Encyclopaedia of Walt Disney's Animated Characters
Original Book written by John Grant
© Disney Editions, Third Edition, 1998

PART III:  THE FEATURES
THE GREAT MOUSE DETECTIVE, pages 310-317

CHARACTERS

CREDITS

 

THE MOVIE

One's opinion of The Great Mouse Detective (confusingly released in the UK under the slightly different title of Basil – The Great Mouse Detective) depends upon what one wants from a movie.  If you are seeking a great Disney classic — a Snow White for the 1980s — then The Great Mouse Detective is not for you.  If, by contrast, you simply want to see a movie that provides virtually non-stop rollicking fun, then you would find difficulty in making a better selection than The Great Mouse Detective.  It is very definitely a movie for those who prefer Star Wars to 2001 and Sleeper to Annie Hall.  It is not a "Disney classic" in the sense that, perhaps, Bambi and Pinocchio are; but there is a good case to be made for its being a classic nevertheless, for it is one of a kinds:  It passes one particular test with flying colours:  In any audience watching The Great Mouse Detective, the adults and the children laugh at the same jokes.  At a more mundane level, the movie grosses $18 million in the United States in the first month after its release — an astonishing feat by any standards.

Needless to say, the reviewers were divided over the movie. Their reactions ranged from the frankly hostile...

Financial Times

"The supporting cast includes more mice, and three of the film's four directors have surnames beginning with M, which suggests to my suspicious mind that they might be mice too.  Certainly they have created a film with somewhat tiny comic appeal and nothing at all of the pictorial splendour of old Disney."

...through the "mixed"...

Observer, London

"...the best full-length animated film the Disney boys have produced since the Master's death.  Yet only in the odd frame do we find that magical spark that set the great Disney classics of the late 1980s and '40s ablaze."

...to the wildly enthusiastic:

Daily Telegraph

"Basil is intelligent fun, with enough bite to delight.  Do go and enjoy.  It is a film the children can safely take grown-ups to in the confidence that they will not be bored."

Starburst, Richard Holliss

"...a highly recommended picture...should not be missed under any circumstances."

David Hancock chose a most inopportune journal in which to be patronising about the movie:

The Sun, London

"Sherlock Holmes is given the spook treatment and the little ones will enjoy it."

And at least one reviewer used the movie as an excuse for an exercise in advanced post-modernistic incomprehensibility:

Independent, London

"Disney cartoons, with their oozy tumescent contours and their naively filled-in colour, their histrionic shrieks and gestures...and their cast of goodies (pale, middle-class) and baddies (swarthy, poor), pretend to wholesomeness and rectitude while extracting as in Basil, maximum entertainment from the underlying horror."

"Yes," one aches to ask, "but did you enjoy the movie?"

It is difficult to list the full strengths of the movie, but there are a few which should certainly be mentioned.

First, the script.  Not only is this exquisitely plotted, fast-paced, and dramatic, it is also exceptionally funny.  Whether the gags are verbal or visual, they all share a genuine ingenuity, a love of lateral thinking and skew-logic for their own sake.  A prime example occurs when Dawson and Basil have been roped to a mousetrap.  A record will release a ball down a chute, and this will (a) set off the mousetrap, (b) fire a revolver at them, (c) release a crossbow-bolt at them, (d) cause an axe to chop them in half, (e) let the vast cast-iron anvil drop on top of them, and (f) cause a camera to take a photograph of their gory demise so that the vile Ratigan can gloat over it in the years to come.  Basil, however, after feverish calculation realises that, if he and Dawson set off the mousetrap at exactly the right time, the ball will stop the bar of the trap, knocking the gun off target so that its bullet deflects the axe, which falls to cut the ropes and mousetrap so that the two mice are well clear when the anvil plummets.  Complicated enough...but there is yet more.  Moments later Basil has posed himself, Dawson, and Olivia in seaside-snap postures just in time for the camera to click and so preserve forever his proud grin.

The entire complicated sequence takes up only a few seconds of screen time, yet is meticulously crafted in terms of both animation and timing.  Yet it is the ingenuity of the sequence of events, which makes the audience burst into applause.

