Freaky Friday

It’s the last Friday the 13th of 2018, so let’s take this opportunity to discuss one of Disney’s more fondly-remembered films of the 1970s. Finish up your laundry and grab your water skis, as today we’ll take a frank look back at 1976’s body-swapping classic Freaky Friday.

Fill my eyes with that double vision...

Most readers are undoubtedly familiar with the film, or at least it’s central concept. Freaky Friday tells the story of young teenager Annabel Andrews (Jodie Foster) and her mother, Ellen (Barbara Harris) - a typical middle-class mother and daughter who love each other despite the fact that they barely tolerate one-another. On a particularly hectic Friday the 13th, both wish (at the exact same moment) that they could switch places with one another. Faster than you can say “Vice Versa,” their consciousnesses are swapped. Each must now deal with the other’s daily routines (well, they don’t have to, but…) and find out that living in the other’s shoes may not be as simple as they’d originally thought. Tidy life-lessons are learned by all most some.

By no means an original conceit, the hook of a mother and daughter trading places is at least an interesting one. It also seems perfectly suited for Disney, an idea rife with possibilities for humor and emotional resonance. Unfortunately, the concept gets squandered by an extremely weak script and a number of head-scratching directorial and acting choices. As I watched the film unfold, my heart sank further and further as I bore witness to one tediously unfunny gag after another. Was this really the film that many fans hold in such high esteem?

Do not touch the glass, do not approach the glass...

Let’s start with the acting. Fourteen-year old Jodie Foster, who’d wowed audiences earlier the same year in Martin Scorsese's Taxi Driver (and a year before her smirk-tastic role in good old Candleshoe,) gives a reliably smart-aleck performance as the rebellious Annabel. Even at such a young age, Foster’s acting is so natural that while viewing the film one feels less like they’re watching a performance piece than something from a documentary. Once the mind-swap occurs, Foster’s “prim and proper” routine is as funny and realistic as one could expect in such silly circumstances. Barbara Harris, while perfectly game for the physicality of the role, honestly could’ve stepped her acting game up when performing against such a young powerhouse as Foster. Her Ellen character makes little impression from the start, and once the mind-swap occurs she comes off more like she’s acting drunk than mimicking a teenager (slurring her words and loosening up her motor skills.) Granted, she seems to get better as the film rolls along - and her scenes with a young Marc McClure as Annabele's crush are some of the film’s highlights. But something still seems off in her initial performance, as if she was going for an impression of Foster that suffered because it was slightly off-the-mark.

Now here's a movie I'd like to see...

Compared to everyone else in the cast, however, Harris is freaking Laurence Olivier. Almost every other actor in this film (save the aforementioned McClure and young Sparky Marcus, playing Annabel’s younger brother, Ben) seems to be on full-tilt pantomime mode, either chomping up whatever scenery they can or acting like a complete fuck-head. In scene after scene in which either Annabel or Ellen “goofs up” something from the other’s life (and I’m talking stupid little things, like accidentally using a broken typewriter at school or asking to pay a mechanic with cash instead of a check,) the other characters gasp and gurn and guffaw and fucking trip over themselves like they’ve all got severe mental handicaps. Hell, Annabel and Ellen are the ones who’ve literally lost their minds, and they both take this fact in relative stride. Yet they’re surrounded by an entire town full of weirdos who can’t seem to function if something is slightly out of the ordinary in their routines. Witness a band teacher (Fritz Feld) who shudders furiously as Annabel falls out of step with the rest of the marching band, or Ellen’s friend Mary Kay (Karen Smith,) who won’t let up screeching at her that she wants her borrowed hair dryer back for five straight minutes. Did every adult in this town swap minds with toddlers or something?

One of us! One of us! Gooble Gobble!

It’s not all bad on the supporting character front, however. I will give props to comediennes Kaye Ballard and Ruth Buzzi as opposing field-hockey coaches, as both bring somewhat more believably dialed-up performances to their characters. These two are more understandably affected by Annabel’s sudden lack of hockey skills - Ballard, as her coach, visibly grimacing as she makes a goal for the wrong team (and Buzzi, as the opposing team’s coach, cheering her on.) Ballard and Buzzi (which sounds like a vaudeville act now that I think about it) both seem to know exactly how much energy is required for their brief appearances, and don’t go overboard with goofball comedy.

You just put your lips together, and blow...

Unfortunately, much like the presence of Harvey Korman in Disney’s later stink-nugget Herbie Goes Bananas, this film features not one, but two assholes of immense proportions. First is the Andrews’ housekeeper, Mrs. Schmauss (played by Harris’ future North Avenue Irregulars co-star Patsy Kelly.) A gruff old woman who’s bluntly hinted at being an alcoholic, Schmauss spends her entire stint at the Andrew’s household berating young Annabel’s cleaning habits and demeanor, ranting that she was “sure to be using dope” soon, and about how “the mother and father are to blame.” Sadly, it’s suggested that Ellen is used to her disrespectful griping, but has put up with her in the past. Luckily, once Annabel (in Ellen’s body) gets an earful of her bile, she sends the old bitch packing.

Cara mia...

The worse offender, however, is husband and father Bill, played by John Astin. Familiar from his role as Gomez in TV’s The Addams Family (and famed for his leering, wide-eyes grin,) Astin seems as though he’s trying his darndest to play the Andrews family patriarch as a well-meaningly overwhelmed guy; unfortunately for him, the character is a completely selfish clod. Having recruited his wife to help entertain a large group of business clients following a waterfront gala, he’s also strong-armed not only his daughter, but her entire ski club into performing an aquacade show at said gala (against the advice of his bosses, who wisely suggest that the cheapskate would've been better off hiring professional performers.) Besides loading Ellen up with an entire day of chores and errands (including “carefully” pressing his “genuine silk” shirts,) he then proceeds to demand that she prepare a “gourmet spread” (in less than 3 hours!) for his clients AFTER HE FUCKS THINGS UP with the caterers. Isn’t it wonderful when a guy puts his whole career on the shoulders of the women in his family? And, as Ellen discovers, he also has a ‘hot secretary’ at work that he never told her about. Ugh. A character seemingly stuck in the ‘50s Father Knows Best mindset, Mr. Wonderful hits bottom when, confronted with Annabel confessing that she can’t perform on water skis because she’s actually Ellen, he shoves his daughter out onto the water so as not to look bad in front of his clients. When she proceeds to accidentally cause the floating observation deck Bill and his clients occupy to sink, it’s a damn shame they don’t let the bastard drown with that big stupid smile on his face.

The joy of cooking...

I suppose I should lay some blame for these bizarre characterizations on the filmmakers rather than the actors (to spread the blame around, at least.) Author and musician Mary Rodgers adapted her own 1972 children’s novel into the screenplay - so at the very least we can say that the story was kept true to the author’s intent. Rodgers chose to incorporate large swaths of Annabel and Ellen’s thoughts in the form of voiceovers from Foster and Harris. These monotonous inner-monologues drag each scene down, as we’re left watching the characters sitting and nodding along to nothing, or silently going about their shenanigans while the other actress limply reads her lines off-screen. Rodgers also added on the water skiing/aquacade subplot, perhaps to add some theatrical pizzazz to the otherwise dull affair.

The money shot...

