Greeting, friends, today we’re going back to our school day peer-critique exercises: For every criticism there must also be a compliment. When last we met I was full of peppery criticism for the current and future direction of Walt Disney Pictures, and I stand by all of it. But I wasn’t mad. Not really. Just disappointed. Oh, Disney. Correspondingly though, in this outing I will now reassure the Mouse of my affections by turning the spotlight onto some of the studio’s most excellent previous work.
This is not the usual slate of list-makers though. There’s no Beauty and the Beast here, no Lion King or Aladdin or Frozen. While some Disney films stay on the forefront of our collective consciousness year after year, going on to be held up as jewels of both the canon and the genre, others inexplicably fall through the cracks once their initial marketing blitz has abated. It’s not that these movies don’t contain examples of greatness (or that they aren’t wholly great in their own right), sometimes they simply fail to imprint on the larger culture; sometimes the studio has no interest in continuing to promote them. We have to face it, the fairytale lineup is always going to be an easier sell than a dark-toned social justice piece based on an incredibly depressing novel, no matter how much of a masterpiece the result may be. So absent the studio’s backing it is up to we fans to remember the truly exceptional unsung work in their vault, the dusty treasures that are of no less value for their lack of real-estate in the figurative trophy case. To that end I give you:
*Castle Icon*
The Top Five Most Underrated Disney Animated Pictures
- Treasure Planet (2002)
What better way to bring in the new millennium than with the marriage of the old world and the new? Having tackled a straight adaptation of Robert Louis Stevenson’s seminal adventure novel, Treasure Island in 1950 (and topped themselves by inserting Muppets into the equation in 1996), Disney’s animated version quite literally aimed for the stars in reimagining Jim Hawkins’ quest to find storied pirate riches as a vaguely steampunk (Candlepunk?) space voyage.
The movie marked a new high for Disney’s artistic achievement. With a creative concept as a jumping off point, the animation team let loose all of their collective brilliance in innovating a truly beautiful looking hybrid of a film where traditionally hand-drawn characters interacted seamlessly with digitally rendered three-dimensional sets. The resulting depth and richness of the images is impressive, sometimes even dazzling. In particular, the spaceflight sequences stand in a class apart as exemplars of the very best of Disney animation skill up to that point in time.
Montressor Spaceport
While the seductive visuals hold the viewer’s eye, James Newton Howard paints the film into their mind with the aural brushstrokes of his beautiful score. The masterfully layered motifs, the valiant orchestral primary, the wistful Celtic lilts, the well-placed rebellious guitar riff, they all weave together as an evocative and heroic soundtrack that goes straight to the most visceral parts of the brain’s thrill centers. To hear the music is to long to be swept off on an adventure of one’s own; to jump on a solar surfer and seek out the horizon.
Now, the movie is not without its faults (thus its rank on the bottom of the list). In the original novel Jim Hawkins dutifully helps his mother run the family inn (his father having died shortly before the events of the story) while dreaming of adventure. That is, of course, a well-worn cliché. However, Treasure Planet’s Jim (Joseph Gordon-Levitt!), a surly spacepunk who, having been abandoned by his father some twelve years prior, enacts his ongoing hurt and frustration through petty acts of juvenile delinquency, is not exactly an original substitute. Holden Caulfield was obnoxious to the extreme in his initial incarnation; his trope does not grow more charming with increased exposure. Fortunately, Jim improves measurably once the central voyage is underway. Aboard the RLS Legacy the crisp Captain Amelia (delightfully voiced by Emma Thompson) and the one-legged cook, Long John Silver are able to give him the purpose and the encouragement he has been missing, and the young man begins to flourish. In the movie, as in in the novel, Jim increasingly looks to Silver (here translated as a garrulous cyborg) as a surrogate father figure. The relationship between them is the film’s emotional sweet spot, its progression rendered in endearingly organic fashion, and it provides the audience a genuine point of connection to the characters.
The most egregious misstep is undoubtedly Martin Short as Treasure Planet’s resident castaway, BEN, who is exactly as entertaining as a cocaine trip ever is from the bystander’s point of view. It was a cool idea to re-envision the novel’s half-mad maroonee, Ben Gunn as a navigation robot with a missing memory circuit, but Short’s performance is a gratingly manic appeal to the youngest viewers that not even an adorable jelly-blob of a sidekick named Morph can really make up for.
Still, criticisms aside, Treasure Planet is a beautiful, pioneering piece of animation with a strong cast and with superb production elements. Its relative obscurity is disappointing given the important step that it represents, not just for Disney, but for the progression of the animated medium as a whole. Plus, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, guys.
