Monday, November 22, 2010

Flying by umbrella is not a drug metaphor

She slid up the banister yet no one connected her with the experiments Harvard man Timothy Leary was doing with LSD. Cold war enthusiasts will be sad to know that 1964's most ironic and iconic image doesn't belong to Dr. Strangelove, but to an unauthorized home practitioner who was known to dose children on sugar in order to get them to take their meds.

When I think of children's books made into film - up until the '60s, I assume there wasn't a whole lot of conflict, that filmmakers needn't have worried if the sweet verses of Lewis Carroll or A.A. Milne would hold their audiences in as much thrall as their literary origins. Walt Disney Co. had appropriated but not fully controlled the future merchandising for neither Peter Pan nor Alice; Pooh Bear continues to be a legal battle worth exploring in another blog; but Pamela Travers takes the cake when it comes to control freak and all-around ungrateful author.

JK Rowling can probably attest to the firm hand wielded while films were being created out of her property. Roald Dahl's estate has made no secret of disappointments following the first big screen presence of Willie Wonka. Travers, on the other hand, went head-to-head with the force of nature that was Walt Disney when he set his sights on her creation, Mary Poppins.

Walt's daughters had enjoyed Travers' stories back in WWII and a deal was almost struck at the time, except Travers wanted script approval and Walt refused, wanting to distill a film from only the best scenes in the series. (Interestingly parallel to today, in the books, not only is Mary P a purveyor of magic, so are members of her family.) Almost 15 years passed and Travers was savvy enough to hike her financial demands considerably, remaining difficult to work with, no matter how much Walt tried to appease her, and she literally scowled all the way to the bank. The road from book to film replaced the lead character's saltiness with sweetness, her coldness with warmth. Travers fumed right up to the film premier, where she reportedly took Walt aside to bitch about the innovative animation sequences. All Walt could do was remind her what was done was done.

It's pretty to believe Travers wrote only for the children and was hellbent on protecting her characters or that even Uncle Walt was more concerned about making movies for a family audience, but the truth is surely more than money or literary merit. Travers distanced herself from the claim to wealth and legacy, cited Beatrix Potter as the inspiration of writing "to please myself. Was Pooh really written for Christopher Robin," she asked in the Saturday Eve Post, "or Wonderland for Alice Liddell?"

Although the reviews were ecstatic, the idea of a modern film portraying a lack of adult concerns created many ruffled critics who saw this throwback to a less sophisticated cultural time out of step with what audiences wanted in 1964 (wait till they got a load of The Sound of Music, Nazis notwithstanding). Attesting to the millions of fans of the movie worldwide, even those who have seen the nanny airborne over the Broadway stage (similarly wired Mary Martin of Peter Pan fame was one of Travers' first choices for Mary P), the musical is forgiven for whatever inconsistencies it has from the line of books, which Travers went on churning out until the 1980s.

The rise and rise of Mary P's portrayer, Julie Andrews, is also a favorite film story from 1964. In one of those amazing tales of the underdog turning the tables, Julie was unceremoniously dumped by the film industry after bringing the role of Eliza Doolittle to life in My Fair Lady. Her acting and singing abilities had made her a theatre star, but Hollywood didn't want an unknown - they had rather bring in Audrey Hepburn and let someone else sing for her. Julie was back onstage wowing audiences in Camelot when Disney spotted her. On Oscar night, it wasn't even a matter of Andrews and Hepburn competing - Hepburn wasn't even nominated. Julie won best actress while My Fair Lady won best picture. For another outstanding Andrews performance in 1964, check out The Americanization of Emily, a comedy she starred opposite James Garner. By the next year, Andrews would be in charge of even more children in The Sound of Music, a film she got because Hollywood didn't think the woman who created the role onstage, Mary Martin, had any box office draw.









 

 

 

 

 

 



Read More

Flanagan, Caitlin. "Becoming Mary Poppins: P. L. Travers, Walt Disney, and the making of a myth." New Yorker, 19 Dec. 2005. Web.

Gabler, Neal. Walt Disney- the Triumph of the American Imagination. Vintage Books, 2006.

Perry, Danny. Alternate Oscars. Dell Publishing. 1993.

Travers, P. L. "WHERE DID SHE COME FROM? WHY DID SHE GO?." Saturday Evening Post 237.39 (1964): 76-78. Academic Search Premier. EBSCO. Web. 12 Nov. 2010.

Watts, Steven. The Magic Kingdom: Walt Disney and the American Way of Life. Houghton-Mifflin, 1997.