Pirates Of The Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest

The tide moves swiftly in Hollywood, and it didn’t take long for the combined forces of Disney and Jerry Bruckheimer to pounce upon the surprisingly huge success of their adventure film based on an old Disneyland attraction. An audience hungry for pirates (and specifically Johnny Depp’s eccentric Captain Jack Sparrow) demanded that more movies be immediately forthcoming, and the returning cast and crew were happy to oblige. But would they all deliver a worthy follow-up, or go way over-the-top with an excessively bloated sequel? Anyone familiar with Hollywood trends of the last two decades probably already knows the answer, but let’s go ahead and have a little rant about 2006’s Pirates Of The Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest anyway.

It's been a hard days night...

We are reintroduced to our lily-white protagonists Will Turner and Elizabeth Swann (Orlando Bloom and Keira Knightley) on the day of their interrupted wedding. Right from the get-go we get red-flags that we’re going to be in for quite a bit of over-indulgence from returning director Gore Verbinski, as the slow-motion tracking shots of the rained-out wedding look more like a 19th century Calvin Klein commercial than something from an adventure serial. Also I imagine many in the audience are already thinking “What, these two again? I came here to see more Jack Sparrow! Where is he?” We soon meet the conniving Lord Cutler Beckett (played with sniveling sourness by Tom Hollander,) head of the East India Trading Company, who plans to send our star-crossed pair to the gallows for their part in the escape of Captain Sparrow (“They said his name! Where is he!?”) - unless Will can procure the pirate’s magic compass.

Wait, are you still a blacksmith? Am I still perfect to you? Was that you?

The plot, thus far, is pretty straight-forward; and it’s actually kind of interesting to see the consequences of the previous films happy ending (“Aww shucks - let’s let Sparrow get a head-start, the big lug.”) Unfortunately, when we finally do re-join the scurvy Captain Sparrow (Johnny Depp,) we are plunged into a second storyline involving his quest to find the “dead man’s chest” of the title, which contains the still-beating heart of the mythical Davy Jones (to whom Jack owes a blood debt.) While not so far-fetched as to feel out of place in this series (the first film was about undead pirates who turned into walking skeletons, after all,) the apparent need to "embiggen" every aspect of a film in its sequel soon overtakes the comparatively simple joys of the first movie. Once we discover that Jones can summon the massively monstrous Kraken to destroy whole ships in a visceral spectacle of flying bodies and tentacles, the effects soon take over the whole film.

Just throw in a Japanese schoolgirl, and we've got one heck of an anime going!

While only three years separate this film from the first, they feel like very different beasts. While Curse Of The Black Pearl seemed like a sizably-budgeted risk from a studio not entirely comfortable in the live-action summer blockbuster game, there’s a clear feeling that Dead Man’s Chest is a much more calculated product. Disney and Bruckheimer now know they’ve got a lucrative franchise in front of them, and want to give it all the trappings of other massively-budgeted Hollywood blockbusters. Therefore the CG work is increased to overwhelming levels, as is the film’s contrast and aggressive color grading (not quite pumped up to the sweaty orange-and-teal level of a Michael Bay flick, but getting close.)

We even get a more obnoxious score this time around from prolific drum-and-drone expert Hans Zimmer. Zimmer had been contracted to write themes for the first film, but left most of the composing duties to Klaus Badelt (as well as seven other uncredited composers) due to scheduling conflicts. That film’s score, while full of droning bass and repetitive string arrangements, was still a straightforward recording of the orchestra's performance (more or less.) For Dead Man’s Chest, Zimmer himself took full composing duty; we are therefore assaulted with a soundtrack full of electronic overdubs, loud synthesized basslines and what often sounds like a weirdly out-of-place electric guitar - to which Zimmer stated (in an interview with soundtrack.net): “Actually, it's not an electric guitar. You know what it is? It's the orchestra put through a guitar amp and piped back into the room.” Same difference, you tone-deaf has-been.

The excesses naturally extend to the length and scope of the set-pieces - something I felt was already detrimental to the first film. While there were a number of sequences in Curse Of The Black Pearl that were in need of judicious editing, they were mere flashes-in-the-pan compared to some of the action scenes here that go way beyond outstaying their welcome. The first offender finds Sparrow and his crew separately escaping from an island of cannibals. The realities of human stamina are tossed aside (as are a few laws of physics) as the Black Pearl’s crew swing their suspended spherical cage up a cliff side, down hills and into a watery cavern, like a bunch of hyperactive pirate hamsters. Worse is Sparrow’s getaway, in which he finds himself tied to a long wooden pole that he uses to vault himself over a cliff, before smashing through a dozen-or-so wood suspension bridges and landing in the ocean, apparently none the worse for wear. Even Sam Peckinpah would've shaken his head in disbelief over how much abuse a human body can take in movies nowadays.

Aye, lad ... I remember having dignity, once...

The three-way sword fight between Sparrow, Turner and a revenge-minded Norrington (Jack Davenport, better here than in the first film, though unnecessary) which leads into the film’s climax starts off modestly enough. For several minutes, it’s simply the three men fighting between themselves, making their way across a wide swath of sandy beach - and one feels a sense of relief that the film is actually giving you a straight-forward fight scene, free of CG and over-the-top stunt work.

And then they come to the mill.

Of course they manage to clang-clang-clang their way to a conveniently-located derelict mill of some kind in the middle of the island. Before you can say “wake me when it’s over,” Turner and Norrington have somehow managed to continue their duel atop the mill’s detached water-wheel, which rolls its way through the jungle like a runaway bike tire. Sparrow, meanwhile, further reduced to slapstick comic relief in his own franchise, gets stuck between the wheel's slats as he tries to get hold of the key to the dead man’s chest. In the first movie, Jack was a charming scallywag who easily gets himself into trouble (and then cons his way back out of it,) but far too many times he ends up being tossed around like a pathetic rag doll in this movie, emitting a frightened holler than goes a long way toward lessening the impact the character initially had.

You spin me right 'round, baby, right 'round...

The worst aspect of this film, for me (I qualify this because it seems to be an unpopular opinion - not that I’ve avoided stepping on some toes in the past,) is anything that has to do with Davy Jones and his Flying Dutchman. The crew of computer-generated “lost souls” (i.e. fish people) look absolutely ridiculous - even more so than the “skeleton crew” of the first film. It seems that the filmmakers were going for a ship full of frightening monsters, but instead ended up with a collection of silly action figures that strain credibility to the breaking point. In the original screenplay, writers Ted Elliot and Terry Rossio (returning from the first film, but forced to work on Disney and Bruckheimer’s schedule) imagined the crew of the Dutchman as ghosts, but apparently Verbinski was more fond of the barnacle-encrusted sea-creature look. While unique, there’s something extremely off-putting about the design of the seashell-bedazzled ship and its motley crew.

