Fred Moore

 

 

I’ve long been fascinated with Fred Moore, one of the animators at the Disney Studio who predated the Nine Old Men.  He’s credited for introducing a looser, freer style to Disney animation which aided in further elevating it beyond the other cartoons coming out at the time.  He seemed, by all accounts I’ve heard from those who knew him, to be an absolute natural as an artist.  He had tremendous control and a preternatural sense of proportion while never “laboring” over his drawings. 

 

Perhaps one of Moore’s greatest contributions to Disney lore was the redesign of Mickey in the late 1930s.  Look at the Mickey of “Steamboat Willie” and “Gallopin’ Gaucho”, then compare them to the Mickey of “The Brave Little Tailor”.  Mickey needed to evolve.  The style of 1928, had it remained in effect for Mickey Mouse, would have rendered him an anachronism eventually.

 

Nevertheless, redesigning what had become an iconic figure in pop culture could have gone drastically awry in the wrong hands.  Having already designed the Three Little Pigs, Moore was trusted by Walt to make a critical transformation for the studio’s most important character.  Adding greater volume (particularly in the body and feet) led to the fundamental model of Mickey that we know today.  What would Mickey’s legacy had been if Walt had not made the effort to redesign Mickey?  Would he remain the defining symbol of the company?  Would the company have lost its identity in some sense without its first major success leading the way?

 

While there is considerable importance to Fred Moore’s contribution to Disney, it also saddens me that his end came so prematurely.  Neal Gabler, in his biography of Walt Disney, contends that Moore had fallen from favor by the late 1940s, that his style was behind the times.  While he may not have still been the shining star of the studio, I find it difficult to believe that he truly could have lost so much of what made him distinctive and effective as a Disney artist.  Perhaps the most convincing indication of this to me is the fact that Ollie Johnston displayed an old pencil of Fred Moore’s in the documentary Frank and Ollie, speaking reverently of his former colleague, noting that the lead which remained in place was worth saving were he (Johnston) to have something special he wanted to draw.  There was magic in that pencil for Ollie.  And if Ollie regarded it with such reverence, is there anything else that needs to be said?

 

Fred Moore died in 1952 as the result of a car accident.  He lingered briefly at St. Joseph’s Hospital (where Walt would pass away fourteen years later) before expiring.  Even if he’d never made another drawing for Disney (and he was working on Peter Pan at the time of his passing), consider all of the information, memories and insights he could have provided in the years following as Disney animators were sought out for their expertise.  At the very least, I think it’s worthwhile to classify Fred Moore as of equal importance to the Nine Old Men – even if he didn’t have the same lengthy body of work.

What if Walt Had Gotten His EPCOT?

 

One of the most tantalizing questions related to the legacy of Walt Disney that I’ve ever pondered concerns his plans for EPCOT as an actual community and how it would have turned out had he survived and managed to make it happen.

 

It’s no real surprise that following Walt’s death Roy scotched the plans for EPCOT and redirected focus on the Florida project to The Magic Kingdom and accompanying hotels.  That’s not a criticism of Roy Disney at all.  I believe that were it not for Roy’s capabilities, many (if not most) of Walt’s visions would not have come to pass.  Clearly, Roy didn’t have the same attachment to the idea of EPCOT that Walt did and probably couldn’t begin to fathom all the things that needed to be incorporated from a creative standpoint.  By the same token, was there anyone in the organization at that time or since who could have taken up the torch and brought Walt’s vision to fruition?

 

It is plausible, however, if Walt had lived another half dozen years that he could have willed EPCOT into existence.  Let’s face it, Snow White, Disneyland and countless other accomplishments seemed like true uphill battles at the outset.

 

I also imagine that, like Disneyland, EPCOT would have evolved significantly from the original vision.  For anyone who has seen the film from the fall of 1966 in which Walt outlines the project that it was enormously sophisticated.  The circular design featured the highest density population at the center, with green belt surrounding (with single-family homes, etc.) and Monorails and PeopleMovers connecting the entire thing so that there would be no need for roads and personal autos (with motorized vehicles traveling beneath the city). 

 

This orientation with respect to transportation is unique on its own – never mind any other innovations (which certainly would have sprung from Walt’s mind during the process of further planning and construction).

 

However, here is the big question on my mind:  How would a community designed by Walt Disney and run by his company have functioned when it went live, 24/7?

 

The closest approximation of dealing with a large group of individuals is the execution of theme park and resort operations.  Even still, people who stay for two weeks at one of the resorts and move between theme parks at WDW eventually go home, back to the personal space that they call their own.  Sure, staying in a hotel room allows one to make that their private area for a brief time and act as they would in their own domicile, but is it really the same thing?  You don’t decorate your hotel room, you’re not responsible for cleaning it, don’t have stacks and piles and clumps of personal belongings here and there.  It’s a different mindset.

