#21 Robin Hood

A different sort of talking-animal film than its immediate predecessors, Robin Hood avoids the problems of The Aristocats by fully anthropomorphizing its animal cast, giving us a world where the animals don't act like people, they simply are the people. The decision gives the story of Robin Hood a whimsical element, while also allowing the artists and animators to play around with a wide variety of anthropomorphic animals: the citizens of Nottingham are mainly woodland creatures, while the soldiers are imposing hippos, elephants and rhinos.

All the key players from any telling of Robin Hood's story are present. Robin Hood himself manages to be a charming protagonist, while Little John, voiced by Phil Harris, essentially comes off as a retread of Baloo from The Jungle Book, though it's not necessarily detrimental. Prince John, meanwhile, is given a comically effeminate interpretation, with Sir Hiss (basically a discount version of Kaa) practically functioning as his battered spouse; the gay subtext between the two is hard to ignore. The Sheriff of Nottingham has the potential to function as a more threatening counterpart to the foppish prince, but that potential is diluted considerably by the use of voice actor Pat Buttram, whose reedy midwest twang is decidedly non-threatening. Maid Marian is there as well, though she exists purely as a love interest to be rescued by Robin Hood, doing nothing in any of the film's (quite fun) action sequences.

Though Robin Hood is, overall, a fun children's film (and a decidedly better one than The Aristocats), it does represent a few bizarre decisions on the part of the filmmakers, most notably with the voice acting: half the characters are appropriately English or Scottish (though their accents do seem a bit affected and less-than-genuine), and the other half speak in undisguised rural American accents, a bit confusing for a film based on a notable English legend (though not without precedent, as witnessed by Arthur in The Sword in the Stone). Additionally, the songs are chiefly American country/folk (with a bit of surf guitar thrown in during the actions scenes), and the film is narrated by folk singer Roger Miller. One is left to wonder just why Disney felt the need to subtly Americanize one of England's most iconic legends; it does detract a bit from what is otherwise an enjoyable film, though not a particularly artistically groundbreaking one.

#20 The Aristocats

The first film produced after Walt Disney's death, The Aristocats proved positive that the Silver Age was well and truly over, managing to encapsulate all of the problems with talking-animal movies. At least Lady and the Tramp and 101 Dalmatians had some restraint; their animal protagonists did, in fact, act like animals. They didn't run around wearing clothes, or play instruments, or bloody well hijack a motorcycle and drive it, all of which occur at some point during The Aristocats. It doesn't even make sense in context, since the humans for the most part treat the animals as just plain animals, and yet the Madame is apparently unfazed by her cats painting and playing the piano.

Speaking of the Madame, can we all agree that people who leave material inheritance to their animals are uniformly terrible? And yet the audience is supposed to be completely on board with the Madame's decision, leaving her butler, Edgar, as the villain for wanting to gain her inheritance before the cats. Sure, it's probably greedy of him, but can you blame a long-suffering servant who is apparently viewed as less-deserving to his employer than her animals? It's yet another example of the Lady and the Tramp problem of vilifying humans for not putting animals on the same social level as humans, a conceit which instantly falls apart upon consideration for obvious reasons.

As for the titular Aristocats, they're all irritatingly precious on every level, being the animal equivalent of the sheltered upper class. Thomas O'Malley, voiced by Phil Harris, is at least a bit more appealing as a character, but not by much. There's also a pair of rich-English-twit geese and their sloppily drunken uncle, a gang of swinging cat musicians (who inject some desperately needed energy into the dull and badly-paced plot with the number "Everybody Wants To Be A Cat"), and two dogs who, despite living in France, have Southern accents for some reason, and who apparently attack passing motorists with zero actual motivation. Meanwhile, the quality of the animation takes a step backward from The Jungle Book, with the Madam especially being a pencil-line ridden mess.

Yes, The Aristocats is cute, but that's really all it is. It has very little substance or enjoyment to be found for any audience but small children, and only succeeds in being saccharine. As an entry in Disney's canon, it's a decidedly weak one.