Who lives in a pineapple under the sea...

Likewise, actor Bill Nighy is employed for a motion-capture performance as the tentacle-bearded Davy Jones, and delivers a … let’s say, an interesting performance. Nighy performs the octopus-faced captain as if he were wearing a big rubbery prosthetic, so frantic and contrived are his expressions and facial ticks (not unusual for the eccentric actor, to be fair.) Taking this and his bizarre vocal performance (the big squid-head doesn't have a deep, thunderous voice? Is he doing some kind of accent?) into account, an already distractingly ludicrous character is rendered almost completely free of menace. To be honest, though, the lobster-claw hand (no doubt substituting a more “typical” pirate’s hook) is a pretty sweet visual; that it then requires Jones to ridiculously play his giant coral pipe organ (sure, why the hell not?) WITH HIS GODDAMNED FACE, however, makes it a regrettable addition to an already overwrought design.

Cheer up sleepy Jean, oh what can it mean...

I don’t mean to be overly-negative (well, maybe a little,) as there are things to appreciate in this movie. Depp, when he’s not being tossed around and acting like a complete buffoon, is clearly having a ball playing what quickly became his definitive character (his ongoing fondness for the role can be witnesses in the number of in-character appearances Depp has made outside of filming.) Additionally, near-unrecognizable appearances from Stellan Skarsgård (as Will’s long-lost father, “Bootstrap” Bill) and future Miss Moneypenny Naomie Harris (as mysterious obeah priestess Tia Dalma) are appreciatively well-acted high points. Also good to see is the screenplay’s willingness to let the cadre of cutthroat characters actually act like pirates, with each of them repeatedly double-crossing and backstabbing each other, and not falling back on the tired idea of “honor amongst thieves.”

Easy, Breezy, Beautiful - Cover Zombie

This leads to the rather surprising turn of events in the film’s climax, in which Sparrow ends up being swallowed up by the Kraken and sent to Davy Jones’ locker. That Sparrow would “die” at the end of the film is not surprising, as knowing that Disney was planning a trilogy (and eventually more) makes one see this “twist” coming from a mile away; but that he does so unwillingly after being shackled to the Black Pearl’s mast by none other than willowy Elizabeth Swann came as something of a shock. To the filmmakers credit, they distracted from this moment by pushing a rather unconvincing “love triangle” plotline that portrayed Ms. Swann as being attracted to whichever pirate happened to be within sight. Up to the end, I’d written this off as yet another unnecessary plot-thread in an overloaded film - but it seemed to pay off, as I found myself thinking (in spite of my sensitive nature) “Wow - what a bitch move!” as Elizabeth pulled the old “kiss n’ shackle” on poor old Jack. This late story development made me think that perhaps Knightley’s character wasn’t a waste of screen time after all. The proceeding cliffhanger isn’t nearly as edge-of-your-seat as something like The Empire Strikes Back (which I feel like the filmmakers were trying to emulate, though not very well,) but it’s a nice surprise to see Geoffrey Rush back in the fold.

From Hell's heart, I stab at thee, vagina dentata!

Not to belabor a point, but despite my best efforts I just couldn’t get into this one as much as the first film (this was my second attempt at watching it, as during the first I fell asleep.) I get the feeling that many others (critics and moviegoers alike) would’ve preferred the movie to be a much leaner beast, dispensing with the superfluous supernatural elements and producing a more quick-and-dirty adventure film chronicling the further exploits of scurvy seadog Captain Jack Sparrow. Instead we are made to go deeper into the characters of Will and Elizabeth (who honestly don’t have that much depth to explore) and witness the filmmakers giving into the urge to further the extravagances of the original to headache-inducing, multiplex-filling excess. Of course, all of my whining doesn’t change the fact that the movie still made beaucoup bucks at the box office, ensuring that the next installment (which was filmed back-to-back with Dead Man’s Chest) and further adventures would be coming soon.

Ye best be visitin' the head, lads - the next 'un be near t' three hours long! Arr!! 

Pirates Of The Caribbean: The Curse Of The Black Pearl

It was the balmy summer of 2003. Having survived my first year of college, I was back at home and working my second (and final) part-time season at Disneyland. A big to-do was happening on June 28th, and even the lowliest store cast members were being prepped for the coming of the Hollywood elite as Disney’s would-be blockbuster, Pirates Of The Caribbean: The Curse Of The Black Pearl, was to premiere inside the park. We were instructed to treat any famous celebrities that might visit our gift shop during the day just like any other guest, and reminded not to stare or ask for autographs. Giant bleachers had been set up around the Rivers of America, and an equally huge movie screen erected across the water, on Tom Sawyer Island. As the day approached, Main Street USA was decked out with big flood-lights, crowd barriers and a street-wide red carpet. Most of the west side of the park (including Frontierland and New Orleans Square, where I was working that day) closed up in the early afternoon, and the rest of the park by 8pm. Guests were welcomed over at California Adventure (in its second lackluster year) across the way, which would be open through midnight.

A splashy movie premiere inside Disneyland? Seemed like a big hassle to me - especially considering the movie in question was based on a beloved 36-year old ride about pirates. Hadn’t Disney just tried (and failed) to make an attraction into a movie last year, with 2002’s The Country Bears? And what was with the long subtitle? Were they already anticipating sequels?


Mr. Depp's Wild Ride

If Disney was going to adapt one of their theme park attractions into a movie, Pirates of the Caribbean was probably their best bet (which makes the previous year's attempt to adapt The Country Bear Jamboree all the more bewildering.) Already rooted in the popular image of piracy (as seen in golden-age Hollywood serials) rather than straight historical facts, the 1967 ride has a mysterious and timeless quality that lends itself well to the silver screen. Since Pirates itself is (or at least was, before changes came a few years later) an “experience” attraction rather than one that tells a specific story, a filmed adaptation has a lot of freedom to extrapolate. Hence the 2003 film is littered with references to the original attraction, but not beholden to fit all of its incidents into a narrative. We therefore get scenes set within treasure-littered caverns, a pirate ship bombarding a seaside fortress, and the famous scene of imprisoned buccaneers attempting to snatch a set of keys away from a guard dog (a moment which should make any Disney fan worth their salt grin like an idiot.)


