Let It Go, Already! - Frozen: The Best Disney Soundtrack?!

‘Let It Go! Let It Go! Can’t hold it back anymore!’ Well, I certainly can’t, anyway. I hate to be controversial here, but frankly, I’m sick of hearing it. And I know I’m definitely not the only one. Much like the feature film it accompanies, the Frozen soundtrack has taken the world by storm, mostly due to its inexplicably appealing lead single, ‘Let It Go’. While I’m willing to accept that the soundtrack is decent and memorable, both lyrically and melodically, I’m afraid I appear to be one of the minority who continues to question why it remains a popular area of discussion a year and a half since its initial release. Additionally, this raises further questions of equal pertinence: why is this film’s soundtrack lauded so much more than those of the 52 animated features that preceded it?

‘Let It Go’ is catchy, yes, but in this humble blogger’s opinion, it’s far from Disney’s best song. In fact, I find it rather baffling as to why this song continues to be heralded as one of Disney’s greatest, while other songs – indisputably superior in lyrics and structure – remain almost entirely unacknowledged. What about ‘Out There’ from The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996), a film whose soundtrack is as underrated as itself? The dark and delightfully menacing tones of the villainous Frollo (Tony Jay) juxtaposed alongside Quasimodo’s (Tom Hulce) airy, uplifting vocals create a perfect balance, resulting in a collaboration that builds from a hushed, sinistrous inception to a powerful, spine-tinglingly euphoric climax. This juxtaposition of contrasting tones is also utilised heavily in the ‘Heaven’s Light/Hellfire’ track, arguably with greater effect. Yet what Frozen’s ‘Let It Go’ has over these songs is commercial appeal. Thematically, ‘Let It Go’ contains lyrics that are perhaps more identifiable with the audience, outside of the feature itself, whereas Hunchback’s lyrics pertain solely to the film’s narrative development. Consequently, Hunchback’s songs lack that ‘radio-friendly’ vibe. They’re no less outstanding, irrespective of whether they appeal to a broad audience. But this would probably partly explain Frozen’s soundtrack’s universal appeal.

Yet there have been other, more commercial, Disney songs released prior to this, worthy of equal, if not far more, recognition, most of which have unfortunately been forgotten. Rob Thomas’ ‘Little Wonders’ for the Meet the Robinsons (2007) OST is one such song that I always felt deserved a great deal more attention than it received, as is John Rzeznik’s ‘I’m Still Here’ from Treasure Planet (2002). Both songs had ‘hit potential’ written all over them. Although Rzeznik’s efforts received a fair amount of media attention, the reception it garnered was nothing compared to ‘Let It Go’; a bewildering reality. This isn’t just about ‘Let It Go’, however – the entire soundtrack continues to be lauded as one of Disney’s absolute best and, while I don’t wish to offend anyone here, it absolutely is not. Sure, songs such as ‘Do You Want To Build a Snowman?’ and ‘Love is an Open Door’ are cute, catchy and melodic, but they’re nothing special. Ironically, what I would deem the film’s most atmospheric and memorable track – the powerful opening track ‘Frozen Heart’ – has received far less attention than the more ‘mainstream’ and pop-oriented songs it precedes. The soundtrack is decent, I’ll admit. But a masterpiece? I think not.

The Renaissance period in the 1990s, which saw the releases of films such as Beauty and the Beast (1991) and The Lion King (1994), is, collectively, far more exemplary of what ‘masterpieces’ should sound like, particularly if we’re talking about emanating atmosphere. Even the later, lesser films of the ‘90s, like Mulan (1998) and Tarzan (1999), have scores that are far more atmospheric, emotive and, especially with regards to the latter, bear substantial commercial appeal. Even post-Renaissance film scores, like those of James Newton Howard, maintain far more of an impact through their use of subtle nuances and grand orchestral crescendos. ‘The Secret Swim’ in Atlantis: The Lost Empire (2001) is nothing less than enchanting; spellbinding, in fact. And if, alternatively, you’re looking for catchy, upbeat songs, you don’t have to look any further than the gospel-infused arrangements of Hercules (1997) and The Princess and the Frog (2009). Randy Newman’s writing for the latter understandably divides opinion – his lyrics can be a little jarringly explicit sometimes, but it inarguably complements the film’s setting and general ambience. I’d even go as far as to say that the song ‘Dig a Little Deeper’ exhibits a far catchier melody than anything present in the Frozen OST. Heck, even the mediocre Home on the Range (2004) contains more inspired lyrical content and, dare I say it, more memorable songs, than the overrated, continually ubiquitous soundtrack we’re all STILL hearing about more than a year and a half later. Of course, this is merely a personal opinion, but if you ask me, I really don’t know what all the fuss is about. With regards to all the great Disney songs that preceded it, I think it’s probably about time people should, if you’ll pardon the pun, let it go!!!

