Category Archives: they made movies after 1970?

I Totally F***ing Love … Ever After (1998)

Posted on by under blogathon, historical accuracy is for pbs, they made movies after 1970?

When Carley, headmistress of The Kitty Packard Pictorial, announced the “I Totally F***ing Love This Movie” blogathon, it occurred to me that I have several personal favorites that could fit this bill. Most of them are classics, to be sure (I mean, DUH–remember where you are, folks). Still, despite my near-constant grumblings about the utter dreck that is 95% of the films that are released theatrically nowadays, there are a number of movies from the past thirty-odd years that I find endearing, meaningful, and just plain re-watchable, and as a change of pace, I decided to focus on a more recent cinematic love of mine for this blogathon–but then, which one? Clueless, which pretty much defined high school for me (seriously, I can still quote every single line from that movie, and I’m unashamed to admit it)? Jurassic Park (dinosaurs!)? Fried Green Tomatoes (which, like Gone With the Wind and Steel Magnolias, is practically required viewing for good Southern girls)? All great movies, all ones that I can watch over and over again, never tiring of them.

But there is one movie I feel I should write about above all others, one that I have loved since I first saw it in theaters as a teenager, one that I own on DVD and yet must watch every time it comes on cable (and which is currently sitting on my DVR even though I OWN THE DAMN THING): Ever After: A Cinderella Story, starring Robert Osborne’s current Essentials co-host/favored Twitter punching bag Drew Barrymore.

I fucking love this movie. LOVE, LOVE, LOVE THIS MOVIE. And I don’t think I can fully express just how much I love it. But I can try!

 

I love …

ever after kiss

… the way Ever After plays with the conceit of fairy tales, conflating fact and fiction by painting the traditional Cinderella trope as something historical as opposed to fanciful. The film’s central plot is framed in the “present day” of nineteenth-century France, as the elderly Grande Dame, Marie Therese, requests a meeting with the Brothers Grimm to discuss their popular “children’s stories.” She professes her admiration for their work before berating them for not relaying the “true” story behind the tale of Cinderella. After showing them a portrait of her great-great-grandmother, Danielle, and her “glass slipper,” the Grande Dame launches into the tale of her ancestor’s life. It’s a fascinating approach to the story, one that takes French storyteller Charles Perrault’s version of the tale and expands it greatly, making Cinderella much more proactive in a slightly feminist twist on the character. This film’s Cinderella doesn’t sit around in a castle and make tiny clothes for mice while trilling about dreams–instead, she makes things happen for herself. How utterly novel (she says somewhat sarcastically, thinking of the Disneyfied princess trope that makes her want to hurl despite her intrinsic love for many of those animated classics).

 

I love …

ever after drew barrymore

… Drew Barrymore’s performance as the intelligent, passionate, fiercely protective Danielle.

As I mentioned above, Barrymore gets a lot of flack these days for her appearances on TCM, where her loose, laid-back approach to commentary provides a stark contrast to Robert O.’s more schooled and genteel criticism. And I have to admit, I find it rather irritating. The appeal of the Essentials series is the chance to hear differing perspectives on familiar, beloved films. Is Barrymore a little … flighty? Perhaps. But that doesn’t make her any less a fan than the rest of sitting at home, and I’d be hard-pressed to believe that any of her critics could do a better job elucidating why these movies are so meaningful to them. Give the woman a damn break.

Getting back to her performance here: Barrymore makes for a lovely Cinderella (despite the attempt at an accent, which admittedly comes and goes at times throughout the film). She’s incredibly expressive, and I like that her Cinderella is not pristine and unapproachable in her beauty; she is somewhat plain and decidedly down-to-earth, and the prince’s attraction to her relies more on her instincts and cleverness than her ability to charm with a wink and a dance. This is a Cinderella who takes no shit–my kind of gal.

 

I love …

ever after

… the rest of the female cast, starting with Anjelica Huston as the wicked stepmother. Rodmilla is the worst kind of bitch, cold and calculating and scheming, and Huston attacks the role with verve, adding a delicious bite of spitefulness to every word she utters. Add in Megan Dodds as whiny Marguerite and the ever-underrated Melanie Lynskey as kindhearted Jacqueline, and the pitch-perfectly-cast family portrait is complete. And let’s not forget Jeanne Moreau as Danielle’s great-great-granddaughter, the Grande Dame, who beautifully anchors the film’s framing device (Jeanne freaking Moreau, you guys!). This is a movie filled with some truly great female characters, and what I find most impressive is that even though the nature of this film would invite caricature, these characters are, for the most part, fully fleshed-out and relatable, even at their nastiest.

 

I love …

ever after wings costume

… those deliriously fantastic, sometimes over-the-top costumes. Siiiiiigh.

 

I love …

ever after leonardo

… the twist on the Fairy Godmother archetype, in which renowned artist/inventor/Renaissance man Leonardo da Vinci (Patrick Godfrey) is cast in the role. Instead of being “magical,” Leonardo’s help comes in the form of advice and scientific principle–a more pragmatic approach, true, but nonetheless an interesting way to supersede the “fairy” aspect of the character.

[Whenever I watch this film, I'm reminded anew of a particular pet peeve of my art history professor in college, who cringed every time someone referred to Leonardo da Vinci as simply "da Vinci," as that was NOT his last name--it's simply an indicator that the artist was "from Vinci" (a town in the Tuscany region of Italy). The proper way to address the artist is simply "Leonardo." Who says you don't really learn anything in college?]

 

I love …

dougray scott ever after

… Dougray Scott. There’s really nothing to add here. Just look at the picture and lose yourself for a moment. Or two.

