Lady and The Tramp

Me: Maybe they had an emergency in the kitchen?

me: Well, maybe … have you heard any commotion or anything back there?

Me: No … well, at least we’ve had some time to peruse the menu.

me: We’ve had a long time to peruse it - that’s the problem.

Me: Okay, I know. Anything look good to you?

me: Sure, a few things. They claim to have the best spaghetti in town. Want to try it?

Me: I don’t know … I always feel weird ordering spaghetti in a restaurant.

me: Why?

Me: I don’t know … it’s such a basic thing, isn’t it? I feel like I could throw together a spaghetti dinner myself without much fuss. Why waste a night out?

me: Well, yeah. If you whipped up some quick spaghetti, it probably wouldn’t be as good as pasta from a real Italian restaurant, though?

Me: I suppose not.

me: Unless you made the sauce from scratch?

Me: Yeah, maybe - but I wouldn't. Anyway, I’m not convinced this is a “real Italian restaurant,” to be honest.

me: How so?

Me: I don’t think the staff is Italian.

me: The owner sounded Italian…

Me: Yeah, but that chef ...

me: You mean Joe?

Me: Yeah. He didn’t sound Italian. He sounded like Mr. Smee putting on a bad accent. “Joe” isn’t even an Italian name, is it?

me: Hmm … now that you mention it, he did seem a little vaudeville. He sounds kind of like the White Rabbit.

Me: White Rabbit?

me: Yes … Alice in Wonderland?

Me: Oh, right.


…


me: So …

Me: So?

me: … are we going to talk about the cats?

Me: <sighs heavily> I don’t know …

me: Seems like it can’t be avoided, unfortunately.

Me: <groans> I know, I know …

me: Well?

Me: It’s just … there’s so much else to talk about …

me: Yes, that’s true … but …

Me: … and I feel like all I do any more is complain. There’s so much good stuff going on …

me: It is very pretty to look at.

Me: Yes, exactly. Can’t we talk about that?

me: Sure, of course.

Me: …

me: … Well?

Me: "Well” what?

me: Go ahead and talk about all the “good stuff.”

Me: I … there’s a … look, it’s not like I don’t want to …

me: Uh-huh …

Me: … it’s just … I don't know. They've been making animated movies for 18 years by this point, right?

me: Right.

Me: So does it even need to be pointed out that it looks great? Shouldn't that be a given?

me: It was their first widescreen one.

Me: … Well, that's true. You could tell they weren't used to it: some of the close-up's are framed weird.

me: There you go.

Me: Hey, no need to patronize me. I don't need help reviewing a Disney movie by this point.

me: Oh, really?

Me: Yes, really. Why the sarcasm?

me: Listen, the only reason we’re doing this is because you're having problems coming up with something to say - again - and you wanted time to talk it through …

Me: I know, I know.

me: Honestly. First it was writer's block over some jive-talking crows, and now the same thing because of some stupid cartoon cats …

Me: It's not just the cats. The cat thing I was prepared for. But there's more …

me: More?

Me: I didn't really want to get into this already …

me: Get into what?

Me: … I thought it could wait until Cinderella, or Alice in Wonderland …

 me: ??

Me: The … look, they made five animated movies in the '50's. I've never been crazy about most of them.

me: You haven't? But they're classics … like, all of them.

Me: Yeah, yeah … Cinderella saved the animation studio, people love Alice in Wonderland and Peter Pan. I used to think Lady and The Tramp was one of Disney's better films …

me: What about Sleeping Beauty?

Me: I've always liked Sleeping Beauty. I still do. It's like the studio built up enough comfort food points over the decade to try something overtly artistic, and it bit Walt in the ass. After that he focused on Disneyland and let the animation studio go into a creative tailspin in the '60s.

me: What about the others? Cinderella, Peter Pan, etc.?

Me: I really can't ... it's just that after seeing so many of their movies from the '40s …

me: The "package films?"

Me: Yeah - the ones no one seems to like and Disney itself wants to ignore …

me: Well?

Me: They were … even when they weren't good, like the "Bongo" half of Fun and Fancy Free, or most of Melody Time … at least they were interesting.

me: <nods> Go on …

Me: Isn't it intrinsically better that they were trying new things out instead of going with what people wanted to see? I mean, The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad is mostly great, and The Three Caballeros is fantastic …

me: Yes - you won't shut up about that one …

Me: Fine, fine. But the thing is these ones from the '50s that everyone loves … they're just so …

me: Dull?

Me: Yes. They're so safe, and predictable … it's frustrating.

me: Mm-hmm.

Me: I've felt that way for a while. But now there's more to it … it’s like a perspective thing, you know?

me: Okay …

Me: It’s just all so … I don't know. Middle class?

me: <snickers> Well, what do you expect? That’s the name of the game, right?

Me: Yes, yes.

me: That’s who Disney caters to. You knew that going in.

Me: <sighs> That wasn't always the case, though. You can still tell by how different something like Fantasia is from Peter Pan, or how Swiss Family Robinson is different from The Island at the Top of the World.

me: Well, tastes change over time. Studios can't survive by doing the same thing forever - even if what they're doing is artistically valid.

Me: Obviously. It's just tougher to get through some era's than others. The creativity seems to ebb and flow like crazy. It's hard to keep a continuous line of criticism going when things are all over the place.

me: Don’t forget the nostalgia.

Me: <rubbing head in hands> Christ, I know. It’s just … it’s different, now.

me: Yes ... yes, it is. Like they say, the memory cheats.

Me: Who … who says that?

me: Who said that. It’s not important.