 

Consequently, EPCOT would be like guests who never leave.

 

People become a little different when they put down roots and consider a town or city their own.  Would there have been conflicts, grudges, protests and resentments?  Would Disney have had to incorporate an ever-increasing set of rules in order to maintain the equilibrium?  We’ll never know.

 

Moreover, if EPCOT as Walt envisioned it had opened in the early ‘70s, how would it have been reflected in the rapidly changing culture of that period? 

 

I firmly believe that every bit of Walt’s inspiration for EPCOT was with the best intentions.  I don’t think he was trying to create a rigid, unforgiving community that demanded complete conformity from its denizens.  I think he wanted to take the talents that he possessed and direct them toward the complications that always arise in modern communities.  I’m just not sure Walt Disney – or anyone else for that matter – has the ability to get around the dysfunction, idiosyncrasies and vast differences between people that create these things to begin with.

 

Considering the degree to which the Disney Company must exert control over the environments within the theme parks, there’s no way it could have been avoided in an actual community.

 

Some may point out that Disney did end up building a community – Celebration – in the early 1990s.  There is, however, a distinct difference.  Celebration followed the model of master-planned communities already well-established in this country.  Moreover, Disney relinquished basic control of the community upon its completion (although they still have an interest in the utility companies providing services if I’m not mistaken). 

 

EPCOT, as Walt envisioned it, could not have functioned that way.  He would not have been able to allow the citizens to make choices about the general direction of the community or the way in which it was run.  (I recall reading at one point that Walt’s possible solutions to this included having the residents rotate – a limited period of time for each person/family.)

 

Consequently, I’m left wondering how much Walt would have altered his vision I the process of building it to allow for greater individual freedoms on the part of EPCOT’s citizenry.  I also wonder if he would have abandoned the idea entirely or transformed it into some other stratification of a prototype community.

 

All such conjecture, of course, is academic.  EPCOT became a theme park where the name – when expanded from the familiar acronym – bears little resemblance to what actually exists within its confines.  This is not to say that EPCOT doesn’t contribute significantly to the full spectrum of offerings at WDW.  Still, what attracted Walt most about the Florida project in the first place was not a repeat performance of Disneyland and similar attraction/exhibit-based entities.  He was reaching for that next, seemingly impossible challenge and, I suspect, would have become bored with the process if his community of tomorrow was excised from the Florida project.

Ward Kimball

I’ve always had a fascination for Ward Kimball.  While he’s memorable for being one of the ‘Nine Old Men’, Kimball’s influence goes far beyond that and Walt Disney is quoted as saying that Ward Kimball was the only genius he ever hired.  That’s impressive.  Kimball was likely the most notable iconoclast in the studio’s history – and I mean that in a good way.  He broke the rules as his inspiration took him to new ground (Neal Gabler’s bio of Walt mentions in particular a manic scene in The Three Caballeros animated by Kimball which breaks new bounds in its approach to the edge of the frame not as a limitation, but as a pliable border to be played with an exploited).  This is an important ingredient in the Disney product following WW II when cost-cutting measures necessitated that the studio reinvent itself to some extent.

Let’s not forget that it was Ward Kimball who had a hand in Walt in attending the Chicago Railroad Fair in the late 1940s, firing his enthusiasm for model railroading which would, in many ways, inspire the creation of Disneyland.  Kimball’s private railroad outfit (the Grizzly Flats RR) was, it could be said, one of the few things possessed by Disney staff members toward which Walt was outwardly envious.

As if Kimball’s artistic brilliance, hands-on skill with respect to his train and influence on the direction of the Disney aesthetic weren’t enough, the man was also a skilled musician.  The Firehouse Five Plus Two Dixieland jazz band, organized by Kimball (in which he played Trombone) recorded multiple LPs and were featured in the MGM film, Grounds for Marriage.

Impressed yet?

I can’t end this homage to Ward Kimball, however, without mentioning my personal favorite piece of his work.  Toot, Whistle, Plunk and Boom, a 1953 short shepherded entirely by Kimball applied a new, modernist animation aesthetic to Disney animation.  That same modern approach had already been at work in other studios – an effort to counter Disney’s more realistic offerings.  Despite warnings from others at the Disney studio, Kimball adopted this approach to his assignment for Toot, recognizing the storytelling potential.  Although Walt would very likely never have injected such a look into an animation himself, he recognized the quality of the work which ultimately won an Academy Award for short subject.