 

Yes, I do so love this gorgeous, engrossing, thoroughly entertaining movie, for all these reasons and more. In the end, though, what it really comes down to is this: it doesn’t matter if this is a “good” film by others’ standards–what matters is that it speaks to me. I’ve often been guilty of judging others for their movie tastes, whether it’s because I don’t care for most action films, or because I am only now coming to understand the appeal of genres like Westerns. Still, whatever the reason may be, I shouldn’t do that, and neither should any of us, because if a movie gives someone joy, makes them feel, entertains them … then it has worth, and value, on a personal level. And really, isn’t that the most important thing about the movies, whether you’re talking about Citizen Kane or Showgirls, Casablanca or Ever After?

You know, movies are just plain fucking awesome.

 

ever after

“And while Cinderella and her prince did live happily ever after, the point, gentlemen, is that they lived.”

blogathon banner kitty packardThis post is our contribution to the “I Totally F***ing Love this Movie” Blogathon hosted by The Kitty Packard Pictorial. Check out the site to see more tributes to the films we seriously just can’t get enough of.

Horseathon: The Last Unicorn

Posted on by under animation, blogathon, carrie's faves, saturday morning cartoons, they made movies after 1970?

Considering that lately I’ve been in  a rebellious frame of mind, it’s fitting that my selection for the Horseathon stretches the rules of “horse” as well as “classic film.” Having grown up with horses, there is no other suitable excuse for what I am about to do, except perhaps that I’ve reviewed National Velvet (1944) at least twice and have nothing further to say (other than to reiterate again that if you haven’t seen it, you should). Also, I’ve been looking for a compelling reason to write about this particular film, so a giant THANK YOU for the Horseathon! Regardless, I hope you enjoy my little foray into 1980s animation.

The Unicorn gets vaguely helpful information from an addle-brained butterfly.

I remember loving The Last Unicorn (1982) growing up. We rented it countless times. In college, when I ran into a copy on DVD, I had no choice but to purchase it immediately, full of nostalgic glee. The story depicts the life of a unicorn, who hears that she must be the last of her own kind. She gets vague advice from a poetic, flighty (pun fully intended) butterfly, and leaves her home in search of the other unicorns. On her way, she encounters other perspectives and different forms of magic: humans who have no concept of it, a not-so accomplished magician (who oddly reminds me of Rincewind the Wizard of Terry Pratchett’s Discworld), a harpy (the darker side of her own magic), and the evil Mommy Fortuna, who captures animals and makes them appear to be magical creatures in her travelling novelty show. All of the other unicorns have been forced into the sea by the infamous Red Bull (who doesn’t give you wings, or freedom … I didn’t think it was funny, either) near the castle of King Haggard. King Haggard wanted all of the unicorns for himself, and has kept them prisoner in the sea.

The Unicorn faces the Red Bull. Tell me this image isn’t like LEGEND (1985).

The film is based on the book (with the screenplay) by Peter S. Beagle and features an all-star cast you might not expect: Alan Arkin, Mia Farrow, Christopher Lee, Angela Lansbury, and Rene Auberjonois, just to name a few. The film was actually animated in Japan, where the anime style for film was taking flight (though it originated in the early 1900s–for more information on the history of anime, click here.)  This accounts for the trademark anime elements of the characters, including large eyes, somewhat exaggerated expressions, round mouths, and the unicorn’s not-so-horselike tail.

Now for the horse elements:

Mia Farrow plays “the unicorn” or “Amalthea,” as she is called when Schmedrick the Magician turns her into a human to save her from the Red Bull. As the unicorn travels the land, those unfamiliar with magic mistakenly see her as a beautiful, white mare. She quickly discovers how clueless most people are of unicorn legend.

Molly gives the wizard Schmedrick a verbal lashing for turning the Unicorn into a woman–Amalthea.

This is about par for much of unicorn lore. In most stories about or including unicorns, they are rare creatures at best: pure, powerful, gentle, and in many cases the very holders of the world’s magic. Frequently, the story is that there are as few as one or two remaining in the world (think Legend, which came out a few years later). Unicorns are sometimes considered the landbound relations of the Pegasus, although the Pegasus derives from Greek mythology. The ancient Greeks considered the unicorn to be an actual creature, perhaps from India. The unicorn is referenced throughout ancient history, including Mesopotamia and in the Bible. Its magic and legend is so prevalent that it is often considered synonymous with the fantasy genre (particularly in the debates of fantasy vs. sci-fi, but we’ll leave that for another discussion).

Not just a cartoon character

Our fascination with unicorns resembles our fascination with horses in general, but on a different level. While horses are common–though beloved–tools of civilization, making and breaking societies in both agriculture and war, unicorns are a rare mythology that many storytellers are afraid to approach (vs. the current popularity of vampire lore, however destroyed it may be). Perhaps it is the sacredness of the creature, or the lack of depth (how can the embodiment of purity be a complicated character?), or our current social pessimism (evidenced by the re-popularity of dystopia) that drives us away from it. Regardless, the comparative rarity of unicorns in film reflect the rarity of the creature itself.

… not just for girls, either.

The answer is simply this: “film magic” could not have been created without the horse (please, they’re in so many films, though disproportionately the stars). The truly magical unicorn, however, creates its own magic, making it sometimes unwieldy in the unprepared film. Nevertheless, it reflects our own awe of seeing that rare bit of cinematic perfection that makes us sit in wonder. The Last Unicorn can hardly be regarded as that film. Though entertaining, the story trolls along a bit, and the characters tend to be underdeveloped. That doesn’t even cover the fact that the singing in at least one or two songs is noticeably flat. Still, it’s a cult classic of the 1980s and provides a little of what we all need: one last bit of purity in a corrupt, selfish world. That is, after all, the significance of the unicorn.

 

This post is my entry for the Horseathon, hosted by Page of My Love of Old Hollywood. The horses will run across the blogsophere through tomorrow, so make sure to check out all of the entries. And come back tomorrow for another equine contribution from the crew here at True Classics!

“I was saved by a flying wild man in a loincloth!”

Posted on by under brandie's faves, disney renaissance, lit adaptations, saturday morning cartoons, they made movies after 1970?