A Whole New World?: Disney, Pixar and Diversity

According to Variety, Disney executive producer and Pixar frontman John Lasseter has recently emphasised the importance of conveying diversity in animated film, particularly ethnic diversity and gender. This statement comes as a result of having been asked whether Pixar will utilise a black protagonist in the near future, to which he responded that a more intense and informed focus on ethnic groups and women represents a sure-fire step in the right direction. However, one cannot help but wonder whether Disney and Pixar’s focus on emanating ethnic and gender diversity is somewhat laboured, and detracts from the far more important objective of delivering a compelling narrative.

Moreover, it could be argued that this statement serves as little besides a mere sound bite for the purposes of quelling the onslaughts of aggressive reporters in light of the fact that only one of Pixar’s features released so far (as of May 2015) contains a female protagonist. Sure, I’m willing to accept that this is likely subject to change, but to argue the case for complete diversity in the animated genre, you have to admit, is somewhat idealistic. The film in question, Brave (2012), in fact, conveys very little in terms of female empowerment. Its protagonist is one of the least interesting characters in the film, mostly due to the fact that the narrative itself proves problematic, leaving her character learning nothing by the film’s conclusion, and having overcome no obstacles by dint of an epiphanic anagnorisis, typical of your average main character. Instead, this burden is instead attributed to her mother, Queen Elinor, whose role in the film is surprisingly underplayed considering the substantiality of her physical and emotional changes as the narrative progresses.

It must be acknowledged, however, that under Lasseter’s tenure as executive producer, Disney have at least attempted to be more diverse in their racial and cultural onscreen depictions, The Princess and the Frog (2009) perhaps representing the most obvious candidate for the most notable of these attempts. That said, despite its predominantly black (animated) cast, African Americans are nonetheless presented to a mainstream audience through the use of culinary signifiers; of particular note is the use of gumbo, which is utilised to convey something mildly exotic but simultaneously non-threatening and familiar to a mainstream audience, generally unacquainted with and presumably ignorant of black culture. In addition, whether it’s intended or not, it aligns the African American woman with food and cooking – a signifier present in film and animation since the ‘Mammy’, as identified in MGM Tom and Jerry cartoons of the 1940s and early 1950s. Parasecoli provides an in-depth analysis of food as a signifier in the aforementioned feature (Parasecoli, 2010), while other critics have also argued that the conveyance of African Americans in this feature reinforces a racist discourse. While this is a rather extreme view in my opinion, this perception can nonetheless be supported by the easily identifiable lack of contextual references. The oppressive, subservient realities of African Americans in 1920s New Orleans are present, but vastly underplayed, to the extent at which protagonist Tiana appears content with her and her family’s subjugation – hardly unlike the depiction of the complacent plantation worker in Song of the South (1946), though admittedly less severe. But therein lies the issue: historical context is avoided rather than addressed. Evidently, this is intentional in order to obviate the conveyance of a potentially racist discourse, or at least a dark, bitter historical reality, in a family animation. Yet this simultaneously proves problematic in that it circumvents and, in a sense, rewrites historical fact.

While Pixar, for the time being, are yet to encroach upon the threshold of ethnic diversity to any notable extent, their inclusion of female protagonists seems to be increasing, or at least that’s what Inside Out (2015) would indicate. Disney, meanwhile, have already begun to publicise their 2016 release Moana, which is being heavily promoted as their first feature to contain a Polynesian princess. Indeed, as Lasseter indicates, it does seem as though the animated genre is entering a new era in terms of ethnic and gender diversity. However, there seems to be a far greater focus on encouraging (or forcing) this diversity than on delivering impactful and engrossing plots. I’m in support of diversity in animation, but only as long as it doesn’t detract from the quality of the narrative. Moana gets no bonus points for its emphasis on cultural diversity ahead of its release, at least not in my book. It’s arguably an achievement in a sense, yes, but it’s a minor detail, tangential to the far more significant components that comprise a good film (such as narrative structure, compelling characters and their development).

Furthermore, the fact that we do, contemporarily, consider such developments to be worthy of a great deal of media attention is quite frankly pathetic and upsetting. Of course, the encouragement of diversity in any form of media is undoubtedly a positive thing, but for something as minor as Disney’s ‘first Polynesian princess’ to hit the headlines in the 21^st Century is somewhat unsettling, in that it absolutely emphasises the tragic nature of the lack of cultural diversity in film generally. Personally, I’m of the opinion that we are behind the times, at least where animated films are concerned. Bafflingly, if anything, a predominant focus on race and culture surely represents a retrograde step, for there was no such emphasis on the nationality of Princess Jasmine, the Arabian princess, in Aladdin (1992), although this was likely since it was integral to the plot. Such a heavy emphasis on diversity is unnecessary, and today’s films should already be representative of a society so complex and ordinary that it doesn’t warrant media attention. Race and gender’s continual utilisation as a means of promotion punctuates the sensationalism of the cartoon at its absolute nadir. Taking all this into account, Lasseter’s words seem almost meaningless. We might be edging closer gradually, but complete, equal representation in animation currently remains little more than a far-off delusion.