Me: <shrugs>


…


me: <sighs> Is anyone going to take our order?

Me: I haven’t even seen anyone since we got our drinks. I’m starving.

me: Looks like you’re going to need more Chianti soon.

Me: Not to mention breadsticks. I’ll … we’ll give them a few more minutes.

me: Fine …


…


me: <whispering> You know … it’s just a cartoon.

Me: Now that’s not fair. I mean, yes, but … but that’s what I do.

me: Yeah, but … does it matter?

Me: “Does it matter?” Well, I don’t know. Does anything?

me: Of course it does.

Me: And … and sometimes it’s just easier to ignore the bad things when everything else is good …

me: Okay …

Me: I'd always enjoyed Lady and The Tramp before - even with the stupid dated "herro kitty" routine. But now it's … I don’t know. I’m sorry.

me: You have nothing to apologize for …

Me: But I feel like I do.

me: Why?

Me: I’m a … well, not apologize, but … I feel like I should …

me: … what?

Me: I’m not sure … be ashamed?

me: Ashamed?

Me: Or something ... guilty! That’s it! I feel guilty.

me: For what?

Me: For … well, it’s … it’s hard to say …

me: Take your time ...

Me: I guess ... I guess I feel like I should point things out because I feel guilty. I don't know why, I just do.

me: <sighs>

Me: Besides ... there’s a … a precedent now.

me: “A precedent?”

Me: Yes.

me: How so?

Me: Well … it’s not like I can ignore what I've said before.

me: Go on …

Me: I very well can’t chide something one week and then ignore the same problem thereafter.

me: Well … why not?

Me: “Why not?” Are you suggesting I change my methods?

me: Well … no, nothing like that. But you can’t go on like this.

Me: <sighs> I know. But even ignoring the cats, and the bad Italian, and the myriad of other horrendous accents, it's not like this is a great love story.

me: It's a '50s cartoon movie about talking dogs. Were you expecting Blue Valentine?

Me: No, of course not. I wasn't even expecting All That Heaven Allows. It's just that when your central story gets overshadowed by pantomime Fu Manchu cats or barbershop dog-howling, you've got problems.

me: Can't argue with that.

Me: <shakes head> It's ... this was the first time I've watched this movie and could honestly care less about what was going on. I got -zero- entertainment value, absolutely no pleasure while watching.

me: Wow.

Me: <nods> I wasn't expecting that. I feel like I'm subconsciously rebelling against the status quo.

me: Mm-hmm ...

Me: Like you said, tastes change. I don't know ... when I get more pleasure from watching Jonathan Winters make an ass of himself in some shit TV special than I do watching a certified classic ... maybe the problem's with me?

me: It's tricky.

Me: <nods> It's not the first time I've called out something beloved a piece of crap - and it won't be the last.

me: So is that what you think of this one?

Me: ... yes.

me: You're prepared to go on record and admit that you vehemently disagree with the majority of your intended readership?

Me: I am, and I will always be. Lady and The Tramp smells like wet dog. There, I said it.

me: You'll be called a bad fan. You'll get derisive comments.

Me: <shrugs> Well ... I have to be honest. What else can I do?


…


Me: You know, this is ridiculous. No one's been to our table. I’m going back there to find out what the hell’s going on.

me: Alright.

Me: <gets up and walks out>


…


me:  . . . .


…


Me: <returns> Holy shit!

me: What? What’s going on?

Me: They … they’re serving dogs!

me: Wh … what do you mean? They’re cooking dogs!?

Me: No, no! They’re serving them dinner!

me: ?

Me: They’ve dropped everything, set up a little table in the back alley, and they're serving spaghetti and meatballs to a pair of strays.

me: … what?

Me: Joe and the owner are singing to them. Like it’s a goddamned date night for dogs out there!

me: You’re kidding! With all these hungry diners in here!?

Me: I know! This is ridic … wait, where are the others?

me: Don’t know. Let’s just go and eat somewhere else.

Me: <sighs> I guess you’re right. I can’t stomach this place anymore.

me: There’s a place nearby serving Siamese food.

Me: It’s Thai - you mean Thai food.

me: <sighs> If you want. Come on. <exits>

Me: <hesitates at the door> It’s just … I keep coming back here … it’s where I am … I can’t seem to leave … I’ll probably just stay here …

The Littlest Outlaw

In the long history of the Walt Disney Company, 1955 will forever be known as the year that Disneyland threw open it’s gates to an unsuspecting public. However, the studio also released a handful of well-remembered films that year. Among these are animated classic Lady and The Tramp, the first of their edited-from-television Davy Crockett features, respected "True-Life Adventure" The African Lion - and, three days before Christmas, The Littlest Outlaw. A forgotten little film following the exploits of a young Mexican boy and his fugitive horse, the film is a surprisingly well-made piece of cinema that still holds up today - with a few caveats ...

The film tells the story of a boy named Pablito (played by first-time actor Andrés Velázquez,) the son of a horse trainer named Chato (Rodolfo Acosta) who works for the respected General Torres (the great Pedro Armendáriz.) After betting money he doesn’t have on the general’s newest horse, Conquistador, in a show jumping competition, Chato resorts to cruel training techniques in order to force the poor creature into jumping taller and taller obstacles. This soon backfires, however, causing Conquistador to become afraid of jumping. When the horse’s fear causes an accident involving the general’s equestrian-loving daughter, Celita (Laila Maley,) the general orders the animal killed. Pablito, who knows the truth but fears further violence against himself and Conquistador at Chato’s hand, runs away with the horse. The pair of fugitives take flight across Mexico, running into banditos with hearts of gold (Gilberto González and José Torvay) and a kindly priest (Joseph Calleia) while evading both the general’s troops and a vengeful and desperate Chato.