1999 marked a turning point for the Walt Disney Animation Studios in more ways than one. It was the ten-year anniversary of the release of The Little Mermaid, which had heralded the company’s veritable rebirth in the subsequent decade. It saw the release of Toy Story 2, the third critically-acclaimed film produced in a lucrative partnership with the computer-animation pioneers over at Pixar. And the company was not concentrating all of its efforts on computer animation; by that time, the Disney animators had further revolutionized the art of traditional animation through the development of a technology called “Deep Canvas,” which crafted highly-detailed CGI backgrounds that looked remarkably hand-drawn. Ultimately, this innovation would completely transform the final traditionally-animated film of the so-called “Disney Renaissance” period, Tarzan.

Tarzan, (very) loosely adapted from the novel Tarzan of the Apes (and its numerous sequels) by Edgar Rice Burroughs, is the story of a human boy who, upon being stranded on a tropical island off the coast of Africa in the 1800s, adapts to his environment after being adopted by a troop of gorillas. His parents, survivors of a devastating shipwreck, are killed by a leopard while the boy is still an infant, and he is subsequently adopted by Kala (voiced by Glenn Close), who names the boy Tarzan (Alex D. Linz). Kala’s mate, Kerchak (Lance Henrickson), does not care for the human interloper, but Kala persists and raises Tarzan as her own. Years later, a now grown-up Tarzan (Tony Goldwyn) encounters Jane (Minnie Driver) and her father, the bumbling Professor Porter (Nigel Hawthorne), who have come to the island to study the gorillas. They are accompanied by Clayton (Brian Blessed), a big-game hunter who secretly wishes to capture the gorillas and take them back to England to sell. As Tarzan and Jane fall in love–much to Kerchak’s displeasure–they also fall prey to Clayton’s machinations and must find a way to stop him before Tarzan’s gorilla family is torn apart.

As I mentioned before, Disney’s version is an extremely altered adaptation of Burroughs’ original tales. In much the same way Victor Hugo’s The Hunchback of Notre Dame was severely altered in its journey to the animated big screen, so too was Tarzan virtually sanitized by Disney’s family-friendly police. In Burroughs’ stories, Kerchak (who is an ape, not a gorilla) kills Tarzan’s father (the boy’s mother dies in childbirth) and is Tarzan’s greatest rival among his adopted “family.” Tarzan is eventually challenged by Kerchak and kills him in order to take the ape’s place as the group’s leader. Also, in the first novel, Tarzan’s adoptive mother, Kala, is killed by a member of an African tribe, and he seeks revenge by killing the man responsible for her death. The Clayton in the first Tarzan novel is actually the title character’s cousin, William (Tarzan’s real name being John Clayton, Lord Greystoke), and has inherited Tarzan’s rightful title in his absence. The plot device regarding Clayton’s evil intentions for the gorillas was invented for the film; his main function in the first two books in Burroughs’ series is as a romantic rival for Tarzan. Additionally, the author depicts Jane Porter as initially betrothed to William (before eventually becoming Tarzan’s wife in a subsequent novel), and she is not British but American.

Still, despite these alterations to the original text, the film retains an element of darkness in the manner by which the villain, Clayton, is dispatched–he dies, somewhat gruesomely, by hanging, as his neck is caught in a vine and subsequently snaps. Though this moment is obviously not shown altogether graphically in the movie, one must imagine that it could be disturbing for some young’uns among the film’s viewership.

Tarzan is a gorgeous piece of animation, due in large part to the development of the Deep Canvas technology. This allows for the backgrounds of the film to be created in 3D–in other words, rather than serving as static backdrops for the action of the movie, the two-dimensional characters are able to move realistically through the backgrounds, which themselves do not appear to be computer-generated, but are instead meticulously designed to appear hand-painted. Take, for instance, the segment embedded below, in which a young Tarzan resolves to do whatever possible in order to become a better “gorilla”:

Starting at 1:27 in the video, Tarzan begins swinging across the screen on a series of vines. Several seconds later, the camera shifts, and instead of merely going across the vines, Tarzan now appears to be swinging through them, directly toward the screen. In this way, the character is able to move through the entire environment of the movie, rather than being stuck against a painted backdrop as in previous films. The movements of the camera are unusual in Tarzan because they add to the three-dimensional feel of the movie–the filmmakers are able to use realistic tilting, twisting motions that were virtually unheard of in animation prior to the technological advancements showcased in this film. Watch the clip through the ending, as a now-adult Tarzan begins to “surf” through the trees, moving lithely from branch to branch, vine to vine, as the camera follows closely behind. Before Deep Canvas, the animators would have had to track the motion from side-to-side, missing the moments in which Tarzan slides neatly through a hole in a tree or cavorts among the heavily-shaded branches. But here, we are not merely witnessing the movements from a distance but tracking every single maneuver as it happens. We see everything. And everything we see is utterly breathtaking.

The voice cast is largely impeccable, though once again, Disney could not help themselves and had to throw in a couple of well-known comedians voicing funny animal sidekicks–Tarzan’s best gorilla friend, Terk, over-performed by a hammy (and loud) Rosie O’Donnell, and Tantor (Wayne Knight), an elephant whose personal insecurities are rivaled only by Toy Story‘s neurotic Rex. As for the other animal characters, Henrickson brings the right touch of menace and distrust to his vocalization of Kerchak, and Glenn Close is a soothing maternal presence as Kala (FYI–this was not Close’s first voice role in a Tarzan film–she also dubbed the vocals for Jane over thickly-accented Southern actress Andie McDowell in the 1984 movie Greystoke: The Legend of Tarzan, Lord of the Apes). As for the humans, Goldwyn and Driver are both simply marvelous–the former nails Tarzan’s hesitant acceptance of his human heritage and his determination to prove himself to adopted father Kerchak, while the latter is joyously daffy as fish-out-of-water Jane. Hawthorne is delightful as Jane’s intellectual goofball of a father, while Blessed’s performance as Clayton is somewhat reminiscent of Beauty and the Beast’s Gaston–the two could be blood brothers (Blessed also has a small second voice part in the film–he provides the vocals for Tarzan’s famous chest-beating yell). And though he doesn’t have a vocal role, another star played an important part in the development of the film–if Tarzan’s moves as he “skates” and “surfs” through the trees look somewhat familiar to you, it may be because those character movements were inspired by skateboarding legend Tony Hawk.

