"FANTASIA" (1940)

Starring

Leopold Stokowski

Mickey Mouse

Tyrannosaurus Rex

The Great Demon, Chernabog

and some broomsticks

Directed by quite a few people, actually

114 minutes

Two statements:

Right, that’s a nice and intriguing introduction, there. If I may elaborate (and, to be frank, who’s going to stop me?), I reckon I’ll fill you in on a few details about this really rather wondrous collation of music and animation and just what it all means to me, your humble, and not hugely secretive if we’re being honest, reviewer.

You’ve probably seen Fantasia at some point in your lives. Or at least you’ve probably heard of it. Judging by the video, CD and DVD covers, you’d be forgiven for thinking that all this film has to offer is Mickey Mouse poncing about in a silly hat. Oh how you’d be wrong.

The idea for the film began when The Sorcerer’s Apprentice segment (that one where Mickey Mouse brings a broom to life and ends up flooding his master’s house) was created and put together as an experiment, and Disney realised that it was so expensive to make that it just wouldn’t be worth releasing it on its own. So they decided to make an entire film of short musical vignettes, using Leopold Stokowski (who had conducted a collection of 100 Los Angeles musicians for Apprentice) and his Philadelphia Orchestra to provide renditions of some more pieces of classical music, whilst the Disney artists and directors created some visual bits n’ pieces to go along with them. And they came up with this.

Now, I’m a great fan of classical music. I love it. If I’m in the right mood, I’ll happily whack on one of my various classical collection CDs or a bit of Holst’s The Planets. Splendid. Granted, it’s not the sort of music for every occasion – I’d pay good money to see a bunch of groovy young things attempting to shimmy about to Bolero or even the ol’ twelve minutes past six Overture – but it’s jolly decent all the same. Individual pieces bring out a variety of emotions in me; some even make me cry. It’s music such as Barber’s Adagio for Strings or Erik Satie’s Gymnopédies compositions that make me think, "Gosh, the human race can make some really rather top notch stuff." Beautiful. Breaktaking, even. And I’m fairly certain that it was Fantasia that slowly but surely got me interested in classical music, thanks to my grandmother showing it to me when I was about five years old. The music and the images lodged in my memory, and since then I must have seen the film about twenty times. At least.

Trying to visualise images to go with your favourite classical tracks is an idle occupation for many of us who like that sort of thing (and if none of you lot have done it then I’m going to feel like a right fool, aren’t I?), and, in 1940, Walt Disney gave us Fantasia, the film – or animated concert, rather – that made it all official and everything. Sort of. Y’ see, it fared really very poorly at the time. Oh yes it did. In fact it had a pretty hairy production; the final scene to be shot was completed, printed and spliced into the film reel on its premiere date. The original intention was to make Fantasia more of a classical concert than anything else, which you had to book seats for and attend in formal wear (and there were programs printed and all). Also, there was a special "Fantasound" system knocked up, which included thirty speakers strategically placed to enhance the whole experience. Both of these plans were scuppered in various ways; Fantasia wasn’t a very successful film, and so the concert angle was quickly dropped, and the "Fantasound" bit was too difficult to set up due to a lack of speakers and equipment because of a certain up and coming World War, and so only twelve cinemas could play it in its "enhanced" glory.

Isn’t Wikipedia great? Gives me so much info to distribute lavishly around my review to make me look clever and informed. Ahhh. Great.

Getting back to the point, Fantasia, as previously mentioned, wasn’t a great success with the audiences, despite winning two academy awards. People just didn’t get what it was all about, or thought the idea of visualising music with comedy stock animal characters was a bit silly. It didn’t even appeal to the die hard classical fans due to several pieces of music being cut down to match the director’s conceptions of the scenes (Stravinsky wasn’t too happy about it, either, being the only living composer at the time whose work was featured). Since then, however, it’s had a bit of a resurgence, having been repeated in variously edited forms at many points over the last six decades, notably during its re-release in the sixties, when drug-addled types used to flock to cinemas to have a gander and to revel in the bright and wacky colours splashed out across the screens. Now the film is regarded as a bit of a masterpiece, even getting itself the customary sequel in December 1999 (Fantasia 2000 - I haven’t seen it, myself). I’m going to have to back up the "masterpiece" opinion, simply because that’s just what Fantasia is; a masterpiece, in every way.