And of course, being a live action Disney film released in the ‘70s, a “wacky chase” must occur at some point. Here it comes near the climax, as Annabel clumsily drives Ellen’s Volkswagen across town to rescue her mother from said aquacade (seeing the red Beetle careen around made me miss Herbie already.) She ends up being pursued by police, who are naturally completely inept and end up getting out-run by a kid with no driving experience. Like many a ‘70s feature obsessed with “hilariously” destroying piles of police cars (see The Cannonball Run, Smokey and The Bandit, Diamonds Are Forever, The Dukes of Hazard, etc. etc.)(speaking of which: Sorrell “Boss Hogg” Booke plays Annabel’s principal. Coincidence!? Yes!), we bear witness to squad-cars ending up on two wheels, or being smashed out-of-shape, or splitting in two when colliding with a dividing barrier. Perhaps whatever supernatural force swapped Ellen and Annabel’s minds also let physics take the day off on this fucked-up Friday?



I'm imagining your frame, every angle and every plane...

Director Gary Nelson made only this film and 1979’s The Black Hole for Disney (which is an infamous box office bomb that I happen to adore,) and seemed more at home directing for television. For whatever reason, Nelson chooses to draw every gag out to levels of tedium - whether it’s the endless police-car chase, or a scene of Ellen over-stuffing a washing machine full of rugs and detergent. Clocking in at a fairly brief 95 minutes, one wonders how short the film would’ve ended up had each scene been edited with an eye towards decent comic-timing. Unfortunately, the fact of the matter is that Nelson did the best with what he was given - and what he was given was a lousy screenplay.

Another happy readthrough...

The main issue with the script is, bewilderingly, the absence of emotional resonance. This is very odd - not only because this is typically Disney’s bread and butter, but also since the story’s premise all but demands it. Besides the briefest of scenes at the beginning, Ellen and Annabel have no interaction on-screen until the end of the “wacky water show” climax. The two of them decide to see what the other’s life is like, but spend most of the time having to react to a world of over-the-top idiots and a demanding asshat husband. I understand that this is meant to show them that the others’ lives aren’t easy - but if the mean-spirited goofiness had let up for just one moment of reflection, this point could’ve actually come across. Besides an admittedly sweet scene in which Annabel reconciles with her adoring little brother, any emotional growth is swapped out for comedic exhaustion. By the time the mother and daughter have come together at the film’s end (back in their correct bodies,) the inevitable “I love you’s” feel hollow - an unearned emotional payoff that leaves one wondering why the story never properly got off the ground.

Time for daddy-dearest's asshole intervention...

I don’t know. I feel like I may be a bit over-negative on the film (wouldn’t be the first time,) or that I may’ve liked it more had I watched this film at another time (I had to rush to get this out by Friday the 13th.) I’d always thought that Freaky Friday was a movie held in fairly high regard amongst fans - and Disney itself, seeing as how they’ve remade it three times (a 1995 TV-movie starring Shelley Long and Gaby Hoffmann; the well-known 2003 theatrical remake with Jamie Lee Curtis and Lindsay Lohan; and a musical version with Heidi Blickenstaff and Cozi Zuehlsdorff - itself adapted from a Broadway adaptation - set to premiere on the Disney Channel later this summer.) Yet a quick perusal of the internet seems to show that I’m not alone in my consternation of the film. Besides a handful of the typically saccharine “A Family Classic!” and “Great Disney Entertainment!” comments you hear from both vacuous fansite reviews and blurb-hungry critics, many agree that the film is sadly dated, unfunny, badly written and poorly executed. Perhaps I’ll someday get around to looking at one of the other versions - which would be unusual for me, since I’ve never really been a fan of remakes. However, it’s hard to imagine Disney adapting the concept into a worse film, so maybe I’ll end up finding something to enjoy in one or more of their do-overs. After all, sometimes there’s no accounting for taste.

Herbie Goes to Monte Carlo

First introduced in 1968’s classic The Love Bug, Herbie - the loveable little living car - had returned to theaters in a belated follow-up, 1974’s madcap Herbie Rides Again. While the film was a moderate success, it felt far-removed from the original: it lacked any car races, featured none of the original (human) characters, and was bereft of heart. Disney, obviously sensing the need for a course-correction, brought Herbie back three years later - along with a familiar friend and a story centered once again around a fast-paced auto race. But would audiences still want to follow the high-octane exploits of Herbie, or would 1977’s Herbie Goes to Monte Carlo be too little, too late?


The champagne's not Korbel!

Herbie’s latest adventure brings him and his friend Jim Douglas (a returning Dean Jones) and mechanic Wheeley Applegate (Don Knotts) to France, to participate in a cross-country race. They face stiff competition from arrogant German racers Bruno von Stickle (Eric Braeden) and Claude Gilbert (Mike Kulcsar,) who drive a souped-up Porsche 917 and a De Tomaso Pantera, respectively. Also competing (and going out of her way to prove herself) is firebrand American racer Diane Darcy (Julie Sommars,) who operates a 1976 Lancia Scorpion. While Jim and Diane share a prickly, competitive relationship (gee, I wonder if they’ll end up together?), Herbie falls head-over-tires in love with Diane’s Lancia (whom she dubs Giselle at the end of the film.) Meanwhile, a pair of inept British thieves (Roy Kinnear and Bernard Fox) manage to steal a highly valuable diamond called the Étoile de Joie, and end up hiding said gem inside Herbie’s gas tank. Under the watchful eye of their mysterious boss (who, in a “surprise twist” early in the film, turns out to be Inspector Bouchet of the Parisian police, played by Jacques Marin,) they pursue Herbie along the racecourse in an attempt to recapture the purloined diamond. Inevitably, wackiness ensues.

Clearly, Disney wanted Herbie’s third big-screen outing to be seen as a return to the charming formula of the original film, and to tone down the freewheeling silliness of the previous entry. The biggest clue here is setting the story amidst the fictional Trans-France Race, placing Herbie firmly back into the role of “living race car,” rather than the “automotive guard dog” he was portrayed as previously. Also of note is, of course, the return of Dean Jones, playing his character from The Love Bug. While Jones had been continuously cast by Disney through the mid ‘70s (most recently appearing in the previous year’s The Shaggy D.A.,) it had been almost a decade since his "heyday” at the studio, when he’d starred in six films between 1965 and 1968. Returning to what would become his most fondly-remembered role, Jones seems more than happy to get back behind Herbie’s steering wheel - safe in the knowledge that by this point he was playing second-banana to the titular car.

That awkward moment when you realize only one of you is a "Disney Legend"...

No mention is made of the events or characters from the previous film, by the way; Herbie and Jim appear as if they’ve been together since the first film. It’s actually stated that the pair of them are trying for a comeback with this race, having been some “12 years” since they last raced. Retcon or not, attempting to reconcile the film’s contemporary setting with the original’s late ’60s ethos is now rather difficult - unless this film is set a few years in the future. I’m probably overthinking things again...

For the most part, this back-to-basics approach works in the film’s favor. Even though no one could say with any authority what exactly a “Herbie Movie” should look like when the sequel rolled around, having no racing scenes whatsoever (pointless clip-montage notwithstanding) made Herbie Rides Again feel far removed from the original. But seeing the little VW Bug zipping past sleeker-looking sportscars on the racecourse, accompanied by his sprightly theme music (originally composed by studio maestro George Bruns, replaced here by Frank De Vol) just feels right. The addition of Don Knotts to the cast, clearly meant to fill in for the missing Tennessee Steinmetz (played by Buddy Hackett in the original film,) is a welcome one. While never bringing the same level of bonkers warmth as Hackett (and lacking that character’s eastern philosophical bent,) Knotts adds his usual nervous energy to an otherwise straightforward “kooky buddy” role, hitting an easy rapport with Jones.

