Day 2 of Don Bluth: Thumbelina
Hark, a turn in the road! Bluth might be a convinced Disney imitator, but in the 80s and with Rock-a-Doodle, his films intentionally mimicked classic pre-60s Disney animation tropes rather than trying to duplicate what the Mouse were doing in the 80s. That is, they were often musicals but were not trying to do Broadway the way that the Renaissance movies were. Thumbelina represents Bluth’s first attempt to adapt his own style to the 90s format. Adolescent girl protagonist, pop star Barry Manilow writing the songs, fairy tale or literary adaptation rather, use of CG for sweeping camera shots, etc. It’s a 90s Disney movie without the scale and spectacle that the more lucrative Katzenberg Disney projects were able to muster. It’s pale (literally), exceedingly modest, and despite its high-quality animation is simply too much of a non-presence to work.
1. Our Nega-tagonist
Thimble-sized Thumbelina is a vacant cipher of a character, more of a character design that can be stuffed into oddball outfits and moved about than a suitable anchor for a film. Separated from her safe domestic sphere––via river, identical to Rock-a-Doodle––she is supposed to endure tribulations to build up the confidence to reject her unwelcome (arguably paedophilic) suitors. As with the contemporary Disney movies, of course, her independent spirit is invested in a handsome True Love, so that her freedom is granted on the condition that she choose the most conventionally attractive male to mate with. Well, Granted, he’s the only one who’s presented as her own age, which is probably a plus as well.
I think I can summarize the problem succinctly by describing what Thumbelina actively does to shape the plot without it being someone else’s idea. Well, she meets the prince and immediately loves and trusts him (fairy tale logic), runs away from the Mexican (!) frog so she can get home to marry the prince, gets fired from her job as a club dancer for a a sleazy beetle played by Gilbert Gottfried, goes along with marrying the mole, then doesn’t marry the mole, sings to open up the Vale of the Fairies because a bird tells her to, and then marries the prince. Note that not all of those things listed even count as expressions of her own agency. Her only desire is to find a companion who is the same size as her, and the scene after we learn this, she finds one. The plot is essentially an hour of episodic delayed gratification, its inevitability so transparent it would let Don Bluth’s favourite golden lighting effects through.
In short, Thumbelina is bland as paste, her prince who goes looking for her is stuck in an ice cube for a plurality of the movie, and she makes Ariel from The Little Mermaid cringe at her passivity.
One could argue that this is the point of the story, that Thumbelina is an unsure, shy, curious adolescent who is easily influenced and needs the guidance and support of strong friends to reach maturity. But what we have in Thumbelina is a film that is ostensibly about following your own path regardless of what other people say but is de facto about just going along with what the best people say you should do. The movie always knows what she should do before she does, which produced incredible frustration precisely because our narrator-jester character Jacquimo outright orders Thumbelina to do the right thing at the end of the film, and she does not believe it will work until she sees her true love re-emerging.
2. Goldie and Thumbelina Should Chat Over Coffee
On Day 1, we saw Goldie, one of the only notable female characters in Rock-a-Doodle, exhibit the same passivity and emptiness as Thumbelina. Both of them are exploited by showbiz hucksters, existing as pure romance-objects rather than people. Easily manipulated, wilting and weak, they’re effectively allegories not for women’s self-reliance but for women’s need to be sheltered and led by the nose, lest they stray like lambs to the slaughter.
Another parallel with Rock-a-Doodle is that Thumbelina’s primary virtue is her sacred voice. Like Chanticleer, she summons paradise into view at the end of the film by using her voice. Perhaps this is why Bluth and co-director Goldman gave Gilbert Gottfried a prominent singing role––for stark contrast. This theme is largely botched since it’s hitched to her character dynamics or lack thereof. Her voice is there to make her desirable and plays little to no role in fulfilling her own desires, except for when it summons her prince to the window, of course.
Finale: Disney-er Than Thou
Thumbelina looks and feels ancient compared to its contemporaries in 1994. Bouncy farmyard animals, tiny wide-eyed bugs, 1940s-style choir music on the soundtrack, and its hamfisted sentimentality all make this a film out of its own time despite its adherence to the 90s animated musical formula. Its creator’s eccentricities, blunted in Rock-a-Doodle because of test screenings, are repressed further despite manifesting in out-of-place swipes at the entertainment business and his everlasting love of putting evil frogs in his movies. Because I’m literally falling asleep writing about this film (without exaggeration), I feel it’s best to close this chapter of our Don Bluth retrospective and hope that not all of Bluth’s 90s output after Rock-a-Doodle was Disney Lite. His films are always at their best when they tear off on their own mystical tangents, not in sticking to readymade formula.
A truly, transcendently bad Bluth is at least discussing. So we’ll have plenty to talk about tomorrow, believe you me.