Waking Sleeping Beauty

Waking Sleeping Beauty

86 Minutes

For a far greater percentage of my life then I am comfortably willing to admit, I was a maniacally obsessed Disney fanatic. Early on this obsession was mostly confined to the theme parks, as my formative years happened to correspond almost exactly with one of the most creatively fallow periods in the history of Disney animation. So while I was happily crafting detailed dioramas of the Haunted Mansion for third grade assignments and memorizing every word of The Country Bear Jamboree (for the sheer, nerdy joy of it), cinematic gems like The Fox and the Hound and Mickey’s Christmas Carol were somehow able to pass me by without making a deep impression. Even as a child I knew that Disney’s glory days were far in the past, and in Don Hahn’s compelling if narrowly-focused documentary Waking Sleeping Beauty, we learn that the animators of the time had much the same impression.

The early ’80s were a weird time for the Disney Animation Studios – on the one hand you had the remnants of the “Nine Old Men” still roaming the halls – legendary artists like Ward Kimball and Frank Thomas who had formed the core of Walt Disney’s team back in the early days, while on the other you had a group of talented yet disaffected young animators who knew in their bones that there were more creatively fruitful applications of their craft to be had than plugging away at The Great Mouse Detective. Spanning the years 1984 to 1994, Waking Sleeping Beauty tells the story of how a “perfect storm” of factors helped to facilitate the creative explosion that ushered in a new Golden Age, resulting in such modern-day classics as Beauty and the Beast, Who Framed Roger Rabbit?, The Lion King and Toy Story. It also tells of how a small number of men with huge egos and even bigger salaries – Jeffrey Katzenberg, Michael Eisner and Roy Disney – were able to fritter away this vast storehouse of energy through crass exploitation, backroom dealings and the near-constant jockeying for position on the corporate hierarchy.

It is an exciting tale well told, and Hahn and producer Peter Schneider deserve credit for making a compelling film out a subject that would at first glance appear to be of interest only to a small group of Disney fetishists and animation nerds. They do this by focusing their attention on the human scale – copious interviews with all the major (and minor) players are included – and by having the great fortune to gain access to loads of illuminating archival footage, both amateur and official. In fact it’s almost miraculous that Disney allowed the filmmakers to have the amount of access that they did, as the company itself does not come off very well. Even worse is how the three principle players appear – brilliant at times, but mostly petty and overly ambitious. The film as a whole has a breezy energy – the relatively short running time helps, and there really isn’t a dull minute on screen. Much of it is hilarious, and it even has its tragic, human core. Famed musician, lyricist and AIDS victim Howard Ashman is featured prominently, and the sections dealing with his illness and eventual death were tastefully handled and very powerful. His contributions were crucial to the success of Disney during this period, and it is clear that his talents and friendship will continue to be greatly missed.

Let’s face it, though. Waking Sleeping Beauty is, while not aimed solely towards the maniacally obsessed among us, still a small film whose potential audience is relatively circumscribed – those interested in learning more about the behind-the-scenes machinations that resulted in a number of beloved Disney animated films made and released over the span of a single decade. But for those with sufficient interest in the subject matter, Waking Sleeping Beauty is well worth seeking out.

by Shannon Gramas