#38 Fantasia 2000

Walt Disney had always intended Fantasia to be more than just a singular film. It was supposed to be an evolving project, consistently rereleased with new segments that married music to animation. While this vision never came to fruition, the idea of creating a new Fantasia lingered on in the minds at Disney. Sixty years after the original, the follow-up materialized, and Fantasia 2000 was released at the dawn of the new millennium.

If there are criticisms to be made of Fantasia 2000, one of the first is of the framing segments. In the original, Deems Taylor provided consistent introduction and commentary for each piece; here, the segments are introduced by a revolving cast of celebrities. While Angela Lansbury and James Earl Jones fit the program just fine (both possessing a level of dignity and class befitting of the relatively highbrow tone of Fantasia), there's also turns from Steve Martin, Bette Midler, and Penn and Teller. Their presence unfortunately detracts from the enchantment and spectacle of the animated segments, breaking up the flow and tying the film a bit too much to the time of its release, depriving it of the timeless quality of the original.

The animated segments themselves are all enjoyable, the best of them clearly illustrating how far the animation medium evolved over sixty years. Respighi's "Pines of Rome" soundtracks a vision of blue whales that starts off a bit too cute (with a baby whale more than a bit reminiscent of Dumbo) but ends in a pod of whales ascending into the sky as the music reaches fever pitch, creating an incredible sense of scale and grandeur. "Rhapsody in Blue" is the clear standout, drawn in the style of illustrator Al Hirschfeld and possessing a sense of character and nonstop kinetic energy that ranks it among the very best of Disney's shorts. "The Steadfast Tin Soldier" is a straight telling of the Hans Christian Anderson tale, though without Anderson's characteristically depressing ending. "The Carnival of the Animals" gives us a flamingo with a yo-yo breaking from the routine of the other flamingos; it's amusing enough, but so brief that it scarcely has time to leave an impression. "Pomp and Circumstance" is used to tell the story of Noah's Ark, with Donald and Daisy Duck along for the ride; Elgar's dignified piece fits quite aptly with the throngs of animals marching along. Finally, "Firebird Suite" closes with some of the film's most stunning imagery and animation, presenting an enormous Firebird and a life-giving Sprite as primal forces of destruction and creation.

Though not the revolutionary experiment that Fantasia was, Fantasia 2000 nonetheless earns its place as an underappreciated entry in Disney's canon. It's a bit regrettable that it still wasn't able to turn Fantasia into the annual or semi-annual venture that Walt Disney envisioned, even if only to serve as a showcase for top-tier animated shorts, a format that has become largely ignored by the mainstream over time. As it is, Fantasia 2000 and Fantasia will always stand as a view of the most imaginative and beautiful shorts from two eras of animation history.

#37 Tarzan

After ten years and ten films that defined an era in animation history, the Disney Renaissance came to an end in 1999 with Tarzan, Disney's adaptation of Edgar Rice Burroughs' pulp icon. As with other Disney adaptations, the film redefined its subject for a new generation, giving us a Tarzan that ranks on par with the Beast as a masterstroke of character design. Bearing little resemblance to the Hollywood hunks that played the character in B-pictures dating back to 1918, this Tarzan is leaner, wilder, and more feral, possessing an air of innocence and intensity in equal measure. What truly sells Tarzan is his animation, as he runs and swings through the jungle with an animalistic elegance, moving like a man who really did learn how to walk from gorillas.

As a whole, the denizens of the jungle are moderately enjoyable without being overly memorable. Lest we forget this film was released in the nineties, we've got Rosie O'Donnell as Terk and Wayne Knight as Tantor, both of whom are used chiefly for somewhat distracting comic relief, although their friendship with Tarzan at least feels sincere. Glenn Close's performance as Tarzan's adoptive mother, Kala, provides the emotional anchor for the film; she rescues Tarzan as a baby and provides him with stability throughout his life, first as an outsider child in the gorilla family, then as an adult confronted with other humans, knowledge of the outside world, and the question of whether he belongs among ape or man. On the human side, Minnie Driver gives an interpretation of Jane that's charmingly awkward, yet progressive; she's a naturalist who comes to Africa to study the gorillas, and not simply here to function as Tarzan's jungle bride. The film's villain, Clayton, meanwhile, is a sinister take on the Great White Hunter archetype, revealing the greed and savagery below the suave exterior of a man who views the natural world as his to claim for his own.