You can’t mention Tarzan without talking about its amazing soundtrack, scored by Mark Mancina with songs written by pop/rock superstar Phil Collins. The musician penned four popular singles for the film: “Two Worlds,” “Strangers Like Me,” “Son of Man,” and the obligatory love ballad, “You’ll Be in My Heart.” The latter song actually differs from many previous Disney love songs in that it is essentially a lullaby, sung by Kala to her newly-adopted son as a heartfelt reminder to the boy that he’ll always have a place with his “mother.” The tune has taken on new life in the years since its release, however, and has become a popular wedding theme. “You’ll Be in My Heart” won Phil Collins the Academy Award for Best Original Song–an achievement that was mercilessly parodied on the television series South Park (that show’s creators, Trey Parker and Matt Stone, had also been nominated in the same category for their song “Blame Canada” from South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut. Their animated revenge included Collins’ Oscar getting stuck in … well, a place that isn’t all that sunny). Collins and Mancina, incidentally, went on to collaborate on another Disney score, for 2003′s Brother Bear.

Tarzan allowed Disney to end the century with a bang. Though it was ultimately the most expensive animated film ever produced by the studio–its budget ballooned to over $150 million (a total that was demolished with last year’s release of the $260 million Tangled)–Tarzan was a critical and commercial success. Its box-office take greatly surpassed that of the two films released before it, Hercules and Mulan. By most critics’ estimation, Tarzan marked the end of the Disney Renaissance period. Throughout much of the subsequent decade, the studio’s traditionally-animated films were, by and large, financial disappointments (with the exception of 2002′s Lilo & Stitch). Movies like The Emperor’s New Groove (2000), Atlantis: The Lost Empire (2001), Treasure Planet (2002), and Home on the Range (2004) barely broke even, if at all. It wasn’t until the 2009 release of The Princess and the Frog and 2010′s Tangled that Disney’s traditional animated films began making a mark once more at the box office. Tangled especially was a gigantic hit for the studio–in fact, it is second only to The Lion King as the highest-grossing film ever released by the Disney animation folks. The to-date modestly profitable release of this year’s Winnie the Pooh film notwithstanding, it remains to be seen if the company’s recent successes will usher in yet another “Renaissance” period of technical innovation, inspired storytelling, and sheer entertainment.

***

Well, folks, after almost an entire year (comprising 36 posts plus an introduction), we have finally reached the end of our examination of the classic Disney canon and the Disney Renaissance (albeit about two months behind our original schedule, which is entirely my fault–so Carrie and Nikki, aim all boos, hisses, water balloons, and coconut custard pies with whipped cream in my general direction). But never fear–our Saturday Morning Cartoons series will continue! Obviously, there is so much more to the world of animation than Disney, and from here on out, we will largely be focusing on work from other studios and production companies–shorts, snippets, feature-length presentations, etc.

And, of course, we’ll undoubtedly be revisiting The House of Mouse again in the future, because our collective love for all things Disney will likely never die.

“You don’t meet a girl like that every dynasty.”

Posted on by under brandie's faves, disney renaissance, saturday morning cartoons, they made movies after 1970?

Well, folks, we’re back with another, long-delayed installment of Saturday Morning Cartoons! What can I say–it’s been a busy summer. We still have two films left to cover in our examination of the “classic” Disney canon–the final two movies released during the period popularly known as the “Disney Renaissance.” This week, we’ll be tackling 1998′s Mulan, and next Saturday, we’ll wrap up our Disney series with a post on 1999′s Tarzan. After that, we’ll be moving on to look at other, non-Disney animated films from the classic Hollywood period … shorts, features, and everything in between.

For more than sixty years, since before the 1937 release of Walt Disney’s first full-length animated feature, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, the center of the studio’s animation department had been in California. Quartered in Burbank and originally dubbed the “Disney Brothers Cartoon Studio,” Walt Disney Animation Studios (as it is now called) was responsible for the bulk of the production on all major Disney animated releases. In the meantime, the Florida branch of the department, working out of the latest addition to the Disney World theme park, the Disney-MGM Studios (opened in 1989; redubbed Disney’s Hollywood Studios in 2008), had little to do. The animators had contributed nominal portions to some of the Disney Renaissance films and had been responsible for the 1990 animated Roger Rabbit short “Roller Coaster Rabbit,” but their main job seemed to be to serve as live “props” on the Disney-MGM studio tour.

That changed in 1993, when production began on Mulan. When the film was released in 1998, it became the first full-length animated feature produced almost entirely in Florida. Before the Florida studios were shuttered (as a cost-saving measure) in 2003, they would produce two more features: 2002′s Lilo & Stitch, and Brother Bear the following year. But Mulan was undoubtedly the highlight of the Florida studio’s admittedly limited output.