Sources:

Variety: ‘John Lasseter Says Disney/Pixar Wants More Diverse Characters’: http://variety.com/2015/film/markets-festivals/john-lasseter-disney-pixar-more-diverse-characters-1201499414/

Parasecoli, F. (2010) ‘A Taste of Louisiana: Mainstreaming Blackness through Food in The Princess and the Frog’ in Journal of African American Studies. 14 (4), pp. 450-468.

Is That Really All, Folks?: The Re-emergence of the Warner Bros. Cartoon

In 2008, Warner Home Video released what appeared to be the last in a series of box sets documenting some of the best footage from the Golden Age of cartoons: The Looney Tunes Golden Collection. With six volumes in the set, and approximately 60 cartoons contained in each release (excluding unreleased bonus cartoons found in special features), Warner Bros. delivered a real treat for the adult animation fanatic, having released a total of more than 360 cartoons from the vaults over a five year period – including some shorts that had not previously seen a home video debut. But then came sad news; sad, but inevitable news. The Looney Tunes Golden Collection was discontinued. This came as no surprise. Sadly, the casual viewer immediately aligns the animated genre with young audiences – in fact, even now, you’ll likely find the box sets in the children’s sections of DVD stores, despite the fact that the disclaimers on the reverse clearly indicate that they pertain solely to the adult collector. Regardless, with little to no publicity, and delayed releases outside of the US, their discontinuation was expected, as was their displacement by far inferior sets (eg: the Platinum Collection).

Obviously, Warner Bros. have had to reconsider the popularity of their animated canon. Though the Looney Tunes aren’t dead, attempts to renew their popularity in recent decades have seen middling success. After a surprising resurgence period in the 1990s, with theatrical releases including Carrotblanca (1995) and the feature film Space Jam (1996), it seemed Bugs Bunny and co were onto a winner. But since the early noughties, their popularity has been waning. Looney Tunes: Back in Action (2003) proved a box office bomb (somewhat unfairly), and the more recent attempt to rejuvenate the Tunes in the body of a sitcom in The Looney Tunes Show received lukewarm responses at best. Not even the mediocre straight-to-DVD effort Bah, Humduck! A Looney Tunes Christmas (2006) was able to revive people’s long-dormant interest in the franchise.

But it seems Warner Bros. aren’t giving up just yet. This August sees the release of new straight-to-DVD feature Looney Tunes: Rabbits Run, the first since the aforementioned holiday special. The film focuses on the adventures of Bugs and Lola Bunny after they become embroiled in a scheme concerning the invention of an invisibility spray*. Whether or not it will prove successful is too soon to say, but with little publicity so far, it looks doubtful. In fact, if it turns out as bland and forgettable as Humduck, it might seem as though they’re beating a dead horse. In any case, it will never reach the heights of Warner Bros. in their prime – but we would never expect it to. On a positive note, maybe, just maybe, it will help regenerate enough interest in the Looney Tunes to revive the Golden Collection, which as of yet proves to be the best set of restored cartoons and short documentaries available to an adult audience. While I would love that to be the case, however, I’ve a feeling that might be wishful thinking. Considering the fact that the Looney Tunes is the longest-running cartoon series in history, it’s disturbingly unpopular, at least where DVD and Blu-ray sales are concerned. But “why is this important?” I hear you ask. Well, should this mediocre reception continue, then the future of a certain ‘wascally wabbit’ looks uncertain. Either this upcoming release will invoke a resurgence in the Looney Tunes, or Warner Bros. will send our beloved anthropomorphic ensemble plunging down the rabbit hole. Ultimately, that’s what’s up, doc.

*Cartoon Brew: http://www.cartoonbrew.com/dvd/bugs-bunny-to-return-in-direct-to-video-rabbits-run-112739.html

Robert McKimson: The Unremembered Ingredient in Warner Bros' Golden Age Success

We’re all familiar with the likes of Chuck Jones and Friz Freleng, the principal catalysts in the establishment and development of the Looney Tunes characters. But what about Robert McKimson, the long-term, devoted employee of Warner Bros., whose cartoons are often viewed in high regard, but whose name continues to evade the casual viewer? The question I would like to pose is this: Why isn’t McKimson universally recognised alongside the other, renowned animation directors?

