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”?

The Love Bug

In the history of filmdom, there have been few box-office draws as unlikely as Herbie, the little car with a mind of it’s own. That a self-aware Volkswagen Beetle should end up starring in a film franchise spanning decades is surprising enough; the fact that his original film, 1968’s The Love Bug, ended up as the second highest-grossing film of the year (for 1969, when it went into wide release) is frankly stupefying. This was, after all, the same period that produced such decade-defining hits as Midnight Cowboy and Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, and saw the rapid rise of a counterculture-inspired “New Hollywood” movement that made Easy Rider and The Graduate cultural events. And yet this silly comedy, the final production given Walt Disney’s personal “OK,” is steeped in a counter-cultural zeitgeist (at least one filtered through stodgy old Walt Disney Productions) that apparently struck a chord with audiences at the time.



Poor Dean - he thinks he's the star of the movie...

Based on the 1961 book Car, Boy, Girl by Gordon Buford, the film tells the story of down-on-his-luck race car driver Jim Douglas (Dean Jones,) who discovers that his sprightly new VW “bug” possesses a measure of consciousness - and a playful personality to boot. Aided by his new car - dubbed Herbie by his roommate - Douglas becomes a famous racing star, besting a snooty upmarket European car showroom owner Peter Thorndyke (played by David Tomlinson) and winning the hand of Thorndyke’s sales associate and amateur automotive technician Carole Bennett (played by Michele Lee.) Disney’s favorite “everyman,” Jones - already in his sixth role for the studio - plays to his strengths as the befuddled straight man who must come to grips with the extraordinary circumstances he finds himself in. The real genius in Jones’ performance, however, is how he moves almost imperceptibly from a place of understated realism to high drama. Audiences follow along with Douglas’ initial skepticism (even if they already know the film’s central gimmick) and eventual change of heart, having been completely sold on the emotional truth behind the improbable events occurring on-screen. With no other actor - not even such patented Disney charmers as Fred MacMurray - could one conceivably believe the grief Jones’ character experiences while grappling with a suicidal Herbie atop the Golden Gate bridge.

Jeez, first I have to deal with an invisible Peter Ustinov, now a living car!?!

While Jones goes to great lengths to ground the story in reality, many of his co-stars go for the opposite approach, firing on all wacky cylinders from the start. Most obvious in this regard is Tomlinson, Disney’s secret weapon, four years off his signature role as George Banks in Mary Poppins. Tomlinson plays against his “proper English gentleman” persona as the villainous Thorndyke, ranting and gnashing his teeth with perverse abandon. It’s clear that Tomlinson’s having a blast playing the bad guy, gleefully flying off the handle at Douglas and heaping abuse upon his meek toady, Havershaw (played to ass-kissing perfection by Joe Flynn.) Tomlinson’s scenery-chewing goes off the charts during the lengthy “El Dorado Road Race” in the film’s final act; the face he pulls while fainting at the sight of a bear riding shotgun is so over-the-top it feels like the actor may have pulled a muscle.

DEUUEAUGH!!

Bringing the wacky for the good guys, meanwhile, is familiar funnyman (and future Little Mermaid voice-actor) Buddy Hackett as the improbably-named Tennessee Steinmetz. Playing Douglas’ friend and roommate, audiences at the time were likely most familiar with Hackett from his role in Stanley Kramer’s It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World. Bizarrely, the 44-year old actor's cock-eyed comedic persona (possessing the world’s thickest Brooklyn accent) is utilized for playing Steinmetz as a spiritually enlightened, New Age student of eastern philosophy, who constantly extols lessons he supposedly picked up during time amongst Buddhist monks in Tibet - and who also assembles objets d’art from battered car-parts. Interestingly, the character and his philosophy are not played for laughs (Hackett delivers plenty of humorous asides and physical pratfalls to cover that,) but portrayed as the heart and soul of Douglas and Herbie’s crew, encouraging the initially skeptical racer to listen to his own emotions in order to understand those of his living car.

And den dey made me wind up Hoybee like a giant kid's toy!

A brief aside: there’s a scene shared between Tomlinson and Hackett, in which Thorndyke pretends to get drunk with Steinmetz (from his “Mudda’s own recipe” for Irish coffee) to cover an act of sabotage against Herbie. I’m certain that much of the interaction between the two in this scene was ad-libbed, with Tomlinson “accidentally” squirting whipped cream on Hackett’s hand, who then responds by spending the rest of the scene trying to get the Brit to crack-up and break character. Tomlinson barely makes it, obviously starting to lose it at scene’s end as Hackett sprays whipped cream on a discarded notebook. Watching the pair of comically gifted actors using a scene in a Disney film to crack one-another up is a joy to behold, and one of the film’s unexpected highlights.