Ahoy dog! Would ye be wantin' some Kibbles n' Bits?

However, the film’s Port Royale setting is assuredly not the same besieged Spanish port from the ride - hence the lack of culturally questionable accents from the townspeople ("Be brave, Carlos - don' be cheeeken!"). The villainous pirates led by Captain Barbossa (Geoffrey Rush) are focused on a specific mission to lift their curse, unlike the rowdy band of buccaneers from the ride who are clearly just out for a good time. Apparently there were to be a few more Disneyland references in the film (such as a plunge over a waterfall to enter the treasure-filled caverns,) but Michael Eisner requested that they be scaled back, after the Country Bears debacle gave him some cause for concern.


FastPass distribution has closed for the day.

What also helps the movie feel similar to its parent attraction is the blending of horror and humor. It would’ve been easy enough to produce a straightforward adventure film that hearkens back to the swashbuckling serials of old; credit must go to screenwriters Ted Elliott and Terry Rossio (as well as director Gore Verbinski, who re-staged a few scenes and encouraged his actors to ad lib on occasion) for taking a chance with something a bit more eccentric. The “cursed gold” plot line, which causes the pirate crew to become animated corpses, is a nifty way of bringing the ride’s “dead men tell no tales” iconography to the screen - while finally giving a possible explanation as to how that pirate skeleton has managed to steer a ship through a hurricane for so many years.

Do ye' know how much these be goin' for on ebay, matey?

And when I bring up humor, I don’t necessarily refer to the obvious physical comedy found in many of the film's action sequences (or the endless “false eye” gags from Mackenzie Crook's character,) but to the subtle humor injected into the story. Moments like Will Turner (Orlando Bloom) accidentally breaking a wall sconce in the governor’s mansion and his attempt to discreetly hide it, or Elizabeth Swann (Keira Knightley) struggling uselessly to remove a fake sword from a coat-of-arms while pirates storm her house; light touches that inject brevity to the high-concept ghost story.


I wanna rock!!

Also quite funny (though by no means subtle) is Johnny Depp as scallywag Captain Jack Sparrow; beyond question it’s his performance that really makes the film memorable. While everyone in the cast is giving their all and clearly having a good time (and yes, Bloom and Knightley are quite a milquetoast pair, but they’re well-suited to their respective characters,) they're also acting comfortably within the confines of a traditional action-adventure film. Depp, on the other hand, went in a completely different direction, deciding that to be a pirate was akin to being a perpetually fried rock star. Riffing an impression of Rolling Stones guitarist Keith Richards (with perhaps a little inspiration from Peter Ustinov's Blackbeard,) Depp had Disney executives panicking that their lead actor had gone off the deep end and would ruin their expensive summer movie.

I kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot...

On the contrary, Depp’s off-kilter characterization seemed to capture the essence of what “a pirate’s life” was all about. While his Captain Jack can be at turns wacky or dangerous, his drunken (yet subtly impassioned) confession to Elizabeth (that captaining his own ship means that he is truly free) most closely captures the romantic idea of piracy more than all the singing of "pillage, plunder, rifle and loot" could. More scrappy than suave, more shiftless than sure, and more hedonistic than heroic, Depp’s Captain Jack quickly captured the imaginations of filmgoers, almost instantly becoming one of the great characters of modern cinema. I never doubted that without Depp’s performance Curse Of The Black Pearl, while still an enjoyable adventure film, would never have been the great success it was.


Find a few limes and I'll rustle us up some Mai Tai's, love...

Even taking the scene-stealing Jack Sparrow into account, however, the movie is less than perfect. While far from the longest blockbuster that Hollywood has dragged out in the last fifteen years (and certainly not within its own franchise,) several sequences go on longer than necessary. In fact, I can’t think of a single set piece in this movie that couldn’t have been trimmed by several minutes. An early sword fight between Will and Jack, which starts as a relatively simple duel set within a blacksmith shop, escalates to a fight atop a swaying cart, and even sees our heroes catapulting into the shop’s rafters.

Finish him!

Later in the film, our heroes pursue the villainous Barbossa and his crew to the mysterious Isla de Muerta, where they rescue Elizabeth and flee in a stolen British ship. Halfway back to safety, the Black Pearl catches up with them, and after a lengthy (though very exciting) cannon battle, they proceed to capture Will and take him back to the same island again - where he’ll later be rescued. Besides providing an opportunity for said sea battle, was so much back-and-forth really necessary? Surely some story editing could’ve condensed everything and still provided room for high-seas adventure.

Cannon to the right of them! Cannon to the left of them! Volley'd and thunder'd!!

The worst offender, however, is the silly sequence in which Elizabeth encounters the cursed pirate crew in the moonlight, in all their CG-skeletal glory. Where a simple reveal shot of the animated corpses would’ve sufficed, we instead get to see each crew member performing their topside duties while Elizabeth is shoved, swung, and tossed through the air (again, what’s with the acrobatics?), screaming all the way. Captain Barbossa then caps off her traumatic experience by emphasizing that the crew is indeed dead, downing a bottle of wine which pours down his exposed ribcage (just moments ago he insisted that food and drink provide them no nourishment, so he’s clearly just showing off.) This isn’t the longest sequence in the film, but it feels like the most unnecessary.

We can only afford a skeleton crew. Ba-dum-bum.

Having heard little about the film before it was released, I wasn’t interested in seeing it - I was really looking forward to Freddy Vs. Jason later that summer (“Place your bets!!”) Nevertheless, on a lazy weekday off from Disney a few weeks after the gala premier, I went by the Whittier Village Cinema and decided the film was worth a matinee ticket. While Curse Of The Black Pearl didn’t exactly blow me away, I did end up having a really fun experience at the movies - which is what summer entertainment is all about, after all. Obviously, I wasn’t the only one who enjoyed it; the film’s massive success seemed to take everyone by surprise. Thanks to Depp’s iconic performance, as well as a general public that had seemingly been starved for all things buccaneer-related (just see the influx in pirate-related minutiae that’s exploded into pop culture since then,) Disney and producer Jerry Bruckheimer suddenly found themselves with a very hot commodity on their hands.

It wouldn’t take long for them to take advantage.


Thar be sequels ahead, savvy?