#19 The Jungle Book

The last film produced during Walt Disney's lifetime, The Jungle Book is a worthy end to Disney's Silver Age. There's no trace of the animation and plotting problems that plagued The Sword in the Stone; The Jungle Book instead proves to be a fitting return to form.

The animation style is more polished here than in the previous two films, refining the xerography style with less visible pencil lines and an overall cleaner aesthetic. The backgrounds, meanwhile, are illustratively painted, capturing the various environs of the jungle, from river to wasteland to the monkeys' temple. The script, not usually the most notable part of Disney films, stands out here, filled with snappy and snarky dialogue. The songs are doubtlessly the best of the entire Silver Age: "The Bare Necessities" and "I Wanna Be Like You" carry an upbeat swing style, "That's What Friends Are For" is a fusion between barbershop and a Beatles track, and Kaa's sinister number "Trust In Me" perfectly encapsulates the character.

And speaking of character, the entire cast of The Jungle Book are characterized and acted to perfection, with not a single weak link. In addition to the leads, Mowgli, Baloo, and Bagheera, there's Colonel Hathi, the elephant with the sensibilities of a blustering British imperial commander; Kaa, the iconically slippery and frequently abused python; King Louie, the swing-jazz styled orangutan voiced by Louis Prima (there could probably be something said about the characterization of the monkeys as African-American swing types, but it's really not mean-spirited or detracting from the film); the vultures, originally intended to be voiced by the Beatles and clearly modeled after them; and Shere Khan, voiced by George Sands as a perfect smooth-voiced British villain, sophisticated yet menacing.

With the end of Walt Disney's life, so too ended the Silver Age of Disney. The next two decades would prove to be an uneven period for the studio, producing some good films and some less so, before they would finally recapture the spirit of the Golden and Silver Ages with the Disney Renaissance.

#18 The Sword in the Stone

Disney's adaptation of T.H. White's Arthurian novel is, unfortunately, considerably less exciting than its source material would suggest. The sword itself barely factors into the plot, being used only as a way of wrapping up things at the end, leaving the rest of the story to focus on Arthur's training under Merlin (though what exactly Merlin thinks he's training Arthur for is a bit ill-defined, since he doesn't seem to know that Arthur is the prophesied king).

Merlin himself is an enjoyable character, far less imposing and dignified than most depictions. This version, while still dispensing sage advice, is decidedly more whimsical, dropping frequent references to 20th century technology, which, while amusing, definitely break the film's immersion a bit. The better scenes in the film are those with Merlin transforming himself and Arthur into fish and squirrels to impart his lessons - the fish scene gives us an encounter with an impressively imposing pike, while the second gives us the rather adorable encounter between Arthur and a female squirrel. Speaking of Arthur himself, Disney made the baffling decision to have him voiced by three different actors, none of whom sound very much alike. The audience is left to deal with the jarring result of having Arthur's voice suddenly switch from high and boyish to a weak pubescent croak, sometimes within the same scene. There seems to have been no consideration given as to which actors would record which scenes, and the result is quite possibly the worst voice acting job in Disney's canon.

Artistically, the film is a bit lacking as well. The xerography techniques employed for the animation in 101 Dalmatians return here, but while it fit the contemporary style of that film, here it's just unremarkable. The backgrounds, too, lack the fine detail of Sleeping Beauty or 101 Dalmatians, and seem merely treated as... well, backgrounds, something not to be looked too closely at. There also seem to be points (most notably in the fish scene) where the animation seems sharply discontinuous from the background, as if the cells were lit unevenly or trimmed at the edges.

All in all, The Sword in the Stone is decidedly one of Disney's weaker films. Following the artistic triumph of Sleeping Beauty and the contemporary British charm of 101 Dalmatians, this may have been bound to be a bit of a letdown. It's disappointing to consider that this was the last film released during Walt Disney's lifetime, but, as we will see, the Silver Age had a bit more magic left in it.