A second major strength of the voice is its characterisation.  In most Disney animated features, one expects to find two or three characters powerfully depicted, plus a gaggle of minor zanies to produce comic relief.  In The Great Mouse Detective, however, all the characters are strong ones — even Queen Moustoria, who might have been expected to have been a symbol rather than a fully developed personality, is given a well-rounded character of her own.  (A well-rounded physique, too, but that is by the by.)  If one has to identify a weak link in the chain, it is probably Mrs. Judson, Basil's housekeeper, but she seems to be two-dimensional only by contrast with those around her:  In most others movies, she should register as a fully fledged supporting actor.

A third of the movie's strengths one mentions almost reluctantly:  The animation.  The climactic scenes of the chase inside the workings of Big Ben (strictly speaking, the clock of which Big Ben is the bell) were executed with assistance of computers — humans did the figures, computers the clock's gears and cogs — and there were stunning.  As the Sunday Times summed it up, this sequence "couldn't have easily been done in the old days and must rank as one of the high spots in the film animation."  The point, of course, is that Disney used the computers to assist the human animators, not to replace when — for the animation of Basil, Ratigan, and Olivia in the sequence is magnificent.  Has to be magnificent, in fact, because otherwise it would have looked appalling when matched to the precision of the computer work.

The reason for the reluctance to praise the animation too highly has nothing to do with the use of computers, however.  It is that, in some parts of the movie, the animation is not good; and in other parts the us of static background figures mars some excellent work in the foreground.  An example of the former flaw occurs early in The Great Mouse Detective, when Dawson hops down to the pavement from the step of a hansom cab.  The movement is all wrong, and the "illusion of life" is momentarily destroyed.  Examples of the latter defect occur when Basil and Dawson are in the seedy riverside pub:  Behind their animated figures we see a flat motionless backdrop of the customers — who are more sketched than fully painted.  To add insult to injury, an attempt is made to give some life to this background by superimposing upon it the occasional waft of pungent tobacco smoke.

Still, one has to bear in mind the facts of modern economics — if facts they are — and, anyway, the quality of the rest of the film is so high that such blemishes are forgotten almost as soon as noticed (to be fair, some viewers never notice them in the first place).  This latter fact reflects the time taken for the two major ingredients involved in the making of The Great Mouse Detective:  The planning of the movie took four years; the actual making of it took only one.

It is this equation which determines the status of The Great Mouse Detective as a classic of a different sort from the other Disney classics.  One can pick away at minor technical blemishes, but this cannot alter the overall effect of the movie — which is to provide the best entertainment that there's been in town for many a long year.  The Daily Telegraph, as cited above, recorded the only sensible critical reaction to The Great Mouse Detective:  "Do go and enjoy."

 

THE STORY

It is the eve of Queen Moustoria's Diamond Jubilee and, more importantly, the birthday of young Olivia Flaversham.  Here father, a toymaker, gives her a clockwork dancing-girl as a present; but almost immediately afterwards he is kidnapped by Fidget, a one-legged bat who is chief assistant to crime baron Ratigan.

Dr. David Q. Dawson has returned to London after some years spent in Afghanistan.  He is seeking lodgings when he hears sobbing from within a discarded Wellington boot.  Then he finds Olivia, who has set out in search of Basil, the famous detective, who lives in the basement of 221B Baker Street.  Dawson does not know Basil, but he does know where Baker Street is, and so he leads the little child to Basil's home.  Basil is not at home, but his housekeeper/landlady Mrs. Judson lets the two in out of the rain.

When Basil returns he immediately recognises Fidget from Olivia's description.  Clearly this case involves Basil's arch-enemy, Ratigan — and we cut to a song-and-enemy, Ratigan and his cronies, during which we learn that Ratigan plots to overthrow Queen Moustoria and set himself up as King Ratigan I.  He has kidnapped Flaversham in order to force him to build to robot replica of the Queen.  Back to Basil's flat, and moments later Fidget appears at the window.  He escapes before our friends can catch him, assisted by a puppyish bloodhound called Toby.

