Disney's Most Notorious Film (43 page)

Another major difference between now and forty years ago is that
Song of the South
is already readily available in various bootleg versions. With fans keeping the memory of the film alive, they are ensuring attention and publicity if the film is finally released. Yet given the existing ubiquity of such illegal copies already available, the total sales of DVDs might be underwhelming. But the lure of remastered digital prints, exclusive special features, and the “official” seal of approval would no doubt hook the all-consuming Disney fan always willing to spend more money on the latest novelty unlocked from the vault. But only time will tell—as it did in 1972—if such a strategy indeed comes to pass.

If the history of the company’s clever distribution strategies has taught us anything over the years, it’s that there is little doubt
Song of the South
will return yet again. Cult fan followers who fondly remember the film as a child, as recently as the 1980s, are not going anywhere anytime soon. Nor is there any reason to think future reactions will be any less eclectic than those responses in the past. Moreover, talking only about people who last saw the film in theaters twenty years ago overlooks the hypothetical child somewhere today watching a scratchy bootleg, possibly even with Japanese subtitles. It was purchased online by Dad, Grandma, or some other family member—that lifelong Disney fanatic who first saw the film three or four decades ago, and who is now convinced that future generations will experience something similar. There is no reason to believe that the film’s viewership is necessarily dwindling. The longer the film remains out of circulation, yet the more people write about its absence, the more intense
Song of the South
’s visibility is likely to be when it finally reemerges.

Song of the South
is a complicated Hollywood text with contradictory legacies. To say anything more specific risks shutting down dialogue that the film can and should provoke, in favor of reductive solutions. Its reappearance would only work if it provoked a genuine debate that avoided
easy
platitudes. Fans develop attachments for reasons (i.e., divorce) that are sometimes irreducible to others (i.e., race)—even if ultimately both can be mutually reaffirming in a negative way. Dialogue is important. Yet the need for rhetorical consensus and compromise—linear, historical narratives of progress or regression—is overrated. There’s nothing wrong with saying that disagreements should be allowed to coexist. Resolutions, in contrast, are a tricky matter. We should be wary of compromises or pronouncements. Premature statements, such as Leonard Maltin’s in 1984 that
Song of the South
had “survived a period of acute racial sensitivity,”
⁶
bleed too quickly into master narratives, where one side is conveniently silenced or simply ignored. Criticisms and defenses of
Song of the South
are mutually constitutive anyway. One never exists without the other. Critics attack the film because of its perceived (or possible) success; fans defend the film because others attack it. And then the cycle begins again. One exists in a discursive void without the provocation and presence of the other. Even then, such a binary is too simplistic. There remain still other approaches and responses to the film, beyond the boundaries of the present project.

In the possible future event of
Song of the South
’s official rerelease, many critics, audiences, and scholars (including this one) would forcefully restate why the film was so problematic to begin with—a criticism that has been in place since the film was first released in 1946. The difference now is that the film’s fans are the most motivated party in the debate, since it has been kept out of circulation for so long. In the 1940s, however, the most motivated group was the film’s critics, who were appalled that it had even been made. Today,
that
outrage has long since passed. In a “post-racial” United States that is as evasive on the persistent issue of race as it is reactionary, such widespread progressive conditions are unlikely to return anytime soon. Some resistance has periodically returned with rereleases, but then passed yet again. As time passes, it becomes increasingly difficult to
see
, in more ways than one, how
Song of the South
was
always
problematic. Contrary to what some prominent supporters (such as Jim Hill) believe, the film’s disrespect to African American communities and white progressives was not just a phenomenon cooked up in the politically correct 1990s by a bunch of elite white California liberals. In whatever venue,
Song of the South
has always been deeply controversial. It is
that
initial history of the notorious Disney film that has been forgotten today.

For this reason and others,
Song of the South
should be released. While I personally find the film offensive, its absence on many levels
only
fuels its most conservative fandom. People should be allowed to see the film for themselves. Fans should be allowed to enjoy the film as they do—to relive their own childhoods, and to pass their childhoods on to their children. But critics should also be allowed to continue to articulate why the film is so offensive, with the text readily available in circulation as corroborating evidence. More important are the fans of the film, and of Disney, who fondly remember
Song of the South
from their childhood,
and
who could see the film today from a more mature perspective. They could, on the one hand, warmly relive fond memories and immerse themselves in the affect of nostalgia. There is nothing necessarily wrong with wanting to go back to the past for a moment once in awhile. But they would also be strong enough
not
to ignore the issues that others see in the film. No Hollywood text is simple—and
Song of the South
is no different.

For both critics and fans, the reality is that
Song of the South
is a much more interesting and provocative film when people
cannot
see it. The infamous Disney film is not fascinating because some think it’s a masterpiece waiting to be discovered. Nor is it fascinating because others think it’s another offensive Hollywood representation of race relations.
Song of the South
is fascinating because of how often, and in what ways, the film’s controversies have been exposed, paradoxically, in the process of being concealed. Hence releasing the film again would bring the film
back from
the realm of myth, where it has been built up into so much more than it really is. Rereleasing
Song of the South
would be appropriately anticlimactic. What else then would fans have to fight for, other than its interpretation? The drive to force Disney to rerelease the film is, after all, not really a fight for access. It is a fight for the cultural and social legitimacy that some fans would feel when vindicated by a hypothetical rerelease of the film. Fans could feel that
Song of the South
had overcome its criticisms, surviving that period of “acute racial sensitivity.” Yet the historical irony in that statement should force one to look ahead with wary eyes. The real history of the film serves as a cautionary sign to any fan who would be anxious to make grand pronouncements about
Song of the South
’s timelessness.

Controversy keeps the film alive. But indifference will one day catch up with
Song of the South
. The appearance of any such legitimacy or approval would come with a price: there would be less to fight for. Fans would also discover that there is
not
a mass of moviegoers out there waiting to discover and adore the cult film. Once the novelty’s appeal wore off, so too would the film’s. As a cultural and historical object,
Song of
the
South
is a deeply fascinating case study in the relationship between race and convergence. As a way to spend an hour and a half, however, it is still the same film the
New York Times
critic Bosley Crowther trashed in 1946.
Song of the South
is an unevenly acted, slowly paced, overly sentimental, and quite derivative melodrama. It is not even redeemed by the few cartoons arbitrarily thrown in, which hardly stand out as among the best animated work Disney ever did anyway.

By preserving only the music and animation from the film over the last sixty years, Disney was not only editing the racism out of the film. The company was also preserving the only parts of
Song of the South
that hadn’t aged as poorly, and thus still would be marketable to the largest possible audience. At best, there would be a considerable number of curiosity seekers if the film were rereleased. Many otherwise-uninterested audiences would also see for themselves just how “dated” much of the film really is. Others still would find the film neither enjoyable nor offensive—they would just be extremely
bored
. Films from the 1940s do not easily translate to general audiences today—even the best of them (an aesthetic category in which
Song of the South
does not belong regardless). The film will not disappear as long as it is stored in the vault. But in the near future,
Song of the South
could eventually fade away right out in the open.

Appendix

TIMELINE FOR SONG OF THE SOUTH AND ITS PARATEXTS

Below is a list of representative events in the history of
Song of the South
’s recirculation and repurposing. It begins with events preceding the film’s first theatrical appearance in 1946 and traces its presence up to its availability on YouTube in 2008. It is also important to note that almost every one of these media texts lingered long past their initial release date—whether as a handed-down book or record, a television episode in reruns, a film that goes viral online, and so forth.