- Hercules (1997)
Greek Mythology doesn’t generally strike one as a rich source of family-friendly entertainment, being heavy on things like murder, rape, incest, and bestiality. Then again, I suppose it doesn’t really offer anything much more horrifying than any number of the fairytales that Disney has adapted into cheerful musical films (nothing takes the ick out of necrophilia like cuddly animal helpmates, don’cha know). With that in mind it’s not surprising that eventually they would get around to plumbing the depths of Classical mythology for inspiration.
Enter Hercules (we wanted Herakles, but that guy rarely makes appearances anymore). Of all the stories in Greek mythology his is probably one of the best choices Disney could have made. Once you strip away the antics of jealous Hera and the resulting uxoricide (I have a new word!), the core narrative of young man determined to prove his worth through various acts of heroism is pretty fertile adaptational ground.
So much so, in fact, that the Hero’s Journey has become one of the predominate tropes in all of storytelling, and so if you’re going to get people interested in another retread of that material you had better have a fresh approach. Disney’s answer to that concern is, in fact, the element that elevates the movie. Operating on the theory of balance through opposing elements, they adopted an anachronistic irreverence in their tone that proved to be just the right approach to an ancient story that had already long-proliferated western culture.
This ain’t your ancestor’s Hercules, and the intention to loosen things up a bit is announced loudly in the first minutes of the film. We open in a hall of Greek sculpture, Charlton Heston solemnly intoning a stately monologue about the nature of heroism when, suddenly, he is unceremoniously interrupted by a quintet of muses (union regulations prohibit the use of all nine at any one given time unless for charitable functions). Bored by his rendition they immediately assume narrational duties, launching into a Gospel-infused exposition number. Just like that the tone is set. These Motown Goddesses will be the film’s throughline, a nod to the tradition of the Greek Chorus with a distinctly modern sound and feel, and the rest of the movie will follow closely in their footsteps (as one should always follow the muses, come to think of it).
Hercules strikes a great balance between its earnest hero’s central plot line and a more humorous delivery than has traditionally been typical of Disney animated pictures. The script is full of sharp quips, clever references, and blink-and-you’ll-miss it sight gags, only a couple of which have gone slightly dated over time. However, the absolute best features of the film’s approach are in the conception of its two most important supporting characters.
Hades is the villain of the piece here and, I would argue, one of the most enjoyable Disney has produced. My approval does not come without caveats; Evil Hades ™ is a lazy misrepresentation of that character, depicting a tired western conflation of the Greek afterlife (all of which is subterranean) with Christian Hell, and Hades with the Devil. However, if he must be cast as malignant, then his iteration in the Disney movie is probably as good as it gets. A vengeful Lord of the Underworld might imply a grandiose cliché, but James Woods’ vocal characterization of the role is gleefully original (the man is a horrendous person, but I can’t deny that he’s good at what he does). This Hades is a scheming conman sporting a massive pita chip on his shoulder; patient and cunning with a true Machiavellian’s long-game sensibilities, and a stand-up’s sardonic wit. Very rarely are we allowed to glimpse the true menace at the core of the character, but make no mistake, lurking just under that slick affability is one deeply dangerous deity.
Not to contradict resident mentor, Phil, but it is, in fact, the villain, not the weapon, that makes the hero. By that metric Hercules has fantastic potential. Hades is almost the best thing about the entire movie.
Almost.
Were it not for Meg.
While Hades is one of Disney’s great villains, Meg is, in my estimation, the best heroine the studio has ever produced. Sassy, sultry, self-sufficient and even *gasp* implicitly sexual, Meg is no mere Obligatory Love Interest. She is a complicated lady who serves a complicated purpose within the story. Distinctly, her agency is never in dispute once. When first we meet Meg she is in the literal clutches of a centaur with nefarious intentions as Hercules comes rushing in to save the day. To his surprise, she is neither excited nor relieved at his arrival, but merely gives him a cynical once-over before delivering the greatest introductory line of all time, “Keep moving, junior…I’m a damsel, I’m in distress, I can handle this. Have a nice day.”
Pictured: Not here for your patriarchal nonsense
You see, Meg is used to taking charge. Prior to her on-screen debut she had sold her soul to Hades to save her boyfriend from the afterlife only for the ungrateful Minoturd to immediately run off with another woman. Now tied in servitude to the Lord of Death, the deeply jaded Meg has no choice but to do his bidding (albeit with a certain patented snark), including, to her chagrin, seducing and sabotaging Hercules at Hades’ behest. Of course, things don’t exactly go to plan. Meg is stunned to discover that Hercules really is pretty swell, and it’s not long before his genuine goodness has chiseled right to the gooey center of her hardened heart.
