 |
There is a significant difference, to be sure, between Fantasia and Fantasia 2000. It's just tougher to put one's finger on exactly what it is. The easiest and more biased approach from some people would be to say, "Oh, well, one's just simply better." I, as you can gather, disagree wholeheartedly with such brush-off tactics, especially when we have been given films with pick'n'choose skit variations that allow individual viewers to like mere sections of the films without having to construct a full opinion of the films themselves. It is clear that in both cases these films are high achievements in animated art. So, the question remains, what's their core difference? |  |
| The
answer came to me recently, and as I go section by section through both
films, analyzing both their content and my opinion thereof, I hope my
theory clarifies as much for you about the Fantasia films as it has
for me. Consider the types of insults either of the two films tend to get:
Fantasia/2000 is condemned for pandering and childishness, while Fantasia
is marked down for being esoteric and boring. Neither true nor false, the
criticisms reveal the truth about the nature of each one. At my college,
we do not have separate theatre or dance departments, but rather they are
combined into a single Theatre/Dance school. Fantasia/2000 is the
theatre, and Fantasia is the dance.
Seems to click, doesn't it? Not that Fantasia is lacked for storytelling, nor is Fantasia/2000 remote to its music, but the approaches are significantly different. The later one is preoccupied with crafting an Aristotelian arc to each segment, while the earlier one merely celebrates putting animated images to music, even if unconnected via any sort of real story per se. I'll explain in greater detail as I get to the films: Fantasia for this week, Fantasia/2000 for next week. |
 Walt Disney, Deems Taylor and Leopold Stokowski view a segment of Fantasia as it is being set-up in the multi-plane camera. |
advertisement
|
|
We start with
"Toccata and Fugue in D Minor", the most abstract segment of the
bunch. It should be fairly clear that "Toccata"'s real purpose
is to acquaint the audience with the inherently abstract core concept of Fantasia
in general - a necessary first step, especially in 1940. It's very slowly
paced, starting with a long section of footage of the musicians
themselves. When we finally reach the animation itself, the shapes at
first very directly resemble musical forms, like the bobbing heads of
violin bows. It takes a while for the piece to leave the obvious
references to reality and start envisioning its own images, but it
eventually does. "Toccata" is akin to slowly entering cold
water, gently and gradually easing yourself into the concept. It also is
pure, abstract dance, the images moving clearly on the impulses of the
music alone. Because "Toccata" took this first step,
"Symphony No. 5" in Fantasia/2000 didn't have to. For my
own feelings, I admire the piece for what it is, although it inspires
little emotion in me outside of the music's own doing. My favorite moment
is easily the three colored circles gliding to the French horns, their
colors corresponding to the lights shone on the French horns earlier.
|
| "The
Nutcracker Suite" is probably the ultimate example of what I mean in Fantasia's
predilection towards dance. Deems Taylor himself notes that the work is a
series of dances, and thusly this segment is nothing more than that. It
frames itself against the changes of seasons, but the true purpose is the
celebration of the imagination inherent of animation being able to make
ANYTHING do the dancing. Between fish, thistles, mushrooms, seed pods, and
your general fairies, everything is endowed with the quality of dance,
from the sultry wading of the white veilfish to the ballet of falling
leaves. This piece is one of my favorites because it goes full-blast into
the abandon that the Fantasia ideal offers, beautifying the music
of Tchaikovsky
more than the stage ballet ever could.
|
|
|
|
Everybody knows
"The Sorcerer's
Apprentice", and nearly everyone loves it, as do I; in fact, as one
of Mickey's far lesser admirers, I maintain that this is his greatest
achievement. Of course, this piece is both the most emblematic of the Fantasia
name, and also the singular bridge between the two films. That is true
twice over; not only is it featured in both films, but it is the ultimate
combination of the sensibilities of theatre and dance as exemplified by
either of the two films. It tells a very specific story, and the segment
can be viewed in an entirely Aristotelian
fashion. On the other hand, it has large sections to it that are just as
much dance and abandonment as anything else. Mickey's leading of the
enchanted broom on the march is a perfect dance, as is Mickey's entire
dream sequence. It fits the tone of the piece to include dance in those
moments, as they occur during Mickey's time of greatest joy in his power
and control. Only once he realizes his grave mistake does the story really
kick into high gear.