Herbie, quit checking out that guy's butt...

Unlike the first two films (whose San Francisco setting was established mainly through the use of evocative matte paintings,) Herbie Goes to Monte Carlo was mostly shot on location throughout France and Monaco. Perhaps wishing to impress from the start, the filmmakers “put the money upfront” in an extended credits sequence featuring striking aerial photography, with sweeping vistas of the French countryside (and eventually Paris itself) - all while little Herbie is seen to drive along the winding roads below.

I’m somewhat on the fence regarding the film’s love story, to be honest. I suppose I should say love stories, since both Herbie and Jim partake in on-screen romances - although I have no qualms with the human’s storyline, despite it’s predictability. Jim and Diane’s “been there, done that” love story plays out exactly as one imagines: “tough cookie” Diane inevitably softens into a starry-eyed romantic, while Jim … you know … doesn’t really change at all. This by-the-numbers arc comes off especially false, since Diane is portrayed as fiercely independent before her sudden conversion to “affection object.” This initial characterization is played rather too on-the-nose, unfortunately, as she’s presented as a brittle shrew who continually shrieks that “everyone” wants her to fail as a racer “just because (she’s) a woman” - even though no one, including the “bad guy” drivers, ever say or act as such.


Pfft! You zink Claude and I haff any interest in ze women?

The love story between Herbie and Giselle the Lancia, on the other hand, dances a fine line between tediously silly and oddly affecting. Unlike the other “living machines” that sprang to life in the previous installment, here it appears that Giselle “awakens” at Herbie’s gentle beckoning, her pop-up headlights slowly blinking open. One catches a whiff of the old mysticism at work here, as the key to consciousness is born from love, from an emotional connection forged through feelings. After this awakening, the two cars share a near-immediate affection for each other, following a goofy-but-sweet scene in which Herbie plops a bouquet of flowers onto the Lancia’s hood (while a dumbfounded French waiter looks on, natch.) At varying points in the film, the two cars become depressed and despondent at the thought of the other driving off without them, but are quick to spring back into action when their human friends are in trouble. This is keeping in character with the Herbie from The Love Bug, a gentle soul whose emotions run deep - especially in regards to  offering and accepting love. This is not, in other words, the high-strung psychopath of the previous film.

Hubba Hubba…

On the other hand, the series of montages following the pair of loving vehicles around Paris tend to drag on too long. These stretches of dialogue-free scenes aren’t nearly as clever as the filmmakers seem to think, and quickly become repetitive.

The chuckle brothers at work...

While there is much to like in this film, unfortunately not everything works. The plot involving the diamond heist (and it's "man on the inside" twist that plays it's hand far too early) feels unnecessarily tacked-on. Apparently the filmmakers felt that a movie containing both Don Knotts and a pair of living cars wouldn’t provide enough humor, and so Roy Kinnear (familiar from his role as Veruca Salt’s father in Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory) and Bernard Fox (Dr. Bombay from TV’s Bewitched) are tasked with providing an endless series of “bungling burglar” gags. Since these two are portrayed as clueless from the get-go, there’s never any menace or threat against our heroes. Even when the pair’s boss (Jacques Marin’s Inspector Bouchet) steps in to help retrieve the stolen gem, he too spends the rest of the film being outsmarted by a Volkswagen. Unfortunately, just about every sequence involving these three connards stupides causes the film’s pacing to grind to a stand-still; audiences are left waiting impatiently for Herbie to return and the racing to resume.

Inspector, may I interest you in a piece of Dentyne?

Additionally, one wonders if Bernard Fox was cast as a kind of stand-in for the first film’s similarly posh-accented David Tomlinson. Is this is the case, then - with no offense meant to Fox - it’s a pretty piss-poor substitution.

On the whole, Herbie Goes to Monte Carlo feels much more like a follow-up to the 1968 original than it’s first sequel, despite a number of issues. In a way, it’s a shame that it took Disney nine years to make this film. With all due respect to director Vincent McEveety and screenwriters Arthur Alsberg and Don Nelson, you have to wonder what the same movie would’ve looked like a few years earlier, in the hands of the original filmmakers. Imagine if Love Bug director Robert Stevenson (and the rest of his crew) had been given this racing-focused story to use as the basis for their sequel - perhaps aimed for a late 1971 or early ‘72 release. Further, suppose that not only Dean Jones, but Buddy Hackett and perhaps even David Tomlinson had agreed to reprise their roles, their characters' re-match shifted to Europe. How much more interesting would the race itself have been with a pre-established rivalry to increase the stakes? And what would Hackett’s goofy, spiritually-enlightened Tennessee Steinmetz make of a love story between little Herbie and a lovely living Lancia?

C'est l'amour...

Alas, we’ll never know how differently Herbie’s future may’ve turned out had this been the case. While unlikely, it’s possible that had Disney followed up the original film with something more closely resembling a “Love Bug Goes to Monte Carlo,” the franchise may have had a longer or more prestigious run than it did. Indeed, while Herbie Goes to Monte Carlo is, for all intents and purposes, a better movie than Herbie Rides Again, it made almost $10 million less. Perhaps this is evidence that Disney had waited a little too long to give audiences the Herbie movie they really wanted to see. Of course, it should be kept in mind that the film was released about a month after the all-encompassing pop-cultural nexus that was Star Wars hit theaters - so maybe the fact that anybody bothered to see it at all should be commended.

Nevertheless, by this point younger audiences at the time of The Love Bug’s release had long since grown up, and the rest of the viewing public seemed ready to move on. With a better film now under their belt, the filmmakers would have to make a fourth adventure for the little VW Bug something special if they were going to recapture the imaginations of their audience. For if the original Love Bug had been the map drawn out for a successful franchise, then Herbie Rides Again had been a wrong turn, and Herbie Goes to Monte Carlo the shortcut back. Unfortunately, Herbie was about to be driven straight off a cliff - as the filmmakers’ next move resulted in one of the biggest, most disastrous artistic misjudgments in Disney’s entire film catalog.

Do you smell something? Smells like putrid, rotten bananas to me…

Try to land on Harvey Korman!!

Herbie Rides Again

It took six years for Herbie, the loveable little car from 1968’s The Love Bug, to zoom back into theaters; and when he did, something felt different. With the “summer of love” now a distant memory, the danger that audiences would be less inclined to follow the misadventures of a groovy little VW Bug posed a bit of a problem for the filmmakers. The solution they hit upon was to amp up the irreverence and throw their vehicular protagonist (and his human co-stars) into an increasingly silly series of comedic situations. Unfortunately the resulting film, 1974’s Herbie Rides Again, ended up showing how little Disney understood about what had made the original film so successful.

He's ugly, but he'll get you there...