The protagonist of the film is a young Chinese woman named Fa Mulan (voiced by Ming-Na). Her mother and grandmother try to prepare her for womanhood by taking her to a matchmaker so an unwilling Mulan can find a husband. The meeting is a disaster, however, and the matchmaker denounces Mulan, telling her that she will be a “disgrace” to her family. Soon after, the emperor (Pat Morita) must pull together an army to fight the invading forces of the Huns, led by the dreaded warrior Shan Yu (Miguel Ferrer), and orders that one male from every family in China must enlist. Mulan’s father, Fa Zhou, a crippled veteran of past wars, proudly steps forth to represent his family, much to his daughter’s horror. In the middle of the night, she cuts off her hair, steals her father’s sword and armor, and runs away to join the army in his place, disguised as his “son,” Ping. Knowing that Mulan will be killed if her ruse is discovered, Fa Zhou prays to the family’s ancestors to protect her, and by mistake, a tiny, temperamental dragon named Mushu (Eddie Murphy) is sent to serve as Mulan’s guide. Though life in the army is a difficult adjustment for Mulan, she eventually earns the respect of her fellow soldiers and their captain, Li Shang (B.D. Wong). The troops are tasked with preventing Shan Yu’s march into the Imperial City, and a quick-thinking Mulan saves the day and becomes a hero–until her ruse is discovered. When she discovers that Shan-Yu is still on the path to the City, Mulan must convince her former “brothers in arms” to help her stop the villain from killing the emperor and conquering China.

The flower that blooms in adversity is the most rare and beautiful of all.

Mulan is based on a Chinese legend related in the poem “The Ballad of Mulan,” which dates back as early as the sixth century AD. The Disney adaptation took some liberties with the tale, changing some of the facts to suit their version of the tale. For example, originally, Mulan had a younger brother who would have had to take their father’s place if Mulan had not stepped in. The characters of Mushu and Cri-Kee, Mulan’s animal helpmates, were added to appeal to younger viewers (as we all know, it’s next to impossible for Disney to produce a film without an adorable animal sidekick or three). Disney also changed one crucial point: in the folk tale, Mulan is never discovered to actually be a woman, while the film’s climax centers around this revelation and its aftermath. The final act of the film, in which Mulan faces Shan-Yu one-on-one in an attempt to save the emperor, was staged specifically for the movie. The romance with Shang was also added to give the film a romantic subplot (because, again, it’s not Disney unless there’s some lovin’ going on somewhere).

My little baby, off to destroy people.

In order to capture the authenticity of the film’s setting, the animators spent several weeks in China, taking numerous photographs and sketching potential backdrops and character ideas. The stylization of the animation pays homage to Chinese artistic tradition, giving the film the look of a moving watercolor painting. The movie also incorporates elements of computer animation: hordes of Huns were computer-generated into the snowy battle scene, and the final scenes in the Imperial City were created by ingeniously superimposing live crowd footage onto the animated set-up.

You missed! How could you miss? He was three feet from you!

Mulan is one of my favorite films from the Disney Renaissance period. In large part, this has to do with the characterization of the title figure, who is one of the more proactive Disney heroines. She demonstrates bravery, loyalty, and determination, and a willingness to sacrifice herself to protect not only her family and friends, but her entire country. Her struggles to “fit in” and meet the standards set for her by her family and by society as a whole are greatly relatable–after all, who hasn’t ever felt out of place? Plus, Mulan is a bit of a smart-ass, which makes her appeal to me even more (it is weird to me, though, that Disney now considers Mulan one of their signature “Disney Princesses,” even though she isn’t royalty and, in truth, isn’t all that “princess-y”).

Who is that girl I see, staring straight back at me?

However, I wouldn’t go so far as some critics in calling her a “feminist” role model for young girls. True, through her actions, Mulan shows that girls can do anything boys can do (and, as Annie Get Your Gun told us so many years ago, they can do it better, too), but in order for Mulan to even get the chance to break out of her prescribed gender role, she has to … well, change genders. It’s only through disguising herself as a man that Mulan is able to prove her worthiness, for, as we see in the opening scenes of the film, Mulan is considered a failure as a woman. The song “Honor to Us All” sets up the premise that “a girl can bring her family/great honor in one way/by striking a good match,” but the subsequent episode with the matchmaker shows how ill-suited Mulan is to the overtly feminine “virtues” necessary to land a husband. As she reflects on the disastrous meeting later, through the song appropriately titled “Reflection,” Mulan muses that she “will never pass for a perfect bride/or a perfect daughter,” and wonders, “When will my reflection show/who I am inside?” When she joins the army, Shang promises to “make a man out of you,” and those adopted masculine traits are what eventually define her character and her actions throughout the remainder of the film. Still, it is amusing to note that the tables are turned somewhat in the end, as three of Mulan’s soldier buddies, Yao, Ling, and Chien Po, must dress in drag as concubines in order to infiltrate Shan-Yu’s defenses and save the emperor.

Does this dress make me look fat?

Mulan not only out-grossed its predecessor, 1997′s Hercules, but also met with more positive critical reception. However, like Hercules and The Hunchback of Notre Dame before it, the soundtrack to Mulan did not reach the levels of musical success as earlier Renaissance films The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast, Aladdin, The Lion King, and Pocahontas. The soundtrack features one mainstream radio release, Christina Aguilera’s pop version of “Reflection,” which is credited with launching the erstwhile pop princess’ career, but it was not a major hit. The film’s version of the song is performed by Lea Salonga, who also provides the singing chops for Princess Jasmine in Aladdin. And Donny Osmond provides the singing voice of Shang–he is instantly recognizable belting out “I’ll Make a Man Out of You.”

You ... you fight good.

Overall, Mulan is an infinitely-watchable film with a great story and engrossing, fun characters. The voice cast is impeccable–even Eddie Murphy, whose shtick normally makes me want to poke things in my ears, is endearing as the lovably annoying Mushu (though, in retrospect, I can’t help but hear Shrek’s Donkey when listening to the character). Mulan’s not a perfect heroine (is there even such a thing?), but she’s inspiring and entertaining, and in the end, what more could you ask for from your lead character?

Don’t Worry, John. The History Books Will Clean It Up.

Posted on by under historical accuracy is for pbs, holiday picks, magnificent musicals, they made movies after 1970?

“I have come to the conclusion that one useless man is called a disgrace, that two are called a law firm, and that three or more become a congress.” – John Adams, 1776 … and he’s played by Mr. Feeny (William Daniels)!

