Pinocchio" is a parable for children, and generations have grown up remembering the words "Let your conscience be your guide" and "A lie keeps growing and growing until it's as plain as the nose on your face." The power of the film is generated, I think, because it is really about something. It isn't just a concocted fable or a silly fairy tale, but a narrative with deep archetypal reverberations. ("Cinderella," "Beauty and the Beast" and "The Lion King" share that quality, and so do the scenes involving Dumbo and his mother.)
Once we've grown up and learned, or ignored, the lessons of the film, why does it continue to have such appeal? It may be because of the grace of the drawing. Later Disney films would have comparable skill, but not the excitement of discovery. Is it possible to sense, through thousands of individual drawings by dozens of different artists, a collective creative epiphany? I think so. Disney's loyal animators had been there in the early days when Mickey Mouse cartoons were patronized by Hollywood as kid stuff from a dinky side-street shop. They must have known they were making something great. Their joy saturates the screen.
What the Disney shop did with its first animated features has resonated through film history. Ernest Rister says in a letter: "I cannot tell you how many of today's computer graphics artists have the book Disney Animation: The Illusion of Life at their work stations." All modern animated content in movies, from Jabba the Hut to "Toy Story," springs from those years of invention at Disney, he says: "The same principles apply everywhere, and those principles were all discovered under one roof, decades ago by a bunch of young punks jazzed up about creating something."
And that's no lie.
Pinocchio" is a parable for children, and generations have grown up remembering the words "Let your conscience be your guide" and "A lie keeps growing and growing until it's as plain as the nose on your face." The power of the film is generated, I think, because it is really about something. It isn't just a concocted fable or a silly fairy tale, but a narrative with deep archetypal reverberations. ("Cinderella," "Beauty and the Beast" and "The Lion King" share that quality, and so do the scenes involving Dumbo and his mother.)
Once we've grown up and learned, or ignored, the lessons of the film, why does it continue to have such appeal? It may be because of the grace of the drawing. Later Disney films would have comparable skill, but not the excitement of discovery. Is it possible to sense, through thousands of individual drawings by dozens of different artists, a collective creative epiphany? I think so. Disney's loyal animators had been there in the early days when Mickey Mouse cartoons were patronized by Hollywood as kid stuff from a dinky side-street shop. They must have known they were making something great. Their joy saturates the screen.
What the Disney shop did with its first animated features has resonated through film history. Ernest Rister says in a letter: "I cannot tell you how many of today's computer graphics artists have the book Disney Animation: The Illusion of Life at their work stations." All modern animated content in movies, from Jabba the Hut to "Toy Story," springs from those years of invention at Disney, he says: "The same principles apply everywhere, and those principles were all discovered under one roof, decades ago by a bunch of young punks jazzed up about creating something."
And that's no lie.
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