Notably, however, where love makes Hercules vulnerable, it reawakens reservoirs of strength in Meg. Hades is quick to leverage her complicity in his plotting to break the hero’s spirit, and the resulting shock nearly does unravel Herc completely. Meg, on the other hand, is not having it. She is quick to own up to her role (witting or not) in the impending apocalypse, and goes charging into the danger zone to rally Hercules with no thought to her own safety. Her courage is ultimately what allows him to discover his true strength, and to save the world from the forces of darkness.
It’s Hercules’ movie, true; he is a hero, and a pretty lovable one at that, but the movie excels and endures in large part because of its exuberant willingness to subvert expectation. The gods can have soul, and the hero can do slapstick, the villain can be funny, and the damsel can absolutely be the one to manage her own distress. Here’s to Hercules for taking the Renaissance approach to a Classical classic and finding some new perspective. It’s a pretty nice view.
- Meet the Robinsons (2007)
The aughts were a dark time for Walt Disney Animation. Having grown used to the rapturous adulation lavished on the work of the ’90’s Renaissance, they were shaken when their next wave of films (most of which were based off of original story ideas rather than adapted from existing content) produced much more varied responses. Animated production noticeably scaled back, and the studio would spend the better part of the decade wandering directionless through the wilds of mediocrity, only occasionally producing work that lived up to the standards of their former glory. Yet here in the midst of that Millennial slump we find Meet the Robinsons, a brilliant but almost universally overlooked movie that achieves its emotional heft through a perfect, saccharine-neutralizing blend of candid sentiment and gentle wackiness.
This is the story of the orphaned Lewis, an aspiring inventor with no shortage of big ideas, but a spotty record of successful execution. When his one hundred and twenty fourth adoption interview goes pear-shaped as a result of a backfiring creation, Lewis abandons all thoughts of the future in order to chase the past. Specifically, unlocking the
The face of evil
memories stored deep in own hippocampus in order to discover the identity of the mother who abandoned him as an infant. Alas, thwarted by an evil bowler hat (yes, really), and press-ganged into aid by the time-hoping Wilbur Robinson, Lewis soon finds himself on a chrono-surfing adventure beyond his wildest dreams.
This is a movie that could win hearts and minds by virtue of its cleaver goofiness alone. The humor zips along on sudden hairpin turns, never devolving into mania, but rather drawing the viewer in with its unexpected charm. In that our journey mirrors Lewis’ in a way. Removed from the mundane world where he is just a misfit kid, in Wilbur’s future Lewis finds himself thrust into a wonderful new version of reality where unconventionality and quirk are prize virtues.
Indeed, this is best exemplified in the titular Robinsons themselves. Who wouldn’t be delighted by Grandpa with his glasses (or possibly just his body) on backwards and a woodchuck dangling off his arm? By Uncle Gaston delivering pizza in his flying saucer, or Uncle Art food-fighting his kung-fu master sister with his beloved meatball-shooting canon? Who couldn’t love the adorable weirdness of a family that just accepts the marriage of one of their members to a cranky hand puppet (not nearly as kinky as it sounds…at least…not that we see in the movie)? Or that is regularly entertained by the all-amphibian swing band conducted by their matriarch? Among the Robinsons idiosyncrasy is encouraged, innovation is celebrated, and failure is just a step to future success. It’s easy to fall in love with them as Lewis does.
The true resonance of the movie comes in through and around the zany Robinson ethos. Acceptance of self, shortcomings and all, a refusal to dwell on the disappointment of the past, and an optimistic eye to the future, these are the things that grow us and keep us moving forward. There’s also some wonderful (if slightly more subtle) themes about being able to define oneself, and how family is something that forms in a number of ways unrelated to biology (a particularly endearing inclusion for me, as the daughter of an adopted child).
In a way Meet the Robinsons is the most overt and loving tribute to founder, Walt Disney that the studio has ever produced, but it’s also one of the most intelligently written movies of the post-’90’s Renaissance era. In fact, its approach is very suggestive of partner studio Pixar (unsurprising given John Lassiter’s producing credit, and the full Disney acquisition of Pixar the previous year): the inoffensive eccentricity of the characters disarms a viewer only for the plot to then creep in and grab them right by the feels. I would even argue that Meet the Robinsons was an important bridge project in developing the voice Disney would exhibit in later movies like Tangled, Wreck it Ralph and Big Hero 6. However, both for what it is and what it may have inspired, Meet the Robinsons in all its sweet loveliness deserves far better than the cultural oubliette to which it has been consigned.