If you haven’t seen Toot, Whistle, Plunk and Boom, take a gander for a deeper appreciation of Ward Kimball’s genius.

 

 

 

How the Plausible Impossible Can Improve Tomorrowland

For those fairly well-versed in Disney lore, the concept of The Plausible Impossible is well known.  It dates back to the early days of animation when Walt’s studio was discovering the possibilities of this relatively new medium.  In fact, Disney was at the front of actually expanding animation from afterthought novelty to something that actually did possess possibilities beyond the superficial.

Plausible Impossible was the concept of taking the ability to depict actions that were outside the limitations of the physical world humans inhabit while applying plausibility to that seemingly impossible action through the use of skillful, lifelike animation.

Such an approach seems like a no-brainer today, but it’s due largely to Disney animators and their advancement of the art of animation.

Fast forward several decades.  One of the attractions included in the 1967 update of Tomorrowland was Adventure Thru Inner Space.  This occurred at a time when Tomorrowland still had a “World’s Fair” approach to their offerings.  (Monsanto, which sponsored Adventure Thru Inner Space, also presented the House of the Future – very much the sort of thing that had been standard fare at World’s Fairs of the 20^th century.)

Adventure Thru Inner Space, however, was something different, and a more modern expression of the Disney concept of the Plausible Impossible.  What was plausible and got everyone riding on it to “buy in” was the concept of molecules and the atoms that comprised them.  H2O:  simple chemistry, right?

The impossible?  A riff on the Fantastic Voyage premise of shrinking humans down to the molecular level.  Riding ‘Atomobiles’ (Omnimovers, identical to the Haunted Mansion ‘Doom Buggies’), guests ventured into the Mighty Microscope on their way to penetrating a water molecule.  Accompanied by the familiar voice of Paul Frees, the experience was driven more by 60s-style design than realism.  Still, the idea of the journey was a lot of fun.

The absolute brilliance of this balance between science fact and science fantasy made for an attraction that would never see technological advancements bypass the concept (unless theoretical physics has a well-kept secret up its sleeve).  Conversely, an attraction such as Innoventions, which tries to hover in the near-future, must always be looking over its shoulder to determine how close common technology is to surpassing it.

Star Tours, which took over the space previously occupied by Adventure Thru Inner Space, is a great attraction.  It broke new ground in what could be accomplished in simulator-based rides and brought the iconic Star Wars franchise into the Disney fold. 

Nevertheless, consider what was lost.

As with any new directions the Disney parks take, opinions differ.  So the question of whether Tomorrowland is better off with a purely science fantasy basis (Buzz Lightyear, Star Tours, etc.) is open to interpretation of what embodies the true spirit of the land’s theme.  Additionally, Imagineers have their hands full trying to come up with Tomorrowland attractions which, through the time devoted to development, design and construction, won’t fall victim to obsolescence.  Perhaps the lesson of Adventure Thru Inner Space and its Plausible Impossibility suggests the magic formula for Tomorrowland’s future.

What If...

Let me begin with a Plausible Impossible – plausible because it could have happened, impossible because it’s a part of the past and cannot (fortunately) be changed.  Here it is:  What if Walt Disney had never been born?

It’s a monumental thing to consider, but humor me for a moment.

For starters, synchronized sound would certainly have come to animated cartoons…eventually.  However, would the push of the artistic evolution of animation been taken up by someone else with the same fervor exhibited by Walt?

When would the first American feature-length animated film been made?  More importantly, would it have had the cultural impact of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, paving the way for further forays in the form?

If there had been no Walt Disney, it’s hard to picture something as unprecedented as Fantasia coming life and no telling how the seedy, unkempt standards of amusement parks would have been raised to a more appetizing level.

The concept of theme parks may never have been established as we know it today and, by extension, all of the applications of theme park principles (in everything from Rainforest Café to Apple Stores) might be absent from our culture as well.

 

Urban planning could very likely have been set back in powerful ways and ultimately reduced the imagination incorporated in fashioning our communities.

 

Some would say that not having the potential to “Disnefy” Times Square, shopping malls and planned communities would leave us with a more “genuine” environment, but who’s to say that the void left by an absence of Disnefication would not be filled by a more onerous, and oppressive alternative.

 

The subject matter in The Plausible Impossible, then, will operate from the premise that Walt Disney and his organization’s impact on society has been largely positive and more a matter of taste and preference than fact when it comes to value.  Moreover, it’s the fascinating tapestry of all the little pieces (people, projects, principles and milestones) which are most worthy of our examination and celebration. 

 

Please keep your hands and arms inside The Plausible Impossible while freeing your imagination and wonder at the ride ahead.  And no flash photography, please.