Class of '55: The Jungle Cruise

Disneyland opened fifty-five years ago on July 17th, 1955.  In the ensuing decades a cavalcade of rides that once flourished have vanished, all replaced by newer, shinier experiences.  All told there are only thirteen attractions that debuted on opening day that remain operational.  Among these veterans are the Main Street Cinema, which originally ran vintage shorts and newsreels and currently plays host to a continuous black-and-white Mickey Mouse festival, and my favorite ride in the park, the crazy world of Mr Toad's Wild Ride.  But the only mega-attraction that managed to weather the storms of fickle guests and misguided managers is the Jungle Cruise, a boat ride inspired in part by the African Queen.

When the park opened the Jungle Cruise was the only ride in the area known as Adventureland.  Taking up approximately three acres of Disneyland's eighty-five, the attraction was one of the park's largest and most hyped entertainments.  Guests board a gas-powered boat that winds through a murky river along a hidden track.  Dense foliage surround the banks where many exotic (and animatronic) animals and natives play out scenes before the voyagers.  The boat's skipper guides the guests through the treacherous waters, punctuating their continuous narration with many a pun.  Head-hunters, hippos and pistol-wielding monkeys all approach you but as the skipper always states, the scariest part of the Jungle Cruise is the return to civilization.

In many the Jungle Cruise is a Disneyland anomaly.  Its massive outdoor setting puts it apart from both the giant multi-million dollar indoor spectacles like Space Mountain and the adjacent Indiana Jones ride, it also contrasts with the often smaller outdoor attractions like Dumbo the Flying Elephant.  The skipper's groan-inducing puns, which are as much a part of the attraction as the spectacles one sees, are often ad-libbed, a rare sign of Disney encouraging spontaneous creativity within the park's constantly controlled environment.  Pixar's John Lasseter, whose first job was working at Disneyland, always stated that his favorite shift was manning the Jungle Cruise boat.



Although today we are seasonally blitzed with promotions touting such new attractions as Harry Potter Land and the Simpsons Ride, the Jungle Cruise may indeed be the first theme park ride inspired by a movie.  Much of the attraction was designed by Harper Goff, the man who also designed the majority of Main Street USA, using his hometown of Fort Collins, Colorado, not Walt's Marceline, Missouri, as the template.  He famously walked the length of the Jungle Cruise's as-yet-unbuilt river in one loop sketching the ride's layout by marking off the boundaries and riverbanks.  This initial improvised sketch is the track that still remains today.  There were originally six 27-foot long boats used to escort guests along the river.  They were painted white with red-and-white striped roofs while today they have been transformed into dingy brown versions in an effort to be more evocative of the African Queen.  Seven more boats have been added including the aptly named Kissimee Kate which references both one of stars of the African Queen and the town adjacent to Walt Disney World in Florida (bonus point for referencing a former Metro Classic as well!)

Pre-Game Warm-Up: Frank and Ollie

One of the most prominent legends of the Walt Disney Studios is that of the Nine Old Men, Walt's personal nickname for his core animators (the name was cribbed from F.D.R.'s less charitable description of the Supreme Court).  Disney's nine all started with the studio in the early 30s, (except for Les Clark who joined in 1927 working on Steamboat Willie).  They all stayed with the studio for decades.  After Walt's death in 1966 they became the torchbearers for the original guard, preserving the integrity and legacy of animation at the studio.

Two of these Nine Old Men were Frank Thomas and Ollie Johnston; classmates, collaborators, neighbors and best friends for seventy-plus years.  They are the subjects of the lovingly produced Frank and Ollie, a low-key, charming documentary released by the Disney Studios in 1995.  The film was directed by Frank's son Theodore, who uses his close relationship to catch many intimate moments between his family and Ollie's, including a touching scene of Ollie's wife Marie dancing happily to Frank's piano playing in his living room.  Interspersed throughout the film are vintage footage from the studio, moments with Disney historians slobbering over themselves in awe of the work Frank and Ollie created, as well as cute vignettes of Ollie acting out a classic animated scene, followed by the scene itself.