Musically, Tarzan's songs are mostly non-diegetic (not sung by characters within the film) and handled by no less a person than Phil Collins. While Collins is no Elton John, his distinctive vocal timbre fits surprisingly well here, with all of his songs punctuating and enhancing the story and none of them feeling dated (although "Son of Man" is a bit too Collins for its own good, instrumentally at least). "Two Worlds" opens the film while laying down the central theme, "Strangers Like Me" captures the yearning and sense of wonder as Tarzan learns of the human world for the first time, and "You'll Be In My Heart," while admittedly a bit sappy out of context, earns its place in the canon of big, sweeping Disney ballads.

As the twentieth century ended and the twenty-first began, increased competition from studios such as Pixar and Dreamworks as well as changes within Disney as a company would result in an output that was diverse, risky, occasionally ambitious, and wildly inconsistent. For much of the next ten years, Disney would be heading back to the wilderness.

#36 Mulan

Released near the tail end of the Disney Renaissance, Mulan proved to be Disney's best effort since The Lion King, marking a welcome return to form after several middling films. Retelling the Chinese folk tale of a female warrior, Mulan is at once an adventure film, a feminist parable, and a subversion of some of Disney's oldest tropes.

Dispensing with the bizarre, immersion-breaking asides and lackluster stabs at humor that plagued Hercules and The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Mulan's story is played straight, with the Hun invasion of China providing the impetus for Mulan to take her aging father's place in the army as a means of proving her value in a society that places no importance on women. Mulan herself is the antidote to decades of Disney princesses whose entire motivation was to get married to some uninteresting prince; she is not un-feminine, but finds herself unable to accept the position of the submissive daughter and eventual wife that Chinese society has allotted her. Her relationship with Li Shang is based more on mutual respect than anything else, and it is actually allowed to develop realistically - there is no hackneyed love-at-first-sight moment. Mulan's character arc, from humiliating herself in front of a matchmaker to saving her country from the Huns, is one of Disney's greatest, and the scene of the Emperor of China leading a mass of people in bowing before her is a genuinely earned payoff.

Apart from its story, one of Mulan's greatest strengths is its cast, which is a gathering of star talent in top form. Refreshingly for Hollywood, the majority of the Chinese cast are played by actual Asian actors: Ming-Na Wen as Mulan, B.D. Wong as Li Shang, George Takei as the Ancestor, and the great Pat Morita as the Emperor. Miguel Ferrer has an impressively sinister turn as Shan Yu, lending a genuine sense of danger to the savage Hun leader. Eddie Murphy's performance as Mushu comes dangerously close to Dreamworks territory at times, but his humor sticks the landing for the most part, and his genuine loyalty to Mulan makes him a better Disney sidekick than some. Even the non-speaking characters, like the Cricket and Khan the horse convey an abundance of personality and charm.

Musically, the film shines as well, with Jerry Goldsmith's bold, cinematic score lending a suitably epic feel - the standout is the synth-and-drum piece that plays as Mulan prepares to leave home for the army, which lends the proceedings a sense of high drama and importance. The songs by Matthew Wilder and David Zippel are all on point as well, all existing in the service of plot and character; there are none of the dispensable numbers that plagued some other late-period Renaissance films. "Honor To Us All" and "A Girl Worth Fighting For" lay down some welcome satire on the roles of men and women in the Chinese society the film depicts, while "I'll Make A Man Out Of You" remains one of the greatest training montage sequences in film history, Rocky be damned. And, of course, we have Mulan's character piece, "Reflection," which, over the years, has received a second life as a queer anthem.

