who already have a lot going on in their daily lives. We get to see how difficult the day-to-day world that these people live in can be, even without the added stress of crime-fighting. Yet they’re the only ones to show any kind of responsibility or determination to fix their town.

While most of the businessmen could call on employees to “mind the store” while they're away, our unlikely group of heroines have no one else to turn to for their daily responsibilities. Thus we have Vickie watching her children or shopping for groceries while on a stakeout, and Cleo attempting to soothe her baby to sleep while reporting a crook's location. Likewise, “June bride” Jane must put up with the constant prying of her mama’s-boy fiancé, Howard (played by one-and-done actor Dick Fuchs … DICK FUCHS!?) and her soon-to-be Mother-In-Law (Chiffon margarine’s “Mother Nature” herself, Dena Dietrich.) While posing as a “floozy” attempting to entrap a suspected bookie, she has to fight them both off as they demand to know "what kind of a woman" she is for going into a bar at midday.

While it would be simple to dismiss the movie as sexist right off the bat (there are a number of “these screwy dames can’t do nuthin’ right” type of gags, after all,) I think that would be missing the forest for the trees.

Outta your league, dude...

What’s also surprising for a Disney movie is the scarcity of kids in the story. While Minister Hill has two young children (Carmel, as well as a son played by Bobby Rolofson,) they are only called upon a couple of times in the film. After triggering an excruciatingly protracted gag in the film’s opening (involving wacky attempts to rescue an old groundskeeper from falling off a roof,) the Hill children virtually disappear until the film is nearly over. And while Vickie is almost constantly surrounded by her boisterous children, they serve little purpose beyond a running gag - though they also serve as a cheering section during the demolition derby-like climax. This was something of a relief for me, as once I realized the plot involved small-town organized crime, I had flashbacks to Candleshoe’s climactic fight between small kids and big goons. Thankfully, nothing like that occurs here. The North Avenue Irregulars may be one of Disney’s last live-action family films that trusted its audience to sit through it without having a kid as a protagonist.

Hooray!!

While I was initially put off by a rather long animated credits sequence (which made the film look like it would be a Pink Panther knock-off,) I ended up being pleasantly surprised throughout. Perusing opinions online (and believe me, they’re few and far between,) reviews for this film seem tepid, at best. This isn’t surprising, honestly; like the aforementioned Candleshoe, The North Avenue Irregulars is beset by the typical problems Disney’s live-action output suffered from at the time. There are bewildering front-projection shots inserted into location footage, which seem to exist sorely to give the special effects department something to do. It’s not like these inserted shots display any dangerous stunt work, and the actors are all present for the location footage, so these inclusions are pointless. There are also a few overly-goofy scenes (like the rescue scene noted above,) and the inclusion of the fictional band “Strawberry Shortcake,” hired by the minister to liven up church services, is a groan-inducing attempt by Disney’s golf-shirted brain-trust to appeal to the “hep set.” However I would consider this film, already something of a very small cult favorite (how many people have to like a movie for it to be considered a “cult favorite” anyway?), one of Disney’s little hidden gems.

Look out boys - the bitch is back!

The Three Caballeros

¡Hola damas y caballeros! On this beautiful Cinco de Mayo, let’s hop on our magic sarapes and take a deranged trip to Mexico, in 1944’s The Three Caballeros!

The Three Caba-leer-os

Following the success of 1942’s Saludos Amigos, Walt Disney Productions received many requests from representatives of Latin American countries seeking representation in a follow-up production. Disney’s artists were quick to comply, creating a second “package film” that featured the Galapagos Islands, Uruguay and Brazil - but focusing primarily on Mexico. Perhaps feeling liberated following the settlement of the 1941 artists strike and subsequent unionization of the studio (and taking advantage of an increasingly despondent and absent Walt,) the remaining animators let loose a number of artistic and emotional frustrations on this latest project. The results are truly a sight to behold: rather than focus on straight-forward storytelling or charming characters, The Three Caballeros instead pushed boundaries of technical wizardry and go-for-broke artistic spectacle. Awaiting a straightforward travelogue like Saludos Amigos, what met expectant audiences was instead one of the most abstract, manic and bizarre productions Disney’s animation department ever produced.

Sex, Ducks and Videotape

Please forgive the overly-long plot summary that follows; I think it’s important for anyone who hasn't seen the film to get an idea of how bonkers it gets.

I'm getting out before this movie gets weird...