In regards to their output here is a list of scenes and characters Frank and Ollie were responsible for:

Ollie:

-The "Pastoral Symphony" in Fantasia
-Pinocchio's nose growing
-Half of the Jungle Book (including the final scene)
-Thumper meeting Bambi
-Pongo licking Perdita in 101 Dalmatians
-The ugly stepsisters in Cinderella
-Rufus the Cat in the Rescuers
-Mr. Smee

Frank:

-The funeral scene in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs
-The spaghetti scene in Lady and the Tramp
-"I've Got No Strings" from Pinocchio
-The pond skating scene in Bambi
-Captain Hook
-The Queen of Hearts
-Flora, Fauna and Merriweather
-King Louie

Frank and Ollie is a loving portrait of two lives spent tirelessly in pursuit of artistic acheivements.  The film is a victory lap of sorts but it would not be the duo's last hurrah.  A decade after the documentary's release, Frank and Ollie make their last onscreen appearance at the end of Brad Bird's the Incredibles.  What could be more fitting than going out in cartoon form?

Look at All the Pretty Pictures

Over the holidays I acquired my first Blu-ray player, a gift from my younger brother who I suspect purchased it on the black market. Regardless of its possibly nefarious origin, I was absolutely giddy with delight. He asked if I wanted to borrow any of his Blu-rays to christen the box with and my mind immediately leapt to Pixar. My very first drooling moment on the way to a complete high-definition conversion was in a Fred Meyer a couple years back when I happened to pass through the electronics section and a flat screen TV showcasing WALL*E caught my eye. My girlfriend had to literally drag me away.

So when it came time to experience the digital sensation in the comforts and cozy confines of my abode, a Pixar film was to me the only option. But which one? Obviously Ratatouille was in contention, being my unabashed favorite of the ten features the studio has so far released. My brother kindly pressed the disk into my hands. After a moment of thought I also asked if he'd loan me his brand new copy of Cars as well. Cars is far from my favorite film the studio has produced (on the other hand it's also not my relative least) but its merits are many. Most of them falling under the visual column.

In fact, Cars my be the most consistently gorgeous film in the studio's canon. Every Pixar movie has what I like to call "the money shot", that perfect visual composition that unhinges the jaw and absolutely boggles the mind. Ratatouille has the ridiculously romantic rooftop Paris reveal, WALL*E has his brush with the star field, Up quietly places Ellie in her favorite chair as the afternoon sunlight filters in, and Marlin and Dory traverse a deadly world of poisonous pinks in the jellyfish sequence of Finding Nemo, but none of these shots serve the story as well as the neon lights buzzing to life and reflecting off the pristine bodies of the anthropomorphized automobiles of Radiator Springs. Unlike these other money shots, this moment in Cars occurs at the culmination of the film, deepening the emotional resonance of the story in a way that words never could.

Speaking of Cars, I recently watched the severely underrated Disney feature The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad which among other things further solidified my passion for Disneyland's greatest ride. (Quick aside: one day Walt was dining in Disneyland and a waitress addressed him as Mr. Disney. He looked up and said, "Call me Walt. There's only one Mister in Disneyland and that's Mr. Toad.") One of the bonus features on the disk was a Disney short subject from 1952 called Susie the Little Blue Coupe. The design of the vehicles in this short are an acknowledged influence on the visual world of Cars. The wise decision to place the eyes in the windshield instead of where the headlights would be is one of the most obvious examples. But what struck me more as an influence on Pixar was the care and investment its creators took with the story. In the course of eight minutes, the audience falls head-over-heels for this charming little vehicle and we become completely wrecked when she falls apart as the years wear on. The attachment the animators are able to wring out of this simple story are akin to the emotional core of Up or Finding Nemo. I had seen the short many times as a kid when the Disney Channel used to be a wonderful outpost in the wilds of the cable jungle but I had not seen it in twenty years. Watching the film now I was surprised by how much of the story I had retained. I attribute this to that care with which the studio spent on the story.

