Edgar Arnoldi, "The Life & Tales Of Walt Disney"

In 1966, one man died. In the United States. And two years later another man wrote a book about him. In the Soviet Union. A beautifully written, poetic and pompous biographical book about the deceased—in which there were almost no details of his biography.

Moreover, it contained almost nothing at all, except mistakes, inaccuracies, and condescending pathos.

Although this is a book about Walt Disney. A genius of animation who changed the world. Written by the well-known film critic Edgar Arnol'di. Who, it seems, did not see with his own eyes almost anything he confidently wrote about.

How is that possible?

I’m serious. When you read something like this with a fresh perspective, for the first time and without the rose-tinted glasses of nostalgia, it produces an almost shocking impression. And this is revealing: from a single book you can see how, under a totalitarian regime, people had to write in order to be published at all, reconstructing the entire picture from scraps of information, what kind of experts on international topics there were in the Soviet Union of the 1960s, and how, among other things, such books shaped people’s worldview for decades to come.

Technically, “The Life and Tales of Walt Disney” is well structured. The story begins with the early history of Walter and Roy, describing the first attempts to create animated films, creative exploration, and technical innovations. “Steamboat Willie,” the magic of sound and rhythm, the first characters—Mortimer/Mickey, Donald, and Goofy. The history of “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs” is shown in reasonable detail, though at an encyclopedic level; “Pinocchio” is covered less thoroughly; “Bambi” and “Fantasia” are treated in greater detail. And then the book abruptly comes to an end, and such significant works as “Peter Pan,” “One Hundred and One Dalmatians,” and especially “Sleeping Beauty” are given literally a few lines. “The Jungle Book” was released a year before “The Life and Tales…,” so its absence is quite forgivable.

But these are not the main flaws: there are many amusing translation errors here, such as Bambi’s girlfriend “Feline” (“feline”? in the original—Faline, no connection to cats), “Peter Pan and Captain Hook” (no relation to Pan from Greek mythology or boxing techniques), or my favorite: a direct quote—“agricultural film ‘Animal Husbandry Farm’” (YES, I’m not joking! “Animal Farm” by Orwell becomes “agricultural film ‘Animal Husbandry Farm’.” Apparently to ensure an uneducated political instructor wouldn’t notice any subversive content, just in case).

It really feels like the whole book was written for a political instructor from the state censorship apparatus. Constant lyrical digressions with ideological moralizing, a tone of condescending superiority, frequent references to Soviet artists, sometimes with distorted citations (for example, one might think that Eisenstein openly criticized Disney, although in reality the director of great black-and-white films admired the creator of animated and color films).

Another amusing contrast is between Disney—about whom Arnol'di knows at least something—and the other figures, who are not even named. The tone of the book is consistently that of a kind of pseudo-realistic hagiography or “what kind of man he was”: a simple representative of the American working class with a big dream, challenging Hollywood moguls who only dream of “making dollars” (the phrase is repeated seven times in the book). Yes, later the great artist and storyteller becomes a capitalist exploiter and media magnate—but that’s just details. The important thing is not to forget to insert a Lenin quote and casually mention that ours, the Soviet, is still better.

And Disney… well, Disney. He still didn’t make anything better than “Snow White,” he declined afterward anyway. The storyteller started making dollars. Documentaries, films, “Disneyland”… but whatever. Let’s forgive the capitalist. After all, he always told stories about kindness and goodness. Not like those other unrestrained businessmen with their wild passions and depravity.

A few quotes:

(on animation using recordings of actors’ movements) “This method gave drawn characters such convincing lifelike presence that often, based on the roles they performed, they could be compared to real actors. However, many famous Hollywood ‘stars,’ absorbed solely in displaying their overpublicized charms, could learn naturalness and sincerity of behavior from Disney’s characters…”

(what “stars”? A very weak polemical trick, building opposition on abstract and invented figures without concrete examples)