|
| Sadly, it is disappointing to see "Rite of Spring"
drop the energy so beautifully swirled up by "The Sorcerer's
Apprentice". Sad to say, but "Rite of Spring" is perhaps my least
favorite segment between the two films. Part of my complaint lies in the issue
of the music itself; this is hardly a favored piece of Stravinsky's for me. It's
really quite long, and quite dull at that, and one is tempted not to fault the
filmmakers too much for the piece of music inspiring little interest of imagery,
especially in its opening parts. (The lava footage is interminable in seeming
length.) On the other hand, I can at least censure the artists for not having
the sense of editing with this piece that Fantasia/2000 has in spades.
Shorter does not mean less effective, and since the real meat of the segment is
the dinosaur stuff (especially the climactic fight), why spend so much time in
the beginning? The dance of science is what we're seeing, and while it's a fine
subject to choose, the real problem lies in the piece's joylessness. Its tone
remains dreary as it trudges through the steps of the world's creation, like a
bored schoolboy reading about that very subject. Seriousness is a virtue, but
not at the expense of energy.
|
 |
 |
"The Pastoral Symphony" is a little better. It's a
preening, showboating piece of work, filled with characters whom have little to
do but pose suggestively or majestically. There's more life to the music and
thus more life to the visuals, although the pastels can get monotonous after a
time. The segment picks up more speed when Bacchus comes in halfway through, and
"Pastoral" at least can boast over "Rite" that it has enough
juice to get us there. There's some halfway-storytelling involved (the most
prominent of which being the girl centaurs getting prettied up for the guys),
but the thing becomes one big bacchanal
when its namesake shows up, drunk out of his W.C. Fields nose and goofy
donkey/unicorn. For Disney historians, check out the characterization of Zeus
here compared with his later Hercules incarnation; in Fantasia,
he's not only an unforgiving god, but a cruel and sadistic one - note the
delight on his face when spying those he would attack.
|
| There is little necessary to be said in defense of the
"Dance of the Hours" being a dance in and of itself. One supposes that
the caped crocodiles and the elephants with tutus made of bubbles would be
enough proof of that. Of course, the real trick of the piece is not merely that
these unlikely animals (ostriches, hippos, and the aforementioned elephants and
crocodiles) would be dancing such a prestigious ballet, but that they would be
doing it so seriously. Despite the fight over grapes and the many licked
lizard lips at hippo flesh, they're all really serious about dancing. Humor,
then, is not the absurd doing absurd things, but the absurd doing serious
things. That's why the opening and ending moments are so crucial to the joke. It
opens languishing on the beautiful dance hall that is to be inhabited, and the
ends with the place falling to shambles. The old standards are torn down,
because the supposedly unworthy had decided to dance there.
|
 |
 |
The final piece, "Night on Bald Mountain/Ave
Maria", is often considered the penultimate example of animation creating a
sense of horror and disturbance. In rewatching it, I did not come to an opposing
opinion on the topic, but I found it amazing that such a result is stemmed from
a segment that is, once again, primarily based in dance. Here, Chernabog summons
the dead from their graves to do nothing more than dance crudely in his
presence. His evil is obvious, we assume, although we see him do nothing of
actual harm to anyone (we are to take it, I imagine, that the church bell had
halted his very first attempt at such). In that, the real stars then are the
minions, not Chernabog, for they are the ones interacting most sublimely (if the
word can be used) to the music. There is no story here, nor any particular
triumph over evil beyond it just hating the light. Such a struggle shall be
saved for "The Firebird"; however, that's a thought for next week.
|
A critique by Alex Weitzman
First Published
on November 29, 2003