Fall of the House of Disney: how the animation giant lost a renaissance- then started another one.
Ready for a history lesson?
In the late 1980s, The Walt Disney Company found itself at a crossroads. After only a year as chief executive officer, Walt Disney’s son-in-law Ron W. Miller stepped down, thrusting the company outside of the family once again. At the same time, Disney hadn’t yet recovered from the advances of Saul Steinberg, a billionaire, corporate raider intent on making a quick buck by ransacking their stocks- potentially at the cost of the cost of the company itself. With death still a real possibility, Disney found itself in a bit of an identity crisis- one exacerbated by the continued failure of its films. While the Parks division held the company together, something had to change- lest another ideal capitalist lay siege to the company again. What Disney needed was flesh blood, an invigorating infusion with enough pump to juice the Mouse House’s shambling heart into another golden age. Enter Michael Eisner, a dubiously charismatic President from Paramount Pictures, with his crony Jeffrey Katzenberg. Together, they had an idea. This was a miraculous idea, one which would set the company a course of precarious success for years to come. Michael Eisner wanted Disney… to make animated movies.
Thus came The Little Mermaid, Beauty and The Beast, Aladdin, The freaking Lion King- classics which bore a new generation of children into the fungible embrace of The Walt Disney Company. We see this chronicled in an excellent 2010 documentary named Waking Sleeping Beauty. Here, Disney entered another golden age, the ghost of Walt himself practically risen again to waltz the aisles of Movie Houses across the world. Waking depicts a halcyon time at the company, one besieged by its own success as the animators struggled to finish the The Lion King. The movie had everything going for it- Elton John on the music, a vibrant environment set against Shakespearian overtones- but the film’s directors were unproven. Could they pull it off?
Everyone knows the happy ending there: Lion King became a billion-dollar movie, Disney’s last sure fire (though failed bid) to win the Best Picture Oscar for an animated film. The company proved again that they were on top of the world… for the moment.
As a company, Disney loved Waking Sleeping Beauty — they produced it , after all, and it’s easy to find on Disney Plus. But this documentary has a dark sibling. Skip ahead a few years, past a few failures. It’s the late 90s, and Disney has tapped pop superstar Sting for The Emperor’s New Groove. Sting, ever the charmer, cuts a deal for his wife Trudie Styler to make a documentary about the production of the movie. The result? A piercing expose of Disney animation’s fall from grace at a time when the company had everything to prove for the second time. Styler called it The Sweatbox.
Unlike Waking Sleepy Beauty-the corporation blocked every release of The Sweatbox after its premier at the Toronto Film Festival. Though found online easily today, for decades it slinked into obscure shadows, a tantalizing promise to release Disney’s overflowing closet of skeletons. In actuality, the film isn’t that damning- sure, it shows a studio fracturing through an identity crisis, animators working horrendous overtime… but it shows the good too. The Sweatbox is a guileless depiction of what film production looks like, albeit one missing clear guidance. And, ultimately, the Emperor’s New Groove turned out pretty well: it reviewed favorably with a decent box office haul. However, the movie did little to correct the aimless direction of the studio, a struggle Disney endured throughout the following decade. Film- especially animation- had changed. In a way, The Sweatbox only revealed a partial image of how Disney made it to the breaking point; the problems had started much earlier.
In 1989, Walt Disney Studios spurred a renaissance in American animation which lasted for ten years, the brainchild of new executive Michael Eisner. The movie which had done it, The Little Mermaid, reversed a worrisome trend of high-budget flops- notably 1985’s The Black Cauldron, the film which nearly crippled Disney at the height of Steinberg’s attacks. With Mermaid, Disney reestablished its dynasty over animation. That being said, the company would spend much of the following decade chasing that success to mixed results. The following release of 1991’s Beauty and the Beast’s provided an early climax for those efforts; it made twice as much as Mermaid at the box office, then garnered a best Picture nomination at the 1992 Academy Award. Unfortunately, this set a dangerous expectation for the animation division- and after Lion King’s failure to garner a nomination 3 years later, the agenda was set.
