ART
Modern curation is usually a
case of following trends, not
setting them. But occasionally
an exhibition turns up that is so
inventive, so different, you did
not see it coming. Exactly such
a show is Inspiring Walt Disney
at the Wallace Collection.
Those readers who have
forgotten what the Wallace
Collection is like, or the tragic
few who have never been
there, will be at a disadvantage.
To savour the outrage
properly you need to know
that this is one of the most
refined art locations in Britain;
that important paintings by
Titian, Rubens, Rembrandt,
Velázquez, Watteau and Goya
hang here. Basically, it is not a
Disney sort of place. At least
that is what I used to believe.
I was wrong.
What I did not formerly
appreciate was that Walt
Disney himself was a
Francophile and that his early
visits to Paris played a seminal
role in the creation of the first
Disney cartoons. Indeed, the
spirit of the French rococo
was critical to the entire
enterprise of animation. Who
would have thought it?
Underpinning these Disney
revelations are some serious
scholarly ambitions. Before we
come to them, let us savour
some of the ooooh moments.
Right at the start we see a
scene from The China Shop,
one of the series of animated
shorts called Silly Symphonies
produced by Disney in
1929-39. It’s the one about
“Ye Olde China Shop” run by
an old boy who goes home at
night not knowing that the
moment he locks the door
everything in his shop springs
to life. In particular, an
elegant china couple start to
From Cinderella and Beauty and the
Beast to Frozen — who knew Disney was
inspired by the spirit of French rococo?
The wonders
of Walt
THE WALLACE COLLECTIONDISNEYdance around the crockery to
the music of Mozart.
It’s an exquisite piece of
animation. And next to it in
the show are the two rococo
figurines of dancers that
inspired it — made in 1758 by
the Höchst Manufactory in
Germany. The juxtaposition
of cartoon and ceramic makes
you notice various things.
One of them is how much
animation and movement
there already is in the Hochst
figurines. Disney didn’t just
borrow their outfits, he
borrowed their spirit too.
A little later we get to
Cinderella, made in 1950. The
story came from one of the
French books Disney brought
back to Hollywood from his
Grand Tour of Europe in 1935.
The key moment comes
when the shabby kitchen
urchin turns into a
radiant princess. To
achieve it took an
extraordinary
amount of inventive
animation.
The Wallace show
fills an entire wall with
the 24 hand-drawn
Disney cells needed
to achieve one second
of Cinderella’s
miraculous
transformation.
The rococo origins
of the story, its Marie
Antoinette moods,
become fiercely
tangible.
This is how things
progress here.
Delightful Disney
moments are
illuminated by rococo
art from the Wallace and
by the pervasive spirit
of 18th-century Europe.
And to prove that these
are au courant issues,
too, that this is a show
for today, there is a
particular focus here
on the female artists
who worked in
Hollywood. TheTHE
CRITICSDisney buffs will no doubt
find the pretty drawings that
prove all this and the big
helpings of background
information fascinating. But
for me the big takeaway is
not the light the show shines
on Disney, but the way it
prompts a new understanding
of the decorative arts of the
rococo period.
What Disney seems to have
realised instinctively is that
rococo furniture is in itself
fiercely animated and full of
delightful transformations.
When a Disney table starts to
dance or a teapot starts to sing
it’s because French rococo
tables do, indeed, appear
ready to dance and French
rococo teapots do, indeed,
have an operatic presence.
The show ends with a
choice selection of rococo
furnishings from the Wallace
Collection. There’s a superb
André-Charles Boulle pedestal
clock from about 1720, inlaid
with brass, tortoiseshell and
gilt bronze. I must have
walked past it a hundred
times without noticing it.
Here, I found myself peering
excitedly into its workings
to see the gilt bronze fire
burning behind its pendulum
and to admire the movement
of the mythical figures around
its edges.
The same happened with
the superb pair of 1752 gilt
bronze firedogs, attributed to
Jacques Caffieri. Was that
really a roaring lion emerging
from the one on the left? And
was that really an angry boar
shouting back from the one
on the right? Yup.
Thank you, Walt Disney,
for helping us to see rococo
art properly. cInspiring Walt Disney, at the
Wallace Collection, London W1,
until Oct 16WALDEMAR
JANUSZCZAK
entire mood of Cinderella was
the achievement of Mary Blair,
a Disney stalwart who began
working for Walt in the 1940s.
Another thing you learn is
how much thought went into
creating every single Disney
moment. It’s not just the huge
number of drawings needed to
make a sequence. Long before
a project reached the sequence
stage, all sorts of rococo
homework had to be done.
Fragonard’s naughty
masterpiece The Swing —
another of the Wallace’s key
possessions — hangs at the
centre of the show because a
sequence derived from it was
originally going to set the
scene for Beauty and the Beast.
In the end Disney went for a
different opening, but not
before a lengthy effort had
been made to transform
Fragonard’s rococo
moment into a
Beauty and the Beast
moment. The work
wasn’t wasted. The
girl on the swing
finally made a cameo
appearance in Frozen.Swing time
Fragonard’s The
Swing inspired a
Disney moment that
finally appeared in
Frozen. Left: the
Wallace’s Boulle
pedestal clock.
Above: Disney sketch
for a Beauty and the
Beast characterWhen a
Disney table
starts to dance
or a teapot
starts to sing
it’s because
French rococo
tables do
18 24 April 2022