PS: I never did encounter any celebrities on the day of the premiere. They must’ve all been riding Space Mountain...

Blackbeard's Ghost

Avast, beanrakes! Today we’ll jump back to the heyday of Disney’s wacky live-action comedies, for a look at what may be their wackiest comedy yet - or at least one that’s a lot more fun to watch than this bilge-rat blogger was expecting: 1968’s Blackbeard’s Ghost!

Following a foreboding prologue (detailing the crimes of the dastardly Blackbeard,) we are introduced to Steve Walker (played by the ever-amiable Dean Jones, whom I can’t believe we haven’t gotten to before now!), the new coach for a pathetic college track team in the small seaside town of Godolphin. After settling in at the run-down Blackbeard’s Inn (brought to evocative life through Peter Ellenshaw’s matte paintings,) Walker soon takes a fancy to local college professor Jo Ann Baker (smoky-voiced Suzanne Pleshette,) who tells him of the Inn’s historical links to the legendary pirate. Run by a group of elderly women who are unable to pay their mortgage (and who are supposedly distant relatives to Blackbeard himself,) the Inn is soon to be taken over by a group of local gamblers (Disney-speak for “mafia”.) To help out the “sweet old ladies” (and impress Professor Baker,) Walker purchases an antique bed warmer that once belonged to one of Blackbeard’s wives during the Inn’s charity auction. Later that night, he discovers a scroll hidden inside the item, upon which are written a number of spells and incantations. Reading them aloud (as you do,) the ghost of the dread pirate Blackbeard suddenly appears!
 

I don't think we're at Columbia Harbor House anymore, Toto...

The film that then plays out is not so much the grim tale of a man haunted by a cutthroat pirate, as had been hinting at thus far, but something more akin to a supernatural Odd Couple. Peter Ustinov, who plays the swashbuckling specter of the title, delivers a loutish, unhinged performance that reveals the pirate as more blustering than bloodthirsty. Anyone familiar with Ustinov’s performance as Prince John in 1973’s animated Robin Hood will instantly recognize his voice - albeit with more 'Cockney' here. Crestfallen that he has been saddled with the straight-laced Walker as a companion (upon his invitation to share some rum: “I don’t drink.” “DON’T DRINK!?!?”,) Blackbeard spends the majority of his afterlife snatching bottles of booze and bemoaning that the modern world is no fun. Reimagining the expired pirate like some supernatural John Bonham (or at least someone’s pathetically-loveable drunk uncle,) the portrayal of Blackbeard as a debaucherous, fun-loving drunk rather than a murderous villain probably went a long way toward softening the image of piracy to the movie-going public (as well as paving the way for a future well-known movie pirate captain.) Ustinov even gets in a few bits that probably wouldn’t fly with Disney today, such as his attempts to down a bottle of rubbing alcohol when nothing else is available.

 

Dean Jones is sure to get the point

The chemistry between Ustinov and Jones - who’s constantly exasperated and pleading with the pirate to behave himself - is a delight. That no one but Walker can see Blackbeard leads to most of the film’s silly Invisible Man-style humor. An early sequence in which Blackbeard attempts to commandeer Walker’s car is a tour-de-force of physical comedy, as he flops about the convertible’s seats and hood while shouting out random nautical commands. The pair soon run afoul of a mystified police officer, who stares in disbelief as the unseen pirate attempts to make off with his motorcycle (promptly crashing it, or course.) This scene, as wacky as anything else in Disney’s live-action films, had me laughing aloud several times. Having a tipple of rum while viewing certainly doesn’t hurt, of course (it is Pirates Week, after all.) Having the script lead to Blackbeard betting all the money he steals from Professor Baker (“the odd flimsy I removed from the pocketbook of your bookish wench,” as he memorably puts it) on the college’s awful track team leads to a series of “why didn’t I see this coming” gags involving the unseen fiend tripping up the opposing team’s athletes. This echoes (perhaps purposefully) similar “cheating for a good cause” wackiness from Disney’s Absent-Minded Professor films.
 

Spiced rum!? Yar! That so-called "Captain" Morgan can kiss me arse!

The only time when the “invisible pirate” gag doesn’t quite work is in the film’s climax - though it’s not the fault of the script or even the corny special effects. Forced into action by the stubborn refusal of casino-owner Silky Seymour (played by pencil-mustachioed Joby Baker) to pay Professor Baker her winnings (and thereby denying the “sweet old ladies” their mortgage money,) Walker enlists Blackbeard to help him “set straight” his bungling gang of toughs. Like most other live-action comedies I’ve covered, this ends up in a “wacky fight scene,” that sees Walker making imaginary “bang-bang” gunshots with his finger while the unseen pirate flattens each thugs with a swift knock to the jaw (prompting one of the goons to cry “Get his gun!”) The scene naturally escalates, with Blackbeard tossing the thugs over his head, into blackjack tables and through doors. This is all well and good, but strangely the entire scene is played without any musical accompaniment - rendering much of the slapstick strangely sterile. It’s a shame, for as far as these “wacky fights” go, this one seems the most suited to capping off as silly a farce as this one.
 

Whaddya' mean Gatorade don't mix w' rum, ya scurvy cockroach!?

Besides Jones, the film features a bevy of faces familiar to anyone who’s seen more than a few of Disney’s ‘60s fare. Richard Deacon, most famous for his role as Mel Cooley on The Dick Van Dyke Show - as well as nearly 200 other roles in film and television (Disney’s That Darn Cat and The One and Only, Genuine, Original Family Band among them) - plays Godolphin College’s defeated Dean Wheaton, who suddenly springs to life upon the track team’s scallywag-assisted victory. Elsa Lanchester, whom we’ve seen as failed nannies in both Mary Poppins and Rascal, plays Inn-matriarch and Blackbeard fangirl Ms. Stowecroft, who continually corners Walker with enthusiastic re-tellings of the pirate’s exploits. Her delight upon finally meeting the knave at the film’s end (he becomes visible to all after helping save the Inn - SPOILERS!) allows him to revel in some post-life adulation. Suzanne Pleshette, of the previous year’s Adventures of Bullwhip Griffin, gets some of the films best scenes late in the film: Professor Baker’s stubborn insistence that her terrible method of betting on roulette (by placing small denominations across all the numbers) while Walker and Blackbeard try to beat the house is a hoot.
 

Go ahead - call me a brazen wench one more time...