I can't talk, señor - I'm a little horse today.

Unusually for a Walt Disney Productions film, The Littlest Outlaw was a Mexican-American co-production. Directed by prolific Mexican filmmaker Roberto Gavaldón, the film features an entirely bilingual cast. This led to the convenient practice of shooting each scene twice - once in English, once in Spanish - so that the film needed no re-dubbing for release in Spanish-speaking countries. The film was also shot entirely on location south of the border, lending the film a dusty authenticity that couldn’t be achieved filming in the California desert (or on a Burbank soundstage.) This also affords Gavaldón and cinematographer Alex Phillips the opportunity to shoot many evocative scenes of Pabilto and his horse making their way through desert vistas, including a number of well-thought out day-for-night shots. Of particular note is a group of shots early into the pair’s journey, in which the boy and the horse are carefully framed with a sun-bleached cross atop a hill as they stare out upon the looming desert ahead of them.

He's got shoes and a coat - why no service?

I really must applaud the young Andrés Velázquez, who brings effortless believability to the mistreated Pablito. Starting off as a cheerful (but not precocious) child, the reality of his father’s cruelty dawns upon him following Chato’s treatment of Conquistador. There is a noteworthy moment early in the film, where Pablito lies on his sleeping mat in the darkened servant’s quarters, quietly crying his eyes out. One immediately gets the heartbreaking sense of the child’s world being turned upside down, the realization of his own situation dawning on him only now. His decisive flight from the general’s estate and increasingly courageous actions through his journey stem logically from this awakening, and therefore feel natural as the film unfolds.

Pablito trains Conquistador to gallop when he whistles...

The rest of the cast is quite good as well. Pedro Armendáriz, playing General Torres, may be familiar to audiences today from his role as Kerim Bey in the 1963 James Bond film From Russia With Love (which was his last role before escaping terminal cancer with a self-inflicted gunshot to the chest.) By the time of The Littlest Outlaw, the actor already had a distinguished career spanning 20 years in Mexican, American and Italian cinema (and even had a pair of French films under his belt.) Even at the general’s most blustering, every line Armendáriz delivers is portrayed with such heart and spirit that one never feels any antagonism toward the big lug. Likewise, well-known Malta-born actor Joseph Calleia turns in a warm and sincere performance as the kind padre who helps Pablito and Conquistador during the latter part of the film. Famously remembered for his role as Pete Menzies, partner of Orson Welles’ iconic Hank Quinlan in 1958’s Touch of Evil, Calleia’s career on stage, screen and radio spanned an impressive 45 years.

Yes, Pablito, one day you may be blessed with a magnificent moustache, too...

While watching The Littlest Outlaw, I must say I was pretty impressed with the film as it went along. Besides the deft direction and strong acting, the screenplay - expanded by Bill Walsh from a story pitched by studio veteran Larry Lansburgh (who’d been a director of shorts at the studio for a decade) - is vibrant and well-structured. Unfortunately my opinion began to sour toward the end of the film.

While there is some mild animal cruelty early in the film establishing Conquistador’s suffering at the hands of the inhumane Chato (that one hopes, given the age of the film, is entirely faked,) the film is otherwise a gentle and lightly exciting tale that would be potentially great viewing for families with not-too-young children. However, once it became clear that all signs were pointing toward a climax set inside a bullfighting ring, my heart began to sink. Now, I don’t really want to get myself drawn into a discussion about cultural insensitivity or the place that bullfighting plays in Latin American tradition (otherwise we’ll be here all day - as readers of my Dumbo post will understand) - nor about the ritualistic particulars of the “sport” itself. Currently banned in many (but by no means all) countries, bullfighting remains one of the touchstones of Spanish and Latin American culture. It’s also one that springs to the gringo mind as a representative image of Latin culture ... much like wide sombrero-clad Frito banditos, Taco Bell-loving chihuahuas or the Dos Equis guy. That’s sarcasm, por supuesto.

For your viewing pleasure: a velvet bullfighting painting. Classy AF.

Though the appearance of a traditionally-garbed matador and his entourage of toreros could potentially be seen as troubling in a film that had, up to this point, largely avoided stereotypical portrayals of Mexican culture, the bigger issue that I had was having to watch the actual bullfight. Most likely a real bullfight that the film crew shot and edited, travelogue-like, into the movie, perhaps in 1955 the whole thing was thought of as local color thrown into the film - or maybe even an honest display of a proud Latin tradition. I realize that the case can be made for excusing the bullfight's inclusion by taking the time period in context, which is usually something I support when evaluating older works of art. However, watching the film now, the public display - in which bulls are taunted, stabbed with lances and barbed spears and more often than not killed in the ring (at least in the traditional Spanish style) - is not something that personally sat well with me. Call it a gut reaction, but in this case my sense of distaste overrode objectivity.

Can't sleep - too much bullshit...

While the film thankfully cuts away before the worst of the bull’s treatment is shown, we are shown one of the matadors getting bloodlessly clipped by the bull’s horn (in an uncommented upon moment of shock) before the picador stabs a pair of lances into the back of the poor creature’s neck. As the climax played out during and immediately after these displays, I found myself caring less and less about Pablito and Conquistador’s leap to freedom to escape the bullfighting ring. As the film rapidly drew to it’s predictable (though earned) happy ending, I just couldn’t get the slight sense of nausea out of my mind.

This horse is my horse - of course, of course...