- The Emperor’s New Groove (2000)
It’s not that Disney hadn’t done funny before. I mean, we just discussed two movies that made ample and effective use of humor in creating tone. However, at the pinnacle of humorous Disney, high above any other competition, as if, perhaps, atop the Andes peaks, sits one film alone.
It’s The Emperor’s New Groove, ya’ll!
Boom Baby!
Kuzco is the eponymous Emperor of a vast Inca-inspired civilization, supremely powerful and supremely spoiled, dancing through life with a blithe disregard for everyone around him. At the center of his court is Yzma (Eartha Kitt in a career topping performance), an equally narcissistic old sorceress who has an annoying habit of trying to rule the empire in his place. Kuzco duly fires her in the first minutes of the movie, but Yzma isn’t about to go gently in retirement. She retreats to her secret lab to concoct a poison that will clear the way for her to resume control over the affairs of state. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on which jerk you’re rooting for at this point), Yzma doesn’t label her vials very clearly, and her sidekick, Kronk slips Kuzco the wrong elixir, resulting in the young Emperor transmogrifying into a llama rather than kicking the proverbial huaco.
It’s kind of like the setup for Beauty and the Beast, but with darker intentions and sillier outcomes.
Now stuck in camelid hooves, Kuzco finds himself dependent on Pacha, a peasant whom he recently intended to screw out of his ancestral home, and on a race to regain his human form. Of course what he will really gain on the journey…is his humanity *Studio Audience: Awwwwww*
This may be the only animated Disney movie ever that is first, foremost, and almost purely comedic. The script is a non-stop barrage of laugh-out-loud one-liners and brilliant physical comedy, bolstered by comprehensively excellent performances from a cast of seasoned comedy actors. David Spade, John Goodman, Wendy Malick, and Eartha Kitt are all fantastic in their respective roles, but the movie really belongs to Patrick 
Warburton’s good natured Kronk, an interpretive-dancing, spinach-puff -making, squirrel-speaking fount of hilarity who seems to have fallen into the evil henchman trade more due to his imposing size than any particular ideological inclinations (his internal conflict exemplified in a recurrent joke where his shoulder devil and shoulder angel argue the best course of action with him). I defy anyone to get through his “Theme Music” sequence without at least cracking a smile. Can’t be done.
Yes, Kronk is Disney’s greatest sidekick ever, and his every contribution to the movie is memorable gold, but it is worth reiterating that he is the strongest link in an already exceptionally strong chain. The Emperor’s New Groove leans giddily in to a prevailing sense of ludicrous fun. It’s the kind of movie where they openly address an inexplicable plot twist before acknowledging that there’s no logical explanation for it and simply moving along. Silly is the feature here, not the bug, yet it’s all concocted in a notably clever way that is, one might argue, even more appealing to older viewers than to younger ones. There’s a Monty Python-esque quality at work; the same goofiness that is at once sharp and free-wheeling, the same endless quotability, the same rewatch payoff. All the makings of a cult favorite.
It is for this reason that, perhaps, The Emperor’s New Groove might not need promotion quite so much as some other entries on this list. It has an avid, if comparatively small, band of fans who will happily admonish others to “Beware the groove,” who know that being turned into a cow is a perfectly legitimate reason for taking off work, and who regard life’s desperate moments (like careening down a raging river of death while lashed to a log in a rescue attempt gone horribly awry) with a simple “Bring it on.” Still, despite the love of its devotees, despite its myriad strengths, and despite a refreshing departure from traditionally Euro-centric sources of inspiration The Emperor’s New Groove rarely finds its way into examples of Disney excellence. This is less a shame than a minor travesty. The movie is easily one of the most original ever created by the studio in terms of tone and scripting; its only sin is not easily fitting in with its more conventional brethren. That quality that has made it so difficult to categorize, that has likely caused a large part of its neglected status, is precisely what makes The Emperor’s New Groove outstanding. Disney’s kooky oddball child succeeds because of its eccentric qualities, not in spite of them.