Unfortunately for Disney, blatant grabs at the Academy’s attention eroded the magic which made the new renaissance successful. Not to mention, the studio’s yearly release schedule meant no buffer for course-correction in the event of failure. As a result, two of their successive efforts, Pocahontas and The Hunchback of Notre Dame, failed completely- to the point that Disney abandoned the quest for Best Picture entirely. These movies proved too ambitious, the themes presented- of racial conflict or religious persecution- completely unsuited to the studio’s brand. While both Pocahontas and Hunchback performed well, the company started buckling under the strain of the changing times. Right before Pocahontas dropped, three major things changed for Disney: A Goofy Movie flopped, the unappreciated Jeffrey Katzenberg quit Disney, and Toy Story happened. These events took time to divest, but when the did, the cumulative effect crippled Disney Animation as the world knew it.
While this went on in the background, Disney… took the time to rest on its laurels: the last three movies it had for the 90s all seemed a little less calculated than either of their previous efforts. Hercules, the first after Hunchback, veered right into the comedic potential of the Ancient Greek premise, avoiding all pretense. Mulan was a little more traditional, but the inclusion of Eddie Murphy’s Mushu and the emphasis on action instead of musical numbers kept the movie breezy. Tarzan then finished off the decade with a roll-ricking adventure piece ruined by the maudlin tunes of popular musician Phil Collins, a hit but creative miss. These diminishing returns forced Walt Disney Pictures towards ridicule again by the early 2000s (the later fantasies they aimed at men also didn’t help . Atlantis: The Lost Empire and Brother Bear (more Phil Collins!) Flopped hard… though they were no Goofy Movie). Disney had lost its dominance, and the rapidly transforming world of animation made the moment all the more confusing.
Which is how we reach the events depicted in The Sweatbox. In the beginning, The Emperor’s New Groove started the same way as their mid 90s hits: a musical epic aimed the Oscars. Sting’s inclusion sort of represent this goal- the “sophistication” of his music matched the production’s lofty ambitions. Even the working title reflected the prestige: Kingdom of the Sun.
Over time, though, dissent within the studio finally trickled its way to the animation department, changing the movie’s direction. Forcibly. Animators found years of work scrapped after a bad meeting with execs; in fact, several proved redundant as the higher ups nixed entire plot lines or characters. When visions finally aligned on The Emperor’s New Groove, the studio even lost Sting (he thought the story as culturally insensitive- though he ended up liking the final product). Trudie, of course, continued with her documentary. Ultimately, Disney wanted a different kind of movie, one with the snappy comedic appeal of the age of SNL- or, at least, David Spade’s SNL. In some ways, The Emperors’ New Groove predated another movie about a big green guy and his rocky relationship to a talking beast of burden. Unfortunately, Disney hid that appeal behind its traditional approach; by then, audience taste had evolved beyond hand drawn animation.
… In America. Meanwhile, A little anime film by Japan’s Studio Ghibli shattered box office records. Spirited Away, released in 2001, became the highest grossing Japanese film for the next 20 years (when another 2D animated film would usurp, Demon Slayer: Mugen Train). Japanese studios were at the forefront of innovation in hand-drawn techniques, even coopting the 2D-cgi hybrid style Beauty and the Beast pioneered. Not to mention, Spirited Away arrived at a time with American audiences primed to accept it. Though rising in popularity since the first imports of the 1980s, the international success of multimedia juggernaut Pokémon-alongside Cartoon Network’s rebranded Toonami block- thrust anime into the American lexicon. The fact that it barely resembled Disney’s output only greased its wheels as it spun towards greater success. By relying on taboo conventions of sex and violence, anime captured the elusive teenage quadrant Disney so desired. Realizing this, Disney assimilated anime its portfolio, though with a studio consistent with its family friendly brand. They struck an American distribution deal with Studio Ghibli that lasted until 2011, a deal which finally added a “Best Oscar” to Disney’s roster after Spirited Away won the second animation award in 2003.