The Littlest Outlaw, for most of it’s running time, is a delightful film with a number of positives going for it. However, much like last week’s Westward Ho the Wagons! (with it’s troubling, if typical, portrayal of American Indians,) there is a strongly dated element that prevents me from giving the film a recommendation - as family viewing or otherwise. This is unfortunate, as compared to that bland western, this movie is actually a well-crafted, thoughtfully-scripted and admirably directed piece of cinema. Though your own tolerance for images of animal cruelty may vary from mine, for me the whole troubling display tainted the rest of the film, a superior production when taking all other factors into consideration. For this reason alone, I have to say that I haven’t been so disappointed with a Walt Disney production ever before.

Westward Ho The Wagons!

Fess Parker leads a wagon train of lily-white suburbanites (or at least that’s what they look like) across the great American frontier in Disney’s 1956 yarn Westward Ho the Wagons! All they have to deal with are those pesky natives...

Adapted from Mary Jane Carr’s 1934 novel Children of the Covered Wagon, the film tells the story of a group of settlers headed for Oregon in 1846. While ostensibly led by the wealthy James Stephen (TV’s original Superman George Reeves, in his last big-screen role,) the travelers follow the more practical “on the ground” leadership of physician-in-training John “Doc” Grayson (Parker) and his world-weary compatriot, Hank Breckinridge (familiar western character-actor Jeff York.) The film is neatly bisected into two parts: the first dealing with the group’s attempt to pass through the lands of the “unfriendly” Pawnee Indian nation, the second detailing their stopover outside Fort Laramie (and their tenuous peace with the Sioux encampment there.)

You'll shoot your eye out...

Right off the bat, let’s get the obvious out of the way: Westward Ho the Wagons (I’m going to drop the exclamation point for the body of this review, thank you very much) is what you’d call your typical ‘50s western. Little about the movie speaks to any kind of reality of the harshness of life at the time. Most of the settlers are portrayed by attractive, squeaky-clean Caucasian actors with gleaming white teeth and Brylcreem-encased hair. Heck, when four of Walt’s “Mouseketeers” can be counted amongst the cast (they being Tommy Cole, Doreen Tracey, Cubby O'Brian, and Karen Pendleton,) you know you’re about as far away from Deadwood as you can get. All the tropes familiar to those who grew up watching reruns of such baby-boomer artifacts as Wagon Train, The Rifleman and Rawhide will instantly recognize the well-worn iconography of covered wagons trundling their way across a rugged landscape, valiantly making their escape from marauding “Injuns.” While the portrayal of Native Americans in this film (and it’s ilk) is clearly offensive and dated, one can’t help but shake their head and roll their eyes, so silly is the institutionalized representation of the “savage redman.” Anytime a group of fringe-clothed natives appears on screen (no breechcloths or bare male chests to be seen here,) they’re accompanied by that standard “war drums and harsh brass” music that Hollywood insisted represented genuine Indians. And when the white men talk to the natives it’s always in short, brusque sentences accompanied by inscrutable hand motions - as if the secret to cracking all tribal dialects is to speak loudly and wave your hands around.

Do you understand the words comin' out my mouth!?!

The film was helmed by William Beaudine, a Hollywood workhorse who directed over 370 films(!) in his 44 years-long career. While not a flamboyant filmmaker by any means (clearly favoring bland medium shots for many scenes,) Beaudine ratchets up some credible tension in a chase scene involving a kidnapped youth escaping the Pawnee encampment. Shot at the Janss Conejo Ranch (in Ventura County, California,) the straight-forward filmmaking nevertheless contains some striking vistas of the long line of wagons snaking it’s way across windswept plains. These wide shots of the frontier are aided in no small part by Peter Ellenshaw and Albert Whitlock’s matte paintings, which help transform the nondescript California valley into a western fantasy of Monument Valley-style geology and Wyoming "big sky."

That giant dog's after the chuck wagon again! To the cupboard!

At least I think that’s the case. Annoyingly, my DVD copy of the film (an “exclusive title” from the Disney Movie Club, and the only physical version currently in print) is panned-and-scanned, cropping the sides off the full image. After the opening credits - proudly proclaiming the film to be “Shot in Panavision” - the image zooms in to the outdated 1.33:1 aspect ratio intended to fill the full screen of your old Zenith 19-inch CRT television. Watching the movie, I yearned to be able to enjoy the panoramic shots of cowboys and Indians riding across the wide-open fields, or to watch a dialogue scene where the characters weren’t awkwardly standing at opposite edges of the screen. The film is available for online rental from such sources as Amazon, but after shelling out for my current disc I’m in no hurry to spend the $3 to check if their copy is in the correct ratio or not. Hell, it’s not like this is The Searchers or something.



Everyone back to your corners...

The acting is solid (if not especially noteworthy,) with Fess Parker ably leading the ensemble. The late actor’s natural charm could honestly carry anything, and he lends his “Doc” Grayson character a reluctant, “aww shucks” believability that makes one gloss over the predictability of the character’s burgeoning hero arc. Perhaps the best performance in the film comes from our old friend Sebastian Cabot, playing the extrrremely Frrrench trader and shopkeeper Bissonette, who acts as a kind of ambassador between the settlers and the Sioux at Fort Laramie. As the sole voice of reason between the two parties, the character seems like a miraculously less-dated element, almost detached from the banal storyline occurring around him. “Doc” Grayson’s love interest, Laura Thompson (played by Kathleen Crowley) is unfortunately underwritten, serving as little more than a reason for Parker’s character to croon “I’m Lonely, My Darlin.” She’s also given one of the more cringe-inducing lines in the film, screeching “You’ll talk to me, you pompous savage!!” at the Sioux chief, Wolf’s Brother, after he refuses to speak to a woman.