Fidget's trail leads to a toyshop, where the hideous little bat is purloining items on a "shopping list" which Ratigan has given to him:  These include toy soldiers' uniforms, clockwork springs and, most notably, Olivia.  Fidget has had time to gather all the items except Olivia when Basil arrives with the girl herself and Dr. Dawson.  After some minor sleuthing, Basil and Dawson become separate from Olivia, who goes wandering off to look at the toys and is captured by Fidget.  Basil gives chase, but eventually Fidget escapes.  (One of the toys in the shop is a bubble-blowing wooden model of Dumbo.)

However, Fidget has accidentally left behind his "shopping list," and this is found by Dawson. Basil subjects the paper to chemical analysis, and discovers incontrovertible evidence that it must have emanated from a riverside pub near where a sever disgorges itself into the Thames: The only possible candidate is a pub called "The Rat Trap," and thither Basil and Dawson make their way, disguised as rough sailors.

They are recognised for what they are by the barmaid and bartender, and their pints of ale are spiked with soporifics.  Basil is not to be caught out so simply, but before he has time to tell Dawson not to drink his beer Dawson is to encourage his lechery, and soon his dancing on stage with a troupe of sexy chorus-mice.  At the end of their song-and-dance number, an enormous fight breaks out among the pub's patrons.  Basil and Dawson escape unscathed, and follow Fidget, who has made a brief appearance.

In pursuit of the bat they make their way through a maze of sewage pipes, finally to emerge at Ratigan's lair.  However, the whole thing has been a trap:  They are captured, Basil is humiliated, and the two friends are tied tightly into a mousetrap:  At the end of the playing of gramophone record the trap with spring — and, simultaneously, they will be shot by a gun, impaled by a crossbow bolt, chopped in half by an axe, and flattened by a falling anvil.  Oh, yes, and photographed for Ratigan's later delectation.  The arch-criminal sets off for a grand mouse-hole at Buckingham Palace.

Basil and Dawson escape, of course, and release Olivia, too, but already Ratigan has captured the Queen and set in their place his clockwork robot.  This pseudo-Moustoria announces that she has decided to marry Ratigan, and he instantly proceeds to read out the new laws that he plans to put into effect forthwith — taxing the poor and crippled, etc. But then Basil and Dawson arrive, seize the robot's controls, and show Ratigan up as the impostor he is.

Ratigan and Fidget, with a recaptured Olivia, flee in their pedal-powered dirigible. Basil swiftly concocts an airship out of balloons, strings, and a Union flag, and a matchbox, and he, Dawson, and Flaversham give chase.  Eventually Ratigan's dirigible crashes through the face of the clock stop the Houses of Parliament.  He and Basil do battle among the cogs within, Fidget having been cast by Ratigan into the Thames some while back in order to lighten the dirigible's load.  Basil and Ratigan finally fall all the long distance into the fog-enshrouded Thames, and it seems that our hero has lost his life, à la Reichenbach Falls, in putting an end to his foe.  However, moments later Basil reappears, pedalling furiously on the remains of Ratigan's dirigible, and the day is saved.

Inevitable, there is a happy-sad ending.  Olivia and her father must leave (sob), and so too must Dawson (sob)...except that just then there is a caller, a veiled lovely with a problem that can be solved only by the acumen of Basil, the great mouse detective.  And Basil introduces Dawson to her as his permanent assistant.  The audience cheers lustily, the titles begin to run, and an eminently satisfying movie concludes.

 

THE CHARACTERS

BASIL

The received wisdom is that Basil was given his name as a small memorial to Basil Rathbone, the actor who was the screen Sherlock Holmes.  The truth of this assertion is head to establish since, of course, the name "Basil" comes from Eve Titus' 1974 book, and there is especial reason why a book character show be named for a movie actor.  That said, Disney was obviously aware of the coincidence of names, for in one scene we see the shadows of Rathbone and his Watson, Laurie Main (who took over from the one and only Nigel Bruce), cast against Holmes' study wall, and hear a snatch of conversation between them drawn from the soundtrack of one of those old movies.  (Interestingly, where we elsewhere see Holmes silhouetted against his window, playing the inevitable violin, the image is not especially Rathbone-ish.)