In 1972, someone decided they should film a musical about the Declaration of Independence. Now, to tell someone that this is a movie worth watching using that very description can be a difficult sell. It’s one of those things that you just have to see to understand. For one, it’s hilarious. Really, that’s the big point here. Oh, sure, they put in plenty of historical accuracy, including some things we usually don’t consider – such as the roles of women, how truly nightmarish the army was, how unlikely the success really would appear, and the fact that it was truly that new of a movement.  Sure, there had been wars and insurgencies before, but a colony becoming a country? Well, we considered it quite new, anyway.

Lord knows the temperature's hot enough to hatch a stone, let alone an egg.

If you’re trying to learn the fundamentals of the Revolution, this could be a good way to do it (that’s how I was introduced to the film in the first place – and it worked!), especially if you have an ear for lyrics and quotations. If you’re not that into history, then it can be fun to watch how the Founding Fathers interact with lots of drama, personal agendas, bawdy humor, and really silly musical numbers.

Wait.

Silly musical numbers? That’s right, and this includes Ben Franklin, the inventor of the modern world. There are songs that accurately describe politics, visions of the time, actual debates, and then some rather silly pieces that are just that quotable – with bonus points for putting the following words into a song: Connecticut, homicide, extemporania, pop the cork, participle, predicate, and sexual combustibility. These are in no particular order. Now, you have to go watch it to see how they managed it.

This is a great selection for your Independence Day celebrations or for winding down after them tonight (also, TCM is playing it today at 2PM).  Most of the material is a picture of the issues and politics back then, as well as the politics now – not much has changed, except there were possibly a greater population of men with brilliant minds and true vision for progress (Ben Franklin, John Adams, Thomas Jefferson, John Hancock, and others a little less known, all in one room). Still, it was still a political game. Overall, it’s both effective and entertaining. The debates did happen. The dirty jokes and entendres probably happened. The musical numbers probably didn’t, but now we know how awesome it would have been if they had.

Critiquing TIME’s “best” animation list.

Posted on by under animation, best of ... lists, classic cartoons, classic disney, critiquing the critics, disney renaissance, oui oui ... it's foreign film, pixar, saturday morning cartoons, they made movies after 1970?

This week, TIME announced its list of what it considers to be the “All-TIME 25 Best Animated Films,” as determined by film critic Richard Corliss. Let’s just say there are some puzzling inclusions, and some even more startling omissions.

The list:

25. Lady and the Tramp (1955)
24. Fantastic Mr. Fox (2009)
23. Yellow Submarine (1968)
22. Dr. Seuss’ Horton Hears a Who! (2008)
21. Kung Fu Panda (2008)
20. Paprika (2007)
19. Tangled (2010)
18. The Lion King (1994)
17. Akira (1988)
16. Happy Feet (2006)
15. Wallace & Gromit in the Curse of the Were-Rabbit (2005)
14. The Adventures of Prince Achmed (1926)
13. Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937)
12. Toy Story (1995)
11. Toy Story 3 (2010)
10. The Little Mermaid (1989)
9. Finding Nemo (2003)
8. The Triplets of Belleville (2003)
7. Up (2009)
6. South Park: Bigger, Longer & Uncut (1999)
5. Spirited Away (2001)
4. Dumbo (1941)
3. The Bugs Bunny/Road Runner Movie (1979)
2. WALL-E (2008)
1. Pinocchio (1940)

An interesting group of films, right? At the very least, some of Corliss’ choices seem to practically be begging for debate. And since I’m never one to decline such an invitation, here’s my take on what we see here.

First, the positives:

I wholeheartedly agree with the positioning of Disney’s Pinocchio at the top of the list. As I’ve stated before, I think Pinocchio, more so than its predecessor Snow White, marks the ultimate statement of Disney artistic vision, and is a pinnacle of animated achievement.

The animation of other countries is represented quite healthily—at least, the French, British, Japanese, and German. And speaking of the latter, it was a pleasant surprise to see Prince Achmed, written and directed by pioneering female filmmaker Lotte Reiniger, make this list, as it is relatively unknown even among those viewers who are self-professed animation fanatics.

I’m thrilled to see the South Park movie make an appearance, and placed so near the top, too. There have been few films (and even fewer animated ones) that so deftly juggle satire, social commentary, blue humor, and rampant cursing. Trey Parker and Matt Stone are f*cking national treasures, people.

And now, a lengthy rant.

My first reaction when reading through the entire list was surprise at the utter exclusion of any of Brad Bird’s films.

The Iron Giant (1999) is an exquisite parable about how the choices we make influence who we become. The Incredibles (2004) is one of the best superhero films ever, with a beautifully-crafted story to match the engrossing action. And Ratatouille (2007) is a simply lovely tale of a gourmet rat that celebrates life, art, and the joy of cooking. So why are none of these extremely deserving films on this list? Does Corliss have some kind of issue with Bird as a filmmaker? The exclusion just seems a little personal, all things considered.

Some of the placements on this list are a bit strange to me. I don’t think WALL-E should be nearly as high on the list. Don’t get me wrong—it’s one of my favorite Pixar productions. But it is not as consistent as the Toy Story films, which I feel should rank higher (and perhaps room should be made for Toy Story 2, a movie that remains one of the best film sequels of all time, animated or not). And in regards to placement, I’d put Wallace and Gromit much, much higher on my own list.

Also, I don’t really care how Corliss justifies it, but The Bugs Bunny/Road Runner Movie is NOT a movie. It is a loosely-connected series of vignettes combined to form a feature-length presentation. And while I genuinely love the Warner Bros. shorts, they belong in a separate category of consideration.

Other films that I don’t feel belong on the list:

Lady and the Tramp (while I enjoy this movie, and it was probably my favorite film as a child, there are other films that are more deserving of a spot on this list … don’t kill me, Nikki);

Yellow Submarine (though I recognize its importance in the broader realm of British cinema, it seems like little more than a really long advertisement for the music of The Beatles);

Horton Hears a Who (Jim Carrey’s severe overacting impedes what could have been a solid, but still not “best,” movie experience);

Tangled (the animation is breathtakingly beautiful, but the movie is a standard storybook Disney affair that adds little “newness” to the formula); and …

Happy Feet (cute, but ultimately unsubstantial addition to the computer-animated influx of the 2000s).