The film is made up of seven segments, each with its own introduction provided by the linking material featuring an orchestra mysteriously shrouded in darkness and conductor Stowkowski… erm, conducting. There’s also some voiceover work by another fella’ who tells us about the pieces and gets involved in various other musical shenanigans, though we never see him. Hmm. Mysterious.

Oh, and, amusingly, the orchestra seen throughout was actually just a bunch of guys dragged into the studio to pretend as if they’d just been playing the pieces heard – the Philadelphia Orchestra had already done their work elsewhere.

…

Well I thought it was funny anyway.

Following a brief explanation as to what the whole film is about, we get cracking with a bit of Bach, with a piece of music that you’d imagine, as good as it is, would defy visualisation (you probably don’t even recognise it from the name – I certainly didn’t; rest assured, it’s one of those pieces that when you hear the first few bars you go "Oh, that one…"). Well, the folks at Disney seemed to agree with you, judging by this whirligig of incoherence.

This first segment is pretty different from all the others, and, though it’s a good and worthy piece of work in its own right, I have to retrospectively question the logic of putting it first in the running order – no wonder audiences at the time were confused. The rest of Fantasia is made up of animated short "stories", if you like, to accompany their respective musical extracts. This first segment is the only one to differ from that, being an abstract collection of oddly lighted footage of the orchestra, and then some animated beeps and whistles and cloudy effects in an attempt to give music a tangible form. As I said, worthy, and watching it now it’s really rather pleasant, but in a way I’m glad it’s kept (relatively) short; though it’s imaginative, it doesn’t really connect with the viewer as well as the other, more structured, pieces. I quite enjoy it simply because I love the music, but it doesn’t represent what the following hour and forty-five minutes have to offer, simply due to its stark contrast with the rest of the feature. Still, pretty good stuff.

Now this is more like it!

We’re next served with a collection of pieces mainly plucked from Act III of Tchaikovsky’s "The Nutcracker" ballet, collectively known as the "Nutcracker Suite". Everybody who’s anybody has heard this, so you’ll probably find yourself humming away to the music (or playing "air conductor") before it’s even started. Y’know, if you like it, that is. Which I do. The segment is divided into further sections, each one with a nature motif, concerned either with the changing seasons (represented by differently coloured fairies dancing through the leaves and turning the water on a lake to ice) or plants and, strangely, tropical fish. There are a lot of enduring images here, particularly the bit with the dancing mushrooms, which have been drawn and animated to look like Chinese mandarins, and the ballroom dancing flower petals approaching a waterfall. My favourite part, however, must concern the seemingly Russian dancing plants, simply because the music here has a fantastically vibrant and energetic pace, which the animation complements absolutely perfectly. That’s one thing you’ll find yourself constantly noticing throughout this film; the movements and actions onscreen mirror every single nuance and note in the accompanying music, to the extent that you don’t even notice that no other sound effects have been laid over the animation at all; it’s the music and nothing but the music.

And as the winter fairies finish their dance, we arrive at the genesis of Fantasia…

This section more than any other etched itself everlastingly onto the public imagination, and churned out a whole chain of Mickey Mouse merchandising, featuring the little critter wearing his red robes and sorcerer’s hat. Indeed, so popular has it become that it was the only segment carried over from this film into Fantasia 2000, which otherwise featured completely new material.

The music is of course absolutely delightful, being alternately moody, whimsical, dramatic and powerful, and all wrapped up in the single package. This is also only one of two sections in this film in which the animation borrows directly from the composer’s original conceptions of their own music (the other being Night on Bald Mountain, albeit to a far lesser extent) – and what animation it is! Who can forget Mickey Mouse bringing life to his broomstick (stop sniggering), giving it arms and setting it to work, hurling buckets of water all over the place? His assaulting of the broom with an axe is matched with equally sharp, shocking notes in the music, which then leads to a brief, quiet lull, as the broomstick shards begin to slowly gain sentience of their own, whereupon Mickey has to contend with an entire army of brooms, all sloshing buckets of water into a tank, eventually turning the entire room into one massive flood. There’s one particular moment when Mickey is sucked into a whirlpool and is hurled towards the camera which I just love, the music at that point providing a "scream" of its own (so that Mickey doesn’t have to, presumably). Thrilling. And I don’t mean that sarcastically, either.

Certainly a masterclass of animation, of that there can be no doubt.

