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The Art of Walt Disney,
From Mickey Mouse to the Magic Kingdoms
Original Book written by Christopher Finch
© Harry N. Abrams, Inc, Revised and Expanded Edition, 2005
10. NEW BEGINNINGS, pages 271-245The new regime did not close down the animation department, but it did move the animators out of the hallowed 1940 Animation Building, where most of the classics had been produced, and into a cavernous industrial structure several mles away from Glendale. (It time, the department would come to occupy several buildings in the industrial complex that was already home to the Imagineers of the Disney theme parks.)
"It seemed like a kind of warning," says Andreas Deja. "The old Animation Building was being turned over to live-action production. That was a singal that live-action was to be the Studio's bread and butter. We were being sent out into the wilderness and told that it was time to get out act together. But, at least, we were given a chance."
It would have been a tragedy if the future of Disney animation had been determined by the failure of The Black Cauldron. In actuality, there was no immediate danger of this since [Michael] Eisner had promised Roy Disney that feature animation would have its opportunity to prove itself. Even before Cauldron was released, Disney and [Jeffrey] Katzenberg had given the green light to another project. In 1982, when The Black Cauldron began to show signs of endemic chaos, several artists had asked to be taken off the production and were given the go-ahead to develop a project titled Basil of Baker Street, based on the book of the same name by Eve Titus. The principals behind this project were two veterans of the story department (Burny Mattinson and Dave Michener) and two relative newcomers who would play major roles in the animation renaissance (John Musker and Ron Clements). All four would receive director's credit.
Because production of The Black Cauldron was so attenuated, members of the Basil of Baker Street team had an unusual amount of time to hone their story so that what Katzenberg and Disney were presented with was a very complete and detailed set of storyboards. They liked what they saw and responded with cautious enthusiasm.
"What Jeffrey said," recalls Musker, "was, 'If you can make it in half the time you're used to, for half the money — go ahead.'"
Re-titled The Great Mouse Detective, the movie was made on budget and in time to be released in July of 1986, just a year after The Black Cauldron. The Great Mouse Detective is a far less ambitious movie than its predecessor, but given its modest aims and budgetary restrictions, it is very successful — a thoroughly entertaining film that both pays tribute to earlier Disney masterpieces and points the way to triumphs sill to come. Its only serious faults can be blamed largely on the cost cutting that had been done hurriedly, and there are even instances of backgrounds occupied by static (non-animated) figures.
Still, The Great Mouse Detective, is enlivened by some excellent character animation — by the likes of Mark Henn, Glen Keane, Ruben Aquino, and Rob Minkoff — and displays many merits, not the least of which is an emphasis on storytelling that harks back to the glory days.
The story pits a mouse detective called Basil (not without Holmes-like mannerisms) and his sidekick, Dr. Dawson, against the arch-villain Ratigan (splendidly realised around the perfect cast voice of Vincent Price). Aided by Fidget — a peg-legged bat with a sadistic sense of humour — assorted thugs, Ratigan schemes to kidnap Queen Moustoria and replace her with a clockwork dummy. To build this robber, Ratigan has kidnapped who begs Basil to take on the case of her father's disappearance. The characters they encounter during their adventures include a sappy hound called Toby (supposedly belonging to Sherlock Holmes himself), an over-fed feline executioner named Felicia, and assorted riverfront ne'er-do-wells.
All of these characters, even the minor ones, are well drawn, with Ratigan and Fidget making memorable additions to the ranks of Disney bad guys. Just as importantly, they were woven into a well-though-out plot that moves forward briskly, never loses sigh of where it is going, and is eventually resolved in an entirely satisfactory manner. The movie is full of snappy dialogue and witty sight gags — the latter sometimes more reminiscent of vintage Warner Brothers cartoons than earlier Disney features. It's true to say, in face, that the new generation of animators had grown up admiring Looney Toons along with the Disney classics, and they were anxious to graft a hipper king of humour onto the Disney main stem. (Disney had had its share of hip humourists — Ward Kimball, for one — but the wisecrack and the off-the-wall sight gags had found their true home at Warners, where they were nurtured by Chuck Jones, Friz Freleng, Bob McKimson, and others.)
The Great Mouse Detective also featured fine atmospheric backgrounds (some harking back to those painted for Pinocchio) and inventive camera work (which is another way of saying that the layout department was making a valuable contribution to the drama and texture of the movie). If the Nine Old Men had come to emphasise character animation at the expense of everything else, the hungry young men and women who succeeded them looked for a new balance in which all departments made a major contribution to telling the story. In this regard, The Great Mouse Detective anticipated the major achievements of the Disney feature renaissance.
The film includes on spectacular sequence that depends in part on computer-generated animation. The Studio had had some experience with computer animation in the live-action science-fiction movie Tron, which appeared in 1982, but that was outside the feature animation department. The climax of The Great Mouse Detective takes place in the clock tower of the Houses of Parliament, with Basil, Olivia, and Ratigan dodging one another along with the cogs, flywheels, gears, and counterweights that drive the clock known to the world as Big Ben. It's a sequence that recalls the splendid 1937 Mickey Mouse short Clock Cleaners, but this time the machinery was animated with the aid of a computer, and the result was a mechanical ballet of a complexity and precision that greatly enhances the drama of the moment.
The Great Mouse Detective is a small-scale production, but — like Dumbo, another small-scale production — it is consistently entertaining and ultimately satisfying. The public responded to the movie and it turned a respectable profit. The feature animation department having justified its continued existence, new projects were put into development.
Peter Schnider — a young man with a strong theatre background — was recruited by Roy Disney to run the department on a day-today basis, with the title senior vice president of feature animation. (In 1991, he became president of feature animation.) This was a crucial appointment because, for all the talent it contained, the department had been lacking in hands-on leadership. Schneider provided that leadership and brought a sense of focus. His sound theatrical instincts were soon felt at story meetings and other creative forums, but beyond that he became the person who adjudicated disputes, made difficult decisions, appointed personnel to key positions, soothed sore egos, and generally kept the wheels oiled so that animators and other artists could get on with making movies to the best of their ability.
With Schneider in place, the feature animation department was no longer dissipating its energies. It was he who, with Roy Disney's support, guided the department to the point where it was ready to produce masterpieces like The Little Mermaid and Beauty and the Beast. And when feather animation became glamourous one more, and immensely profitable, it was Schneider who kept the department on an even keel, shielding it from understandable pressures to increase production at almost any cost and making sure that everyone felt part of its tremendous success.
