Some time shortly after
The Sword In The Stone, Disney lost the plot - quite
literally. Until The Little Mermaid in 1989, the
corporation produced a steady stream of clunkers which
included the godawful likes of Oliver And Company, The
Fox And The Hound, The Rescuers and Basil The Great
Mouse Detective. As a result of this banal output, all
of which eschewed the classical scope of the earlier
Disney movies in favour of bland stories akin to those
paintings of a kitten in a brandy glass, Disney was
faced with financial crisis. It’s little wonder that
the BBC’s long-running Bank Holiday advertorial,
Disney Time (usually sandwiched between a Jim’ll Fix
It Special and re-run of Dad’s Army), relied so
heavily on clips of past glories such as Pinnochio (the
wooden boy, who grew up into a wooden gigolo - his
speciality getting lady customers to squat above his
face while he told them lies), and the empire-building
Snow White And The Seven Dwarves (Stumpy, Shorty,
Squatty, Tiny, Littleton, Half-Pint and Marcello).
It’s only now that
the Disney empire - following a string of
heavily-merchandised hits - is getting back on its feet.
We
visited Disneyland for a second time five years ago, and
the place was akin to a slum, its attractions in
desperate need of updating (a Transport Of The Future
ride boasted miniature petrol-fuelled cars which belched
hideous plumes of acrid smoke). The Runaway Train ride
was no more terrifying than the average trip to the off
licence in a Maestro, while the Star Wars-themed Star
Tours was a showcase of cutting-edge technology circa
1985. Our first visit to Disneyland had been in 1983,
and the rides had seemed so much more exciting back
then, and so much newer. Perhaps part of this phenomenon
can be attributed to the fact that the average London
Borough adventure playground now has its own council
tax-funded corkscrew rollercoaster.
Of course, Disney
movies today merely serve to generate revenue in other
areas, be it the theme parks, video sales, or Disney
Shops. 
For
the most part they’re recycling much of what has gone
before, rather than risk deviating from a winning
formula. The Lion King and Tarzan regurgitate the animal
characters of Jungle Book, and the emotional
manipulation of Bambi, while the likes of Mulan and
Pocahontas (both of which seemed to be concessions to
political correctness) have struggled to shoe-horn
marketable comedy cartoon animals into formats which
didn’t really allow for them. Nevertheless, it’s a
formula that makes zillions for its parent corporation
every year - a corporation that, in recent years, has
been torn asunder by internal politics.
Had Uncle
Walt himself still be at the helm, and not stuck in a
fridge beneath the foundations of Disneyland, it’s
unlikely he’d have ever allowed such management
bickering. An extreme right-wing, womanising racist,
Walt Disney - rather like Coca-Cola’s
brushed-under-the-carpet origins as a cocaine-laced
medicinal tonic - is simultaneously the figurehead, and
the dark secret, at the heart of the Disney corporate
legend. Disney quite literally ruled with a rod of iron,
which he would smash down onto the face of any
insubordinate who disagreed with his fascistic doctrine.
Prior to his death in 1966, he was said to be working on
cartoon entitled Mickey Mouse And His Battle Against The
Red Menace, which was to introduce new characters to the
Disney canon, including McCarthy Cat, Capitalist Crow,
Pinko Commie Bastard and Evil Stalin The Dog. Actually,
we just made all that up, but we think you understand
where we’re coming from.
Also, what’s the
score with Pluto and Goofy? They’re both dogs, right?
So why does Pluto have to live naked in a kennel?
What’s going on in the Disney universe? Is Pluto a
slave? Is he of a lower caste than Goofy? Is he a
sub-mental? We ought to be told.