The film focuses on the efforts of villainous real estate magnate (and demolition fetishist) Alonzo Hawk (Keenan Wynn) to construct the world’s tallest office building over an existing San Francisco neighborhood. The sole holdouts who refuse to move away are Old Lady Steinmetz (Helen Hayes, apparently playing the aunt of Buddy Hackett’s character from The Love Bug, despite being referred to as “Grandma”) and her displaced neighbor, flight attendant Nicole Harris (Stefanie Powers,) who reside in the old firehouse from the first film. In a last-ditch effort to sweet-talk the kindly old widow into signing over her residence, Hawk sends his naïve young nephew, Willoughby Whitfield (Ken Berry,) fresh out of law school and completely oblivious to the fact that his uncle is a tyrant. Little does anyone know that Old Lady Steinmetz and Nicole have a third roommate, one who is fiercely protective of them and their little firehouse: Herbie, the VW Beetle with a mischievous mind of his own. Before you can say “tediously predictable,” Willoughby is soon convinced of Herbie’s consciousness, as well as his uncle’s greedy ways. He therefore decides to help the old lady, her sassy roommate, and their living car stay in their home, and - through an increasingly wacky series of events - make Hawk receive his overdue comeuppance.

Let’s get the obvious out of the way: the only returning “character” from The Love Bug is Herbie himself. Our three (or four, if you count David Tomlinson) flesh-and-blood leads are MIA in this sequel, their absences explained offhandedly by Hayes’ character: her nephew, Tennessee, is with his ailing guru in Tibet, while Jim Douglas (who’s never mentioned by name) “went off to Europe to drive foreign cars”; no mention is made as to the whereabouts of Michele Lee’s Carole Bennet. While the lack of familiar characters doesn’t automatically make a sequel bad, the cast of the original Love Bug shared some of the strongest chemistry yet seen in a Disney film, so their complete absence is sorely felt here. It doesn’t help, of course, that male lead Ken Berry (familiar from TV’s F-Troop and later Mama's Family) is no Dean Jones. Lacking the charisma necessary in a film where suspension-of-disbelief is paramount, Berry never injects the feeble Willoughby with any spark of life. The character ends up taking a backseat to just about every other character in the film, never growing beyond the “affable doormat” he's initially introduced as.

Berry pretty...

Additionally, the relationship between Willoughby and Nicole (because of course they fall in love) is played with as little subtlety as possible. Not that I’m saying the first film’s Carole Bennet was an especially well written or acted character, but there was solid chemistry between Lee and Jones that made their characters' budding romance somewhat believable. Here instead we get Powers’ Nicole clocking Willoughby on more than one occasion, since she goes “crazy” if she hears Hawk’s name, while he cowers and apologizes (to which she replies "I can't stand men who apologize" … WHAT!?!) Their romance seems to happen only because it’s what men and women do in Disney comedies.

It’s also quite a stretch for a then 41-year old Berry to be playing a starry-eyed young man fresh out of law school. By comparison, Dean Jones was 37 in the first film, and was then referred to by other characters as an “old man” in the racing circuit. When the supposedly "youthful" main character ends up getting more wrinkle-disguising soft-focus glamor shots than the leading lady, one wonders why a younger actor simply wasn’t hired in the first place.

Also, Ken Berry’s hands are distractingly hairy. Like, gorilla hairy. He should’ve changed his name to Ken Hairy.

Okay, I’ll leave the guy alone now.

Something else you may have noticed in the above synopsis is that there’s no mention of auto racing. As noted in last week’s post, one of the continually popular aspects of The Love Bug is it’s focus on Herbie’s career as a racecar, paying deference to sports-car enthusiasts and racing culture. Since the first film’s other focus on counter-culture and mysticism couldn’t practically be repeated (more on that in a moment,) it would only makes sense for a follow-up film to focus on Herbie’s further exploits in the racing world. Yet for reasons known only to the filmmakers, they avoided this all together. Instead, Old Lady Steinmetz informs Willoughby that Herbie “used to be a famous racing car,” explaining why she has to “humor” him like some temperamental old diva. We are later treated to a lengthy dream sequence of Herbie’s career, consisting entirely of clips from The Love Bug. This sequence serves absolutely no purpose beyond padding out the short film (Herbie Rides Again clocks in at a tidy 88 minutes,) and reminding the audience how fun the original film was.

Why do we put such big wheels on our little cars?

Instead of energetic racing sequences, Herbie Rides Again instead ratchets up the wackiness quotient to almost unbearable levels. The film features numerous chase sequences, in which Herbie flees from Hawk’s henchmen. The longest of these finds Herbie speeding through city streets with an unfazed Old Lady Steinmetz sitting inside, causing massive traffic collisions, driving through the dining room of the Sheraton Palace Hotel, and finally escaping by driving up the cables of the Golden Gate Bridge. Later, after ascending a window-cleaning platform (that’s strangely large enough to fit a Volkswagen,) Herbie and his elderly passenger spray gallons upon gallons of foam into Hawk’s office and proceed to chase the raving villain around the building and out onto the building’s ledge (which, again, is amazingly wide enough to accommodate a car.) By this point, one can’t help but miss the first film's humor. Yes, it was silly, but used more sparingly, such as when Herbie would squirt motor oil onto Thorndyke’s shoes or perform silly stunts to win races - not to cause mayhem. Such wrathful behavior (which culminates in a sequence featuring Hawk having unnerving Herbie-centric nightmares) also seems unbecoming of the charming little car, whose entire consciousness had previously hinged on feelings of love.

Fahrvergnügen of death...

The over-the-top craziness in this film isn’t even limited to Herbie’s antics, either. Upon learning that Willoughby is not only in Hawk’s employ, but also related to him, Nicole becomes enraged and wallops him with a boiled lobster (a fact that we’re reminded of several times afterward, as if using a lobster as a weapon is the funniest damn thing in the world.) Willoughby, our protagonist, is literally sent flying over the railing of Fisherman’s Wharf, landing in the water below with a massive splash. Jeez! Who does Nicole think she is, Princess Anna!? By far the biggest ham on display, unsurprisingly, is Keenan Wynn. As Alonzo Hawk (a character also featured in Disney’s two original Absent-Minded Professor movies - which means that Herbie and Flubber both exist in a shared universe,) Wynn spends nearly all of his screen-time bellowing at the top of his lungs, flinging insults and firing subordinates left and right. If the goal as Herbie’s nemesis is to top the over-acting of your predecessor, then Wynn makes David Tomlinson’s energetic performance come off as naturalistic in comparison.

After that flying Model T! Wait, wrong movie...

An unfortunate victim of the thematic re-imagining of Herbie is the loss of the emotional mysticism that pervaded the first film. This is an understandable and unfortunate instance of real-world circumstances informing fictional matters, as the flower-power fueled counter-culture that had informed this motif had more or less evaporated by 1974. But again, this being the case, the filmmakers could have opted to leave the more “out there” elements of Herbie’s existence alone and focus on the racing. Instead, they seem to shoot for a kind of magical realism by bringing in a number of other "living machines" - but to little effect. Besides Herbie, the firehouse also houses a sentient Orchestrion (a turn-of-the-century music machine) and a retired San Francisco cable car. In addition, during the film's climax Herbie speeds through town rallying every other VW Beetle he encounters, in order to take on Hawk’s assembled demolition crew. Like much in this film, this sequence was likely thrown in because the visual of a “VW Bug cavalry” chasing after Keenan Wynn struck someone as amusing. One could possibly argue that Herbie’s protective emotions for his human friends grows so strong that they spread to other “like-minded” machines, but this feels like grasping at straws. The addition of other "living machines" seems arbitrary to the script, merely an attempt to make the movie seem quirky. Rather than continuing the undercurrent of mysticism, the filmmakers turn to empty spectacle, filmic conjuring tricks masquerading as whimsy.

Looks like a lemon party...