S. M. Eisenstein highly valued Disney’s achievements, especially the correspondence between music and image, as mentioned here. But, while considering Disney a friend, he mercilessly criticized his landscape and color musicality. <...> According to Eisenstein, the color in “Snow White” is overly sugary, and in “Bambi” the painting is incorrect. Bambi himself, as a character, is perfectly drawn. But in terms of melodic line, he is played on the wrong instruments. The melody is correct, but the timbre is wrong.
<...>
Eisenstein made two fundamental demands of Disney. First, to abandon the drawing style developed over one and a half decades and switch to the style of Chinese graphics with soft outlines—that is, to abandon everything achieved and start over… If Eisenstein did notice hints of a different drawing style in some preliminary sketches for “Bambi,” this can hardly be seen as evidence of a creative breakthrough…

(basically “our answer to Chamberlain.” And who asked?)

Lack of systematic education and limited artistic culture he (Disney – ed.) compensated for through creative experience, relying on innate talent.

(Walt Disney—and “limited artistic culture.” An astonishing claim)

(on the film “Song of the South”) …From among the characters, the boy—the grandson of the plantation owner, his friend, a tiny Negro boy, and the old Negro man, Uncle Remus, a treasury of folk wisdom, an invented character of literary folklore, came to the forefront. He tells beloved Negro tales about Br’er Rabbit and Br’er Fox.

(no comment. Do not call Black people like that, especially from America.)

<...> The film “Song of the South” enjoyed great success. Audiences liked its cheerful festive tones and elegance. All this was slightly old-fashioned, but immeasurably more pleasant than the fashionable pathological perversions and cruelty.

(again, demonization of a fictional enemy. One might think that across the street from Disney films, snuff porn was being shown 24/7 in cinemas)

…About fifty kilometers south of Hollywood, in Anaheim, “Disneyland” opened—a theme park, something like our amusement parks and recreation parks.

(“premium processed cheese on French bruschetta is something like our butter on rye bread”)

Disney’s productions noticeably differ from those made by industrial giants. Large studios, driven by fierce competition, try their best to outdo each other with sensational excess, unprecedented scale of production, colossal sets, thousands of participants, and millions in expenses. They indulge in inventing grandiose spectacles, horrific crimes, and perverse sexuality.
<...>
Low-grade sensationalism, uncontrolled sexuality, and boundless cruelty became the path of least resistance for Big Hollywood.

(written by a 66-year-old Soviet man who had never been abroad. The reasons are another matter, but the fact remains.)

In Soviet cinema, the effective forms of cinematography of capitalist countries were always critically assessed. However, the level of technique and expressiveness of Disney was so high that many of our artists adopted them.

Soviet content, our plots and ideas were often expressed through alien forms.

These lines contain far more than it may seem. The Soviet regime was so concerned with ensuring its permanence and security that the philosophy of a “besieged fortress” permeated literally everything. Us and them, ours and theirs, “our heroic intelligence officers” and “their vile spies.” That is why authors like Edgar Arnol'di had to perform ethical acrobatics in order not to be rejected by censors, not to be punished by the state, and still give people something interesting and meaningful. But the Iron Curtain was down, there was no free access to information. How do you write about something you don’t fully understand? By using the illusion of expertise. And trying to sit on several chairs at once.

From today’s perspective, this is of course not something to do. It is better not to publish a book at all than to distort its intent due to the tastes and limitations of those in power and monopoly on violence. Better not to play by unfair rules and preserve one’s humanity than to lose oneself and say what the man in uniform upstairs wants to hear. Better to write for the drawer than to publish something like this.

“The Life and Tales of Walt Disney” is more of a historical artifact than a book that has stood the test of time. A pseudo-academic monograph with the illusion of knowledge, factual errors, moralizing tone, misrepresented quotations, and ideological agenda. And that’s not even mentioning the supposedly profound phrases with ellipses that end nearly every third paragraph…

Yes, exactly that. Something to think about…

Rating: 3/10, very weak. A Wikipedia article would give you more than this entire book. Don’t waste your time and money; some pages of the past are better left closed forever.

P.S. The author’s lack of expertise is evident in the fact that a book about the pioneer of American animation does not mention other titans of the genre. How can you talk about Disney without mentioning Don Bluth, Tex Avery, or Chuck Jones?..

“That’s All, Folks!”