While it may not quite reach the grand artistic achievement of The Lion King, Mulan absolutely defines itself as one of Disney's greatest films. It's a perfect marriage of character, story, music, and theme that scarcely misses a beat. The film's greatest legacy, perhaps, is the value it represents to its target audience. Mulan is no pining princess or passive love interest: she is the hero of her story, and she sets an example for every young girl that watches this film.

#35 Hercules

Greek mythology has proved fertile ground for screenwriters and filmmakers to mine for material over the years, and with good reason: many of its most iconic characters and stories have become baked into our culture over time, so that names like Odysseus, Achilles, and Hercules need no introduction. In addition, the lack of a definitive telling of these stories leaves them wide open to interpretation. One would think, then, that with all of Greek mythology to draw upon, Disney could produce something fun and exciting, something like Clash of the Titans by way of Aladdin. Instead, we got Hercules, one of Disney's more frustrating ventures, precisely because of how much wasted potential it represents.

To start with, the plot of Hercules runs very thin. We start off with Hades (voiced by James Woods, whose fast-talking, sarcastic performance is easily the best thing about the film) learning that Hercules will one day defeat his plan to free the Titans and conquer the world. This presents us with our first problem, an unoriginal motivation for the villain. Scar wanted to seize control of the Pride Lands because he was jealous of his brother; Frollo wanted to kill Esmeralda because he was confused by a combination of racism and lust; Hades just wants to rule everything because, well, he's the villain and of course he does. The plan to kill the baby Hercules goes awry, and Hercules is raised by mortal parents. Of course, he becomes a "misfit" who "isn't like other people," which the film conveys in the most unsubtle manner possible, by having the characters straight-up tell this to the audience. Eventually, Hercules discovers his identity as the son of Zeus, who tells him that to join the Gods at Mount Olympus, he must prove himself to be a "true hero."

It's here that the real problem of the plot develops, which is that "becoming a true hero" or "proving oneself" is simply not a compelling basis for a plot, chiefly because it lacks a definitive goal or endpoint. Hercules then spends a good deal of time training with the Satyr Philoctetes (voiced by Danny DeVito, who, it should be noted, should never be allowed to sing on film again), then goes to Thebes to find a chance "to prove himself," before defeating a Hydra that, if nothing else, is an impressive piece of animation. By this point, we are nearly halfway through the film, and the audience has only just now witnessed Hercules, the legendary hero of Greek myth, actually do something heroic. Immediately afterward, the audience is treated to a montage of Hercules' adventures and heroic deeds, by the end of which he is a celebrity and an established hero. This is perhaps the film's biggest sin, that all of the adventuring that would actually allow the audience to see Hercules develop into a hero happens essentially offscreen, in an egregious violation of "show, don't tell."

And speaking of "show, don't tell," we have Hercules' relationship with Megara, surely the most chemistry-deficient pairing in all of Disney. While Meg has a potentially compelling background, as a woman who sold herself to Hades in exchange for her lover, her characterization falls flat and Susan Egan's performance comes off as grating. It doesn't help that Hercules himself isn't that likable of a character either, being given a cliched misfit characterization at first, then frequently coming off as whining. Apparently, the film also hopes the audience won't notice that Hercules and Megara are only officially together for less than 24 hours before the climax picks up and they're willing to lay down their lives for each other. Even for the studio that frequently gives us teenagers falling in undying love at first sight, this is pushing plausibility a bit too far.

The truly frustrating thing about Hercules, though, is that it definitely could have and should have been a better movie than it is. With all of Greek mythology to pull from, why produce such a bland story? Why not tell the story of Hercules' Twelve Labors, or the voyage of the Argo, which Hercules was a part of? Or, if you want to tell an original story, why not pair Hercules with Pandora, a well-known mythical figure with a compelling backstory? If nothing else, Hercules was certainly evidence that the Disney Renaissance was on the downswing by 1997 - though the streak would not be broken just yet.