It may also be worth noting that Volkswagen, who had little to do with the first film, worked with Disney to heavily cross-promote their line of cars (and made sure their familiar “VW” emblem was much more prominent on-screen than it had been in ‘68.). Seeing an army of “heroic Volkswagens” on the big screen suddenly makes much more sense when viewed from a financial point-of-view, rather than a mystical one.

The biggest question here, of course, is “why?” Why did the filmmakers decide to drop nearly everything that made the first film work so well? Why change the cast, exclude the racing, ignore the mystical overtones? Most important of all, why focus on the one element that probably least accounted for The Love Bug’s success: the “living car” gags? Much of the behind-the-camera talent was retained from the first film - including director Robert Stevenson and writers Gordon Buford and Bill Walsh - so why the wide disparity in the script’s thematic tone and (let’s be honest) overall quality? Could this have been a case of Disney completely misreading it’s audience? That may be so, for while Herbie Rides Again was far from a box office disappointment (earning over $38 Million,) it most definitely wasn't the runaway success it’s predecessor was. Perhaps the “love generation” ethos that the original was released during accounted for far more of it’s success than anyone at Walt Disney Productions thought.

Face to face in secret places, feel the chill...

While I’ve spent this review tearing the movie apart, the unfortunate fact is that, while not a very good movie, when taken on it’s own merits it’s not that bad, either. It’s far, far from perfect of course, for all the reasons already stated, but it can be pretty funny. Hell, Keenan Wynn’s bugnuts performance alone is worth the price of admission. For anyone looking for some mindlessly wacky comedy, there are far worse ways to spend 88 minutes. In many ways, the film follows in the tradition of “throw everything at the wall” comedy that categorized 1963’s It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World and would eventually spawn such parody-heavy titles as 1980’s Airplane! In fact, Herbie Rides Again really feels like a spiritual successor to Disney’s groan-inducing 1970 yuk-fest The Boatniks (which, perhaps not coincidentally, also featured Stefanie Powers in a lead role.) But the fact of the matter is that this is a sequel not to that knockabout comedy, but to The Love Bug - a well-made, extremely popular film that has rightly become a classic in Disney’s canon. And, for whatever reason, the people who made that film followed it up with something that feels like a very different kind of movie. Whether it’s fair or not, comparing one to the other inevitably makes Herbie Rides Again pale considerably.

Sooner or later, your wife will drive home
one of the best reasons for owning a Volkswagen...

Next time we’ll continue our look at the adventures of Herbie the Love Bug, as Dean Jones returns in an attempt to get the expanding series back to basics. But will it be a case of “too little, too late”?

Escape To Witch Mountain

1975 Was a diverse year for Walt Disney Productions. The theme park division started the year by declaring it had completed “phase 1” of Walt Disney World with the opening of Space Mountain, and was preparing to go whole-hog into making a go of Walt’s E.P.C.O.T. project. Meanwhile, the film studio continued to disseminate a slow-but-steady stream of releases which fit comfortably within it's family-friendly ethos, including a pair of wacky comedies in February (the Kurt Russell-starring The Strongest Man in the World) and July (The Apple Dumpling Gang, with Don Knotts and Tim Conway.) Between these two releases (on March 21, to be exact,) the studio premiered a somewhat more serious feature, Escape to Witch Mountain. Based on the 1968 science-fiction novel by Alexander H. Key, the film could, in retrospect, be seen as something of a harbinger of the somber turn Disney’s film slate would take at the close of the decade. But it's confused tone and disappointing lack of suspense points at a film studio that's not quite ready to shake it’s past just yet.

But I be done seen 'bout everything when I see a Winnebago fly...

The film tells the story of siblings Tony and Tia (Ike Eisenmann and Kim Richards, respectively,) foster children who possess psychic and telekinetic powers. Soon after arriving at a new orphanage following the deaths of their adoptive parents, they come to the attention of Lucas Deranian (Donald Pleasence, always at his best when playing creeps,) henchman for villainous billionaire Aristotle Bolt (Ray Milland.) Bolt, who’s obsessed with the occult (just like Hitler in Raiders of the Lost Ark … sorry, that’s neither here nor there,) has Deranian pose as a long-lost relative in order to adopt the children into his luxurious household. There the siblings are gifted their own enormous bedrooms, over-stuffed with toys and other luxuries - and discretely monitored by surveillance equipment. After realizing that Bolt plans to utilize their powers for his own nefarious ends, Tony and Tia make their escape. Following a hidden map they discover inscribed on Tia’s treasured “star case” (and clues provided by her earliest, fragmented memories,) the pair head for the mysterious Witch Mountain while avoiding Deranian and his goons. Along the way, they are helped by Winnebago-driving retiree Jason O’Day (Green Acres’ Eddie Albert) who comes to feel protective of the siblings, having never raised children of his own. But what is the truth behind Tony and Tia’s mysterious origins, and what fate awaits them when they finally make it to Witch Mountain?

Spoilers: they’re aliens.

Because aliens...

Yes, it’s a “twist” that you pretty much see coming from a mile away and, like many other “revelations” in the film, is tossed out almost arbitrarily in the middle of a random conversation. Escape to Witch Mountain seems to have been written expressly for creating expectations and then deflating them. Less than six minutes into the movie, the kids are already brazenly using their telekinetic powers to dispatch a bully at the orphanage (played by gingernut Dermott Downs,) squandering any attempt to mystify the characters in any meaningful way.

Talk to the glove...

Likewise, the film’s opening titles - a brilliantly realized montage of the kid’s silhouettes fleeing animated attack dogs (copied from 1942's Bambi, FYI) - promises dangerous chases and tense drama. Apprehension builds early in the film, as Tia and Tony receive psychic impressions of vicious dogs barking; they know they’ll soon encounter these beasts, and will have to run for their lives. However, when the ballyhooed chase scene finally arrives (as the children take flight from Bolt’s estate,) Tia uses her powers to calm the angry dogs before sicking them on their human pursuers - and that’s it! The whole encounter is over in less than a minute!

This looks like a Dio album cover to me...

Even the film’s title works toward this goal. Besides the fact that we never hear the name of the titular mountain until over an hour into the film, one assumes that the children’s abilities will cause them to be branded as witches. And while this does happen, it’s not until the film is nearly over - and this accusation comes, incredibly, not from the kids at the orphanage who witness their powers, but from a group of spooked rednecks who hear of their powers second-hand.

All my rowdy friends are comin' over tonight!

Now, subversion of expectations in fiction isn’t itself a problem; on the contrary, thwarting audience’s preconceptions prevents artistic stagnation and fosters creativity (and the resulting viewer indignation - aka fanboys shitting themselves - can be quite amusing to witness <ahem Last Jedi ahem> ... but I digress.) However, the resulting narrative needs to be strong enough to support such subversion, and unfortunately this isn’t the case in Escape to Witch Mountain. As it stands, the resulting story hinges on (a) the mystery surrounding Tia’s fragmented memories and (b) the relationship between the children and Jason O’Day. The unraveling of Tia’s memory, unfortunately, comes completely at random, without any impetus within the narrative. As they go about their adventure, Tia seems to be on a pre-set schedule to remember a little more every ten minutes or so, whether they’re on the run or sitting and eating breakfast. When she finally gets around to the “big reveal” about their interstellar origins, it comes across more like someone remembering the lines to a school play they were once in, rather than a life-changing moment of clarity.

Not-so-total recall...