#17 101 Dalmatians

One can only imagine what Disney's staff thought of being tasked with animating not only 101 dogs, but 101 spotted dogs for an entire movie. Nonetheless, they rose to the task, leaving us with 101 Dalmatians, Disney's second dog-centric film, though a far more compelling, exciting, and appealing one than Lady and the Tramp. Here, what little romance there is is dealt with right at the beginning, devoting the bulk of the story to kidnap, rescue, and adventure.

As Disney's first film set in the present-day of its release, the film charmingly captures the atmosphere of early-60's London. The backgrounds have a distinctly illustrative quality, on par with those in Sleeping Beauty, though less fantastical and with a decidedly contemporary feel. The animation is a bit more roughly-drawn than earlier Disney films, with pencil sketch lines frequently visible, though it doesn't detract from the quality of the film so much as contribute to the scrappy, sketchy quality of the aesthetic.

In terms of characterization, the film succeeds brilliantly, with the voice cast all coming off as charmingly English. One of the biggest strengths is the animal supporting cast, all of whom are delightfully memorable (most notably the cat, Sgt. Tibbs, and the two London hoods, Jasper and Horace, who provide the comic relief, slapstick, and stream of British-isms). The standout, though, is without a doubt Cruella De Vil. A flamboyant, domineering diva, Cruella is yet another triumph of character design for a Disney villain, viciously petty enough to demand killing 99 puppies for a coat, yet somehow still funny while she shrieks and slaps around her henchman.

Though lacking the spectacle of some of Disney's more grand-scale fantasies, 101 Dalmatians still manages to be a fine film in its own right, managing to be a charmingly British romp of an adventure story. Perhaps its most notable feature might be its animation style, which introduced the technique of xerography, a practice Disney would rely on frequently for several decades afterward.

#16 Sleeping Beauty

The pinnacle of Disney's Silver Age (and quite possibly of Walt Disney's entire career), Sleeping Beauty is one of the films that make you remember why people love Disney so much in the first place.

Hands down one of Disney's great artistic achievements, it's an absolutely beautiful film. Every background is a meticulously detailed work of art, almost approaching the level of a Miyazaki film, showing the influence of medieval tapestry work and old illuminated texts. The animators even make use of layered backgrounds, to fantastic effect. The quality of the animation is exemplary as well, achieving a level of graceful fluidity and smoothness of motion not seen since Snow White.

The film also gives us one of Disney's greatest villains in Maleficent, the dark fairy. Forgetting the Wicked-style treatment given to the character in the Angelina Jolie-helmed Maleficent, the original take on the character is pure, unadulterated evil on a level Disney has rarely approached since. Maleficent manages to dominate every scene she appears in, with a commanding presence that radiates menace and legitimate threat. The scenes in her castle allow Disney's artists to try their hand at some sword-and-sorcery style action and environments, with a bit of inspiration from "A Night on Bald Mountain." The film's climax, with Maleficent transforming into a beautifully menacing dragon, is one of Disney's most epic and suspenseful. In addition to Maleficent, the three good fairies are excellently conceived characters as well, managing to be amusing and sympathetic without every being annoying.

Although the romance between Prince Philip and Aurora suffers from most of the usual Disney tropes (love at first sight, the contrived coincidence of their meeting), its hardly enough to detract from the overall appeal of the film. Capping off Disney's fairy-tale trilogy started by Snow White and Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty is a masterpiece of artistry and animation, and one of the true high points of Disney's canon.

#15 Lady and the Tramp

Leave it to Disney to take a scene of two dogs sharing a plate of spaghetti and turn it into one of the most iconic romantic moments in film history. It's all the more interesting considering that Lady and the Tramp doesn't really focus on the romance at its core; rather, it's more concerned with examining the life of its canine protagonist, and how the arrival of a baby complicates the master/pet relationship.