This proved a marginal success, however, because of the previous year’s win- Jeffrey Katzenberg had finally struck back. No doubt aware of Disney fatigue, Katzenberg’s fledgeling animation studio Dreamworks set out to upend the Mouse House’s classic tropes. The result was Shrek, a middle-finger of a movie aimed squarely at Mickey, Minnie, and Michael. And it won the first Academy Award for best Animated film. Disney’s 2D entry that year, Atlantis, wasn’t even in contention. It took Spirited Away, a film Disney didn’t even make themselves, to win the next year- and as it turns out, this would become a recurrent theme; Pixar movies, which Disney only distributed until buying the studio outright in 2006, dominated the category over the next decade.
So, we’re at the beginning of the end.
After Atlantis’s failure, It took a few more years for the Disney era to totally extinguish, mostly as Michael Eisner clung to same direction the studio headed. The final, rash slate of animated films he approved felt like slapdash attempts to capture the zeitgeist. They also weren’t musicals- one of a few shifts used to court young men towards the Disney brand. Lilo and Stitch, Treasure Planet, and Atlantis: the Lost Empire each had an obvious sci-fi bent, as well as action-adventure elements which are typically associated with movies “for men”. Barring Atlantis, these films also did not feature princesses, and only one had a female protagonist. . The obvious message here was that men were an untapped market for the company, devaluing its core female audience. This, of course, led to alienation, pardoning that pun. It’s no coincidence that Lilo and Stitch, with its relatable, plucky heroine, fared best at the box office.
That being said, Disney shoulders only part of the blame for these misfires- Precedent for failure had been established by other high-profile animated flops at the time. Consider the work of former Disney artist Don Bluth, who basically ripped off his old employer with Fox Animation’s Anastasia. Naturally, Bluth’s new home crashed into failure with his sci-fi dud, Titan A.E.; A space opera written by the Joss Whedon (who also wrote Toy Story for Pixar and has a story credit on Atlantis), it Failed to recoup even half of its 75 million dollar budget. For Bluth, this meant early retirement- and for Fox, the end of their nascent animation division.
Since Science Fiction is expensive and has limited appeal, Hollywood generally regards it as a risky investment. So, why did animation studios turn from the success of fairy tales to such a niche genre? For Bluth, Anastasia played into an established market, to the point that few realized it wasn’t originally a Disney film. Titan A.E., it’s poster boldly declaring “from the director of Anastasia”, just didn’t fit that formula. The same went for Atlantis and Treasure Planet, films from the creative teams of Beauty and the Beast and The Little Mermaid. So again, one has to ask- why? Why the shift from magic to these cold, whirring machines?
One possible explanation: The return of Star Wars with the Prequel trilogy. These high-profile sci fi releases were a tremendous success, though largely fueled by brand recognition and technical innovation. Disney’s sci fi efforts lacked either of these benefits; despite the fact that hand-drawn animation had developed new techniques, these were barely apparent to the casual movie goer. The fusion of cgi and traditional animation played as a unique novelty, but audiences had already embraced full cg animation.
Disney failed to realize this paradigm shift for half of the decade, then failed again in capitalizing off it for yet another five years. Instead, the studio produced mid-level 3D misfires (Chicken Little and Bolt) while throwing weight behind their final “traditional” film: The Princess and the Frog. And boy, did they throw everything they had at the picture. They assembled a stunning voice cast, enlisting the talents of Oprah Winfrey, Anika Noni Rose, and Keith David (!). They recruited directors Ron Clements and John Musker, itching to prove themselves after their failure on Treasure Planet. They picked up Pixar favorite Randy Newman to compose a jazzy soundtrack. They set the story in the modern hum of 1920s New Orleans, the vibrancy of Black Art on full display. They gave it their full effort.
…And it proved too little, too late. Designed as their last attempt at rejuvenating the Disney Renaissance, The Princess and the Frog instead sounded it’s final death nell. A financial disaster, it forced the company into realizing it needed to adapt or be swallowed whole by the changing market.
