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“Prints are unavailable and a childhood memory is notoriously unreliable.” — Richard Schickel, The Disney Version (1968)
At various conferences in the last six or seven years, I have given presentations which touched on different aspects of my research into the histories of Disney’s most notorious film. In each case, I was greeted with the same dawning awareness of Song of the South I mentioned in the introduction. Many people had forgotten that they remembered the film, or at least the Brer Rabbit books. But I was also always asked the same question that I had studiously avoided in my talks. What did I think about Song of the South? Specifically, did I personally feel the film should be re—released officially? While my project here has been to document historically what others did with Song of the South (both Disney and the film’s various audiences), I have never claimed to be impartial. It should be clear throughout what I personally think of Song of the South. I have not tried to sugar—coat its racist connotations, nor have I defended the film or its supporters.
Since I will again be asked, I wish to end by stating clearly that I do not believe the film should be kept out of circulation either. While I am not sympathetic to its supporters, or to Disney’s bottom line, I do think Song of the South should be re—released. This comes with at least two important qualifications. For one, audiences today need to understand how the film was not inoffensive even in 1946, nor at any other point in time. Of all the myths surrounding it today, I am most troubled by the persistent claim that Song of the South is merely a “product of its time,” an assumption which is racially ignorant, culturally destructive and just plain historically inaccurate. Secondly, detractors should be allowed equal space to criticize the film by calling attention to the various historical and cultural reasons why it was, and still remains, so offensive. In many ways, these two ideas are what I have worked so aggressively to reinforce throughout this book. It is important to bring the film and its racial stereotypes out of the briar patch and back into the open. Once there, we can again make visible the series of larger cultural debates which Song of the South activates, instead of conceding them to a vocal minority which is empowered by critical (and corporate) silence.
Disney's Most Notorious Film
Song of the South has always co—existed with questions of its accessibility and discussions about its controversy. Within that dynamic is a particular history of race, media audiences and technologies in 20th—Century America. This project was less about Song of the South and more about the issues it raises in circulation through repetition and difference. The co—existence of its presence and absence over nearly 70 years offers a uniquely illuminating history of affect, nostalgia, technology and critical race theory. My book explored three inter-related issues: how questions of race have been negotiated through the media, how Disney emerged as the dominant media giant it is, and how changes in media technologies are inseparable from the cultural, political and historical issues with which they intersect. The film’s first appearance in 1946 was met overall with criticism from both white and black audiences, and was kept out of circulation for another ten years, and then another sixteen. In a way, limited access to the film today is nothing new. During many of those years, as with today, the film was less widely available in its full—length theatrical whole than it was in transmediated fragments (books, records, clips, and so forth).
When Song of the South finally succeeded at the US box office in the 1970s, it co—existed with the legacy of the film’s controversy—which along with other factors played a role in Song of the South’s success. That controversy most explicitly manifested itself in Ralph Bakshi’s Coonskin (1974)—a blaxploitation satire based on the Disney film. When the film was released again in 1980 and 1986, the film was met more directly with criticism. This was tied in no small part to Song of the South’s perceived affinity with the political ascendency of conservative Republican Ronald Reagan. Because of that enduring criticism, Disney began in the late 1980s and 1990s to rewrite and dissipate Song of the South across its transmedia universe. This was most prominently featured in the Disney theme park attraction, Splash Mountain. The film has now been in the vault for nearly thirty years. However, fan advocacy, bootleg distribution and other forms of internet activity have kept the film as accessible in our current age of digital culture as it has ever been. Throughout all the decades and historical contexts, texts and paratexts, appearances and disappearances, the hidden histories of Song of the South offer a unique but telling glimpse into how nostalgia, whiteness, affect and convergence impact the reception and ideologies of 20th—Century American media.
Whatever happened (happens) to that film . . .