Though as to what they were thinking when they included the speaking Mickey Mouse cameo afterwards I just cannot conceive.

"Thanks, Mickey!"

"A pageant of the beginning of life on Earth…"

Remember when I said that Fantasia contained some of the scariest scenes from a film ever? A great many of them can be found here.

Stravinsky didn’t like Disney’s version of his work, mainly because the music was apparently butchered (I’ve never heard the full-length version, so I can’t compare), and because the theme was altered completely. "The Rite of Spring" was originally about primitive ancient Russian tribes, or some such malarkey – so Disney decided to make it about dinosaurs instead. Thank goodness they did.

OK, I’ve got to say one thing here; the music is absolutely terrifying. The beginning gives me goosebumps whenever I hear it, and I can’t put my finger on why. It’s just so… unnatural. It feels like it’s creeping, crawling… Like something’s coming to get you. Later on, as the planet Earth slowly approaches the camera, the music even seems to be beating like a heart. Something getting closer and closer… It’s menacing. That’s the word. Menacing.

This segment is by the far the longest in the film, encompassing everything from the erupting volcanoes and raging lava at the dawn of Earth, to the creation of microscopic undersea life, to the dinosaurs themselves, and then finally to the earthquakes that ravaged the world as a result of continental drift.

The lava is magnificently animated, and pretty damn scary. There are shots where it seems to rush towards the camera, engulfing the view, and these really latched onto my five year old brain, where for a few seconds I actually thought I was about to be burnt alive, such was the intensity of the music and the visuals, which probably explains why I’m still so affected by it now. There’s one particularly expansive shot of lava seeping across miles of land which is breathtaking – I find myself trying to imagine the world at that stage in its evolution, and it sends shivers up my spine.

The music has an ethereal quality in its undersea moments, and a creeping black mist suddenly becomes absurdly frightening. It’s just, like, the power of the music, man! I can’t really describe it all – there’s too much for me to do so – but I’d defy anybody not to be impressed by the quality of the animation here, especially for the variety of dinosaur breeds. Oh yes, we don’t just get your bog standard Jurassic Park types, but quite a few of the lesser known "breeds" as well, including Hadrosaurs, Parasaurolophus, some Igaunodon and even a Spinosaurus if I’m not mistaken. I doubt any of you know what I’m going on about; I’m sorry, but I was massively into dinosaurs when I was a kid, and I used to watch this segment countless times, trying to identify all the different types of dinosaur on display. Oh, and I could point out that, like its Doctor Who equivalents, the T-Rex here has more than two fingers on each hand. But, well, the fight between it and the Stegosaurus is so good that I feel it’d be churlish to criticise this minor aspect of the artistry.

Oh, and before I move on, the dinosaur extinction is the other really rather scary bit. Again, it’s the disconcerting music that does it, and coupled with the visuals of dinosaurs marching through the desert to their deaths, well… bloody hell. It’s just as much about thinking about the importance of the events being presented as much as the visuals themselves. When you hear of the great dinosaur extinction it’s usually just as a sort of vague textbook fact, but when its presented as it is here you really begin to think, and you realise just how colossal it was.

Before the next segment, we have a quick bit of the orchestra apparently enjoying itself with some whimsical jazz (eh?), followed by a brief bit where the voiceover goes on at length about the "soundtrack", represented by a line on the screen that apparently has a life of its own. "‘At a soundtrack! Heh heh!" Erm, yes. It’s another attempt at giving music a tangible form, but, well… "Heh heh heh! Thanks a lot, old man!" Good lord. Fortunately it’s over before you get to the point where you really want to give voiceover man something to chuckle about. Not even this twee lull can detract from the majesty of the material that surrounds it, though.

We now come to the section of the film which I personally regard as the least memorable. There’s nothing objectionably wrong with it – the music is pleasant enough, as are the visuals, this time concerning themselves with the Gods and creatures of Greek mythology. But therein lies the problem as I see it – pleasant is all you can say about it. The music isn’t as dramatic as that heard elsewhere in the picture, nor is the animation as interesting as that given to Mickey Mouse as the apprentice or the dinosaur march. It’s OK, I suppose, and mildly diverting, but does go on a bit. The Pastoral Symphony is the sort of music put onto Daily Mail free CD "relaxing" classical compilations in the summer – it’s stuff to be listened to as pleasing background ambience, not foregrounded as it is here, and therefore it’s hard to work up much interest. The same goes for the visuals; it’s standard early Disney fare, with cute little animals and a comedy fat tosser guzzling wine on a unicorn. Though it’s odd to note that there are several instances of animated female topless nudity going on with the centaurs. Gosh. There was a lot more of it in original prints of the film, though the females have since then all been given flower brassieres to cover the offending areas just in case little children get upset. To be honest, I doubt anybody will be particularly annoyed about this, unless you really, really like seeing cartoon breasts.