The issue with films that personify animals is, of course, that one has to write around the fact that actual animals don't have human emotions; as a result, any story running with the concept has to be at least somewhat divorced from reality. This might be why the film, which keeps its action largely at the dogs' level, spends a lot of time in the first half trying to make the audience feel sorry for animals in situations that, in real life, we would barely pay attention to (one could say the same about Toy Story's overall attitude toward toys, but at least Toy Story manages to be compelling enough for the audience to ignore it). As a result, it occasionally comes off as emotionally manipulating the audience. As for the romance between the titular Lady and Tramp... like most Disney romances, it's less than perfectly presented. The buildup is there, and it's fairly well-executed, but then there's the falling apart (when Lady learns that the Tramp is a womanizer with a long history), then the climax (easily the best parts of the film, laden with evocative, atmospheric lighting as the Tramp fights the terrifyingly drawn rat), and then... they're in love again! And they're having puppies! It's ultimately a bit too clean of a wrap-up to the relationship that really should be taking center stage.

The film does manage to succeed better on some ends. The voice acting is one of the strongest elements, with the dogs' voices and accents perfectly matching their breed and personality (the best is probably Bill Thompson as Jock, easily the film's most appealing character). The dogs are charmingly drawn for the most part, managing to be identifiable breeds while still retaining enough animated expressiveness. Not fairing as well are the two Siamese cats, with their cringingly broken-English voices, or Aunt Sara, fulfilling the kid-movie stock character role of the authority figure who punishes the protagonist while remaining blindly oblivious to legitimate problem-creators (and who apparently has never realized that her animals are a pair of domestic nightmares from Hell).

Interestingly, Lady and the Tramp manages to have some genuinely dark moments. The fights are appropriately visceral, the climax is legitimately tense, and the scenes in the pound are some of Disney's darkest, acknowledging the bleak existence of stray dogs and even daring to bring up the specter of euthanasia (albeit briefly, and never mentioned again). It's enough to make one wonder what kind of film Disney could have made had they capitalized on the grimmer material and made a more straight-faced look at the life of dogs. As it is, Lady and the Tramp still has a bit too much fluff, and not enough focus on the romance that should be at the core of the plot.

#14 Peter Pan

Disney's take on another beloved English classic, Peter Pan strives to define itself apart from its source material (and the parade of other adaptations). Eschewing the stage tradition of having Peter Pan played by a woman, the studio cast frequent Disney star Bobby Driscoll in the title role, drawing him as decidedly male (though admittedly elfin). This adaptation also dispenses with some of the darker elements of J.M. Barrie's work in favor of light, escapist adventure.

And it's quite the adventure to be had. Peter Pan seems determined to capture every childhood fantasy in one film: learning to fly, a wild, untamed island to explore, fighting pirates, the prospect of never having to grow up. The voice casting is superb; the endlessly charming Kathryn Beaumont returns as Wendy, and the rest of the cast achieve the rare feat of having child voice actors that are all talented, giving their characters distinct personality without falling into the "annoying child actor" trap. Captain Hook, meanwhile, earns a spot in the pantheon of Disney villains, characterized by a mix of piratical swagger and theatrical flamboyance.

While there's plenty of fun and adventure at hand, other aspects of the film stick out as glaringly antiquated - specifically, its treatment of the Indians. They're all grossly caricatured, invoking every bad stereotype about Native Americans, and treated as little more than an amusing sideshow. The character designs are either ugly or cartoonish, with the exception of Tiger Lily, who only exists to be captured, rescued, and then dance around looking pretty. On the subject, the film isn't great with its treatment of women, either; Tinkerbell and the mermaids all become homicidally jealous at the mere presence of Wendy, who manages to be a solid, level-headed character until Tiger Lily enters the picture, and then she stalks off in a huff as well. What exactly is it about Peter Pan that seems to make every woman around him become obsessed with him?

At its core, the story of Peter Pan is a timeless one, touching on quintessential childhood fantasies and themes that most people can relate to. While this take on it may have aged poorly in some respects, there's plenty to appreciate about it as well. While Disney's own 2003 live-action take recaptured the spirit of the tale without the 1950's baggage, it might be worth revisiting in animated form; with such a universally appealing narrative, Peter Pan provides plenty for imaginative artists (and audiences) to work with.