Anyone know anything besides Kumbaya?

One can’t help but feel bad for the Native American actors in the film, the lead being John War Eagle as Wolf’s Brother - familiar from innumerable appearances in film and TV westerns. How demining it must be to partake in such insensitive imitations of your own culture (or of those that aren’t even practices of your own nation) for the entertainment of predominantly white audiences; and to be accompanied half the time by a number of non-Indian extras “darked up” and instructed to act out crass parodies of your people’s traditions. Conversely, playing the role of Sioux medicine man Many Stars is actor Iron Eyes Cody, who would go on to be forever emblazoned into popular culture as the “Crying Indian” from a famous 1971 “Keep America Beautiful” TV commercial. While Cody enjoyed a long and successful career playing Native Americans from 1927 to 1987 (when he appeared as Chief St. Cloud in Ernest Goes to Camp,) and claimed to be of Cherokee descent, he was actually born Espera Oscar de Corti in Kaplan, Louisiana - both his parents being native Italians. Classy.

Hey, Fess! Hadn't you best git along to a better movie?

Summarizing this movie, I was nearly about to write how the film is "harmless, if dated, family fun," but had to stop myself. While a film like this surely would've been viewed as such in my own youth, I really couldn't recommend Westward Ho the Wagons today. Even discounting it's sadly typical misrepresentation of American Indians, the truth is it's just a pretty mediocre western - itself a genre that had many more misses than hits. In a way, it’s a shame that this is the first Fess Parker-starring film reviewed on this blog, when there are far better movies the actor appeared in for Disney. Chief among his other roles, of course, are his appearances as Davy Crockett (in a pair of features edited together from popular episodes of the Disneyland TV program) and as the father in Disney’s seminal Old Yeller. We’ll hopefully get to those films soon enough. As it is, Westward Ho the Wagons stands as an antiquated curio from another era - a time that seems so long ago, when little Johnny and Suzy would be plonked down in front of the TV and allowed to watch virtuous cowboys shoot it out with yipping savages for hours on end, little concern given to the consequences that such wrong-minded drivel would have on their growing minds.

Here's something to play with after you've finished your "trail of tears" Colorforms...

TV Detour #3 - Dateline: Disneyland

And suddenly, it all changed.

On the evening of Sunday July 17th, 1955, an estimated 90 million people gathered around their family television sets to watch a slap-dash live broadcast from what was, less than a year ago, an orange grove in the middle of a tiny town in California called Anaheim. Could they have known that what unfolded on that tiny black-and-white screen before them was a significant moment in history? That the labor of a small group of artists and workers would create something wholly unique that would forever alter the future of the entire entertainment industry? That one man’s desire to open a place for families to have fun that was surrounded by a railroad would change the world? Most likely not. Watching the historically significant broadcast of Dateline: Disneyland today can be bewildering and beautiful at the same time.

A source of joy and inspiration to all the world...

The previous year, Walt had made an agreement with the fledgling ABC network to broadcast a weekly anthology program, Walt Disney’s Disneyland (did ya get your name in there enough, Walt?), in exchange for help in funding the park. Every Sunday, ABC’s program provided glimpses at concept art, models and construction updates for Walt’s project, hyping up the expectations to a captive in-home audience. In a staggering feat of determination, Disney pushed the work crews and managed to just barely get his park up and running in 364 days. Additionally (and perhaps unwisely,) Disney had promised a spectacular debut for his namesake theme park, to be broadcast across the nation on live television, at the conclusion of this feverish construction. The largest live television broadcast yet attempted was put into production (involving, as host Art Linkletter put it, “literally miles and miles of cable” for everyone to trip over.) The scene at the park itself would go down in Disney history as “Black Sunday,” as the not-quite-finished Disneyland was hardly able to host the 28,000 guests that crowded the freshly-asphalted streets (double the officially invited number, thanks to a flood of easily-counterfeited tickets - never mind those who actually scaled the fences to get in.)

Well, are you better off than you were 62 years ago?

Viewers tuned in July 17th - and witnessed, for all intents and purposes, a great big mess. In his introduction, Linkletter prepares the audience for the coming difficulties, referring to their rehearsal from the previous day as “trying to film three erupting volcanoes at the same time … and you didn’t know they were going to erupt.” All throughout the chaotic production, viewers are witness to hosts running to hit their marks on time, sudden cuts to random camera feeds, and the sound jumping between live speeches, pre-recorded narration, and ghostly control-room chatter (or the occasional dead silence.) More than once, Linkletter can be seen desperately trying to locate a microphone, and co-host Bob Cummings continually missing his cues as he talks up female park-goers. The only one who seems to be on the ball in terms of timing is the third co-host, bow-tied future President Ronald Reagan - though he is also aided by a number of pre-written speeches that he carefully reads word-for-word from a large wad of paper. The others, meanwhile, are trying their best to recall what they were supposed to say as the overcrowded park falls apart around them - more often than not drifting into off-the-cuff nonsense (such as Linkletter erroneously indicating that both the Main Street buildings and the Railroad are “⅝ scale”, or Reagan noting that the horse riders heading toward Frontierland were a “part of our very historic past.”)

Disneyland is YOUR land ... but with MY name on it.