In the end, there’s not much to say about this film - and I don’t mean that as an insult. Director Robert Stevenson (who helmed many of Disney’s more well-known comedies, including Darby O’Gill and the Little People, Mary Poppins and The Love Bug) keeps the pace moving along, and wisely plays to his cast’s strengths. I can see why many fans regard this as a favorite from repeated TV showings in the 1970s and '80s - while most of Disney’s comedies are entirely watchable, only a select few elicit as many genuine belly-laughs as this one. Ustinov’s drunken sea-dog performance is a real treat, prompting one to wish they had a half-drank bottle of rum and a pirate hat with them to join in the fun.
 

By the powers! Who put a portrait of Kristen Stewert in me cabin?! Arr...

Anyway, enough comedy! Tomorrow we jump ahead four decades, and set course for a trio of modern blockbusters that ye have all surely been a-waitin’ for. In the words of Blackbeard, “There be a time for action! Up the Jolly Roger!”
 

Treasure Planet

Today we’ll continue Pirates Week with another adaptation of Robert Louis Stevenson’s classic tale of buccaneers and buried gold; however, rather than crossing a wide sea, today we’ll set sail across the stars as we review Disney’s 2002 animated release, Treasure Planet.

Avast! That ship be flyin' the ... Atomic Roger?

The film follows the original tale fairly closely, naturally taking it’s own liberties and making alterations to move the story along quickly. Pacing is kept extremely brisk, with a few intense deep-space action sequences thrown in to keep the momentum up. Unlike Disney’s live-action version from 1950, Treasure Planet focuses more on young Jim Hawkins’ relationship with this mother, and also adds a subplot involving his father walking out on them when he was young. This particular plot-point, and the heavy-handed flashbacks in which it's portrayed, pushes the Hawkins/Silver relationship toward a much more transparent “surrogate father” scenario than in other adaptations. Much of the bonding between the cabin boy and sea-cook is left to be shown in an extended montage during the voyage to the titular planet, which unfortunately fails to build up a believable camaraderie between the two. The emotional impact of Silver’s eventual double-cross (and any back-and-forth treachery that follows) is blunted by this mishandling of the story’s central relationship.

Have ye ever practiced autoerotic asphyxiation, Jim lad?

I don’t necessarily fault the voice-actors for this misstep, though some of the character portrayals are more successful than others. The casting of Long John Silver (here a cyborg simply called John Silver) is the most important aspect of a successful Treasure Island adaptation, and luckily Disney didn’t fall back on casting a recognizable celebrity voice in this case. Portraying the treasure-obsessed alien cyborg (that sounds like the set-up for a Schwarzenegger flick, doesn’t it?) is theater actor Brian Murray, who lends a believable world-weariness to the character. Again unlike other adaptations, here Silver’s treachery feels fueled by spite rather than a slyly duplicitous nature. Despite this, Silver is the film’s most fully-realized character, thanks to Murray’s confident performance more than the lacking script.

One hundred percent pure adrenaline!!

Also not helped by the script is protagonist Jim Hawkins, voiced by a 21-year old Joseph Gordon-Levitt. Portrayed as older than the book’s lad of 13, this Hawkins is characterized as an aimless juvenile delinquent, who spends his days flying about on his windsurfer-like “solar cruiser” instead of helping his mother at her Inn. Despite Gordon-Levitt’s earnest vocalization, Jim is a hard character to like. For most of the film’s first half, he barely utters more than a few words at a time, becoming more vocal and engaged in the story as the film progresses. This may’ve been an attempt at a character arc showing Jim’s growth into manhood over the course of his adventure, but instead it distances him from the audience early on. The character’s likeability factor is also harmed by his rigid, sour-faced design and clichéd “cool punk” image (baggy pants, big boots, single earring, rat-tail, etc.)

Doctor, would you be so kind as to pull my finger?

Also on deck for the adventurous proceedings are a handful of recognizable actors filling in the supporting cast. Jim’s mother is voiced by stalwart character actress Laurie Metcalf, who’s apparently unafraid of being typecast as a mom in Disney movies (following her vocal performance as Andy’s Mom in the Toy Story films.) Frasier’s David Hyde Pierce lends his prim vocals to family friend Dr. Delbert Doppler, an alien character amalgamating the original story’s Dr. Livesey and Squire Trelawney. Hyde Pierce is a gifted and very funny actor, but his vocal performances … well, they always sound the same. For many viewers of a certain age, hearing the actor’s voice will automatically take them out of the picture, as they know they are listening to the voice of Niles Crane (or Sideshow Cecil, depending on whom you ask.) Also heard as the ship’s feline-esque Captain Amelia is Emma Thompson who, despite an energetic performance, would be better utilized by Pixar in Brave a decade later.

Lift, Dragon! Lift with Vigor!!

I’ve mentioned my distaste for the character of Ben Gunn in my Treasure Island review, and unfortunately that irritation is ratcheted up to 11 in this adaptation. Instead of a human (or even alien) castaway, here the character is a discarded android called B.E.N. (Bio Electronic Navigator,) and is voiced with loony abandon by Martin Short. Now before I get any “Angry Faces” on Facebook, let me say that I actually like Martin Short - in the right roles. His manic talents are well-suited to broad comedies and wacky satires; his performance in 1986’s legendary Three Amigos is one of the funniest I’ve ever seen. Short, like most of the other actors in this movie, is unfortunately not helped by the writing: B.E.N. flails around clumsily, yelling out his dialogue and pulling the “oops did I do that?” routine in every single scene. While previous incarnations of the character may’ve been annoying, the ultra-hapless robot voiced by an unbound Short is so grating that even the Gungan who shall remain nameless would say “Dude, shut the hell up.”

Action by HAVOC (And no, I'm not going to address the sad flying bubblegum)

The film uses a lot (and I mean A LOT) of computer-generated imagery. The filmmakers had further developed the “deep canvas” technology developed for 1999’s Tarzan in order to create what they called “virtual sets.” These CG-created environments allowed them to move the “camera” around freely - just like on a live-action set. The hand-drawn characters and effects would be added in once the camera’s movements had been settled upon. This lends many of the action scenes a more frantic pacing than many of Disney’s previous animated features, with that nauseating “shaky-cam” style of cinematography finally making its way into animation. With computer imagery making up most of the film’s environments, space vessels, all the stars and planets, and half of the characters (literally, in the case of Silver’s cyborg parts,) one wonders why Disney didn’t simply attempt to go the extra 10% and make this their own first computer-animated feature.This dependence on CG is especially apparent in the heavily-promoted sequences of Jim skysurfing. While lively, these sequences are a bit obvious in their attempts at appealing explicitly to young boys, ensuring that junior adrenaline-junkies would be hooked upon viewing the film’s trailer.