One may call The Princess and the Frog Michael Eisner’s last enchantment at the studio- or curse. Having left the company in 2005, Frog stands as the final tribute to his maverick leadership, one which revived the film division before thrusting it back into uncertainty. But, as the new head honcho, it also represented Bob Iger’s fledging attempt to discover his identity as CEO. Through its failure, Princess and the Frog pushed Iger towards the strategies which later secured his legacy.
Finally wizened up, Disney translated the fundamentals of the 90s Renaissance’s-female protagonists, musical numbers, everything the Princess and the Frog had- into big-budget CGI. Disney stuck the landing right off the bat, kickstarting a new period of success with 2010’s Tangled. However, there were a few touch-ups to their formula which also contributed to the success, largely in the movie’s marketability. Whereas their other fairytales were stodgily named after the stories they were based on, Tangled (and later Frozen) named themselves after the most important parts of the stories- this modernized the fairly outdated approach. Despite the familiarity of the old fairy tales like Rapunzel, audiences craved a fresh perspective. Additionally, and somewhat controversially, the marketing for Tangled placed a greater emphasis on the male lead Flynn Ryder, putting the character in a position equal to the semi-titular heroine Rapunzel. Of course, this was actually a sneaky trick- Ryder played the role of the typical love interest in the movie- but it pandered to different genders equally. With their next film, Frozen, Disney simplified the marketing further: its first trailer had a Reindeer and a bit of anthropomorphic snow.
By then, that was all Disney needed to sell a movie. In the three years between Tangled and Frozen, Iger’s investments were paying off. While The Strategic acquisitions of Marvel and Disney brought goodwill to the brand, more importantly, the buying power of Millennial audiences rose with each passing year. The children who grew up with The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast, etc. now wanted their offspring to share a similar experience, making Disney palatable for family audiences again. Meanwhile, advancements in technology kept the appeal of CGI animated films fresh; the glittering jewels of ice spread like dust through Frozen proved the perfect showcase for this. For the first time, Disney challenged the supremacy of Pixar, and Frozen finally won their coveted “Best animated film” Oscar.
Of course, the success of these cgi-animated features ensured the death of hand-drawn animation at the studio. Disney made only one more attempt at the format, relying on the brand recognition of their lovable yellow bear, Winnie the Pooh. It, too, flopped- though Disney hedged their bets. The film only cost 30 million dollars to make, less than a third of The Princess and the Frog, but this feeble attempt only netted 50 million dollars at the worldwide box office. Disney took this as their final warning. The old ways were dead, and since then they’ve kept the chapter of Hand- Drawn animation firmly closed.
In Waking Sleeping Beauty, Michael Eisner says that, while Disney’s animated films may have lost money at the time, they were essential to the company’s identity. Without them, the company would cease to be …Disney. This is a platitude seemingly forgotten under the new Dynasty, though there remains the question of innovation versus abandonment. Hardcore traditionalists eschew the advances made by computer-generated imaging technology. To these devotees, cgi limits the magic of reality on the screen, even though opponents would argue that special effects have always done this in film. Cinema has consistently been at the forefront of technological advancement, a tenet easily forgotten when Stop-Motion used to be the cutting edge. So, the argument transitions towards understanding the fundamentals of what a Disney animated film is. These newest properties-Tangled, Frozen, Moana, etc.- maintain the spirit of old classics like Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty regardless of the medium. This extends further into the era of Disney live-action remakes. For so long, animation acted as the best way of bending reality; when the scope of a picture existed purely in the imagination of the artist, the boundaries were limitless. Now, modern technology has allowed live-action, the genre most tethered to reality, a way to approach the imaginative heights of animation. This prompts the question: at what point has the company abandoned the vision of Walt Disney? To what extent is the medium of the man, animation, tied to the spirit of the work he produced? It’s a tricky question to answer, and Disney is simply doing their best to in modern times.