 

Who seems to be having the most fun, as he drifts in and out of the televised shenanigans, is Walt Disney himself. First appearing as he hops out of the engine of the Santa Fe & Disneyland Railroad, decked out in an Engineer’s cap and bandana, Walt excitedly tells Linkletter all about the fun he and Santa Fe railroad president Fred Gurley had been having zipping along the tracks that day. His world-famous dedication speech (commemorated, as all future theme park dedications would be, on a plaque near the park’s entrance) succinctly sums up what the entire Disneyland project was all about, and surely must’ve come as a relief to state aloud after a frantic year of planning and construction. Walt’s earnest delivery never fails to tug at the ol’ heartstrings for many a Disneyphile, even today. Following this, Walt can be seen reading off dedication plaques for each of the four remaining lands (which would end up not being placed in the park, for some reason,) his befuddlement at the televised disorder occasionally betraying his otherwise chummy demeanor. This is most clearly witnessed as his dedication of Tomorrowland, in which -  interrupted halfway through - he stares down someone off camera and bemoans “but I wa … I thought I got a signal …”

This place'll have more plaque than a dentist office!

 

Such confusion exemplifies the whole hour of Dateline: Disneyland, despite Walt and Co.’s attempts at staging a live entertainment spectacular. Following the park's dedication (which includes, incredibly, a blessing and prayer by a Chaplain,) a grand parade of bands, dancers and characters representing the various themed lands marches it’s way up Main Street, as Linkletter tries furiously to keep a running play-by-play going. Seeing the primitive costumed characters (in outfits originally designed for the Ice Capades) could potentially keep modern children (and their parents) up at night, so bizarre are such sights as a 2-person pantomime-horse style Pluto and a Dumbo with a head that looks like a massive, misshapen turnip. Evidently, not enough time was set aside to cover the entirety of the parade, and so Linkletter feverishly passes it over to Bob Cummings, who gives audiences a primer on how Disneyland’s “hub and spoke” layout works.

One, two, Dumbo's comin' for you...

 

A lot of time is dedicated to Frontierland, since the breakout success of Walt Disney’s Disneyland were it’s Davy Crockett episodes - and character-based synergy is by no means a new phenomenon in Disney’s theme parks. Riding in from the far end of Frontierland (which, thanks to wide expanses of sparse vegetation, looks more like an actual frontier town than it does today - save for the high-tension power lines visible beyond the tiny tree line,) Fess Parker and Buddy Ebsen, in character as Crockett and George Russell, lead a lengthy song-and-dance number honoring Crockett’s trusty rifle, “Ol’ Betsy” (which "Russell" says they just utilized to dispatch some “redskins ... just itching to lift our scalps.”) Following this comes Linkletter and actress Irene Dunne, christening the Mark Twain riverboat in a scene that rather perfectly encapsulates the entire day’s commotion. After commenting that the boat is “listing a little” (due to the overcrowded sternwheeler having no posted capacity limits,) Dunne calls Linkletter “Walt” and smashes a bottle upon the ship’s bitt (thanks, Google!) - as Linklater, arms spread, announces that the ship is now ready to set out across “the Rivers of the World … of America, that is!”

Mickey and Minnie flee the scene

Our drawn-out look at Frontierland concludes in front of a small sub-section at the area’s dead-end (each land was originally a cul-de-sac, only accessible from the hub,) optimistically called “New Orleans Street” - not to be confused with the brilliantly-realized New Orleans Square that was 11 years away. A rousing routine is tap-danced out in front of the pancake house (at one point a large Black dancer in a kerchief sashays out from the doorway, upon which an announcer suddenly blurts out “And here's Aunt Jemima!”) While the routine, set to brassy Dixieland jazz performed by the Firehouse Five Plus Two (a band composed of artists from Disney’s animation studio,) is certainly energetic, more poor planning meant that the performers had to squeeze between the hoards of guests fronting the restaurant and the tiny garden-fence surrounding the river. The Mardi Gras atmosphere obviously swept up Bob Cummings, as the camera catches him making out with a dancer (who makes a hasty exit as Cummings quickly tries to pass it over to "Ronnie Reegan".)

BUSTED!!

Next we take a look at the underdeveloped grouping of corporate-sponsored state fair exhibits that Disney had to pass off as Tomorrowland until the place got a proper facelift a decade later (it seems that this section of the park is in perpetual need of fixing up, unfortunately.) A view of the world from “the future year of 1986(!)," we are treated to a flag ceremony and band performance by the Boy Scouts of America, as well as a view of the hastily-prepared Phantom Boats that would ply a muddy Tomorrowland lagoon - future sight of the Submarine Voyage. Next, Cummings joins former Nazi scientist German physicist and “gentleman of great renown” Dr. Heinz Haber inside the Aluminum Hall of Fame (which would be located next to the Crane Company Bathroom of Tomorrow - seriously,) for a doomed attempt at making science fun; Haber’s son tosses a ping-pong ball onto a table topped with dozens of mousetraps, also loaded with ping-pong balls, in order to demonstrate an atomic chain-reaction. Clack! goes exactly one mousetrap, the pair of balls tapping silently to the floor. “Uhm...better try again” Haber mumbles, as a second attempt yields better, though far from stunning, results. Such was Disney’s luck that day that even physics failed to go right! Clearly, it would be a number of years until the company became adept at “edutainment.”

We don't need no stinkin' MaxPass!