Another Disney short I stumbled upon recently that bears more than a passing relation to Pixar is the studio's first animated two-reeler, the fanciful Ben and Me, released a year after Susie in 1953. The short echoes the basic outline of Ratatouille as it follows a precocious rodent, this time a mouse named Amos, who befriends founding father Benjamin Franklin and helps him accomplish some of his most vaunted achievements. In fact, Amos like Remy, does most of the work; be it heading out into the streets to compile fodder for Franklin's newspaper or accidentally inventing the bifocal. The short does not delve any deeper, there are for instance no thoughtful treatises on art and criticism, but it is an enjoyable work nonetheless. Watching Amos travel through colonial America atop Franklin's head is to see the predecessors to Remy and Linguini. Coincidentally both shorts are narrated by Sterling Holloway, the famous voice of Winnie the Pooh.

A lot of people rag on Disney and throw their unequivocal support behind the far funnier Warner Bros shorts being produced at the time. It's like the eternal Chaplin/Keaton debate. Both studios were working in the same medium but from different perspectives and to different ends. Warner Bros shorts were blasts of anarchy, intelligence and gut-busting hilarity. Disney on the other hand were working tirelessly to refine their storytelling abilities and draftsmanship, laying the groundwork for future generations.

Walt Disney's Robin Hood Revisited

My most distinct memory of Walt Disney's Robin Hood does not actually involve the film.  On my first trip to Disneyland when I was five years old, I stood by dumbfounded as a costumed Friar Tuck ran into the women's restroom in Fantasyland.  I was too young to realize that the vast majority of the costumed employees were female, nor did I know how forbidden that emergency restroom visit was.  To maintain the meticulously crafted illusion, Disneyland stresses that employees in costume cannot, under any circumstances, break character when in the public's purview.  If you're going to puke or pass out, do it with the head attached. Something must have been seriously wrong with that fleeing Friar.

My impressions of the film itself are hazy.  I remember the archery competition and a tedious imprisonment scene but that's about it.  I haven't seen the film in at least two decades and I wondered how it would fare, particularly since my recent conversion to obsessive Disney nutcase (classic Disney films and Disneyland exclusively; I'm not vouching for Hannah Montana or G-Force.)  In honor of this week's Metro Classic, I decided it was time I took a trip back to the animated Nottingham.

Well, it's no Pinocchio.  It's not even an Adventure with Ichabod and Mr Toad (which is ridiculously underrated by the way.)  It's not that the film is bad, it's just kind of boring.  Robin Hood was the second feature made after Walt's death in 1966 and his absence is overwhelmingly apparent.  Throughout his career Walt Disney strived to create work that was fresh, exciting and new.  He quickly grew bored with doing things the same way twice.  Robin Hood feels like a patchwork of previous Disney films, which in certain respects it was.  The most obvious example is that of the character Little John who is a veritable Xerox of Baloo the Bear from the Jungle Book, the last film that Walt had input on.  The character is not only an identical visual reproduction but he also is voiced by the same man, Mr. Phil Harris.  Robin Hood also reuses animation from previous films, most noticeably during the "Phony King of England" dance sequence which borrows movements from the Jungle Book, Snow White, and the Aristocats. 

All of this repetition was a necessity of sorts because Robin Hood was given an egregiously low budget by the studio, another mistake Walt would never have made.  He continually put the studio on the precipice of bankruptcy to realize his dreams, whether it was producing the first animated short with sound, the first feature-length animated film, or constructing a theme park amidst miles of orange groves.  Even when he was following up these landmarks with more of the same, he experimented with storytelling (Fantasia) and picture (the majestic Cinemascope world of Sleeping Beauty.) These risks eventually paid off because Walt had a distinct vision and that is ultimately what derails Robin Hood.  The film feels altogether too safe.

There are some nice moments in the film.  I actually enjoyed the prison sequence this time around (which it turns out runs all of about forty seconds; I must have been a fidgety child) where the minstrel rooster plays a Kris Kristofferson-like ballad, "Not in Nottingham".  His song "Whistle-Stop" which opens the film is another nice tune.  I found the morbid prospect of hanging Friar Tuck refreshingly dark for a G-rated kids' movie.  And the final showdown, which involves a massive prison break and a Bandidas-esque (to coin a phrase) robbery, is exciting and fun.  Too bad there was an hour of meandering preceding it.

For the most part though the characters are one-note, the plot achingly repetitive and the animation threadbare.  There just doesn't seem to be much fun at the heart of Disney's Robin Hood, which is unfortunate for that is the one trait the titular hero personifies.