#34 The Hunchback of Notre Dame

Of all the places Disney has mined for source material, Victor Hugo's grim Gothic tragedy is surely one of the more unexpected choices. In adapting Hugo's novel into a musical about prejudice, social outcasts, and religious zealotry, Disney created what is doubtless their most adult film. It's a bit surprising The Hunchback of Notre Dame managed to scrape by with a PG rating - and, had Disney allowed it to go to a PG-13, it could have been one of Disney's greatest films.

The Hunchback of Notre Dame is anchored by the relationship between its protagonist, Quasimodo, and its antagonist, Frollo. Quasimodo is designed to be genuinely ugly without being visually repulsive, still allowing the audience to sympathize with him, and Tom Hulce's performance conveys his naivete and innocence perfectly - he is a gentle being, raised in isolation, desiring to experience life outside Notre Dame, but convinced by Frollo that the world is too cruel to accept him. Frollo, meanwhile, is truly one of the great villains of Disney's pantheon, for much the same reason that Gaston is such an effective villain: he is a villain that exists in reality, whose evil we can know from our own experience. Frollo is a religious zealot, too deeply convinced of his own sanctity to ever admit fault, obsessed with destroying the Gypsies he holds responsible for the immorality of the world around him. Most dangerous is his obsession with the Gypsy woman Esmeralda, who he blames for corrupting him by inciting his lust, to the point where he will willingly kill innocents and burn Paris to remove her temptation from his life. Tony Jay's sublime baritone grants Frollo his sinister presence and menace, nowhere more effectively than in the song "Hellfire," which ranks with Pinocchio's Coachman and Fantasia's "Night on Bald Mountain" as the darkest sequence in Disney's canon. Filled with imagery of damnation and sexual lust, "Hellfire" steps into unprecedented territory for a Disney film.

On the subject of music, The Hunchback of Notre Dame captures the grandeur and drama of a true theatrical musical more than any other film of the Disney Renaissance. Rather than being concerned with providing earworms or fun sequences, the songs largely serve as a means of character development. "Out There" establishes Frollo and Quasimodo's relationship and illustrates Quasimodo's yearning to experience life outside Notre Dame; "God Help the Outcast" draws the contrast between the desires of the ordinary people of Paris and the persecuted gypsies. Composer Alan Menken also delivers some of his most underrated work, with towering strings, horns, and choirs giving the score a grand Gothic feel, anchored by the "Hellfire" leitmotif.

For such a boldly mature film, it may come as unsurprising that the weakest aspects of Hunchback come when it tries too hard to be typically "Disney." Specifically, one can look at the three gargoyles, Victor, Hugo, and Laverne, whose presence severely taints the film. The three are painfully one-note, their personalities amounting to "old woman," "fop," and "Jason Alexander," and their musical number, "A Guy Like You," is quite frankly wretched, attempting to inject the anachronistic humor of Robin Williams' Genie into the film. But this is not Aladdin, the three are not Robin Williams, and the gargoyles' antics are totally at odds with the tone of the film. 

While the presence of the gargoyles certainly drags the film down, the superior qualities of The Hunchback of Notre Dame are readily apparent. Had Disney been more willing to dispense with fluff and fully embrace the film's identity as a dark, mature story, it could have been one of the pinnacles of Disney's canon. As it is, while certainly a film of quality, it stops just short of true greatness.

#33 Pocahontas

All good things must come to an end. After the powerhouse five-film run of The Little Mermaid, The Rescuers Down Under, Beauty and the Beast, Aladdin and The Lion King, Disney broke their hitting streak with Pocahontas, which, while not exactly a bad film, fails to live up to the heights set by its predecessors (though anything was likely to be a letdown after the triumph of The Lion King).