The film is structured around Donald Duck (Clarence Nash, as always) opening up a large package of presents “from his friends in Latin America” on his birthday - stated as being on Friday the 13th. The film starts off tamely enough, with the brief “Cold-Blooded Penguin” segment. This story of a penguin who sails north along the coast of South America, seeking warmth in the Galapagos Islands, is your average Disney short-subject fodder. Featuring cartoon penguins and narration by good-ol’ Sterling Holloway, the opening seems like a missing Saludos Amigos segment. In all likelihood, this short was meant to simultaneously draw audiences in with it's cutesy cartoon story, and also lower their expectations. Likewise, the following "Little Gauchito" segment, which follows a young Uruguayan boy who befriends a flying burro while hunting for condors (NO!), is an entertaining though forgettable affair. Still, it has its moments, such as when the environments change around the characters whenever the forgetful narrator loses track of the story.

My little burrito

The film picks up steam when Saludos Amigos’ José Carioca returns (voiced again by José Oliveira,) emerging from a pop-up book and serenading Donald with the song "Have You Been to Bahia?" This sequence is a slow-paced respite, featuring some vibrant artwork displaying the serene and beautiful​ Brazilian coast. José and Donald are then transported into the book, where they take a fast-paced train ride through eye-popping oil-crayon-on-black “storybook” imagery. They emerge in Bahia, and partake in a lengthy song-and-dance routine with a live action Aurora Miranda (sister of Carmen.) It’s here where the technical razzle-dazzle kicks in, with the live actors and animated characters interacting pretty believably for a film of its age. It’s also here where Donald, after being kissed by Aurora, first starts showing his libido by jealously trying to whack her human suitors with a mallet; José has to tell Donald to cool off, stating “you are a wolf, my friend.” Two of the human suitors, meanwhile, face off for Aurora's affections and briefly transform into fighting gamecocks.

Aurora apparently only dates Gondoliers

José, who was able to magically transport Donald and himself to Bahia with ease, is shown to grow back to normal size once they leave the pop-up book. Donald, however, can’t perform so easily, and instead inflates himself into many bulbous, balloon-like shapes. It’s only after José shares some of his “black magic” that Donald can increase in size.

Donald Dick

By now we’re 41 minutes into the film, and Donald is finally presented with his gift from Mexico. After a brief sequence in which the screen explodes into Mexican blanket-art patterns, out pops the red Rooster Panchito Pistoles (voiced by Joaquin Garay,) who fires off his guns, tosses the others a pair of sombreros, and declares they "are now three gay caballeros … yeeeeAAAAAAAAWWWW!!!!” What follows is the moment everyone's been anticipating from the start: the show-stopping title song - which may be the single most delirious sequence Disney’s ever made. Particularly zany is the song’s end, where Donald and José attempt to stop Panchito from sustaining the high note by rapidly dousing him with water, spraying him with bug-killer, throwing him in a coffin, sawing a hole in the floor, planting a hedge in front of him, setting it on fire, dumping garbage on him and finally threatening him with an axe and a cannon.

I think he swallowed the worm!

The film then rests a moment, as Panchito tells his fellow caballeros the story of "Las Posadas." This Mexican Christmas ritual is visualized by lovely paintings by artist Mary Blair, the flames on the children’s candles displaying the only onscreen animation. This portion segues into a song about Mexico City, represented in a series of impressionistic paintings (as opposed to the documentary-like footage which Saludos Amigos presented modern cities of South America with.)

The Small World children have escaped!

Panchito then presents Donald and José with a picture-book of Mexico, in which the photos come to life through live-action footage. The trio hop aboard a magical flying sarape, and travel into the book to tour Pátzcuaro and Veracruz (where Donald unsuccessfully tries to dance with more live women - until his wingmen José and Panchito assist him.) Next they fly to the sunkissed beaches of Acapulco, whereupon sighting a number of “bathing beauties” waving from the shoreline, Donald really looses his shit. He first uses the magic sarape as a dive-bomber, attempting to tackle the young women; then he chases the screaming sunbathers up and down the beach on foot, as they attempt to escape the clutches of the grab-ass duck (as he cries “come here, my little enchiladas!”) Panchito and José have to rip the “little wolf in ducks clothing” away from the beach, Donald inadvertently kissing José in the struggle. “Don' do that,” the parrot scolds.

C'mon, who wants to fuck a duck?