A whimsical look at Fantasyland is saved for (almost) last, as the miniature drawbridge leading into Sleeping Beauty Castle is lowered for the first (of two) times in it’s history. A gathering of generic-looking fairytale characters, followed closely by hordes of unaccompanied children, stampede into the courtyard (which, at this point, looks a lot more like a plywood-constructed Renaissance fair than it would following an extensive re-design in 1983,) immediately overwhelming the waiting staff and television crews. As a medley of Disney songs blares over the soundtrack, panicked-looking cast members have to warn children to step back as King Arthur’s carrousel starts spinning, while Art Linkletter attempts to persuade Danny Thomas to ride Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride over his daughter’s shouts of “IS IT SCARY!??” At one point, Linkletter also has to ask a few kids to move out of the way of an approaching ride vehicle, before sending the camera back over to Bob Cummings. Cummings, meanwhile, is standing atop the Chicken of the Sea-sponsored Pirate Ship restaurant, chatting with an 18 year-old Bobby Driscoll while the camera focuses on an attractive blonde woman nearby. After some attempt is made to get the cameras and hosts aligned, Cummings gives up and passes it back to Linkletter, only then having to go into a play-by-play of Linkletter frantically running around the front of Mr. Toad, looking for a microphone.

Nothing says "fantasy" like a chain-link fence around a carnival ride!

The mayhem peters to an end, but not before we get an extremely brief look at Adventureland (“Didn’t we forget something?” Linkletter says to an already tired-looking Walt.) In the middle of a heaving crowd in front of The Jungle Cruise (Adventureland was, as it is now, a constantly congested bottleneck,) Cummings attempts to spout out something about the amazing journey that awaits guests seeking primitives in the wild, but is basically drowned out by crowd noise and a “jungle drums” soundtrack that is once again blasted too loudly. With mere minutes remaining in their timeslot, everyone involved seems like they just want it to end already, so no attempt is made to correct any of this. Back in front of the castle, Walt joins Linkletter (who says “Walt, you’ve made a bum out of Barnum!” as Walt laughs and looks at the ground - aww shucks,) before thanking the artists, the workers, and everybody who helped bring his dream to life. In spite of everything, Walt does seem genuinely relieved that they managed to get it open - even if there was clearly more work still to be done. The two men then sign off, waving, and turn to make their way toward Fantasyland - Walt grabbing at the back of his jacket as they walk, Linkletter’s microphone cable having wrapped halfway around him - as the program fades out.

Y'know, Art, this seems like a dandy place to pop the question...

With this auspicious beginning, a brand new art form was given a difficult start in front of a live viewing audience. Looking back, it’s clear that Disneyland, an evolution of the “amusement park” but really it’s own new genre of public entertainment, would need to go through some growing pains before reaching it’s full potential. Likewise, Walt realized that leaving first impressions up to chance (especially on live TV) could end in disaster, and so never again would Disney allow a live television special to compromise its spit-shined public image. While all of it’s parks and resorts would face their own problems and opening-day issues, none of them would be allowed to so openly parade them in front of the entire world. Thus Disney would quickly learn to control and perfect how it presented Walt’s park (and its offspring) to the world, perhaps inevitably leading to more lavish and over-the-top specials in the coming decades.



The man and his moat

 

While initial reviews of both the park and the opening telecast were understandably mixed, once again Walt had a sense of what his audience wanted. Within two months, a million guests had already passed through the park’s hastily-paved main entrance. Soon, Walt Disney Productions, which up to this point had always been one of the more cash-strapped companies in Hollywood, would find perpetual financial stability through its theme park division, and a beloved but relatively small movie studio could now call itself a truly multimedia enterprise. While the artists who brought the park to life (whom Walt would soon dub his “Imagineers”) may have cut their teeth in the film industry, they would soon find themselves more often than not stretching the boundaries of urban design and entertainment technology. Those involved in its creation, as well as those who would one day work at, visit, study or dream of going to Disneyland, would never be the same again. For Walt Disney, who looked like a kid at Christmas when things were going right on opening day, his dream had actually come true - against incredible odds and an arduous birth. We who enjoy the ever-growing fruits of these labors will continue to benefit now and forever.

All aboooooooooard!!

Johnny Tremain

If you'll allow me a moment of cynicism? Thank you.

The world, for all intents and purposes, is a cesspool, and it always has been. However, occasionally history produces groups or individuals that manage to raise their eyes above the drudgery of the everyday, and realize that the status-quo does not have to be so. Besides the well-known figures that recorded history has burned into the popular mindset, there are those - let’s call them little guys, for lack of a better descriptor - who worked from the sidelines - unheralded but just as essential to the progress of history. A fictional account of individuals like this, Disney’s 1957 film Johnny Tremain, serves as a good reminder of the kind of spirit that the United States of America may need now - today more than ever.

Based on the 1944 young-adult novel by Esther Forbes, the film dramatizes the beginnings of the American revolution as seen through the eyes of a young silversmith’s apprentice. The title role is played by 17-year old Hal Stalmaster, a talented young would-be star who, I was shocked to learn, only has six acting credits to his name. While not the best teenage actor I’ve seen, Stalmaster has that indefinable element of charisma that makes one instantly believe him in the role of the reluctant young patriot. Johnny is an interesting character, not so much for his transformation from business-minded bystander to a rebellious Son of Liberty, but for the fact that he comes across as such a likeable protagonist despite his rather passive role in the film. That’s not to say he isn’t involved in the story - far from it, as Johnny is the one that signals to his fellow dissenters to proceed with the planned “Boston Tea Party,” before joining in himself. Yet Johnny’s primary role in the story is to serve as a “fly on the wall” for the audience, a cypher in which to witness the events leading up to the revolutionary war. It’s a tried and true device with which to pull audiences (and children) into historical reenactments, focusing the narrative from a relatable, “common person” point-of-view.

Hmmm ... that barista spelled my name wrong!