They climbed aboard their starship, and headed for the SKIES!

I know I sound like this film has no redeeming factors, but I honestly don’t dislike it, and there are many things to appreciate. The imaginative blending of Victorian England and far-out sci-fi is oddly unique, the image of 18th century-styled sailing ships flying amidst the stars becoming something of a minor iconic image. James Newton Howard’s thrilling score is a rousing throwback to adventure scores of Hollywood’s golden age (excluding the moments when he attempts to add electric guitar over the orchestrations.) Even the pair of songs by Goo Goo Dolls frontman John Rzeznik are pretty decent, if wildly out of place. Heck, of all the lousy movies Disney released in the first decade of the 2000’s (bookended by Fantasia 2000 and Tangled,) I’d consider this one of the hidden gems - behind Lilo & Stitch (and maybe The Princess And The Frog.) Even forgiving the so-so script, one can’t help but get the feeling that there’s a nervous studio behind the film, willing to pander to its audience more than in the past; hence we get gags involving an alien crewmember who communicates in farts, a warm good-bye hug from John Silver, and sequences where an overly-excited Dr. Doppler does a cabbage-patch dance while singing “Go Delbert! Go Delbert!”

Help me, Jim lad! I've gone and dropped me' contact lens! Yar!

Originally pitched to the studio by directors Ron Clements and John Musker at the same 1985 meeting as The Little Mermaid, the film was held back for over a decade while animation technology caught up with their vision. The film was also likely held back by studio chief Jeffrey Katzenberg, who didn’t like the concept (he was also against Dick Tracy and Fantasia 2000, while The Lion King was his baby; say what you will about the man, he has a sense for audience’s tastes.) A budget of $140 million yielded a worldwide return of less than $10 million, placing the film among Hollywood’s top 20 box office bombs. By the end of 2002, it was clear that the heady days of Disney’s animation renaissance were long over.

The directing duo of Clements and Musker have produced some of Disney’s most memorable films in the last 30 years - The Little Mermaid, Aladdin, and Moana among them. On the other hand, they’ve also produced a few works that I’d consider of questionable quality, including 1986’s The Great Mouse Detective and 1997’s Hercules. Treasure Planet shows signs that it could've been a great movie, but it too often falls back on easy gags and obvious attempts at pleasing specific demographics (mostly young boys.) The extent to which interference from up the corporate ladder affected the finished film may never be known, since Clements and Musker are some of the only artists left at the studio from the Eisner era (and therefore aren't in a hurry to bad-mouth their employers.) As it stands now, Treasure Planet serves as a fascinating artifact from a time when the future of traditional animation, at Disney and elsewhere, was in question.

Treasure Island

Ahoy! Today we’ll be following a long-lost map, seeking cinematic gold in Disney’s first full live-action film from 1950, Treasure Island.

Based on Robert Louis Stevenson's famous 1883 “story for boys,” the film stars a young Bobby Driscoll (formerly of Disney's Song of the South and So Dear To My Heart) as Jim Hawkins, who works with his (off-screen) mother at the seaside Admiral Benbow Inn. The early scenes of Disney’s adaptation show just how substantially screenwriter Lawrence Edward Watkin edited Stevenson's original text, in order to parse the somewhat lengthy adventure yarn to a tidy 96 minutes. Jim’s mother and all other patrons of the Inn are therefore dispensed with, and the Admiral Benbow is left to appear like some deserted cliff-side tavern run by a 13-year old. As the film opens, a scallywag by the name of Black Dog (insert Led Zeppelin joke here) stops by, inquiring about a tavern guest and living rum cask named Billy Bones (played with slurring squalor by Finlay Currie.) Though Black Dog is shown the door, Bones’ secret is out, and soon another pirate named Blind Pew shows up to deliver to him “the Black Spot,” a pirate’s death warrant. This causes old Billy to suffer a drunken stroke and die - but not before entrusting his hidden map, charting the resting place of infamous pirate Captain Flint’s treasure stash, to young Jim. This sets about a chain of events that leads Jim, along with trusted friend Dr. Livesey (Denis O’Dea,) to seek out a ship to take them to the mysterious island.

Give ol' Billy Bones this message from Black Dog, lad:
Hey hey mama, said the way ye move, gonna make ye sweat, gonna make ye groove. Arr!

Even in the original novel, it always struck me as odd that the pirates have such a complicated hierarchy: Black Dog tips off Blind Pew, who gives Billy Bones “the Black Spot,” so that a band of pirates raids the Inn later that night, all of which is presumably set in motion by Long John Silver (SPOILERS! How I’ve missed ye!) in order to procure his map. All this time, Silver has been hiding out in Bristol, successfully running a portside tavern in hopes of one day gleaning information about Bones’ whereabouts. Actually, now that I’ve worked it out, it’s not too complicated. It’s still an incredible coincidence, however, that the bumbling Squire Trelawney (played with Big British Bluster by Walter Fitzgerald,) entrusted to hire a ship's cook for the coming voyage, should choose Long John - who happens to be the secret leader of the pirates. Perhaps this was all planned out in advance somehow; could Long John Silver be the original “My God - he planned this whole thing all along!” villain so popular in 21st century action films?

Avast, me hearties! Twelve paces past the fryer, thar be the stash o' hushpuppies! Yarr!

Speaking of Long John, no discussion of this film (or pirates in popular culture) would be complete without singing the praises of hard-living English actor Robert Newton. A popular actor amongst England’s youth at the time, Long John Silver became Newton’s signature role. His portrayal of the treacherous mutineer - with one eye squinted, and a loudly exaggerated “west country” accent - became the standard stereotypical impression everyone on Earth does when mimicking a pirate. Much like Stevenson’s description of the character (missing a leg and with a squawking Parrot on his shoulder) became the de-facto image of a pirate, Newton’s portrayal of the suavely bloodthirsty sea-dog completed the picture, cementing the perception of piracy in the performing arts that would go unmatched for the next 53 years. So immense was the actor’s contribution to pop culture that he was named the “patron saint” of International Talk Like a Pirate Day (by, you know, the two Oregonians that created the thing.)