So what would I add in these films’ stead? In addition to the aforementioned Incredibles and Iron Giant, I would also add:

Howl’s Moving Castle (2004), beautifully animated and completely engrossing neo-fairy tale of pure, unadulterated wonder;

Bambi (1942), even though it makes me weep like a child every time I watch it;

Alice in Wonderland (1951), which I’ve defended on this blog before as a trippy masterpiece; and …

Persepolis (2007), brilliantly depicting a young girl’s upbringing in the midst of the Iranian Revolution—the animation style, which mimics the graphic novels upon which the film was based (tip: read them; they are magnificent).

Now that I’ve had my rant, it’s your turn. What films would you excise from the list, and what films do you feel should have been included?

“I’m a damsel. I’m in distress. I can handle this.”

Posted on by under carrie's faves, disney renaissance, saturday morning cartoons, they made movies after 1970?

This was probably a good selection for Father’s Day weekend, because our hero has two, plus another male mentor. But we’ll let you draw your own conclusions there.

Hercules (1997) is kind of loved and hated. However, I find if you aren’t aiming for too much accuracy and just see the humor, it’s pretty fun. It may not be Disney’s greatest masterpiece but it’s one my sister and I tend to watch repeatedly, and we have a good time doing so.  Personally, I find the portrayal of Hercules (ably voiced as an adult by the criminally underrated Tate Donovan) as a completely awkward teenager endearing—and it makes sense if you put some thought into the idea. I also thought it worked for him to be as sheltered as he was.

Hercules, his adopted father, Amphitryon, and Penelope the donkey.

Disney also cast some interesting voices that made the movie fun: Danny DeVito plays Philoctetes, the satyr training Hercules. Somehow, it was just pitch-perfect. Rip Torn (Zed in Men in Black, and oh so many other roles) playing Zeus is just funny, especially with what a marshmallow Zeus actually turns out to be. So he’s not the Zeus mythology might have us believe…

Hello Easter Egg---yes, this is sick but hilarious.

One of the most random casting decisions for me was James Woods playing Hades—and Hades being a fast-talking negotiator. I loved it. It’s fun to have a comedic villain sometimes, and it really did shed light on the point that Hades got the underworld as a gift—not a fall from grace. He was a god, not a demon, and the Greek gods tended to have all of their own motives, pursuits, and agendas. I have to give them points for this one.

For fun, they managed to get Bobcat Goldthwait (Scrooged) to play Pain. Primarily known for the way he can throw his voice octaves, he plays great crazy or highly distressed characters. For Pain it was just perfect.

It's a small underworld, after all, huh?

Woods and company are not the only notable voices in the film—they are joined by such diverse actors as Hal Holbrook, Wayne Knight, and perennial Disney favorites Carole Shelley and Jim Cummings, among others. Add in Charlton Heston as the film’s narrator, and you have one of the more star-studded casts for a Disney Renaissance film.

As much as I enjoyed Hades, Megara (voiced by Susan Egan) is my favorite Hercules character. She’s among the ranks of Disney women like Esmeralda and Mulan, who are very active in their story, fighters who are perhaps just a little snippy.

You know how men are--they think "no" means "yes," and "Get lost," means "Take me--I'm yours."

Megara is unique, however, because she’s technically in league with the villain and is his chief minion. This is a highly unusual plot twist, but it makes things interesting. Though she does have a kind nature that makes her want to help people (which is how she got into this jam in the first place, and also leads to her saving Hercules), she has serious attitude and independence. Her way of speaking and body language are completely different from most female heroines, which makes her an odd character to meet for the first time, but again, it comes as a nice change. Her penchant for one-liners doesn’t hurt, either.

... around the dumbbells, you lift up the back wall, and we're gone.

Much like its predecessor, the previous year’s The Hunchback of Notre Dame, the soundtrack to Hercules did not produce any runaway chart hits, though a pop version of its prevalent theme, “Go the Distance” (sung in the film by Broadway standout Roger Bart), was recorded by Michael Bolton and eventually reached #1 on the adult contemporary charts. The song was also nominated for an Academy Award for Best Original Song, though it had the misfortune of being nominated alongside Celine Dion’s Titanic juggernaut “My Heart Will Go On” (you can probably guess which song ultimately won the Oscar).

Hercules was far from the most successful film of the Disney Renaissance period (both critically and commercially), but it nonetheless remains an enjoyable romp through the (admittedly) somewhat bastardized world of ancient Greece. Put aside what you remember about the Greek hero from high school, and just enjoy the film for what it is.

“You ring the bell…you’re the bell-ringer.”

Posted on by under disney renaissance, lit adaptations, saturday morning cartoons, they made movies after 1970?

The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996) is based on Victor Hugo’s 1831 novel of the same name. Quasimodo (voiced by Tom Hulce) is a deformed man of Gypsy descent who lives in the cathedral’s bell tower and serves as the bell-ringer. He has been reluctantly raised (and hidden from public view) by the evil Judge Frollo (Tony Jay) in repentance for killing Quasimodo’s mother when he was an infant. In the midst of the annual Festival of Fools celebration, Quasimodo falls in love with a headstrong young Gypsy woman named Esmeralda (Demi Moore). But he soon finds he must compete for her affections with the captain of the guard, Phoebus (Kevin Kline) while also contending with Frollo’s insane lust for the girl. Quasimodo, with the help of his hilarious gargoyle friends, must help save Esmeralda and the gypsies from Frollo’s reign of terror.