The majority of shorts in McKimson’s filmography are memorable and very funny. Hot Cross Bunny (1948) contains an equal amount of verbal gags and physical humour – consequently, the entire product is hilarious. His neglect in recent years, with regards to the Warner Bros. shorts anthology, is frankly baffling, especially considering the fact that he is credited with the establishment of popular characters Foghorn Leghorn, Tasmanian Devil and Hippety Hopper. Ironically, the most popular of these characters is arguably Tasmanian Devil, who went on to star in his own spin-off series Taz-Mania in the early 1990s. However, in the original Looney Tunes/Merrie Melodies series, the character merely featured in five shorts, implying the character’s potential was only recognised posthumously – an unfortunate fact as it meant McKimson never got the chance to see his creation hit the big time. The establishment of Foghorn Leghorn in Walky Talky Hawky (1946) saw more immediate success, yet his character was not nearly as well received as his counterparts, such as the likes of Chuck Jones’ creations.

One might also argue that McKimson’s cartoons lacked that ‘edge’ that made Jones’ cartoons famous; he made no cartoons so memorable that they might punctuate an era, and little films that were memorable in themselves. Sure, Tasmanian Devil turned out a solid creation (albeit easily by a fluke) but his cartoons were barely distinguishable. All but one of the five original shorts of the Golden Age pitted the snarling, spinning, manic marsupial against Bugs Bunny – a pairing that lacked humour and originality, mostly due to the fact that Taz did not pose much of a challenge to the protagonist. The best of his films, 1957’s Ducking the Devil alternatively threw him in the ball pit with Daffy Duck, a one-time pairing with laugh-out-loud results. The episode sees Taz escape from the zoo and wreak havoc, encouraging Daffy to return the beast to captivity after having learnt that there will be a reward for his efforts. That might not sound all that inspired – but the originality and the majority of the comedy derives from the additional detail that the Tasmanian Devil is made docile by music, which leads to Daffy’s struggle to obtain instruments and entrance his nemesis during the journey back to the zoo. It’s very amusing, but despite being the best of the Tasmanian Devil shorts, it’s hardly a masterpiece. Foghorn Leghorn’s cartoons, too, although they maintained a certain quality, soon became quite repetitive. Many episodes began with Foghorn Leghorn beating a sleeping Barnyard Dawg with a wooden plank and running in the opposite direction, while others pitted him against Henery Hawk, a little, inexperienced chicken hawk who was perpetually unable to recognise a chicken. The outings of the characters did not become tired; each episode contained gags that were different enough for the casual viewer to differentiate between them. But at the same time, they were not wholly unique – they were merely part of a series.

Perhaps one of the most startlingly unique cartoons directed by McKimson was Bartholomew versus the Wheel (1964), distributed by Depatie-Freleng Enterprises, a cartoon that follows a dog who develops an intense hatred of wheels after having had his tail run over by a scooter. With simple, stylish animation, characteristic of the 1960s, the cartoon was a one-shot, featuring no already-established Looney Tunes characters. It’s far from one of the best of the 1960s canon, let alone one of the best of the series, but it’s certainly unique. McKimson is also technically credited with the creation of Speedy Gonzales, another long-term character, though his appearance in his first cartoon Cat-Tails for Two (1953) is substantially different to his subsequent, more familiar design. His design of Bugs Bunny also probably affected his current presentation, implying McKimson likely proves as influential as the likes of Chuck Jones to the Bugs Bunny design of today. As well as playing a principal role in the animation process of A Wild Hare (1940), which is considered to be Bugs Bunny’s official first cartoon, he was also heavily involved in Bugs Bunny’s remodelling. Upon becoming a director, his Bugs Bunny had short, stubby legs, a round belly and a large mouth. Proportionally, Jones’ Bugs is a lot more slender, and intellectually he’s more witty and subtle-humoured. McKimson’s Bugs is a stand-up comedian in the form of a cartoon grey hare – a short, dumpy and grumpy upstart with an air of cynicism characteristic of the majority of his cartoons, making them easily recognisable.

So why has McKimson become a lost figure over time? Well, it’s possible that it relates to the time of his passing; Chuck Jones and Friz Freleng were recognised as household names during the renaissance period towards the end of the 1970s and throughout the ‘80s*. McKimson passed away in 1977, providing a probable reason for his dismissal with regards to the Warner Bros. anthology. All the same, I can’t help but wonder whether this would matter. His animation is easily identifiable through its sheer realism, and his skill as a director is exemplified through his cynical humour and intriguing and revolutionary character design. Yet despite this, there are no stand-out cartoons attributed to him, regardless of his longevity behind the scenes. This is unfair, yes, but understandable. The vast majority of McKimson’s cartoons are criminally underrated and should probably be reviewed in as high regard as Jones’ and Freleng’s productions. Indeed, McKimson is something of a forgotten component in the creation and development of the Looney Tunes characters and canon; a supremely unjust and unfortunate reality.