The final portion of the film is a freakish fever dream, in which Donald completely gives in to his raging hormones. Following an onscreen appearance by songstress Dora Luz performing the song “You Belong to My Heart,” the accompanying imagery mutates from a dreamy star-scape into visions of flowers, Donald buzzing around like a bee, pollinating some blossoms and diving headfirst into others (which is accompanied by a curiously ‘moist’ sound effect.) Women's faces appear in several of the flowers, and a random whispering male voice hisses “purdy girls, purdy girls, purdy girls” as Donald continues to pant and drool, his eyelids drooping heavily. Occasionally, disturbing doppelgängers of Donald, José and Panchito appear to disrupt the reverie, such as when their bodies appear atop pairs of shapely women's legs, the title song screeching on the soundtrack like a skipping, sped-up record.

Va-va-voom

The action slows momentarily, as Donald dances with a young woman dressed like a Mexican charro. She uses a riding crop to make some noticeably phallic cacti sprout from the ground and begin marching in formation. Everything comes to a sudden and frenetic head as Donald stuffs himself inside a giant toy bull, and furiously attempts to gore his fellow caballeros. Panchito taunts him in a matador’s outfit while José splits into several tiny José’s, cheering him on. The film ends, rather suddenly, as José sticks dynamite up Donald’s butt, and the ensuing explosions make fireworks appear in the sky, writing-out “The End” in Spanish, Portuguese and English.

What what (in the butt)

If you got through all that, it’s clear that this movie goes increasingly bananas as it plays out. The film is filled with bizarre, metaphorically sexual imagery that builds and builds until the crazed release during the climax. The “female form” is present everywhere, always the target of the lascivious gaze of the male characters, filmmakers and assumed audience. Donald, acting as the id to José’s ego and Panchito’s superego, seems like he’s going through a confused sexual awakening; at one point he molds himself into a voluptuous feminine shape, until he's discouraged by José. His Latin friends, always suave and able to control magic that Donald can't seem to perform, alternately encourage and confound his libidinous behavior. It’s easy to imagine the whole thing as some kind of “Donald’s wet dream,” as we seem to continually move in and out of the duck’s mind - though it’s strange that this is attached to an examination of Latin American culture. Unless the whole travelogue motif is just a disguise for a Lost Weekend style tale of Donald’s wild and crazy vacation south of the border?

I freakin' looooove you, man ...

Beyond the crazy psychosexual imagery, The Three Caballeros sees Disney experimenting with the animated medium, sometimes breaking it’s own rules. At one point we’re introduced to the nutty Aracuan Bird, who pops in and out of the film - sometimes literally, as he is seen to run beyond the sprockets of the film reel itself, until pulled back by José’s umbrella. Up to this point, Disney had always paid fairly strict adherence to realist film conventions in their full-length features, insomuch as animated drawings can. Here, though, spatial relations are thrown out the window. Likewise, as the studio’s first full-on mixing of animation and live action, the filmmakers were not hesitant to go all-in, having Donald and his friends interact with live actors and props. The use of color is also notable, the artists mix of media and strikingly bold palette having seen no equal since Fantasia.

Cock-a-doodle-doo

As alluded to above, reaction to the film was pretty mixed. Audiences and critics alike were perplexed by what they were seeing. Many accused the studio of falling back on special effects to cover up weak storytelling. I’ve personally never understood why a primarily visual medium should be enslaved by storytelling conventions, especially when there’s such innovation involved. Some also objected to the films sexual dynamics. In fact, the statements of a few squeamish critics seem to be the earliest examples I can find of the “Disney brand” being one that should always be "safe" for young children. I don’t doubt that it was this film that made Walt sit up and take notice, putting a clamp down on “the boys” at the studio. After a few more so-so “package films,” Walt decided to put more time and money into the animated features of the 1950s, resulting in some well-produced and fondly remembered (though increasingly dull) productions.

Nectar of the Gods...

Many of the reasons the film was initially looked down upon are why I’ve come to appreciate The Three Caballeros so much. Going into the film, one expects a tame cartoon; it’s an old Disney movie with Donald Duck, after all. Instead, you’re slowly submerged into a surreal technicolor orgy of insanity. I first discovered this movie a couple years ago, and I find myself inexplicably drawn to it far more than other, more familiar animated films. Others can have their Peter Pan and Little Mermaid comfort foods - I’ve come to prefer this singularly bizarre artistic creation; one that revels in it’s own inappropriateness so much that you can’t help but stare, wondering just how the hell they got away with it.

¡Adios, amigos!