Where is Song of the South today? In 2007, Jamie Weinman wrote in Macleans that the film was “one of the titles that fans most request from the fabled Disney Vault.” This eerily echoes rhetoric around the film from the 1970s. As recently as 2008, USA Today film critic Mike Clark casually mentioned in an otherwise unrelated article that Song of the South ranked up along John Huston’s The African Queen (1951) as the two films highest on “consumers’ DVD wish lists.” Is it a sign of things to come that Huston’s safari masterpiece has since been released onto both DVD and Blu-Ray? The emergent sense with Disney is that eventually the film will be distributed on various home video formats for the primary reason that too much money stands potentially to be made, even more so with the controversy hovering around it. Disney “has to look for potential bestsellers that aren’t on DVD yet. And because scarcity increases value, no film has more potential value than Song of the South.” Back in March of 2007, Disney president Bob Iger (who took over after Michael Eisner stepped down) hinted at a shareholder’s meeting that the film might receive distribution. “Iger’s statement,” wrote Earl Hutchinson, “was a trial balloon to see what, if any, public reaction there is to that prospect.” As in 1970, the studio initially announced Song of the South was to be permanently withdrawn, which only—intentionally or otherwise—increased demand for the film. On the heels of a sixteen—year withdrawal, Song of the South opened to its biggest box—office. Who knows how the film would perform now on the heels of an absence spanning nearly three decades?
The idea that Disney has “banned” its own film is misleading. The company has taken an extremely passive attitude. J.P. Telotte notes “Disney’s uncharacteristic reluctance in this case [of Song of the South] to profit from its past—or even to prosecute those who do.” They have not re—released it, yet they also do not aggressively pursue illegal appropriations of it either. Unlike the late 1960s and early 1970s, the corporation does not need to promote the film’s absence. Disney fandom does the job already, making it ironically easier for the studio to figuratively wash its hands of the film. If Disney were to begin cracking down on the bootlegs and websites, such behavior would only do exactly what the company does not want at the moment—to draw excessive attention back to Song of the South. It would also alienate those devoted followers who, knowingly or otherwise, participate in Disney’s own default marketing strategy.
Another major difference between now and forty years ago is that Song of the South is already readily available on various bootleg versions. With fans keeping the memory of the film alive, they are ensuring attention and publicity if and when the film is finally released on DVD and Blu—Ray. Yet given the existing ubiquity of such illegal copies already available to everyone from the die—hard fans to the passing curious, the total sales of DVDs might be fairly underwhelming. However, the lure of re-mastered 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—the notorious history of the infamous Disney Vault—has taught us anything over the years, it is 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 theatres 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 is now convinced 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 re—emerges.
Song of the South is a complicated Hollywood text with contradictory legacies. To say anything more specific risks shutting down dialogue which 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 (divorce) which are sometimes irreducible to others (race)—even if ultimately both can be mutually re—affirming in a negative way. Dialogue is important. Yet the need for rhetorical consensus and compromise—linear historical narratives of progress, or regression—are overrated. There’s nothing wrong with saying that disagreements should be allowed to co—exist. Resolutions, in contrast, are a rather 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” bleed too quickly into master narratives, where one side is conveniently silenced or simply ignored. Criticisms of Song of the South and its defenses 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 people 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 re—release, many critics, audiences and scholars (including this one) would forcefully restate why the film was so problematic to begin with—a criticism which 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 because it has been kept out of circulation for so long. In the 1940s, however, the most motivated group consisted of the film’s critics who were appalled the film had even been made. Today, that outrage has long since passed. In a “post—racial” America 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 re—releases, 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 that was cooked up in the politically—correct 1990s by a bunch of elite white California liberals, who only then decided not to release the film any longer. In whatever venue, Song of the South has always been deeply controversial. It is that initial history of the notorious Disney film which 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. Irreducible to that, however, critics should 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 turn an ignorant shoulder to the issues which 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. Re—releasing Song of the South would be appropriately anti—climactic. What else then would fans have to fight for, other than its interpretation? The drive to force Disney to re—release the film is, after all, not really a fight for access. It is a fight for legitimacy, the cultural and social legitimacy that some fans would feel when vindicated by a hypothetical re—release of the film. Fans could feel momentarily 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 caution sign to any fan who would be anxious to make grand pronouncements about the Song of the South’s timeless endurance.
Controversy keeps the film alive. However, indifference will one day finally catch up with Song of the South. The appearance of any such legitimacy or approval that fans would feel in the event their advocacy finally pays off would come with a price. There would be less to fight for. They would also discover that there is not a mass of moviegoers out there, waiting to discover and adore the cult film after laying dormant for so long. 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 less than two hours, however, it is still the same film 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 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 size of curiosity—seekers if the film were re—released. Many otherwise disinterested 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. 1940s films 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.
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