*Animation Magazine: http://www.animationmagazine.net/top-stories/the-case-for-robert-mckimson/

Harry Shearer Leaves The Simpsons: The Beginning of the End?

With the recent news that The Simpsons veteran Harry Shearer is to leave the show after more than 25 years, I’ve decided my previous post about Matt Groening’s long-running sitcom needs a rethink. In that post, I acknowledged that, although The Simpsons has undoubtedly seen a noticeable decline in quality, the show has been in a worse state than it is now, referencing the early Millennium period in which sentimentality and an emotional core were exchanged for brash, zany and, at times, black comedy. Indeed, while the show pales in comparison to itself in its prime, episodes from recent years nonetheless seem to appeal to a wide audience, despite a number of rehashed plots and recurrent voice actors passing away (Phil Hartman, Marcia Wallace). But I personally foresee this becoming a major problem for the show. Harry Shearer voices some of the show’s most popular characters – Dr Hibbert, Principal Skinner, Mr Burns, Ned Flanders, and many more. Regardless, executive producer Al Jean has stated that the programme will continue for another two seasons, meaning they will have to recast Shearer’s characters. While I applaud Jean for his apparent faith in the show’s potential longevity, surely now is the time to draw the curtain on Springfield’s yellow family?

Okay, I’ll admit, this news doesn’t exactly come as a big shock, at least not to me. My response, when I first heard about it yesterday evening, was less of an ‘Ay caramba!’ and more of a Marge murmur. On more than one occasion, Shearer voiced his concerns about the show’s waning quality – it was only a matter of time before something like this happened. What upsets me the most is that it seems as though nobody planned for this occurrence. I have no serious issue with the programme’s continuing otherwise, though it would seem a logical move to end it soon. What happens when, God forbid, one of the main cast passes away? Not that I want to toy with the idea too much (mostly due to the fact that it would be incredibly disrespectful), but if anything happened to Dan Castellaneta or Julie Kavner, The Simpsons would be royally screwed. Sure, they would just end it, but to end the show on such a low-key, sub-par episode (by 1990s standards) without any acknowledgement of its being a finale is a travesty for a show that has surpassed two whole decades on the air. As much as I do enjoy The Simpsons, I’ve a feeling it might be time to put it to bed, and if they were to do it now, they might yet go out with a bang. For a long time, I was fully in support of the immortalisation of the yellow citizens of Springfield, but perhaps the show’s current staff should see Harry Shearer’s departure as a yellow card.

'i don't have a nose' Update

Hi guys! To mark the first anniversary of i don't have a nose, the blog is currently undergoing a makeover (sort of). Over the next few weeks, you may notice some minor changes - this new promo/logo video being one of them. I appreciate it looks homemade (that's because... well, it is) but still, I'm nonetheless proud of it, regardless of its crumminess and length. Keep returning for more animation news in the next few weeks and more exciting updates. I'll keep you posted!

 

Thank you each,

 

Michael

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SdYAfWDB97A





What’s New?: A Brief Look at Two Upcoming Animated Features

Two highly anticipated animated films are to premiere at the Cannes Film Festival later this month. Ratchet and Clank, Rainmaker Entertainment and Blockade Entertainment’s movie based on the video-game of the same name, has video-game and nostalgia fanatics eagerly licking their lips, while Kung Fu Panda co-director Mark Osborne’s adaptation of Le Petit Prince, based on Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s 1943 novella, sees what promises to be a charming and unique juxtaposition of modern and traditional animation.

Ratchet and Clank will follow the eponymous pair in an elaborate retelling of their initial meeting and collaboration. Ratchet, a ‘Lombax’ (a feline-style alien creature), unites with Clank, a robot fugitive, in order to hunt down and defeat Chairman Drek, a villain hell-bent on destroying the ‘Solana’ Galaxy for his own needs. Typically, movies based on video-games generally do not have a good reputation (Lara Croft: Tomb Raider (2001), anyone?). But this has promise. For starters, the animation quality, based on the trailers that have been seen so far, looks tremendous, and the character designs haven’t been altered too drastically. Throw all that together with a decent plot (which the original game already has) and this film has serious potential. The only thing that would concern me is their decision to incorporate certain characters and elements from the game sequels, such as the Galactic Rangers introduced in Up Your Arsenal (2004), as this might upset hard-core fans.