If you're going to San Francisco...

The film’s San Francisco setting seems wholly appropriate to the story being told - especially a San Francisco awash in the lingering haze of the “summer of love.” Besides providing Peter Ellenshaw and his crew an opportunity to produce yet another set of beautiful matte paintings (the painter’s brush somehow making the fog-bound streets of the “city by the bay” feel more authentic than photographic reality ever could,) the flower-power counterculture provides a colorful backdrop to the story of a living car. While I wouldn’t call the portrayal of hippies in the film “authentic” in any sense of the word, the laughs generated by their presence seem more like a tongue-in-cheek play on the ridiculousness of the movie itself. Witness the van-driving hippie at the drive-in (played by a bearded Dean Jones, who clearly wanted in on the fun,) responding to Carole’s plea of “Help! I’m a prisoner! I can’t get out!” with a deadpan “We all prisoners, chickie-baby; we all locked in,” before dismissing our protagonists as a “couple of weirdos.”

… be sure to wear some flowers in your hair.

But beyond a few (admittedly cheap) laughs, the contemporary counterculture is a pervasive presence in the film, going hand-in-hand with Steinmetz and his New Age philosophy. This is where the real meaning of the film’s title comes to play. For while many assume the meaning of The Love Bug to be referring to Herbie playing matchmaker between Douglas and Carole, the “love” in question turns out to be something less tangible. At no point in the movie are we given a straight-forward reason as to how or why the little Volkswagen is alive. The closest the script comes to providing an explanation is having characters theorize about mankind’s love imbuing it’s mechanical creations with emotions. Such conversations, when referring specifically to Herbie, tend to focus more on his emotional state than the fact that he can move and think for himself. The big reveal in the film isn’t that Herbie is alive - that’s already a given - but that the apparent animating agent behind his consciousness is love itself. This points to a kind of mysticism rarely alluded to in Disney films. To be clear, I’m not referring to a general kind of fairytale “magic,” but the idea of actual mysticism, the belief that union with an absolute truth - or the spiritual apprehension of knowledge inaccessible to the mind - can be attained through contemplation and self-surrender; in other words, the very ideas that Hackett’s character clumsily propagates throughout the film. Douglas and Herbie only become simpatico once Douglas lets go of his preconceptions about his own life and what “life” itself means, and risks his own to save Herbie from driving himself into the San Francisco Bay.

Herbie walks on water...

It’s true that this “peek below the surface” of mysticism may be treated within the script as a mere gateway into a series of wacky race scenes, but this is clearly the kind of thematic material audiences were looking to connect with at the time. While it’s hard to imagine theaters full of actual Haight/Ashbury-bound hippies coming together to experience The Love Bug (although for all I know this may’ve been the case - and no doubt the film would’ve been one hell of a trip under a hashish cloud,) it’s entirely conceivable that more straight-laced audiences may’ve come away from Disney’s latest comedy feeling as though they’d touched part of the “happening” of the time. Little Timmy and Sally may not exactly leave the matinee with a desire to thumb a trip ‘cross-country to follow The Grateful Dead, but they just may end up wearing love beads, or sewing a “Peace and Love” patch onto their Sears bell-bottoms.

Here he comes, here comes Speed Racer...

While The Love Bug’s counter-cultural overtones may’ve helped it become a hit, much of the film’s legacy focuses on the film’s other obsession: that of car culture and racing. Much deference is paid to authenticity in the film's portrayal of the racing community, such as utilizing a number of actual race events for Herbie to compete in, and casting famed sportscaster Chick Hearn and STP CEO and spokesman Andy Granatelli as themselves. While the years following the film's release has seen a number of sequels (which we’ll also be looking at this month) fade from public consciousness, Herbie remains a consistent presence at car shows in the form of fan-made recreations, as well as the occasional appearance of one of the screen-used VW Bugs.

The success of The Love Bug may be an example of the right story coming at the right time - for within another couple of years, the flower-power that permeates the story would find itself burnt out and turned ugly. And so it would seem that Disney, clearly wanting to chase Herbie’s success with a follow-up film, would most likely focus on the popular racing aspects of the film. As we will see, however, they'll end up failing to do so - in the process completely dropping the ball on Herbie’s future cinematic potential.

He who smelt it, dealt it...

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 …

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.

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.