Additionally, the storyline about Tia and Tony bonding with Eddie Albert’s curmudgeon widower is never allowed time to develop properly. This is a shame, since neither the children nor Albert as actors are at fault; both Eisenmann and Richards are quite good, and this kind of “big-hearted grump” is right up Albert’s alley. In this case it’s purely a scripting problem, as the O’Day character isn’t introduced until halfway through the film - and it’s nearly another ten minutes until he discovers the young stowaways hiding in his Winnebago. The film’s pacing quickly suffers, since the story suddenly pivots into another kind of film and has to start itself over to accommodate another main character. What’s really needed is a bit of story re-arrangement, paired with judicious cross-cutting to show us Albert’s character before the children encounter him. As it is, the film instead overloads it’s second half with incident, with each plotline (the children’s origin, the pursuit by Bolt and Deranian, and the bonding with O’Day to name the major ones) given short shrift by the time the climax rolls around.

Kids! I can see the "Now Entering Hooterville" sign!

This actually points to another issue I have with Escape to Witch Mountain: it’s uncertain tone. The filmmakers never seem to be able to decide exactly what kind of a film they’re trying to make (a complaint I’ve previously lodged against 1993’s A Far Off Place.) From the beginning, Tony and Tia’s powers are portrayed as somewhat more uncanny than wondrous, with the slightest undercurrent of threat to their telekinesis. Admittedly, this may be more an issue with the direction than the script itself, as requiring Tony to play a harmonica to focus his powers certainly undercuts any sort of menace. Director John Hough, who’d directed a handful of Hammer horror films (and would be better suited directing The Watcher in the Woods for Disney five years later,) seems ready to instill an undercurrent of gothic horror to the proceedings despite the script’s push toward family comedy. This tightrope walk between whimsy and creepiness is most clearly visible during a scene in which, under the hidden-camera leer of Bolt, Tony brings a playroom full of marionettes to life in order to cheer up his sister. Despite Tia laughing and dancing along (all while Richards deftly avoids a number of just-visible fishing lines,) one senses a slight uneasiness, with lingering close-ups of the dead-eyed puppets clashing with the light-hearted music playing against it. By the end of the film, one almost senses Hough expressing himself through the villains who, after enduring a “wacky chase” scene involving helicopters turning upside-down and O’Day’s Winnebago taking flight, wave off the whole affair with a dismissive “Bah!”

Look out! Wacky fun! A-hyuk hyuk hyuk!! Oh, fun!

Escape to Witch Mountain exists in an odd sort of limbo within Disney’s live-action canon, simultaneously treasured and written-off. The film spawned two sequels: the Hough-directed Return From Witch Mountain (1978) and 1982’s made-for-TV Beyond Witch Mountain, as well as two remakes (a 1995 TV movie and 2009’s Race To Witch Mountain, which replaced weathered old Eddie Albert with modern day Adonis Dwayne Johnson,) and was one of a handful of live-action features that were granted high-profile video releases through the ‘80s and ‘90s. However, like most of Disney’s non-animated output that isn't Mary Poppins, the film seems to have been swept under the rug in recent years. I wouldn't say this is a bad film, but like many other productions Disney put out around this time, it could’ve been better. The ideas for a more memorable film - whether it would've ended up as a suspenseful gothic spine-tingler or a warm family-friendly comedy - are all here; but in 1975 Disney was still a studio dealing with it’s past and uncertain about it’s future. Walt Disney had been dead only nine years, and the film studio (headed by Walt’s son-in-law, Ron Miller) still wasn’t ready to go too far out of it’s warm and fuzzy comfort zone just yet. While Escape to Witch Mountain feels like a precursor to the studio’s “dark turn” in the early 1980s, the tension between Disney’s legacy and what it would eventually become unfortunately end up nearly tearing this film apart.

TV Detour #4 - The Grand Opening of Walt Disney World

Imagine, if you will, turning on your television set and encountering the following: slow, contemplative images of the sun rising above large, majestic clouds. The gentle strumming of an acoustic guitar serves as a serene sonic backdrop to slowly-panning shots of the morning sky, languidly giving way to sweeping views of tranquil woods and grasslands. After a few moments, the velvety voice of Country singer Glen Campbell gently joins in, singing the poetic lyrics of "Today Is Mine," a forgotten little ballad from his 1971 album The Last Time I Saw Her:

     When the sun came up this morning I took the time to watch it rise
     And as its beauty struck the darkness from the sky
     I thought how small and unimportant all my troubles seem to be
     And how lucky another day belongs to me

Before long, our gently gliding camera locates the singer himself, decked out in denim and casually making his way along a small dirt road amidst this tranquil wilderness, picking his guitar as he croons. By this point, you may wonder exactly what it is that you’re watching. Until Campbell ambled on-screen, one might think they were watching one of those “tranquil morning scene” programs that used to air early mornings on PBS stations. Could this be an old music video, or some promotional film for Campbell’s album? Or perhaps a segment from his CBS variety show, The Glen Campbell Goodtime Hour? The answer becomes startlingly clear when, following more shots of the wandering minstrel making his way through the backwoods, the camera stops and pans with Campbell as he walks across a sunny expanse of grass … and right under a monorail beam. The song concludes as he looks skyward, just in time to witness a sleek white and blue monorail train zooming by overhead.

So begins The Grand Opening of Walt Disney World, a 90-minute special which originally aired on October 29th, 1971 - a full 28 days after the gates were officially opened to Disney’s 43 square-mile “Vacation Kingdom” outside the small town of Orlando, Florida. Following the disastrous live airing of Disneyland’s opening day in 1955, Walt Disney Productions vowed to never again allow chance (or missing microphones) spoil their carefully crafted public image. Over the following 15 years, the studio perfected how they further presented Walt’s park in such slickly-produced specials as 1962’s Disneyland After Dark and 1965’s Disneyland’s 10th Anniversary. Through such specials, Disney also hit upon a workable formula in which to best present their theme park to the general public: present Disneyland as a pleasant place to spend a day through copious use of pre-filmed footage, interspersed with musical numbers - some part of the daily park experience (such as parades or band concerts,) others presented solely for the television cameras (such as Louis Armstrong playing on the deck of the Mark Twain Riverboat.) Peppered throughout would be segments previewing new or upcoming attractions, as well as a few warm words from Walt himself (sometimes shown to be speaking from inside the park - through the magic of rear-projection.)

The Grand Opening of Walt Disney World, on the other hand, takes this formula and twists it. A harbinger of some truly awful (or at least awfully cheesy) specials to come throughout the ‘70s and early ‘80s, it’s here where Disney begins to present the parks more like a backdrop for musical numbers, comedy skits and sitcom-like storylines involving celebrity guest-stars. Much of this new direction can be attributed to the outsourced production company, Smith-Hemion Productions, who produced a multitude of popular television specials from the ‘60s through the ‘90s, but whose particular brand of polyester-clad razzle-dazzle has aged about as well as a bowl of cottage cheese in direct sunlight. The Grand Opening of Walt Disney World isn’t their worst offense to Disney nostalgia, serving as something of a bridge between the more informative specials of the ‘60s and the cringe-inducing ones to come (1975’s Welcome to the World and 1981’s Kraft Salutes Walt Disney World’s 10th Anniversary spring to mind - we may get to those someday.) It does, however, contain a number of bizarre sequences, some of which cause one to wonder if they were even attempting to lure potential guests to their new vacation destination at all.