Paramount’s The Little Prince also looks intriguing, although, as of yet, only for its visual appeal. The original story, about a small prince who lives on a tiny asteroid, first published in 1943, has seen various adaptations in a variety of media. This new filmic adaptation presents the ‘real world’ in CG and the ‘imaginary world’ of the little prince in traditional, stop-motion animation. Whether or not the film will maintain the same level of charm and abstract surrealism as its basis is yet to be seen, but we look forward to finding out.

Seeing is Believing: Animation and Visual Techniques

Beep, Beep (1952)

It goes without saying, of course, that the animated medium utilises visuals like no other, in order to convey expression and ambiance. Take Tim Burton’s Corpse Bride (Warner Bros. 2005), in which everything is monochrome – even the characters. The character designs themselves, too, maintain the same gothic image through the use of Victorian accoutrements, and exaggerated physiques; the sleek, gaunt, pale-faced protagonist, Victor, and the dumpy, toad-like father of the bride. Typical Tim Burton. Indeed, animation has always been a form of art – the detailed, almost realistic backgrounds of the early Looney Tunes and Merrie Melodies were eventually displaced by more surrealist, stylish backdrops. Background artist Philip De Guard is one such case study: note the early Wile E. Coyote and Roadrunner cartoons, juxtaposed alongside those from the mid-fifties onwards. The rich, realistic orange and brown desert backgrounds were later replaced with much more effective landscapes of purple sand and yellow sky. In this respect, De Guard’s work could easily be construed as innovative. It’s stylish, yes, but it works. It’s entirely possible that subsequent animated features in more recent years have derived much influence from De Guard’s techniques, including Disney’s Home on the Range (2004).

De Guard landscape, from Beep, Beep (1952)

De Guard landscape, from Gee Whiz-z-z-z-z-z-z (1956)

In animation, visual style is essential to the product. Disney’s Hercules (1997) derives its influence from vase etchings and paintings, while Atlantis: The Lost Empire (2001) bears substantial similarity to the art of Anime – note the ‘square’ jaws and fingers of the male characters. Dreamworks’ CG features have in more recent years maintained a ‘squash-and-stretch’ style, aligning their visuals with their films’ comedic, slapstick themes, much in the same vein as the Warner Bros. cartoons of the golden age. Madagascar (2005) is perhaps most notable in this respect; the character designs are quirky, bouncy and malleable, not unlike the designs of slapstick cartoon characters of the 20^th Century. Indeed, while technological developments have altered and modernised the animated film, such details and processes remain unchanged. Take Disney’s 50^th animated film Tangled (2010), the character designs of which are based on two-dimensional models. In a sense, this feature represents the perfect blend of the traditional and the modern, culminating in a charming aesthetic juxtaposing the old and the new – a visually perfect choice for a milestone, commemorating the traditional while simultaneously heralding a new age. Wreck-It Ralph (2012), meanwhile, is a film that depends substantially on visuals to convey its narrative. The old-fashioned, pixelated design of Ralph’s home, the Fix-It Felix Jr. arcade game, boasts simple, purposely crummy animations and geometric characters, while by contrast the Hero’s Duty video-game, into which Ralph trespasses, is highly rendered, brooding and modern.

Perhaps one of the most innovative features to boast the importance of visuals is Fantasia (Disney, 1940), a collection of animated sequences based on (mostly) pre-existing classical works. This film is a masterpiece, not only for its conveyance of sound through picture, but for the individual look and feel of its every segment. The first sequence, based on Toccata and Fugue in D Minor, by Bach, represents the most surreal of the segments. Without meaning to diminish its quality, it bears substantial similarity to your average screensaver of today; innovative, imaginative and purely achievable through the utilisation of animation. The rest of the sequences more or less convey a definite story – Stravinsky’s The Rite of Spring provides the backdrop to the narrative of evolution and the inception and extinction of the dinosaurs, while Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony is used to tell a story based on an array of figures from Greek myth. But the important thing to note is the obvious distinction between the segments’ visual styles; the near-gothic, moody and almost terrifying ambience of Mussorgsky’s Night on Bald Mountain, the delicacy of dainty fairies and fine, detailed backgrounds in Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker Suite, and the bright, colourful, luscious landscapes of the Pastoral Symphony, juxtaposed with its dark latter half upon Zeus’ attack.



Fantasia 'Pastoral Symphony'

Fantasia 'Pastoral Symphony': Spilt red wine connoting danger

This raises an interesting point concerning the use of pathetic fallacy – a technique utilised in a vast array of other media aside from animation, but one which is perpetuated to a far greater extent in all features of this particular genre. Animation has the potential to emphasise darkness and danger more so than any other medium. Take the storm at the climax of The Lion King (1994), and the vivid red sky connoting ‘danger’ towards the final scenes of Tarzan (1999); the gloomy, desolate atmosphere of the vultures’ scenes and Shere Khan chase in Jungle Book (1967), contrasted with its light, vivid and serene conclusion at the man village. It seems obvious, but fiery, red and orange colours connote danger and evil, while deep blue can represent grief, death, fear and, sometimes, tranquillity. As obvious as it might sound to you and me, this facility has been utilised since the early days of film, and represents an incredibly impactful artistic technique.