I know who you are.

A bit of whimsy here, with dancing hippos, ostriches, alligators and elephants, played out to music made famous (or should that be infamous?) due to it being raped by Allan Sherman for his "Hello Muddah, Hello Fuddah" ditty. Again, it’s fine, inoffensive stuff, nothing to get too excited about – indeed, it or the previous segment would perhaps have done better being placed between the far superior Sorcerer’s Apprentice and Rite of Spring sections, just so that we didn’t get two comparatively bland pieces next to each other. However, maybe I’m being a bit too hard on it; the music at least has far more life to it than the piece selected to represent Beethoven (who composed far better stuff than Pastoral Symphony), and the visuals are quite fun. I particularly like the lascivious alligators, who come across like animated versions of Terry-Thomas and, bizarrely, Nigel Havers. Things reach a hectic finale as the alligators chase the other, presumably female, animals all over the place, smashing up the dance hall and causing some doors to collapse in upon themselves for added effect. Yes, actually, I quite like this. It may not be as memorable as Sorcerer’s Apprentice or Night on Bald Mountain, but it’s fun.

"A struggle between the profane and the sacred…"

Our finale, ladies and gents, with two pieces of music by separate composers bolted directly onto each other because the Disney chaps and chappettes felt that they’d work quite well together – as indeed they do.

Night On Bald Mountain is, as you probably know, an extremely powerful piece, and the artists here certainly don’t pull any punches, coming up with one of the most disturbing and chilling slices of animation ever created. Like Rite of Spring, this section simultaneously scared and fascinated my five year old self, and the effect still hasn’t worn off. Though you’re unlikely to feel anything approaching abject terror whilst watching it, I’d wager you’ll appreciate its undoubtedly twisted and macabre qualities. The story has the great dark demon Chernabog (the most evil and overlooked film villain in the Disney pantheon) awakening atop a mountain, his own wings having shaped the very peak itself, and drawing to him the souls of the dead, and seemingly of the sleeping living, from the nearby village and its graveyards. The music here takes on a very primitive, quiet and appropriately spectral quality, before abruptly shifting back to the loud dramatics given to us at the beginning, which continue from here on as the demon manipulates the cringing, slithering spirits. Anybody debating the twisted nature of this section need look no further than the bit where the demon turns some flames first into beautiful dancing females, then into pigs and goats, and finally into blind, white geckos which frantically attempt to cling onto the creature’s giant hands as it effortlessly casts them into the flames, to be swept up by bare-breasted harpies.

Blimey.

Then the chimes of a church bell sound out across the land, and the great demon cowers in fear… Ave Maria is a suitably haunting piece to use here, meaning that the transition isn’t jarring at all. As the music continues it even becomes a terribly fitting end to the film as a whole, as the spirits return to whence they came, and the peoples of the village, torches aloft, slowly make their way across the lands to the church – evil is vanquished and good triumphs once again. Optimistic, and, aided by the choir-like humming and chanting of "Ave Maria", quite beautiful. It concludes with an elegantly slow trek through a cathedral’s interior (simple colours prove astonishingly effective), before reaching a closing camera shot of the sun rising over the valleys and mountains as seen through a stained glass window, and the music, having reached a magnificent high, slowly fades away…

And that’s it. The orchestra packs up their things and goes. Cue credits (added to the video and DVD versions).

I’ve really enjoyed returning to Fantasia for the twenty-first time; I’ve been playing it in the background as I’ve been writing this review (or perhaps that should be "commentary"?) and I feel curiously relaxed. I really don’t think I need to write a neat little conclusion; I’m made my feelings on this film quite clear already. Fantasia really is an experience, and I’d love to watch it on a cinema screen – in "Fantasound", perhaps?

Fantasia is beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. ‘Nuff said.

Score out of Ten