Deconstructing Disney: Three Documentaries

For a company as culturally omnipresent as The Walt Disney Studios, you’d think that every facet of their fascinating, infamous history would be well known. You’d assume – rightfully or wrongfully – that the truth about every production would be a matter of public record, that every secret project and unheralded effort would be, today, part of the business’ documented lexicon. With each DVD (and now Blu-ray) release, with each year that passes with yet another stellar House of Mouse title to consider, the entirety of company’s creative process should not be a newly discovered disclosure. While the man who made it all possible still remains an enigmatic mystery, the last fifty years of new gathering and rumor mongering have seemingly deciphered the Disney magic one and for all.

Or has it? Thanks to three brand new documentaries, each covering a different phase in the company’s compelling story, the World that Walk Built is getting yet another pass under the media microscope – and what’s uncovered there is truly compelling. First up, the fledgling company faces financial ruin and labor upheaval during the outset of World War II. A rather odd savior steps in with an equally compelling proposal. Then, two of Disney’s most beloved artisans – Robert and Richard Sherman – are given a career overview, and the revelations and resentment uncovered are startling. Finally, the firm’s mid-’80s renaissance is reconfigured as a brilliant boardroom drama as the arrival of Michael Eisner, Frank Wells, and Jeffrey Katzenberg ushers in a new era in commercial and creative returns – but not without other costs.

Together, these three films cast a compelling light on a situation few outside the corporate fold were even aware of. They also argue for even more intriguing narratives just waiting to be uncovered within the House of Mouse’s vaunted halls.

While there is a lot of urban mythology surrounding Walt Disney, his various films, and his lingering dynasty (and don’t believe everything you read about him being frozen, either), there are apparently some forgotten yet true stories still struggling to make it to the surface. While well known at the time (at least in industry circles), most never knew of the House of Mouse man’s three month long “goodwill” trip to South America in 1941. With the world at war and the US government desperate to divert attention away from the growing Nazi diplomatic presence in the area, they asked Disney if he would consider a creative proposal – go down to Argentina, Brazil, and Chile (the “ABC’s” of the region) and work a little of his animated magic on them. In return, Uncle Sam would underwrite any film(s) the company would subsequently create, giving company creditors something to cheer about. With Fantasia in trouble financially and a massive labor dispute among his employees looming, Disney decided to take up the cause. Hand picking a collection of his company’s best (who would later be dubbed “El Grupo”), he headed out into uncharted territory – both artistically and diplomatically.

In Theodore Thomas’ amiable, anecdotal documentary, friends and family members of those in attendance read letters and reminisce about their relatives time down South. For many, it was their first exposure to Latin culture and the impact was immediate and immense. We see how Walt was warmly received most of the time, scoffed at as a spy at others. We learn how local artisans flocked to familiarize themselves with their Northern cousins, and the huge creative collaboration they all shared. Without getting overly political, Thomas addresses the underlying theme of the entire excursion, arguing that some leaders played the Hollywood heavyweight for his personal and professional showboating appeal, all the while entertaining invites from Hitler’s men as well. We also see the less than overwhelmed impact amongst the nonplused citizenry. In the end, Disney walked away a success, his efforts bonding the two parts of the Americas together and leading to the creation of two of the company’s most unusual and successful efforts – Saludos Amigos and The Three Caballeros. While not as in-depth as the idea demands, Walt and El Grupo is still a gripping bit of Mickey history.

Who would have known that the men responsible for some of the most magical and memorable music in the entire history of Walt Disney’s animated and live action productions secretly disliked each other – nay, were so diametrically opposed as personalities off camera that they barely spoke to or saw each other for nearly forty years. One night, in the middle of a personal crisis, older brother Bob called his younger sibling Dick and asked him to help with a growing domestic incident. A few days later, all was forgotten, including the boys’ friendship – not that it was very strong to begin with. Taking up after their famous father Al (a noted commercial songwriter), Bob and Dick saw World War II forge decidedly different paths for each. The older Sherman headed out to fight the Axis, and came back with haunted memories of bloody battles and concentration camps. His baby brother stayed behind and played wisecracking teenager. Eventually working together, and then with Walt Disney, the duo would go from ’50s pop rock success to Oscar winning legends of the House of Mouse. But the road to said triumphs was rocky at best.

In this dark and often depressing “celebration” of the Brothers 60 years in show business, Jeffrey and Gregory Sherman’s documentary love letter to their fathers is a fascinating, frustrating piece. Because we are relying on the men themselves to explain away decades of animosity and anger, the messenger often gets lost in the message – and visa versa. The juxtaposition between Disneyfied EPK examples of their partnership and the narrative truth simmering beneath the surface is just stunning, and the men clearly maintain a fleeting affection for each other even if their present circumstances find them thousands of miles apart (Bob now lives in London). What we have here is clearly a case of diametrically opposite personalities playing nice together for the greater career good. Yet for those of us who were obsessed with their work on such films as Mary Poppins, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, Bedknobs and Broomsticks and the Winnie the Pooh shorts, such unresolved resentment is tough to take. We want the Shermans to be as sunny and happy as the music they made. As this excellent documentary argues, that was never the case.

From 1925 to 1968, the House of Mouse, the entertainment juggernaut Walt Disney and his hand-picked team of “imagineers” built from the ground up, was the benchmark for wholesome, exceptional family entertainment. By the 1970s, however, surveys were indicating that children no longer loved the company’s commercial cache and while the theme parks were booming, the animation department in particular was a bust. Enter Michael Eisner, an executive from Paramount with the mandate to makeover the struggling studio. Bringing in Frank Wells as Chief Operating Officer and reinstalling Roy Disney as head of animation, he needed someone to help with the company’s lagging cinematic fortunes. Then along comes Jeffrey Katzenberg, a shrewd studio man who immediately restructured Walt’s vision to include more “adult friendly” fare. He also spearheaded a cartoon division renaissance, reinventing the artform with such soon to be classics as The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast, and The Lion King. As with many stories of sacrifice and success, triumph brought out the best – and worst – in everyone. A mere ten years after taking over, tensions between Eisner and Katzenberg were so stressed that an unexpected tragedy threatened to undermine everything they achieved.

A good subtitle for the superb documentary Waking Sleeping Beauty would be “How Disney Became a Calculating Commercial Cash Cow.” By trading on tradition and infusing the dying animation department with new and necessary blood, we watch as Eisner, Katzenberg, and Disney feud, fume, and play friendly for the camera. We witness the birth of the company’s mega-meta marketing push, positioning each and every new film as part of an overall plan to saturate the media (and their own outlets) with as much character-specific product as possible. As Eisner defends the decision to raid the vaults for more and more video material, as Katzenberg influences the editing and direction of many of the movies in preproduction, as new voices such as musical theater ace Howard Ashman and Pixar’s John Lasseter move and modify the direction Disney would take, we learn the impact on much of the staff. While they were doing all the heavy lifting – and rightfully so – their bosses were bandying about for credits. Naturally, even the accolades and award season recognition can’t stifle the simmering resentment within. When Wells suddenly dies in a helicopter crash, the entire dynamic at Disney changes. Even as The Lion King promises behemoth box office returns, bitter infighting leads to a crucial departure. Like the best backstage exposes, Waking Sleeping Beauty uncovers the always assumed truths about what happens when driven people crash head on into each other. It’s not pretty, but it’s oh so fascinating.