The Hispaniola crew welcomes the arrival of their rum rations

Driscoll, who was the same age as his character, turns in a surprisingly effective performance as well. Still possessing a fair measure of the ‘50s “gee whiz” style typical of child actors of the time, his Jim Hawkins seems to mature naturally as the film progresses, the hardships faced in his adventures making a man out of the boy. Especially effective are his scenes shared with Newton - the relationship between Long John and Hawkins being pivotal to any good adaptation of this story. The mixture of pain and anger that crosses the young actor’s face following his newfound mentor’s betrayal humanizes the swashbuckling story; this makes viewers care about the fates of the crew more than all the sword-fighting and musket-firing does. Driscoll also gets in a few moments of badassery, as he dispatches a pirate pursuing him up the ship’s crows nest with a musket ball to the forehead. Damn!

My siestas are getting chorter and chorter...

As a matter of fact, when the film was re-released in 1975, the originally unrated film had to be cut down by 9 minutes in order to secure a family-friendly G rating, so (relatively) violent were some of the buccaneer's exploits.

Yoosa follow Ben Gunn now, okeeday?

If most movies must have their lone character who gets right on one’s nerves (I will not invoke the name of a certain hapless Gungan here,) for me it’s crazed castaway Ben Gunn, played here with wild-eyed gusto by Geoffrey Wilkinson. With his hyperactive, bony frame supporting a long scraggly beard, Gunn leaps about referring to himself in the third person and laughing in a hysterically high-pitched voice. It’s not necessarily that Mr. Wilkinson’s performance is bad, it’s simply that the character, in the original text and all the following adaptations, is pretty grating.

Now, Jamie, when I say run, run...

Watching Disney’s Treasure Island, for me, can be a great joy tinged with a bit of sadness. The movie itself is as predictably enjoyable as one could hope, with Technicolor swashbuckling set amidst tropical isles always being a cinematic treat (especially when one considers said islands were somehow created along the coasts of Devon and Cornwall.) The lively cast (including a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it appearance by future Second Doctor Who Patrick Troughton as one of the mutinous pirates) is a joy to watch, cemented by a strong pair of leads in Newton and Driscoll. What brings it down for me is the unfortunate fates of the actors behind this memorable duo. Newton fast became beloved for his role as Long John Silver, and would go on to revive the character in an unofficial (and non-Disney produced) sequel in 1954, titled after his character. While filming this production in Australia, Newton was declared bankrupt by UK courts, with debts in excess of £47,000. Two years later, Newton would die following a heart attack in Beverly Hills, aged 50, his passing hastened by chronic alcoholism.

Driscoll, meanwhile, briefly continued to be one of the most prolific child actors in Hollywood, appearing in the Sam Spiegel-produced When I Grow Up and a number of television shows (as well as memorably voicing and modeling for Disney’s Peter Pan.) Following his parents decision to withdraw him from Hollywood Professional School, Driscoll found scorn and ridicule from his fellow public school attendees, and soon turned to drugs for escape. His acting career and academic performance taking a turn for the worst, Driscoll would go through a series of bad decisions (including a hasty marriage and divorce, and a number of substance-related arrests) that eventually led him into New York’s underground art scene.

In 1969, Driscoll's mother contacted officials at Walt Disney Productions, hoping they could help in locating her wayward son in an attempt to reconcile with his near-to-dying father. Disney’s investigation led them to the NYPD, who informed them that Driscoll’s fingerprints matched those of an unidentified body that had been found in a deserted East Village tenement a year earlier. Driscoll was thought to have died right around his 31st birthday, drug abuse having caused heart failure from advanced hardening of the arteries. Though his name appears along with his father’s on a headstone in Oceanside, California, his Earthly remains lay buried in an unmarked pauper’s grave on Hart Island, New York.

Both of these tragic losses cast something of a retroactive pall over Treasure Island, but shouldn’t keep us (or future viewers) from enjoying this wonderful classic adventure film.

Summer Magic

Nostalgia can be a funny thing. While thinking back to one’s youth, our natural tendency is to recall things somewhat more fondly than life really played out. We #ChildrenOfThe90z can already attest to this - witness the bewildering fondness for (and plans to sequelize) 1996's Space Jam. Stranger still is that most interesting of phenomena, cultural nostalgia. As Walt Disney Productions grew beyond the creation of animated shorts and features, the manufacturing of a shared sense of nostalgia became central to its creative output. A stroll down the Main Streets of either Disneyland or The Magic Kingdom will surely make guests feel a certain warm familiarity; this is despite the fact that the quaint turn-of-the-20th-century small town setting is several generations removed from their own experience. A prime filmic example of this "Disneyfied Americana" can be seen in 1963’s Summer Magic.

It's Britney Hayley, bitch...

Based on the 1911 novel Mother Carey’s Chickens by Kate Douglas Wiggin, Summer Magic tells the story of a recently destitute family from Boston that moves to the small town of Beulah, Maine, taking up residence in an uninhabited home at the insistence of its jolly caretaker, Osh Popham (played by Burl Ives.) Looking over a synopsis of the original novel, it’s clear that screenwriter Sally Benson and director James Neilson (who’d directed the previous year’s Bon Voyage! and would go on to helm The Adventures of Bullwhip Griffin) cherry-picked only certain elements from the story. The central conceit of the once well-off widow and her children was no doubt introduced in order to cast Hayley Mills as eldest child Nancy, passing her English accent off as upper-crust Bostonian.

Okay grups - get off'a my truck, or bonk on the head!

Mills, in the fourth of her six film roles for Disney (and only three years after Pollyanna,) is already maturing into a young woman. Appearing very much more like an older adolescent rather than a child, the frilly dresses and oversized hair-bows required for the role are starting to look a bit silly on her. Playing the family’s matriarch, Margaret, is Disney mainstay Dorothy McGuire, exuding warmth and kindness to such a degree that one begins to wonder why she never becomes cross with any of her children (even when they act like total turds.) Young Eddie Hodges (star of Michael Curtiz’ 1960 adaptation of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn) plays middle-child Gilly with a believable smirk, while the youngest Carey son, Peter, is portrayed by little Jimmy Mathers (brother of Leave It To Beaver’s Jerry.) Mathers, unfortunately, is one of the worst child actors I’ve yet encountered, blaring out every line of dialogue in the same shrill monotone regardless of what sentiment he’s supposed to be emoting.

Wilby Daniels sneaks into another Disney production...