Following the almost religious reveal of the monorail leaving Glen Campbell to fend for himself in the swamp, host Julie Andrews (7 years since Mary Poppins and looking very much like a demure Disney public relations hostess in her knee-length skirt and piped blazer) appears, stating that she is very glad to be here “for the opening of the Walt Disney World.” Traveling first by monorail, then ferry boat, and finally by crossfade, she makes her way across the Seven Seas Lagoon and onto Main Street, wistfully singing “When You Wish Upon A Star” to a mostly deserted Magic Kingdom (crowds of pre-opening cast members and their guests can be seen on the fringes of the screen, straining to peek past the just out-of-sight security guards.) Making her way inside the Main Street Cinema (since replaced by - what else - a gift shop,) she is soon joined by the costumed Goofy, Pluto and Pinocchio characters, who march down the sidewalk while a funky, electric clavinet-heavy rendition of “Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah” plays. As Andrews takes up lead vocal, she’s joined by a group of energetic young performers (the “Kids of the Kingdom,”) who, in their white bell-bottoms, bright colored sweaters and wide-collared shirts, look like back-up dancers from The Brady Bunch Variety Hour.

The hills are aliiiiiiive ... oh, wait ...

Following their show-stopping dance toward Cinderella Castle, we get the first of our comedic skits, in which a big family arrives by car at the Fort Wilderness campground. This bit (which continues later in the program) is mostly a showcase for comedian Jonathan Winters, who plays the overbearing family patriarch that spends endless minutes berating his poor wife with one unfunny line after another. His stream-of-conscious diatribe to his silently terrified spouse is nothing short of astonishing, in that it goes on and on and on without even once steering anywhere close to funny. I only managed to write down a few seconds for your reading pleasure, in which Winters growls out the following to his mute wife from the passenger-side seat: “Well Margaret, it wasn’t too bad a drive, after all it was only two days and two nights from Fort Smith ... I didn’t bug you too much. Well what about me sitting in this side all the time going bumpety bumpety bumpety?! Wasn’t easy for me! Why Margaret, you must’ve hit a thousand chuckholes from Fort Smith to here. Let me tell you something, we didn’t do this vacation for me or for the kids, we did this for you Margaret! So you could get out of that hot, sweaty kitchen and have the fun of your life!” And later, after wrenching Margaret’s hands from the steering wheel and getting her out of the car: “What are you doing, Margaret? What kind of a walk … huh … you’re like some kind of female Frankenstein, you’re gonna scare the kids if you don’t put your hands down, stop that … oh, you look like Smokey the Bear after he’s hit by lightning … you’re dogging it, Margaret, dogging it!”

The face that haunts my nightmares...

After this “hilarious” bit, we return to Glen Campbell, who’s thumbed a ride on a speedboat that pulls up to the dock outside the monolithic Contemporary Resort. He briefly touches on the massive scope of Disney’s new property (“when I found out that  Walt Disney World is twice as big as the isle of Manhattan, <whistle> ... I just had to stop and think about that a minute!”) before introducing Bob "ex-Mousketeer" Hope, coming to you from inside the not-quite-finished Contemporary. Delivering his short set of zingers to an atrium full of cast members, Hope’s routine has since gone down as one of the most trite, old-hat collection of strained Disney-themed jokes ever recorded. After dismissing his entourage of female tour guides (“Thank you, girls … wait for me in Adventureland <canned laughter>”,) he launches into a number of attempted rib-ticklers about the Contemporary itself (“now I know where the Goodyear blimp goes during the mating season <canned laughter>”, “it’s really two buildings leaning against each other - and I want to congratulate the architect, Dean Martin <canned laughter>”,) the Disney company (“to think it all started with a gentle mouse, a bad-tempered duck and seven mixed-up dwarfs <canned laughter>”,) and its renowned service (“I ordered lunch from room service and Snow White brought it in, and I was afraid to eat the apple <canned laughter>”, and “the bathtub I share with Donald Duck; did you ever try bathing with a duck who’s playing with his rubber man? <canned laughter>”.) Okay, that last one’s pretty funny, though for entirely unintended reasons.

Hey, isn't that wild?

After a brief musical interlude, in which Arthur Fiedler conducts a stirring orchestral performance of the finale to Ottorino Respighi’s Pines of Rome (featuring some lovely shots of the Magic Kingdom’s central hub at night, its trees alight with hundreds of twinkling fairy-lights,) a tuxedoed Glen Campbell (this guy really gets around) introduces one of the park’s new attractions, the Country Bear Jamboree. After a lengthy preview (in which all but a couple of the Bear Band's songs are played out,) Campbell pops up again on the Frontierland dock, singing his song “Wherefore And Why” while the Admiral Joe Fowler Riverboat veers dangerously close to the singer as it comes to a stop nearby (at least the telephoto lens makes it look that way.)

Look out, Glen!

This special differs from Dateline: Disneyland and many later opening-day specials in that it doesn’t touch upon many of the rides awaiting guests at the new theme park - and those that it does are notably unique to the east coast (no mention is made, for example, of the Haunted Mansion that looms in the background behind Campbell.) Thus, after taking a moment to offer some down-home thoughts on the meaning of freedom, Campbell introduces viewers to The Hall of Presidents - soon to be the park’s most popular attraction, believe it or not (now sleepy Liberty Square was quite the hot spot during the years leading up the the United States’ bicentennial celebration.) Naturally we are treated to a generous preview of the attraction’s finale in which, following a roll-call of all the US presidents, a speech is delivered by Disney’s favorite animatronic commander-in-chief, Abraham Lincoln. Until 1993 (when then-president Bill Clinton was tapped to record an additional speech for his animatronic doppelganger) the standing president did not have a speaking role in the show. Perhaps in 2017 the time has come to return the show to it’s Lincoln-centric roots, since the current president can’t seem to deliver an inspirational speech to save his life?

Come hoot n' howl n' holler from the heart...

We then return to Jonathan Winters, who gathers his family for a pow-pow after Margaret finishes setting up their huge tent. After more painful gags (including repeated instances of Mr. Winters blowing into his hand, stating he's giving mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to a gnat he insists is an injured Tinkerbell,) Margaret decides she’s had enough and makes a break for it. Winters, who at that moment was trying to convince her to partake in a game of “William Tell” (“remember that, kids, when I forgot to put the rubber tip on the arrow!? And that was some kind of headache she had!”,) then leads the gathered children in a chant of “We're gonna track down mommy!” before setting them after her. I swear I’m not making this up.

Nearing the halfway point in the show, we are treated to an all-too-brief look at the nightly luau performed on the shores of the Polynesian Village resort - which mysteriously includes the King Leonidas character from Bedknobs and Broomsticks perched on a throne at the back of stage, regally taking in the grass-skirted dancers before him. Like many of the promotional films, books and brochures released about Walt Disney World in its early years, much time is dedicated to the funky Contemporary Resort, while comparatively little attention is paid to the south seas themed Polynesian Village ... despite the fact that “the Poly” has been scientifically proven to be the greatest hotel on planet Earth. But I digress…

All hail the Polynesian. Hail! Hail!

The clean-cut “Kids of the Kingdom” soon return for a musical interlude, informing viewers that the show (and by extension Disney World itself) has “More! More! More!” to show us. They perform their routine, which was clearly filmed way ahead of the park’s opening, through a strangely barren Fantasyland (most of it's banners, signage and decorative greenery doesn’t appear to be in place yet) and a far-from finished Tomorrowland. Beyond the fact that no water runs through it's monumental entrance fountain, and that the land's focal point, the Star Jets, wouldn't open until 1974, there's also a big ugly construction wall that would run the length of the land for the rest of 1971. This was likely one of the sequences that angered Roy Disney upon transmission of the special, as he felt that showcasing an empty, uncompleted Magic Kingdom was bad for the company's image. While not the most egregious thing about this program, it does pretty much nullify the entire purpose of making a pre-recorded special in the first place.

