The release of “The Princess and the Frog” last winter was seen an intriguing cinematic activity because traditional hand drawn animation, both at Walt Disney Animation and in mainstream Hollywood as a whole, was on the brink of extinction. The last time a traditionally animated movie had been released by Disney was in 2004, with the half-assed cowboy comedy “Home on the Range,” which followed a string of hugely expensive flops that failed to connect with audiences (anyone remember “Treasure Planet” or “Atlantis: The Lost Empire?”) But the newly installed creative team (led by Pixar’s cherubic ringleader John Lasseter) felt that the importance of hand drawn animation was too great to let it simply slip under the giant eraser of history. So they brought it back, but for how long remains to be seen. The film failed to cover its $105 million budget with domestic box office receipts, and it remains to be seen it the expensive and time consuming process will be visited again.
But this wasn’t the first time that traditional animation was on the brink at Disney.
“Waking Sleeping Beauty,” the brilliant new documentary by longtime Disney producer Don Hahn, documents the tumultuous time (between 1984 and 1994) when the animation program, after a string of crushing financial failures, not unlike the ones that preceded “Princess and the Frog,” triumphantly delivered what would become one of the most beloved animated films ever.
Using home videos of and by animators at the studio, as well as insightful interviews (most of them dialogue only) and external press materials detailing the internal struggle, Hahn sets up the story as a violent clash of executive egos, with a group of talented and hardworking animators caught in the middle.
For the most part it’s gripping, unexpectedly emotional stuff. This is especially true during a prolonged section of the movie devoted to Howard Ashman, the genius lyricist who provided the lyrics to “The Little Mermaid,” “Beauty and the Beast,” and some of “Aladdin” and who, during the peak of ‘Beast”s pre-release hype and rapturous critical response, was quietly dying of AIDS in a Manhattan hospital. Ashman’s contribution to the successes of these movies can’t be understated and it’s nice to see him get the appropriate tribute here.
It’s during these human, heartbreaking moments that the documentary really comes to life, and ditto for the highly evocative home movies. They serve a couple of purposes, including showing how the regime change affected the animators. In one clip, you’ll see them cavorting with a few of the Nine Old Men (the famous troupe of animators that were installed at the studio while Walt was still there). In another, you’ll watch as they come to grips with their new, industrial workspace, far away from the historic building the division had been held in since the days the Nine Old Men were scribbling “Snow White.”
In one unforgettable moment, a home video, scanning the brood of 1980s animators comes across a young Tim Burton, looking fresh faced but just as morose as he is today, his jaw slack, not saying a word. On the table in front of him is a cuddly critter from the imagination-starved “Fox and the Hound.”
If the movie has a problem, it’s an occasional lack of focus. Often, the filmmakers don’t know whose story they’re trying to tell. Is it focusing on the hardworking animators, who revitalized an art form that was destined for mothballs through a gutsy combination of creative gumption and technological daring? Is it the story of the movies themselves and the behind-the-scenes struggles that seemed to accompany every major release? Or is it a tale of embittered executives, as Michael Eisner, Roy Disney Jr., Frank Wells and Jeffrey Katzenberg battle it out with a whole bunch of talented people caught in the middle?
Often times, the documentary reverts to that last option, which makes it feel like the movie version of James B. Stewart’s nonfiction book “Disney War.” Undoubtedly, some of this stuff is gripping, particularly in the shocking whirlwind that followed Wells’ abrupt death in a helicopter accident (not even that could temper their raging egos), but often times this stuff takes away from the films themselves, which means large swaths are glossed over. For example, the deal to make “Toy Story” and Tim Burton and Henry Selick’s “The Nightmare Before Christmas” are only given a swift, cursory explanation.
The movie could also have benefited from a heartier running time. At 89 minutes it feels like a “greatest hits” version of 10-hour Ken Burns-style mega-doc. But still, the power remains. You feel the elated, heart-tugging moments like when they show unfinished bits of the “Beauty and the Beast” cut that was screened at the New York Film Festival (and was met with a standing ovation) and the true devastation of the deaths of Ashman and Wells. For a movie that was officially sanctioned by the studio and made by a top insider, it’s also surprisingly frank, with many explaining the hurt feelings that accompanied every production. Yes, there were a whole bunch of animated masterpieces during this period but “Waking Sleeping Beauty” makes it abundantly clear that it was a motherfucker to get there, harder to slay than any fairy tale foe. [A-]