Clearly Basil himself is portrayed alone the lines of the popular conception of Holmes, but to say this is to simply — for Basil is much more than Holmes in mouse's clothing.  It would be wrong to go do far as the reviewer in Today who said that "Basil is more lovable mouse than that dreadful Mickey," but the fact remains that Basil is more of a mouse that Mickey.  To understand Basil's personality we have to recognise that he is a mouse with many of the attributes of the great detective whom he emulates rather than being Holmes in fancy dress.

He is luminously intelligent, and like so many intelligent individuals he displays a sort of psychological neoteny:  He has never quite grown up so that, despite his adult form, his mind still exhibits a childlike since of wonder.  He is entranced by his own cleverness (as when he uses a complex chemical experiment in order to show that Fidget's "shopping list" is saturated with sodium chloride), and can be thrown into the pits of depression when that cleverness, so much relied upon, fails to produce the required results (as when, early in the movie, he discovers from forensic comparison of two bullets that he has tracked down the wrong gun).  These are characteristics of a precocious child.  When he and Dr. Dawson face death, having been outwitted by Ratigan, Basil falls headfirst into a slough of despond from which is almost impossible for his more mature assistant to extract him.  This again is a feature of the youthful mind.  However, while immature personalities may have their drawbacks, they have too their advantages over their more "grown-up" counterparts and these advantages Basil has in full measure.  The quickness of his movements reflects the equal quickness of his thinking; and he is capable of following logical processes that simply would not occur to people more set in their ways.  In the sequence in which he releases Dawson and himself from Ratigan's "overkill" execution set-up, for example, Basil — one stimulated by Dawson into mental activity — realises that their sole hope of escape is to start out by taking what is apparently the most dangerous possible course of action, springing the mousetrap.  He shows no fear whatsoever about doing this one he has decided that it is necessary.  One the one hand, this represents the childish beliefs (a) that everything will be all right no matter how dangerous actions may seem and (b) that one's own cleverness can be relied upon 100%; one could add (c), that Basil is so fascinated by the ingenuity of the plan that, childishly, he completely forgets about the dire consequences should it fail.  But one the other head, his lack if fear shows the recognition by the intelligent individual that, if there is indeed only one possible course of action, then it is silly to be frightened.  It is notable that Dawson, who has been up until then trying to put a brave face on things, who has been playing the adult to Basil's child, trembles with actually doing something about their predicament.

There are some similarities to be observed between Basil and the Disney version of Robin Hood. Both are depicted as quick-witted, fearless in adversity, pitted against much more powerful enemies, and so forth.  However, the character of Basil has been much more carefully thought through.  One critic had it, perhaps a little unfairly, that Robin was the most boring character in Robin Hood, despite his gleeful childish cleverness; but one certainly could not say the same of Basil, who would be an outstanding character in any movie.  For Basil is more than just a collection of behaviour patterns:  One leaves the cinema feeling that one knows him as a personality.  Every characteristic rings true.  When, for example, Ratigan escapes from the palace in his bat-powered dirigible, we may be surprised at the nature of the Heath Robinson-ish vehicle which Basil devises for the purposes of giving chase, but we are not surprised that Basil should have been capable of inventing it.  This is not simply because we are confident, as ever, that the goodies will triumph over the baddies' fellest manoeuvres; it is because the invention is exactly the type of gadget which we expect Basil — or any other child — to produce.

Basil's characterisation has many strengths in itself, but it has in addition an extra one which originates in the relationship between him and his audience.  This is that, adult or child, we identify with him.  If we are not like Basil we would like to be, and for an hour and a quarter we believe that we are.  This is something of a departure for the Disney features of the last couple of decades:  Many of them have a central character whose personality is two-dimensional.  It is this character, with we are intended to identify, and the two-dimensionality is deliberately created so we can graft onto the character sufficient of our own attributes for the identification to be successful.  In The Rescuers, Penny is "everygirl"; in The Sword in the Stone, Wart is "everyboy."  In The Great Mouse Detective, however, the character who might have been expected to take on this role, Olivia, is far from two-dimensional, and it is Basil with whom we are intended to — and do — identify.

