I don’t think it’s going too far to say that, for better or worse, the
American family would not be what it is today without films from the Walt
Disney studios. For many of us Boomers, the earliest memory of an indelible impression left by
a mere movie is a scene from Pinocchio, Dumbo, orBambi.
Even those born a generation later have had opportunities to see these films by
means of Disney’s policy of periodic re-releases in theatres. And the video
revolution, of course, has enabled us to pick up a copy of Snow White or
The Love Bug and watch it whenever we like.
For a time, Disney films were synonymous with “family” entertainment. The
animated films, with their mythic stories and charming animals, are perfect for
kids, and whatever their other weaknesses, Disney’s animated films can always
be counted on to be vastly superior in overall artfulness than the Saturday
morning cartoons that seem to mesmerize all children.
In the late 1950s, the Disney studios began churning out live-action features
that provided an alternative to animation and which also steered clear of
depictions of explicit sex, violence, and more vicious forms of adult
treachery. The intent was not expressly to sugarcoat the experience of living –
an accusation leveled at Disney repeatedly and sometimes properly – but to make
sure parents had an entertainment source for their children that did not
unnecessarily or too quickly expose them to the harsh realities of life. (I’m
having trouble remembering many titles of this type of picture, but I know they
briefly made Dean Jones a star.)
Looking back on all those films through a modern sensibility, a picture
emerges that has to be a little troubling. Taken together, Bambi,
Dumbo, and Pinocchio could leave a very sensitive child
traumatized for God knows how long. Each of these films, in its own way,
savagely exploits fears of being separated from a parent. To this
seven-year-old, the killing of Bambi’s mother was a defining event. Note to
parents: If you take your kids to a screening of Bambi on Sunday, do not
be late picking them up from school on Monday.
Tapping into common fears and insecurities is not a low blow; in varying
degrees all drama exploits them. But to tailor films with these themes to very
young, impressionable children… I don’t know, but this seems to be asking for
trouble.
In the last 15 years or so, Disney has succeeded in shedding its old,
mid-Sixties image as a purveyor of G-rated pabulum and has joined ranks with,
and sometimes leads, the other studios in serving adult markets while retaining
a virtual lock on animation.
With the emergence of its Touchstone and Hollywood Pictures distribution arms,
the giant company now serves virtually every movie-going interest, including
those who think a little sex and violence is a good thing. And since about
1989, the year the studio opened The Little Mermaid, Disney has taken a
turn with its animated division, turning out richly conceived musicals with an
abundance of vocal talent. At their best, as with The Little Mermaid,
the result is something akin to a rousing Broadway musical. Beauty and the
Beast followed The Little Mermaid and became the first animated film
to be nominated for a best picture Oscar. Though not as much fun as
Mermaid, the huge grosses for Beast could not be ignored, and the
nomination was perhaps as much for the earlier picture as the latter.
Aladdin and The Lion King followed, with The Lion King setting new standards for the lucrative commercial tie-in markets.
Pocahontas is the latest, and once again the folks at Disney have us
scratching our heads.
The problem is not politics; as has been reported elsewhere, this portrayal of
the meeting of the title character and explorer John Smith has avoided both
negative stereotyping and political correctness. What’s interesting, and
unsettling, is the physical depiction of Pocahontas herself. With her hourglass
waist, large, gravity-defying breasts, and miles of thick, flowing, dark hair,
this “Pocahontas” suggests a Playboy visit to the Reservation. In
addition, the animators have drawn Smith as a tall, rock-jawed,
square-shouldered, firm-muscled blond god. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome
to the tribal council Ken and Barbie.
It’s entirely possible that the animators wanted to make Pocahontas
extra-convincingly beautiful in order to avoid charges of racism. But the other
Native American characters in the film all have quite attractive, handsome and
proud Native American faces. Pocahontas has the face of Audrey Hepburn.
It gets worse. Pocahontas has a female sidekick, a loyal young woman whose own
physical beauty is almost a match for Pocahontas. Unfortunately for the
sidekick (and could this be why she is only the sidekick?), Pocahontas has her
outbreasted by about two to one.
What is the message here? One doesn’t have to be a hard-line feminist to find
Disney’s depictions a little demented. Of course, beauty is a value in this and
other cultures and it is appropriate that entertainment reflect those values.
But portraying a significant character in American history as Tribal Babe is
kind of nuts, even if she does show backbone and does not return to England
with Smith. And excuse me for taking it too literally, but the film seems to be
telling little girls in the audience that if you don’t grow big breasts, you
only get to be the sidekick.
The American Indian Movement’s Russell Means has praised the film effusively,
which may prove nothing so much as that the best way to silence potential
critics is to give them jobs. (His is the voice of the chief.) In other ways,
Pocahontas is a decent, entertaining film, even if the musical numbers
are for the most part undistinguished.
But it does make you wonder what this set of animators would have done to the
characters in The Brave Little Toaster. n
This article appears in June 30 • 1995 and June 30 • 1995 (Cover).