As we
approach Christmastime, many Americans will be looking to the films of Walt Disney (1901-1966) for holiday
comfort. Those interested in the man
behind the brand could do not better than Neal Gabler’s magisterial biography, Walt Disney: The Triumph of the American
Imagination. It will leave you with
the distinct impression of having met Disney himself, warts and all.
Surely few
American entertainment icons have been more discussed – or subject to more
historical revision -- than Disney.
During his salad days of the 1920s and 30s, Disney was regarded as both
an important artist (embraced by intellectuals and modernists like Dali), and
an emerging American institution. It was
only with the national rupture of the 1960s that Disney’s reputation started to
tarnish: books such as The Disney
Version by Richard Schickel in
1968 sought to take down the Greatest Generation hero down as many pegs as
possible. (Indeed, Schickel’s attack is
so out-of-proportion as to seem unhinged, sadly all too common in that both sad
and common decade.)
The
simple and irreducible fact is that Disney was neither the plaster saint of the
right nor the uber-bogeyman of left, but rather a complicated and contradictory
man who achieved remarkable things in animation, live-action filmmaking and
that strange mix of theater and amusement park that is Disneyland. Few American
artists have had a more influential or pervasive grip on the American mindset
(indeed, I cannot think of any), and fewer have transcended their own art to
become a brand name.
In
addition, there are few artists as resolutely American as Disney. Raised
on and near a farm in Marceline, Missouri to middle-class parents, Walt’s
earliest surroundings were a mix of Tom
Sawyer and The Music Man. Though he would remember having a contentious
relationship with his father (Walt always had a touch of self-dramatization), friends
and neighbors remember him as perpetually sunny and optimistic. He was fascinated by cartooning, by drawing,
and by the possibilities of animated cartoons.
After knocking
around the nascent animation industry for a bit, Disney and his brother Roy (1893-1971) lit out for California
in 1929 to hang their own shingle. Many
would think the rest is history, but not so, according to Gabler’s book, which chronicle
the young animation entrepreneur’s struggle over the next decades, not fully
finding financial success until well into the 1950s, despite great critical and
popular success.
This sense
of hand-to-mouth desperation is one of the many details found in this richly
detailed book. A dreamer and idea-man,
Disney often drove innovation without regard to the costs, leaving money-man
Roy with the problem of finding much-needed funds. It seems that Disney took every success they
had and funneled that money into some other plan, vision or scheme.
Like many
gifted creators of children’s entertainment – Kenneth Grahame (1859-1932) and L. Frank Baum (1856-1919) immediately come to mind – Disney was
pulled in opposite poles by his idealized vision of home, safety and small-village charm on one side and by an overweening sense of travel, adventure and
expansion on the other. It seems that
Walt never fully recovered from his happy years at Marceline, and sought new
and innovative ways to recreate it. (It
is no surprise that Main Street in Disneyland – that tribute to small-town
hominess – was modeled on Marceline.)
Walt longed to return to his own personal Arcadia, one foot in an
idealized past and the other foot in an idealized future. His studio, and later Disneyland, would be
the engines he used to drive him back there.
The central
argument of Gabler’s book is that Disney sought to create his own personal
Neverland, an Arcadia where he could create in peace and play as he
wanted. Disney’s studio in the early
years was an earthly paradise, with drawing lessons, endless fun-and-games and
goofy good times, all with Walt watching paternalistically. This haven was destroyed by a series of
strikes that permanently marred Disney, pointing him towards increasingly
rightwing or libertarian politics, while also making him more reclusive,
autocratic and difficult to work with.
After the
war and as he entered the 1950s, Walt seemed to lose interest in his empire,
and spent a great deal of his time building man-sized model trains. Though many thought he was losing his grip,
actually Walt was retreating within himself as he conceptualized his next
innovation: an actual, physical Wonderland that he could call home. The creation of Disneyland was a balm to
Walt, and he entered his second great phase of creativity – as filmmaker and
innovator – once the project gained ground.
Soon after
making Marry Poppins (1964), his
last great film, and conceptualizing key components of the 1964 New York World’s Fair, Walt would be diagnosed with lung
cancer and die, his studio and his name becoming a byword for family
entertainment. He also left behind a
public persona – part real, part myth – that has attracted debunkers and
back-biters for decades.
So,
after so many years of pro-and-con debate, where does that leave Gabler’s
readers? There is a great deal of data
to sift through in Gabler’s book – the research is exhaustive and the reporting sometimes exhausting. (This is the type of biography where the
author writes, “Walt walked the 90 feet to his office.”) Gabler had unfettered access to Disney’s
papers, and worked on the understanding that he would have complete autonomy
over the final product. Here, then, is
the true Disney as he was, take him or leave him.
Disney
was too slippery an entity for such classifications as hero or heel. For example, he greatly wanted to create an
Arcadia of sorts with his studio, but was also parsimonious with money, perks
and control. Gabler believes, and I
agree, that he had no idea of the acrimony that would lead to such divisive
strikes – strikes which cut Walt to the heart because they questioned his own
inherent sense of decency.
To the
charges that Disney vulgarized everything he touched, Gabler also chronicles
the true artistic masterpieces for which he was responsible, including Snow White, Pinocchio, Bambi, and Fantasia. The legacy of Disneyland is perhaps best
summed up by the simple fact that a visit there has made countless millions of
people happy.
A
devoted husband and a doting and caring father, Disney could also be a shark in
the realm of business, a credit hog, and a bully. But Disney also faced hardships of a type
that few readers of these words could ever imagine, and still managed to retain
his innate optimism and come out sunnily on top. He had grit and moxie, and, perhaps most of
all, he had heart. Bastard Saint,
Everyman Bully, Uncle Hardcase – he was equal parts monster and
sweetheart.
Perhaps
Disney managed to connect with America’s children in such a deep and profound
way because Walt never completely grew up.
He was a paternalist who was still a kid. The strike and financial hardship may have unfortunately
politicized and soured him, but it never robbed him of his ability to
dream.
Neal
Gabler’s book is a splendid chronicle of a complex and contradictory character;
a uniquely American visionary of a
type never to be seen again. It is easy
to see that, by the end of 800 pages, Gabler has become enamored of his
subject, and Your Correspondent left the great man somewhat teary-eyed. If you read only one book about Disney, make
it Neal Gabler’s Walt Disney: The Triumph of the American Imagination.
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