As a final note, it should be added that the voicing of Basil, performed by Barrie Ingham, could not been bettered.  It complements and enhances Basil's screen personality perfectly.  If one heard it on the radio, one would conjure up one's mind's eye a figure very much like the screen Basil.  There were rumours before the release of The Great Mouse Detective that Disney, scared by the poor reception given a few months earlier to Steven Spielberg's The Young Sherlock Holmes, had plans to dub American voices onto the soundtrack for the movie's North American release.  Fortunately, these were rumours, and Ingham's marvellous performance has been preserved.

DR. DAWSON

If Basil is himself, rather than a mouse version of any human actor, Dr. David Q. Dawson, late of Her Majesty's 66th Regiment in Afghanistan, is modelled to a great extent on that doyen of screen Watsons, Nigel Bruce.  Indeed, were it not for his ears and tail, Dawson would display none of the attributes of a mouse at all.

It is argued above that Basil is essentially a childlike character:  While possessed of great intelligence, he has a multitude of childlike traits. Dawson, by contrast, represents the voice of adulthood, common sense, and sensibleness...which all means that he is of little use in the mental duel against an intellectual criminal such as Ratigan.  Indeed, it is hard to think of any reason why Basil should be so keen, at the end of the movie, to enlist Dawson's assistance in future cases — except, perhaps, that Basil may have been finding life as a solo operator a trifle lonely.  Dawson's only contribution to the fight against evil in this adventure is to keep talking to Basil after the latter's humiliation by Ratigan:  Left to himself, Basil would have perished on the mousetrap.

Like Nigel Bruce's version of Watson, Dawson cannot be relied upon:  He is well-meaning blunderer.  When the companions are in the toyshop, Basil entrusts Olivia to Dawson's care; yet the good doctor succeeds in losing the little girl almost at once.  Similarly, in the seedy riverside pub, "The Rat Trap," Dawson forgets his freshly adopted persona sufficiently to try to order a dry sheet; while Basil nips this motion in the bud, he is not swift enough to stop Dawson from swilling down his pint of drugged ale post haste.  Thereafter, in a scene reminiscent of the gently parodic movie The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes, Dawson allows the temptations of the flesh lure him into an intimate dance with the pub's seductive chorus girls.  All of these faux pas not only embarrass Basil, they hinder his chase after Ratigan.

It is perhaps a pity that Dawson should be modelled on the Nigel Bruce representation. In Conan Doyle's books, Watson was by no means a buffoon; the same is true of Eve Titus' Dawson in Basil of Baker Street. Still, an intelligent Dawson might have drawn one's attention away from Basil, which would have been a bad thing in terms of the overall structure.

One the positive side, it would be unfair not to mention Dawson's essential goodness.  Not only does he good-heartedly take Olivia from her dank misery in the gumboot to the sanctuary of Basil's flat, he also perseveres in pressing her case when Basil is all too keen to forget about her.  In this respect, Dawson is like one's favourite uncle:  Always ready to help out in times of trouble, but not the ideal person upon whom to rely, or with whom to discuss theoretical physics.

OLIVIA FLAVERSHAM

In many other Disney features the "token child lead" is not is really a character at all, merely a symbol of "everychild."  Delightfully, in The Great Mouse Detective the lead child is a fully-rounded personality.  Olivia Flaversham, the toymaker's daughter, is definitely no cipher.  Also, she does not fall into the other possible trap — that of being nauseatingly cute.  Although somewhat mouse-like in appearance, she is a very realistic little girl.

The Scots accent helps, of course.  This was supplied by eight-year-old Glaswegian Susanne Pollatschek:  It is comparatively rare for a US movie-maker to use a genuine Scot to provide a Scots voice but, to judge by this performance, US movie-makes ought to do it more often.