The Hunchback of Notre Dame is a veritable feast for the eyes and ears. The Disney animation team reportedly spent months in Paris at the actual cathedral, sketching and photographing minute details so as to best capture them on film. In the end, this respect for authenticity definitely shows. The animation, particularly of the architecture of Notre Dame itself, is simply stunning, with a deft use of shadow and light to depict the stunning stained-glass work and the cavernous interior of the cathedral. And though this film’s soundtrack did not produce any chart-topping pop hits or Oscars (unlike its Renaissance predecessors), the music (composed by Alan Menken and Stephen Schwartz) is nonetheless haunting and beautiful, incorporating the sounds of bells and Gregorian chanting within several of the tunes.

A trio of Quasimodos: Chaney, Laughton, and Disney

The characters are, for the most part, just as well-sculpted as the setting. Quasimodo, as the central character of the film, is appropriately deformed in his character design, but not to the extremes of Hugo’s original descriptions (for example, unlike Hugo’s creation, Disney’s Quasi is not deaf). The depiction of Quasimodo in this film is in sharp contrast to the portrayals of the characters by Lon Chaney (1923 silent version) and Charles Laughton (1939) in past film adaptations (though his appearance does seem to be modeled after, or least inspired by, the latter in some respects). There is a lovable quality to the rounded edges and welcoming smile with which Disney’s animators gifted their Quasimodo. He’s not frightening so much as “different,” not grotesque but misshapen, and the innate kindness of the character shines through the rough-hewn exterior. And the filmmakers could not have chosen a better voice for the part: Hulce, perhaps best known for his Oscar-nominated role as the title character in 1984′s Amadeus. The actor’s voice work as Quasi is, by turns, joyful and heartbreaking, hopeful and despairing … a perfect fit.

Doesn't every girl have a pet goat?

Esmeralda is one of Disney’s stronger women. She takes care of herself and stands up to Frollo’s injustice, even defying his soldiers. Other than the gargoyles, she is the first to see Quasi for who he actually is. The film continues Disney’s 90s love affair with casting high-profile actors as leading characters: Moore, an undeniable superstar by 1996, is instantly recognizable in the role, but she carries it off rather well, imbibing Esmeralda with just the right amount of independent spirit.

"Achilles ... heel."

Captain Phoebus, on the other hand, is a bit self-absorbed and clueless, but he has a sense of right and wrong that helps him awaken to the real problems in Paris; in this way, he has some very significant similarities to John Smith in Pocahontas. I always forget that the character is voiced by Kline, though it oddly suits him. It amuses me that Kline, whose Phoebus has many comic interactions with his horse, Achilles, plays such a similar character (Tulio) dealing with horsey hi-jinks in 2000′s animated feature The Road to El Dorado.

Just part of the architecture.

As for the gargoyles, you have to love them. Laverne, a truly great character, is voiced by the wonderful Mary Wickes, who is no stranger to the True Classics crew, having played a part in some of our favorite films (White Christmas, The Man Who Came to Dinner, 101 Dalmatians…). This was actually Wickes’ last film role before she passed away in 1995. As Laverne, she plays a dry-humored character who is definitely the brains of the operation (so, a perfect role, essentially). Interestingly, there actually is a Notre Dame gargoyle that looks like Laverne; we may assume the others depicted in the film are up there, too, but I cannot know for sure. If I had the picture accessible on a computer, I would post it, but I do not. Perhaps someday I will get it scanned and filed.  The other two gargoyles, aptly named “Victor” (Charles Kimbrough) and “Hugo” (Jason Alexander), play foil to one another and provide much-needed comedy relief from the rather dark story line.

Disney chose Tony Jay to play Frollo, which was a rather wise move. His voice suits his character, and his experience in voicing characters is extensive, having played a villain in radio drama and portrayed numerous animated characters (including the crooked asylum director in Beauty and the Beast). He already knew how to play evil, morally and ethically questionable, and—let’s just say it—a bit creepy.

Seriously ... he's creepy.

The major theme in the film is how “morality” is used for immoral purposes (personified by Frollo). It questions the nature of good and evil, which was one of Hugo’s favorite questions. Frollo has risen to power and managed to break the justice system into shambles. He shows this himself when explaining to Phoebus about his moral war against the gypsies. He uses a metaphor with bugs under a tile in the walls in the Palace of Justice to show how the gypsies are an infestation, but his removal of the tile (and putting it back incorrectly) shows how he has broken justice. It also reveals that there really are bugs infesting the justice system—just not the bugs he names. Later, he begins to destroy Notre Dame, this time with a battering ram. In a scene oddly reminiscent of, and yet opposing Beauty and the Beast (apparently all “monsters” require battering rams), the citizens finally take back their city from Frollo’s corrupt leadership.

"Sanctuary!"

Making Hugo’s novel into a Disney-fied film appropriate for family audiences necessitated some serious changes to the original book. The intensity of Frollo’s lust for Esmeralda is severely dampened, though it’s still pretty evident he has an unhealthily amorous yen for this woman (“she will be mine or she will burn,” huh? Yeah). And Hugo’s ending—in which Esmeralda, Frollo, and Quasimodo all wind up dead—was pretty much scrapped. Frollo still meets his comeuppance, falling from the heights of Notre Dame to his death below, but the Gypsy girl and the bell-ringer survive, and Esmeralda and Phoebus renew their love connection with Quasi’s blessing. The film ends on a bright, hopeful note, as Quasimodo ventures out, undisguised, and is greeted warmly and welcomed by the people of Paris for the first time. With their acceptance, Quasi realizes his longed-for happy ending. Unrealistic? Perhaps. But it’s only a fitting ending for any product of the venerable House of Mouse.

Overall, choosing to adapt The Hunchback of Notre Dame was a bold move on the parts of directors Kirk Wise and Gary Trousdale. Despite making quite a few changes and lightening Hugo’s story by several dozen shades, it is still a pretty dark story for Disney. The adaptation manages to retain some of the complicated social themes from Hugo’s novel while still incorporating more child-friendly elements, and one must admit that such a balancing act is pretty impressive.