Crashing the film halfway through is Gidget Goes Hawaiian actress Deborah Walley as snooty cousin Julia. Her stay with the just-settled family gives the thus-far wistful film a needed shot in the arm; her over-the-top snobbery and ultra-delicate temperament play well against the increasingly rural Carey clan. Her first night sees Nancy and Gilly teasing their uptight relative about the supposed “dangerous wild animals” that stalk the homestead by night. Wackiness soon ensues when young Peter’s pet Sheepdog jumps into Julia's bed, interrupting her restless sleep and sending the hysterical young lady into fits of screaming sobs.


Hmm ... I see puberty hasn't quite reached you yet, dear.

The big gooey center of the cast is the velvet-voiced “Holly Jolly Christmas” crooner Burl Ives, playing town optimist Osh Popham (whose name sounds like something you'd order at Krispy Kreme.) Acting as a reassuring friend to the wayward Careys, Popham dedicates himself to helping them fix up the yellow house they’ve settled in, free of charge. This comes much to the chagrin of his negative-nelly wife, played with welcomed sick-and-tired snark by Una Merkel, making her second appearance with Hayley Mills following her role as housemaid Verbena in The Parent Trap. Ives, looking very much like the goateed teddy bear he plays, naturally performs a pair of the movies best songs, including the classics “Ugly Bug Ball” and “On The Front Porch” (which I’ll return to shortly.) “Ugly Bug Ball,” which accompanies a scene of Osh and Peter playing with a caterpillar (a scene which serves no purpose beyond providing a setting for this song,) is a memorable Disney favorite. It should be mentioned, though, that the song’s instrumentation (which I assume is non-diegetic within the story) does not fit the turn-of-the-century setting at all; it’s rhythmic guitars and Hammond organ sounding more like an early ’60s rave-up than something from “ragtime.”


You like gladiator movies, Petie boy?

Speaking of music, #DisneyLegends Robert and Richard Sherman provide the film’s seven songs. I’d personally rank this film somewhere in the middle of the Sherman brother’s work for Disney - never reaching the heights of Mary Poppins, but certainly better than the dreck they had to scrape up for The One And Only, Genuine, Original Family Band. Early in the film, I was worried that I’d be in for another avalanche of mediocre Sherman tunes when the cast belted out the film’s first pair of songs (the utterly-forgettable “Flitterin’” and “Beautiful Beulah”) in less than ten minutes, before the Careys had even moved out of their Boston home. Luckily, the remaining five numbers were more evenly spaced out. The film's title song, performed by Dorothy McGuire, is sung over a lovely montage of images that recall the heady nostalgia of summer (a boat floating amongst lily-pads in a pond, fireflies at twilight, etc.) This soon gives way to an extended instrumental rendition accompanied by a somewhat random collection of scenes depicting animals in the woods, almost like they needed to use up some extra True-Life Adventures footage.

How the hell are we all siblings!?

The next song takes us back to the lower end of the barrel, as Gilly and Nancy make up a song about cousin Julia called “Pink of Perfection.” The faces Hodges and Mills pull while singing (scrunching their brows to “try and think up” rhyming insults) don’t do this middling ditty any favors. Likewise, the catchy “Femininity” (sung by Mills and Walley’s characters as they work to “gussy up” a neighbor girl,) is sung by the actors as if it were meant to be tongue-in-cheek. Having heard the song on a handful of Disney music compilations before, I had always assumed that it was meant as a mockery of old-fashioned "beau-landing" attitudes. In context, however, the song is unfortunately played as a straight-up anthem to kowtowing.

No, no dear - this is how to do the Macarena...

By far the best song in the movie, and one of the best in Disney’s live-action canon, is the Burl Ives-fronted “On the Front Porch.” The scene in which the song is performed sees most of the film’s main cast gathered on said porch - some sitting back in rocking chairs, others lounging on the steps - slowly joining in the chorus as the sunset gives way to a warm summer evening. That the momentum of the film comes to a halt here is anything but detrimental; far from it, actually. This single sequence feels like the films locus, as if it were the reason for whole production to exist. There's something almost hypnotic about the effect this sequence has; the nearly perfect tone struck between the languid visuals, the song’s vivid lyrics, and Ives and company’s tranquil vocals that most closely captures the “summer magic” of the film’s title - that just out-of-reach sense-memory that exists in the back of one’s mind. I would argue that, despite the film’s relative obscurity to most audiences, this solitary scene represents the epicenter of Disney’s entire non-animated output. Mention of the phrase “Disneyesque” brings about an imagined scene that closely resembles the one which actually exists here - of friends and family sitting upon an old porch in some vague point in America's past, singing along together in dwindling summer twilight.


Enjoy a cool Fuzzy Navel on us - and we thank you for your support.

Though quite an entertaining film, Summer Magic is naturally not without flaws. Beyond the strange use of True-Life Adventure-style nature footage and handful of forgettable songs, there’s also the matter of the film’s conclusion - or rather the lack thereof. As the film flits toward it’s end, the long-absent owner of the Carey’s adopted home, Tom Hamilton (bland n’ handsome Peter Brown,) returns to town. It seems that lovable old Osh had acted without Mr. Hamilton’s consent in renting his house out free-of-charge. Hamilton discreetly crashes the Carey’s big Fall party, and confronts Nancy. Just when it looks like the proverbial shit is about to hit the fan, Hamilton asks her to dance, apparently taking a fancy to her. And that’s it - the camera pans back over the house, and it’s over. We are not given any clue as to what happens next, or if anyone besides Osh and Nancy are to learn the truth. What’s most frustrating about this is not that the film ends without a real conclusion (like Saludos Amigos, which stopped just when it started to get good,) but that the studio apparently felt that this actually was a conclusion. Handsome owner has shown up and is hot for Haley: done! Well, we know nothing about this hunk. What are his intentions? Does he plan to marry Nancy and run away with her? Does he think he automatically owns anything (or anyone) residing in the house? Is he going to have a fling with Nancy and then evict her family?

O wondered why her hands were tied, as she was ready to obey her lover...

While Summer Magic is one of Disney’s lesser-known movies, it’s also one of their benchmarks - the kind of movie one feels like they’ve seen at some point, whether or not that’s actually the case. In spite of its flaws, all the elements come together well in creating a fun and nostalgic film that sits amongst that rare and valuable collection of Disney treasures (So Dear To My Heart and Main Street USA among them) that defines Walt Disney’s own vision of Americana.