Olivia is a stubborn wee girl:  She usually gets her way.  Consider the dialogue we hear when she suggests to Basil that she ought to accompany himself and Dawson on the perilous journey to the toyshop:

OLIVIA:  Wait for me!  I'm coming too!
BASIL:  What! Certainly not!  This is no business for children!
OLIVIA:  Are we going to take a cab?
BASIL:  My dear, I don't think you understand.  It will be quite dangerous.  [Distractedly sits on his violin, smashing it.  Continues angrily:]  Young lady!  You are most definitely not accompanying us, and that is final!

The next shot we see is of Olivia accompanying Basil...

It is one of Basil's little failings that he is not good with children.  Throughout most of movie he regards Olivia as little more than an unavoidable pest — which, in many respects, she is.  However, she has a great many good qualities, notably her courage in adversity (she struggles stoutly to escape from the bottle in which she has been imprisoned, hoping to release Basil and Dawson from Ratigan's trap), and by the end of The Great Mouse Detective even Basil's ascetic heart has warmed to her — to the extent that he is almost tearful when she and her father say farewell.  Even then, however, he proves incapable of getting Olivia's name right — a running gag throughout the film.  His final attempt at "Flaversham" is his most ornate:

OLIVIA:  Goodbye, Basil, I'll never forget you.
BASIL:  Not I you, Miss...Miss...Flangerhanger.

It is to be hoped that future Disney animated features will continue the practice of The Great Mouse Detective and have strong, realistic children in the leading roles.

HIRAM FLAVERSHAM

Olivia's father, the kind old toymaker, is a pleasing character voiced in Scots tones by Alan Young, who did such a fine job as Scrooge in the featurette Mickey's Christmas Carol.  His part in The Great Mouse Detective is not a major one, yet his personality has been carefully created.  On the one hand, he is every child's favourite grandfather, mild, gentle, fond of the little ones; but on the other, he has a certain steel concealed beneath the soft exterior.  He is prepared to die rather than assist Ratigan's diabolical scheme, and it is only when the "large mouse" threatens instead to torment Olivia that Hiram concedes defeat.

RATIGAN

Chris Peachment, writing in Time Out, put into words what many audiences must have felt on watching The Great Mouse Detective:

"As usual with film noir, however, it is the villain who steals the heart.  Who could resist a crime baron in a top hat, and crimson-lined cape, who speaks in a voice which emanates from somewhere at the back of Ligeia's tomb?  In the final breathtaking showdown, high up in the cogs and ratchets of Big Ben, which looks like one of Piranesi's prisons, I know who I was rooting for.  The final splashdown in the Thames leaves the way open for a possible sequel and I'll be at that one too, shouting 'Let's hear it for Ratigan.'"

Well, we all know what Piranesi's prisons look like, don't we?

In voicing the arch-villain Vincent Price plays the part of Vincent Price with gusto, and it is to the animators' credit that they did not simply model the character on the actor.  To be sure, Ratigan has some of the pretensions to culture displayed by Price's usual screen persona — represented physically by a three-piece suit, a foot-long cigarette-holder, etc. — but aside from these (and Price's eyebrows) he is a new creation, modelled on no one but himself — and Conan Doyle's Moriarty.

It has to be said:  Ratigan is a sewer rat.  However, it should not be said whenever he is within earshot, because he is ashamed of his species: You may remark upon the fact that he is exceptionally large for a mouse, but to go any further is to invite doom at the jaws of Ratigan's voracious cat Felicia.  It is, in fact, essential that Ratigan be generally accepted as a mouse, for one suspects that he would not cut much of a figure among other rats:  He has opted to be a big guy among small ones.