Fantasia 'Night on Bald Mountain'

Of course, this is merely a handful of examples, serving as an introduction to a vastly detailed and intricate history. There are many other techniques, artists, shorts and features that go unacknowledged here – far too many to acknowledge in a single post. Yet this post not only represents a collection of personal favourites, but it highlights the ubiquity of the use of art to convey emotion and intensity. Some instances are more subtle than others; keep your eyes peeled and it may surprise you.

Gee Whiz-z-z-z-z-z-z (1956)

The Simpsons: Suffering with Time?

It’s clear even to the casual viewer that The Simpsons is a shadow of its former self. But an oft-contested opinion is that Matt Groening’s sitcom-satire has seen a steady decline since the Millennium. Further dissenting views stem from notions concerning the pinpointing of the moment the two-and-a-half-decade-old yellow family jumped the shark, surpassing its own integral laws, logical narratives and believability.

The Simpsons’ longevity can ultimately be attributed to the success of its earlier episodes. The very first season, beginning in December 1989, was a major improvement and development on the Tracey Ullman shorts it succeeded. Though on occasions the family acted somewhat out of character (Homer’s pawning of the TV springs to mind), the original 13 episodes can hardly be criticised to any great extent. Sure, the animation is crude and the pacing is slow, but as the season progresses, it noticeably improves. Season 2 (1990-1991) immediately sees a substantial improvement on the previous batch of episodes, merely identifiable in the opening sequence, and by season 3 (1991-1992) the show was beginning to hit its stride. Season 4 through to season 8 is near flawless. With the exception of a handful of clip shows (which, parenthetically, are still masterfully constructed and worthwhile), almost every episode is pure yellow gold.

The Simpsons, 1990

The period that follows is one which divides many hard-core fans. Under Mike Scully’s tenure as showrunner, the ninth season saw a subtle change in direction for the show. Episodes were beginning to appear a little more far-fetched, downplaying the emotional aspects of episodes in exchange for wacky, outlandish comedy adventures. Many pinpoint the moment The Simpsons jumped the shark as being the episode The Principal and the Pauper, an episode which sees the character of Principal Skinner exposed as a fraud. This expectedly outraged fans, in that it completely reversed any previous development of the character. Despite the disgust at this pivotal moment, writer Ken Keeler stands by his own opinion that the episode in question in fact remains one of the best pieces of scripted television he has ever written (The Simpsons: The Complete Ninth Season, The Principal and the Pauper [Audio Commentary]). In his defence, the episode, while conceptually ‘bad’, is evenly paced and rather amusing. Not only does blaming Keeler for the episode alone indicate an ignorance of the writing process, but it also fails to differentiate between the writing of an episode and the formulation of its concept. Aside from this and a frankly dismal clip show, season 9 maintains The Simpsons’ winning streak, even if it appears they are losing steam by this point.

Seasons 10 and 11 present a much more noticeable drop in quality, not only in storylines but in the characterisation of the Springfield residents, and the changes are hardly subtle. In season 10’s Homer Simpson in: “Kidney Trouble”, Homer is depicted as rather malicious and selfish. Whereas before he had been portrayed as something of a likeable buffoon, “Kidney Trouble” sees him run from a hospital ward in fear of a kidney operation, leaving his father, Grampa, on his deathbed. Bart’s character, meanwhile, was pushed to extremes. Whereas before he had merely been presented as a troublemaker, episodes from this era depict him as a criminal. Perhaps the most unsettling of the characterisation issues can be attributed to Marge, whose personality drastically alters from a sensible, maternal figure to a ditzy, female Homer. Marge acts completely out of character, rolling on the kitchen floor in hysterics for no reason (Saddlesore Galactica, S.11, 2000), and falling for a man on the packaging of kitchen rolls (The Blunder Years, S.13, 2001). The only primary character to remain intact is Lisa, who sadly takes something of a back seat throughout this era – most likely due to the fact that Lisa’s episodes usually maintain some kind of emotional grounding.