Let's grab a Tuscan Frozen Pop after our victory lap, Herbie!

Following a brief look at the Mickey Mouse Review (a beloved animatronic musical show that was shipped to Tokyo Disneyland in 1983,) we are then treated to a skit taking place at the Grand Prix Raceway (now the Tomorrowland Speedway) - which was then, as it still is now, basically a whole lot of concrete. Legendary sportscaster “Chick” Hearn announces a few famous race car drivers, as well as comedic actor Buddy Hackett, as they each run out to grab a pint-sized car for a zip around the guide-railed track. Hackett is pushed aside, and so whistles for his Love Bug co-star, Herbie, who drives up to the starting line amid (fake) jubilant cries from the gathered spectators. “Okay Herbie, let’s go!” Hackett shouts, as he pulls a giant key from the Volkswagen's trunk and winds Herbie up like a giant toy. What the hell!? Herbie doesn’t need a wind-up key! Had anyone involved in this god-forsaken production even seen The Love Bug!?

Jonathan Winters returns one last time, but now he’s playing a different character - that of a stereotypical “swamp-folk” redneck, standing in his baggy overalls on the wooded shore of Bay Lake. He launches into an account of “some kinda crazy man” and “six to eight kids, at least that many” that’d been by looking for “his lost missus,” asking if he and his decrepit bloodhounds (“Jessie and Cudger”) were trackers. “I said, ‘if you lose’em, we get ‘um.’ Eh-hehehehehhee … that’s a, a little tracker funny that I always throw in when, when we, well shoot, any rate …” Oh Jesus. In each of the segments featuring the comedian, it seems as if the producers gave him a vague layout of the storyline they were after, said “Action!” and let him go, second takes be damned! As Winters drawled on and on, I just had to wonder who in their right mind thought this would attract anyone down to Florida for a Disney vacation? I understand that the famed funnyman had his fans, and many may even have found these sequences funny (I get a kick out of watching YouTube Poops, so who am I to judge?), but how the hell does it translate into theme park promotion? Is Joe Schmoe from Muncie going to spit out his mouthful of Schlitz and exclaim “Holy shit Ethel! Cancel the trip to the Grand Canyon, we gotta drive the Newport to Disney World next summer! Maybe some of those funny hillbillies they’ve got can wrestle a ‘gator for the kids!”?

You got a purdy mouth...

So anyway, after another musical number by Julie Andrews (an extended version of “It’s a Small World,” which I realized was written for this special after a long and fruitless internet search) and some kind words about the departed Walt Disney from Bob Hope (“Walt Disney loved America, because his dream came true in America,”) we are then treated to a lengthy recording of the actual opening-day celebrations from October 1st. The Music Man composer Meredith Wilson leads precisely 1,076 trombonists (“Seventy-Six Trombones?” We can beat that!) in a cacophonous performance of said song, as they march their way down Main Street like some brass-blowing army ready to storm Cinderella Castle. A large choir then intones a triumphant rendition of “When You Wish Upon A Star”, as thousands of multicolored balloons are released into the air - surely playing havoc with nearby Cape Kennedy’s mission control. And then … that’s it! We don’t get to hear Roy Disney’s heartfelt dedication, or any closing thoughts from Julie Andrews or the wandering Glen Campbell - hell, we never even find out if Margaret made it to Zihuatanejo or not - just some credits over still-shots of the Vacation Kingdom, surely transmitted with a voice-over recommending that viewers “Now stay tuned for Gene Kelly and special guest Alan King on The Funny Side, and then your local news.”

Look at all those tromboners!

While not a mess by any stretch (and remarkably still more focused than Dateline: Disneyland, if less historically valuable,) The Grand Opening of Walt Disney World is so full of random asides and bewildering entertainment choices that one can’t shake the feeling that Disney wanted to go to great lengths to differentiate their new entertainment complex from their little park in California. Understandable, of course - the “Florida Project” was an incredibly complex venture, in planning for nearly a decade and requiring over five years to build (and, in typical Disney fashion, still not really ready for opening day.) Besides the long and tricky process of buying up so much land from hundreds of different owners, miles and miles of natural-looking (that was one of Walt’s mandates) drainage canals were built in order to evenly distribute the swampy waters and make the land habitable (and to set up a number of nature preservation spaces, so as to affect the ecosystem as little as possible - in late ‘60s terms, anyway.) In addition to it’s own internal network of roads, the 200-acre Seven Seas Lagoon was created adjacent to Bay Lake, just so that the Magic Kingdom could be fronted by a lovely lake instead of a parking lot. This excavation revealed pristine white sand underneath the marsh, that was then utilized to construct beaches at the Contemporary and Polynesian Village resorts, as well as for Fort Wilderness. These hotels, built using a unique modular construction technique (rooms were built and furnished offsite, then trucked in and slid into a pre-built framework,) represented a whole new enterprise for Walt Disney Productions, who now found themselves in the hospitality and lodging industry, in addition to theme parks, consumer products, music, movie and television production. Incredibly, these projects making up “Phase 1” of the Walt Disney World development took up only a small portion of Disney’s total acreage, giving credence to Walt’s oft-quoted line that “there’s enough land here to hold all the ideas and plans we can possibly imagine.” It was (and remains) a truly monumental undertaking.

Fiedler, Fifer, and Practical

So why was none of this ever mentioned in their “Grand Opening” television extravaganza!?! If much was made of Walt’s achievement in opening Disneyland back in 1955, surely a project over 54 times larger would warrant some attention to a national viewing audience? The sheer scope of the project may have possibly interested those not inclined to care about a theme park or a family vacation. Why are we instead treated to so many humorless skits and tedious musical numbers? While most of Disney’s other specials made it a point to show off as much of their parks as possible, The Grand Opening of Walt Disney World seems to play it coy much of the time. We are offered a number of nice aerial shots of Magic Kingdom and the surrounding waterways, but never with any explanation of exactly what we’re seeing. Heck, if Disney really wanted to differentiate their new property from Disneyland, they could’ve emphasized the recreation and amenities of the entire resort, including the hotels and lakes, instead of sidelining both in favor of random “variety show” fodder.

Well, I guess it's either this or The Chicago Teddy Bears...

Reading this, one might think that I really dislike the program. Oh how little you know me! While this isn't my favorite theme park special, I honestly appreciate anything that offers a peek into these little moments in history - even when it’s wrapped in such a cheesy, Brylcreem-scented package. And, in spite of itself, there are some genuine moments of odd brilliance in this strange piece of promotional art: Campbell’s laid-back performances are right at home in the more quaint Disney World of the early ‘70s, Julie Andrews is always a joy to watch (her starry-eyed gaze as she watches clips from Snow White and Song of the South in the Cinema is a stand-out moment,) and the brief look at Arthur Fiedler’s concert really should’ve been stretched to fill an entire hour (for posterity, at least.) For me, it’s simply a shame that a marvelous achievement like Walt Disney World was given such a lame-duck presentation to the general public, when it really deserved to be held in as high esteem as it's younger sibling in California.

The world is a carousel of colors...