The rest of the tri-cornered hatted supporting cast all do a bang-up job of invoking the spirit of the time period (in spite of a few decidedly Californian accents.) It’s somewhat jarring to see Luana Patten (playing Priscilla Lapham, the granddaughter of Johnny's master,) familiar from prior appearances in Disney’s Song Of The South, Fun And Fancy Free and So Dear To My Heart, suddenly go from “cute little girl” in those prior films to a 19-year old love interest here. Patten and Stalmaster share a fun chemistry, treating each other more like annoyed siblings until war breaks out. Also startling was the post-film realization that Johnny’s fired-up freedom-fighter friend, Rab Silsbee (who dies in battle in the original book, but makes it to the end of the film version unscathed - YE OLDE SPOILERS,) is played by a very young Richard Beymer - later of West Side Story and David Lynch’s Twin Peaks.

Youth looking for hope...

The famed Sons of Liberty are played by a roster of character actors, including a dedicated Jeff York as James Otis, who passionately delivers the story’s well-known soliloquy that the patriots “will give all we have . . . even life itself - only that a man can stand." Surprisingly, the British are portrayed in a fairly sympathetic manner, with the honorable Major Pitcairn (played by Geoffrey Toone) noting, somewhat unbelievably, “we have been vanquished by an idea - human rights.” I’m more partial, however, to an exclamation by a befuddled redcoat earlier in the film, heard to exclaim “the impudence of these gawking Yankee doodles!”

Bloody yanks!

Early in the film, Johnny’s hand becomes deformed during a smelting accident - an accident which came as a result of several pig-headed choices by everyone other than poor Johnny. First off, the despicable businessman Jonathan Lyte (played by Sebastian Cabot - we’ll get to him momentarily) brings in a broken cup, wishing it to be repaired more quickly than Johnny’s past-his-prime master, Mr. Lapham (always curmudgeon Will Wright,) can manage. Needing the money (and over a barrel, as Lyte is their landlord,) they accept the job. Johnny, determined to get the job done right, wishes to work on the cup after shop-hours, but Lapham demands that he read the Bible instead, preaching humility above pride (the hypocritical old zealot.) In order to get the job done, Johnny skips church on Sunday to work on the cup, aided by Priscilla and her mother (Virginia Christine.) Panicking when the town constable is spotted at the end of the street (as it was apparently against the law to skip church - this being the “religious freedom” the pilgrims sought in the new world,) Mrs. Lapham knocks over the mold full of molten silver onto Johnny’s hand. The burn is so severe, that it fuses his fingers together. No longer able to continue his apprenticeship (and despite the fact that he is a bright, hard-working young man who's able to read,) no one in town will hire him on due to his small handicap; in other words, what the world would still be like today if American industry was free of regulation.

They should call this movie "Johnny Deformed."

The aforementioned Mr. Lyte, haughtily played by Disney favorite Cabot, is truly a despicable asshole - the very definition of a fat-cat. A brief subplot involves Johnny revealing to the businessman that they are distantly related, presenting a Lyte family heirloom (given to him by his mother) as proof. Lyte, in return, has the youth arrested for robbery, and at the following trial (in which Johnny is defended by Josiah Quincy, a compatriot of fellow-silversmith Paul Revere; the Sons of Liberty believing in free legal counsel,) demands that Johnny be hanged for his alleged crime. Johnny is only let off because the level-headed judge believes Priscilla’s testimony that he had confessed his secret lineage to her prior to the date of the supposed burglary. A bloated, quick-to-anger toddler in adult’s clothing, Lyte feels that his word as a winning and wealthy businessman should be justification enough for his despicable behavior.

At least he's not orange...

As a red-blooded American (whatever the hell that means,) watching the film unfold I couldn’t help but feel a bit of the old “Spirit of ‘76” bubble up from some spot in my gut I’ve tried my best to smother. Understanding that Johnny Tremain is a family film made in the unenlightened 1950s by a big company headed by a staunch anti-communist, I still had the overarching feeling that a story like this - focusing on the patriotic spirit of the events portrayed (rather than the absolute historical fact) - may be what’s needed today. I hold no pretentions that this (or any) movie accurately portrays history as it happened, since the past is just as complicated and miserable as the present - and I don’t think anyone should depend on movies (or theme park shows,) be they from Disney or anyone else, to learn about history. Instead, they should be seen as a means to inspire those interested into seeking out further readings from which to glean a better understanding of history.

A 6pm ADR just opened up at the Liberty Tree Tavern!

While the high-minded founding fathers portrayed in the film were no doubt as biased and bigoted in reality as posterity has documented, it is the spirit of their words that has been echoing across the centuries. Those rebellious individuals, who were unafraid to stand up to an out-of-touch group of too-rich and too-powerful tyrants, declared their independence by proclaiming that “We (a collective pronoun) hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men (perhaps originally indicating male landowners, but expanded to be inclusive of everyone in the following years - a fact that's clear to anyone with half a brain) are created equal…” And remember, these statements were not followed by an asterisk, or some footnote that said “except Women, Homosexuals, Transgendered, Blacks, Mexicans, the poor, the uninsured, news reporters, or anyone who pisses off the current leadership.” While the words as written by the founding fathers unfortunately weren't initially all-inclusive, the sentiments and spirit are what must be taken to heart and put to practice now, providing us guiding lights that glow as hopefully as the lanterns hung upon the Liberty Tree did back in the 1700s; a glow that should shine much brighter than the dim light of a cell phone screen displaying the reprehensible ramblings of an entitled coward spewed onto social media.

So my apologies if I’ve offended anyone from my soap-box - but it is my blog, after all - so I can say whatever the hell I want. I can thank the First Amendment (and some long-dead but long-remembered patriots in tri-cornered hats) for that.

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.