The Simpsons, 2009

Sure, these issues have affected the show to an extent, but anyone who argues that the show has continued to plummet ever since clearly has no recollection of season 11, the show’s absolute nadir. Not only are the plots of this season zany and nonsensical, but they also make a few substantial changes that were subsequently difficult to rectify, the most notable being the killing of Maude Flanders. Although she merely represented a supporting character, she provided something of a reinforcement to the character of Ned. Her loss turned his character into a lonely widower, which, while it opened up the possibility for new storylines, betrayed his depiction as the ‘perfect neighbour’, his sole purpose since the programme’s inception. In addition, Apu becomes a father to eight children in a surreal plot twist, and Barney Gumble becomes sober – a bizarre choice considering the fact that there was little more to his character besides his alcoholism. Since, under the tenure of Al Jean, the show has seen peaks and troughs. Certain aspects of the show have been retconned (Skinner’s character), events have been reversed (Barney’s sobriety), and they have even attempted to bring Maude back in flashbacks and guest spots (Bart Has Two Mommies, S.17, 2006; Dangerous Curves, S.20, 2008). All the same, these changes nonetheless had a detrimental effect on the show overall.

However, while the show will likely never revert back to the standards of the 1990s glory years, The Simpsons has nonetheless maintained a certain quality over the last decade or so. The writing may not always be on point, but the characterisation is now fairly consistent, and the storylines are decent considering the show’s age. It might be suffering a little, but its popularity in this respect is justified. The Simpsons may no longer be the best thing on the box, but you could still do far worse.

 

Images obtained from:

The Simpsons: The Complete First Season. (2001) Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment.

The Simpsons: The Complete Twentieth Season. (2010) Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment.

At First Glance - Pixar: A Return to Form, or Out of their Minds? – Inside Out (2015)

Since Disney’s acquisition of Pixar in 2006, the studio has seen a noticeable decline in the quality of its output, the most impactful inarguably being the deplorable Cars 2 (2011), a throwaway, pointless and shameless attempt to enhance merchandising. Although subsequent efforts haven’t been quite so poor, they have, by Pixar’s standards at least, been painfully average. Not even the luscious settings and imagery throughout Brave (2012) were able to provide much buoyance to a contrastingly bland, predictable and frankly forgettable plot, while Monsters University (2013), though a surprising improvement on the aforementioned feature in terms of originality, paled miserably in comparison to the 2001 blockbuster it succeeded. Hardly a monster of a movie.  Now, however, Pixar’s latest effort Inside Out, due for release later this year, sees the studio emerge from the cesspit of ‘sequelitis’, and with any luck, the mire of mediocrity in which it has recently become firmly sunk. The trailers, as of yet, are indeed indicative of something brand new and wholly original – something we haven’t seen from Pixar since Up, way back in 2009. That said, though undoubtedly an original concept, it nonetheless appears a little overly ambitious.

Directed by Pete Docter, the man behind the monsters, Inside Out concerns 11-year-old Riley, and the emotions that dictate her every move – Joy, Sadness, Fear, Anger and Disgust. It is, as the title explicitly implies, a story told from the inside out, from deep within Riley’s emotional psyche. Indeed, as with all Pixar’s efforts pre-2010s, it sounds as though it’ll have the potential to be, if you’ll pardon the pun, mind-blowing. But, what with Pixar having since disregarded their policy on wholly original concepts with their every release, it does at least make me question whether they are in fact trying a little too hard to return to form.

Unlike some of the current views circulating prior to this film’s release, however, I have no doubts that it will prove popular with audiences. While it might be argued that the themes present in the film are a little profound and complex for what is indisputably conveyed to be a ‘family movie’, Pixar’s appeal is wide-reaching, encompassing billions around the world, young and old alike. Look at Up, for example. What makes that film succeed is the raw emotion that ultimately drives the narrative. It’s an adult movie, littered with adult personalities, donning the mask of colourful children’s and/or family entertainment. Likewise, Inside Out appears to derive much from this paradox, presenting colourful characters and spots of light comedy to enable the mitigation of what one can assume is going to be a powerful, emotional cinematic experience. And I therefore have no problem with that.

My issue (or rather, apprehension) instead lies with the notion that the majority of the film – at least its ‘inside’ aspect – takes place in a universe all of its own, occupied not by actual physical beings, but by allegorical states of consciousness. Sure, the film looks good, but summarise it like that and it sounds like an animated commercial for psychotherapy. Originality is a tremendous quality, but one that can prove a little jarring if pushed to extremes. Furthermore, emotional journeys are best conveyed through the simplest characters and concepts – something this movie appears to avoid. Of course, these are mere concerns in anticipation of the movie’s release. As of yet, it’s far too early to judge whether or not this idea will stand the studio in good stead or just perpetuate their streak of mediocrity. In any case, it’s refreshing to hear of a project from Pixar that harkens back to the good old days of original storytelling. Make the most of it, guys. With Finding Dory, Toy Story 4 and The Incredibles 2 in the pipeline, it might be the last we experience for a while.