- The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996)
Where I have spoken at length about why the other entries on this list are worthy of far more love and glory than they tend to get, I would not argue that any of them were, say, top five material. That is why The Hunchback of Notre Dame stands above them all at number one. Because not only is it one of the most overlooked films in the Disney canon, but its status is particularly outrageous considering that it is one of the greatest films the studio has ever created, period. I consider it to be the equal of my personal number one, Beauty and the Beast, and superior to Disney’s most celebrated creation, The Lion King.
It’s also one of the trickiest adaptations the studio has ever pulled off. They’ve never exactly shied away from problematic content, but Victor Hugo’s 1831 tale of a deformed bell-ringer, Quasimodo, his sanctimonious guardian, Judge Claude Frollo, and their mutual obsession with the dancing girl, Esmeralda, requires a particularly deft hand. Though the most disturbing parts of the narrative are trimmed (attempted rape and general sexual violence, unapologetic racism, and a veritable trail of corpses), The Hunchback of Notre Dame is notable for embracing the shadows in the story rather than sanitizing them away.
The end result is a spectacular, layered masterpiece of a film. The Disney team used Hugo’s original novel, where the major themes were more about free will and class disparity, as a springboard for an extrapolated story with deep modern resonance. Through the treatment of both the misshapen Quasimodo and the brown-skinned gypsies, the movie sends a central message about the humanity of people who seem different, and the necessity for tolerance, kindness, and inclusion of those seeming outcasts that children can easily grasp, however, the sub-themes on the nature of corruption and virtue offer a level of intellectual complexity that is often rare for family-targeted entertainment.
Judge Claude Frollo is the vehicle through which the film examines the sordid, contradictory nuances of moral hypocrisy. As a figure of enormous power Frollo, with his dour and unyielding standards of righteousness, is quick to cast a sneering, steely eye over all who fall short, justifying his merciless nature with hardline piety. Of course, like most that use their religious fanaticism to sit in judgement over their fellow men, Frollo’s sanctimony is merely a mask for his own corrupted soul.
Despite his vehement proclamations about the nearness of damnation and the necessity for repentance, Frollo is mostly incapable of recognizing his own moral failings, choosing instead to frame his sins as the result of the clearly degenerate people around him. His psychosexual obsession with Esmeralda is because she is a temptress, not because of any true weakness of his own. His murder of Quasimodo’s mother (on the steps of Notre Dame, no less, in the movie’s inciting incident) was because she ran from him, which she surely would not have done unless she was guilty of something. Paris in general is suffering as a result of the depravity of the brown-skinned minority population, and not because of his cruel policies. If he could only crush out this hateful and ungodly people then he and all the good Christians would be saved. It is not really salvation that Frollo wants, though, as with most religious hypocrites his truest desire is control. It is for his own glory as the uncontested voice of earthly and heavenly law. It is for the entire world to bend to his narrow idea of what it should be. Anyone who stands in the way of that ambition (up to and including Quasimodo, whom Frollo raised from infancy) must be eliminated by any means necessary.
It’s actually frightening considering the themes here and realizing how pertinent Frollo is to many of the current debates raging in our popular discourse.
The movie offers no paucity of more uplifting elements as well. The artwork is nothing short of spectacular, and the soundtrack by Broadway’s Stephen Schwartz (Wicked, among others) features some of the most goose-bump inducing music Disney ever put on screen. Female protagonist, Esmeralda (who wins the Most Improved from the Source Material award hands down), is a strong, audacious, compassionate lady overflowing with mettle, who was a harbinger of the studio’s next big step up the girl-power ladder. Meanwhile Quasimodo is the kind of protagonist whose relatability both wins and breaks hearts, and Phoebus, also receiving a massive upgrade from his original iteration, is a feminist-inflected Classic Hero who is, refreshingly, secure enough to play a supporting role in the actual heroics. All the pieces fit themselves into a magnificent whole piece of cinematic excellence.
It is the themes though, the willingness to embrace the darker ideas couched in the story, that makes The Hunchback of Notre Dame the standout that it is. Woven into the narrative as they are they sink seed-like into one’s mind, gently rooting there over time. Art of any medium that can stay with a viewer for years afterwards in that way is an exceptional piece of work. It is, in fact, that resonant quality that elevates a creative endeavor to the level of true art in the first place. No one would argue that the Mouse’s fairytale movies aren’t wonderful, but Hunchback shows what the studio can do when freed from the conventions of that genre. They can create something a depth and durability, something that prevails not because of happy nostalgia, but because of deeper truths found in thornier premises. Acknowledged or not, The Hunchback of Notre Dame is a shining example of the very best that Disney is capable of.
LoGirLoo 