He is, of course, the Moriarty to Basil's Holmes; and like Moriarty he is not simply some numbskulled crook:  He is as much of a genius as Basil.  That his genius has concentrated on crime is another item of fidelity to Doyle's original creation, as is his somewhat gratuitous cruelty.  His flamboyant personality is matched only by the grandiosity of his plans — this, like his pleasure in bullying, is a very childlike characteristic, and indeed all that arguments in favour of Basil being essentially a child work equally well when considering Ratigan.  One can take this much further (although perhaps not as far as some Sherlockian scholars, who claim that Moriarty actually is Holmes in disguise) by noting the many similarities between the personalities of Basil and Ratigan.  For example, both have the same love of ingenuity for its own sake — overingenuity, even.  While we applaud Basil for the complexity of his escape from the fiendish set of death-dealing gadgets, we must remember that it was Ratigan's mind which originally assembled the collection.  And, like Basil, Ratigan is vain; he likes nothing better than to surround himself with cronies eagerly (and literally) singing his praises.  Finally, he shares with Basil the quality of courage:  Although it could be argued that his fearlessness during the fight in and on Big Ben is a result of his hatred having taken him over, nonetheless such fearlessness does not spring from nowhere.  Somewhere deep inside him Ratigan must have a strong strain of genuine article.

Ratigan's presumed demise, plunging into the Thames, is very reminiscent of Basil and Holmes surviving the escapes.  However, Doyle never resurrected Moriarty.  Perhaps, though, Disney will bring Ratigan back to the screen — although this seems, at the time of writing, to be unlikely.

TOBY

Whose dog is Toby?  Basil seems to imply that he is Toby's owner, but this seems a little improbably — although certainly Basil has trained the dog for his own purposes.  Actually, as we discover, Toby is really Holmes' dog. Well, mostly...

In fact, Toby is really not so much a dog as a puppy.  The Disney animators seems to have incorporated into his physical appearance and his behaviour every puppyish characteristic there could think of:  Eager, panting, lolling tongue, soft yet mischievous eyes, general rotundity of form...and clumsiness.  Indeed, the finest strictly visual gag in the movie comes when Basil commands the hound to set off on Fidget's trail.  From the top of the screen descends a vast, brown and very determined puppy-paw to flatten the little detective.

Toby obeys Basil, much of the time.  For some reason he detests Dawson, and greets him with a growl on all occasions.  Olivia, however, is another matter.  From the instant that she meets him and gives him a cheese crumpet, he is her slave.  For example, when he is being left outside the toyshop, we have the following:

BASIL:  Now, Toby, sit!  [Toby fails to sit.]  Toby, sit!  [No reaction.]
OLIVIA:  Sit, Toby!  [Toby sits instantly.]
BASIL:  Good boy.

FELICIA

Ratigan may be Basil's criminal alter ego, but the parallels are not carried as far as the two characters' pet animals, for Felicia is nothing at all like Toby.  She is a huge, far, spoiled, cowardly pink cat, whose main contribution to Ratigan's schemes is to gobble up those of his cronies who have hurt his feeling.  Summoned by his little bell, she lurches plumply into his presence and devours whatever miserable offender he places before her; afterwards she licks her lips with a loathsomely smug little smile of satisfaction.  But she is a coward.  She is content to consume small animals that go unprotestingly to their doom, but should one of them fight back — as Fidget does, most determinedly — she has no comprehension of how to respond.  She would be an idle lap-cat if only Ratigan's lap were large enough.  Similarly, towards the end of the movie, she is enthusiastic about the prospect of devouring a defenceless Queen Moustoria, but as soon as Toby — who is more her size — appears on the scene she is off like a shot.

This chase culminates in a superb gag.  Felicia comes to a high wall and leaps up on top of it, leaving a thwarted Toby down at ground level.  Mockingly Felicia shimmies her ample bottom at the yapping puppy, and then she calmly jumps down on the far side of the wall.  After a minuscule pause, all hell breaks loose. We discover why when the camera pans slowly across to reveal the sign:  ROYAL GUARD DOGS.

FIDGET

If you feel that you've met Fidget somewhere before, then this is probably because you've seem The Black Cauldron, whose character Creeper is astonishingly similar.  The likeness extends even the voice, although in fact two different voice-actors played the parts (Creeper was Phil Fondacaro, Fidget Candy Candido).

Fidget — whose name is given in some Disney documents as "Fidgit" — is a peg-legged bat of evil countenance.  He is the most recent representative of a long line of dim-witted, bumbling assistant villains; indeed, it is hard to see why such an intellectual criminal as Ratigan should have chosen him as a sidekick.  Mind you, Fidget is not quite such a lame-brain as Ratigan makes him out to be:  The bat sole error is to leave behind in the toyshop his "shopping list" of items to be appropriated to help Ratigan's scheme.  This is something that anyone might have done.  Ratigan, of course, does not see things quite that way, and Fidget is destined for death at the teeth of Felicia before Ratigan suddenly realises that he still has a use for the small incompetent.