Artistically, the animation loses something from the lifelike fluidity of The Lion King, though that may be due to the switch from graceful animals back to a human cast. The voice acting is decent, although having Mel Gibson voice the English John Smith causes him to stick out sorely when he's the only colonist with an American accent. Musically, the film is nothing to write home about either; while some of the Native-inspired score pieces set the atmosphere well, most of the songs are forgettable, with "Colors of the Wind" being the only one most people are likely to remember, although its sequence within the film is frankly ridiculous when you step back and look at it. Indeed, the best song in the film might be the end-credits number "If I Never Knew You," which wouldn't sound out of place in an American Idol finale.

The film's real problems, however, run a bit deeper. The term "Disneyfication" has long been applied to Disney's tendency to clean up the source material its films are based on to make them appeal to a family audience and fit the traditional formula of a rapidly blossoming romance with plenty of musical numbers. In many cases, the resulting films are of enough quality that this can be forgiven or overlooked. What is harder to excuse, however, is Disneyfying actual history, especially history with as bloody of a legacy as American colonization. In the film, we're given an 18-year-old Pocahontas who falls in love with John Smith, saves his life, and brings the Natives and English to mutually respect each other. In reality, the incident in question occurred when Pocahontas was a child, if it actually happened at all. The film also tries to paint the conflict between the Natives and English as a misunderstanding fueled by prejudice on both sides, grossly oversimplifying the roots of colonialism. While the idea of peoples in conflict being brought together by a love affair could certainly be a compelling one, applying it historical events that ultimately led to the destruction of one side in favor of the other is tone-deaf at best and culturally damaging at worst. While Pocahontas is nowhere near the worst film in Disney's canon, its sins are certainly unique.

#32 The Lion King

Has there ever been a better opening shot of a Disney film (or of a film, period) than the red sun rising over the horizon of the African savannah with Lebo M. wailing in Zulu? It's a fantastic moment that sets the tone for the film to follow, an exercise in lush artwork, incredibly lifelike animation, and a new level of cinematics for Disney. More than just a great Disney film, more that a great animated film, The Lion King is the first entry in Disney's canon that just truly feels like a great film, period.

Rather than a fairy tale or princess-based romance, the story is more mature, almost Shakespearean in tone (there are marked similarities to be found between The Lion King and Hamlet). We have a rightful prince afraid of his past in Simba; in Scar, we have the power-hungry outcast, plotting the deaths of his family in his rise to the throne(ironic that a lion ends up being one of the most humanly evil villains of Disney's canon); in Mufasa, we have the wise, beloved father who dies the most emotionally devastating death in all of Disney - unlike in Bambi, where the protagonist had to learn what death was, Simba knows exactly what is unfolding in front of him, and he's forced to watch the whole thing. The themes of betrayal, redemption, and acceptance of the past run strong throughout the plot, which culminates in one of the most visceral fights ever seen in a Disney film; thanks to the strikingly fluid, realistic animation and the brilliant slow-motion action, the scene is elevated to the highest of drama.

Artistically, the film elevates Disney to a level never before achieved. The cinematic flourishes present in some of the free-camera shots of Beauty and the Beast and Aladdin blossom here into a true replication of live-action cinematography, with the result that the production value feels far higher than any film before it. The artistic centerpiece of the film is the wildebeest stampede, which earns its place as one of the great scenes in cinema history: everything about the scene is absolutely perfect, from the mounting tension at the beginning to the panicked action to the devastating culmination of Mufasa's death. And all of this says nothing of the film's music, with an epic score by Hans Zimmer and easily the greatest Disney soundtrack, courtesy of Alan Menken, Tim Rice, and Elton John.

The Lion King would ultimately prove to be the peak of the Disney Renaissance. While the remaining Renaissance films would carry on the cinematic values it introduced, none would fully replicate its success. In the end, there's little denying it: The Lion King is, hands down, the greatest film Disney has ever produced, and one of the pinnacles of the entire animation medium.