Fidget is designed to be two apparently contradictory things simultaneously:  First he must be funny, and second he must be scary.  Funny he most certainly is, but Disney had to devote a little more effort to making him frightening.  The usual solution is to introduce his repulsive face very suddenly onto the screen, to accompaniment of appropriate music. This effect is slightly corny, but it works well.

Fidget is one of Disney's best comic sidekick-villains.  As with several others of them, one cannot help but wonder why on earth Fidget sticks with Ratigan:  He is bullied and abused, and goes in constant fear of being fed to Felicia.  He seems to gain nothing from the liaison.  Surely he could fly off to pastures new?

QUEEN MOUSTORIA

The queen of the mice is obviously based on Queen Victoria, her human counterpart.  She is rounded and small, with pear-shaped pendulous cheeks and a double chin.  Cosmetics have painted two stark pink blush-ellipses on her cheek, and on her head perches an undersized crown.

Her role in the movie is a very minor one, yet she is given some of the best lines.  For example, in conversation with Fidget, who is disguised as one of her guards but remains as revolting as ever:  "Have you been with us long?"  The movie is set at the time of her Diamond Jubilee — an anniversary about which she is delighted:  "Oh, I just love jubilees!"

The clockwork model of her produced by Hiram Flaversham bears many of her physical characteristics.  However, it fails to move with her regal grace (a sort of upper-class waddle):  Instead, it jumps and jerks uncontrollably.  It is astonishing that Moustoria's loving subjects are fooled by it for a moment.

MRS. JUDSON

Basil's landlady, based on Holmes' Mrs. Hudson, plays much the same sort of part in The Great Mouse Detective as Mrs. Hudson played in Doyle's books:  Basically, she is just part of the scenery.  She is keen to preserve the tidiness of the house, Basil's privacy, and a dimple in her chin; but she is at the same time kind-hearted:  At first she refuses ingress to Dawson and Olivia but then, as soon as she sees the little girl's damp clothing and drowned-rat expression (no joke intended), she transforms herself into a fussing maternal figure, eager to dry clothes and supply cheese crumpets.  In short, she is much the same as Mrs. Hudson.

BARTHOLOMEW

A delightful little cameo part is played by a drunken mouse called Bartholomew.  While the other thugs are singing of "Ratigan — the world's greatest criminal mind," Bartholomew unfortunately forgets himself so far as to sing of "Ratigan — the world's greatest rat."  Fortunately Bartholomew is too intoxicated to know what is going on when Ratigan rings his little bell to summon Felicia to polish off the perpetrator of such a howler.

Bartholomew, incidentally, shared Barrie Ingham's voice with Basil.

MINOR CHARACTERS

Among the noteworthy minor characters are the individuals found in the seedy waterside pub where Basil and Dawson seek clues as to Olivia's whereabouts.  These include a very sexy Dancing Girl-Mouse, whose act provokes Dawson into the most ungentlemanlike behaviour; the Barmaid and the Bartender who, clearly in cahoots with Ratigan, spike the drinks of our heroes; the Pianist whose attempt to retaliate against an intrusive Dawson starts the gigantic fight; and a Juggling Octopus, whose sad performance has to bee seen to be believed.

Elsewhere, a number of Ratigan's thugs have speaking parts.  Of interest is a thug who does not look like a mouse at all.  He is bog-green, and has a face less like a mouse's than like that of Bill the Lizard or one of the little tortoises/turtles — e.g., Toby Turtle — to be found in so many Disney movies.  Why this should be the case is something of a mystery. Fidget.  One can accept him as part of the crew, he being a "flying mouse," after all; but mice and tortoises are not known to crossbreed.

And, of course, right at the end there is the beautiful Lady Mouse who persuades Basil and Dawson to take on their next case.