It’s a foregone conclusion that Pamela Lyndon Travers will spoon with Mickey Mouse.
In the fictionalized docudrama “Saving Mr. Banks,”[1] Travers, the “Mary Poppins” author played by Emma Thompson, reluctantly ventures to Los Angeles, coerced by Walt Disney himself. He loves her book and wants to make a musical film out of it. She arrives in her hotel room to find it decorated with dozens of Disney trinkets and toys, including a giant plush Mickey. All of this, she finds garish and loathsome. It’s obvious to her that Walt is going to take her book and bastardize it, adding cheery songs and watering down her characters. He may even turn it into a – gasp! – cartoon. In a huff, she snatches Mickey and crams him into a closet.
We know how this turns out. There’s no suspense. Travers will eventually sign the paperwork and “Mary Poppins,” the movie, will become beloved by many. “Saving Mr. Banks,” then, must be about the creative process of adaptation, right? The evolution of story? How one great idea begat another? Almost, but not quite. Instead, it’s an oppressively sentimental picture marrying simplistic personality-clash comedy to a thin Psych 101 character arc. It’s a Disney movie about a Disney movie, and although there’s little dispute that “Mary Poppins” is a cinema classic, “Banks” still bears the distinct whiff of propaganda.
“Banks” is a fine example of good actors battling mediocre material. As ol’ Walt, Tom Hanks chooses to underplay, dialing back the gee-whiziness of a line such as “Lee as a whippet, I was!” Thompson, meanwhile, struggles to find anything beyond self-pity in her stubborn character. She wrinkles her nose, furrows her brow, glares intently. Travers’ story plays out in her 1961 clash with Disney, and in flashbacks to her youth in rural Australia, which are lit with ironic, idealist golden hues. Her mother (Ruth Wilson) was serially depressed, frustrated by her father (Colin Farrell), a loving man, but also a sloppy, woeful alcoholic. “Poppins” was inspired by Travers’ sad childhood, and when Walt tries to futz with it, she has a mighty battleaxe to grind, large enough to cleave the Earth itself asunder.
The screenplay, by Kelly Marcel and Sue Smith, stages the culture clash with great obviousness. Everyone at Disney is cheerful, all gleaming teeth in the California sunshine, and Travers brings her gloomy British raincloud to douse their picnic. There are several scenes in which Travers butts heads with Disney songwriters and brothers Robert (B.J. Novak) and Richard Sherman (Jason Schwartzman). They write whimsical melodies and funny words while she pooh-poohs and tut-tuts. “Where is the gravitas?” she bellows. Good golly, not even the atom bomb will break down her façade!
Travers makes all manner of demands. She’s unpleasant. She’s unreasonable. Dad gum it, she’s impossible. She’s very persnickety about her tea, for which she requires a certain sweet, granulated substance served up by a specific piece of silverware. Golly, might there be a song in that? Her humble chum of a chauffeur, Ralph, is played by Paul Giamatti with colossal aw-shucks affectations. He’s unflappable, and senses her deep inner pain. They end up sitting on the grass, playing with sticks like Travers did as a wee lass. “Banks” never met a broad gesture it couldn’t wallop us with.
Walt eventually takes Travers to Disneyland against her will. It’s where everyone is happy and Walt is adored like your sweet and kind uncle - if he was treated like a celebrity-god, of course. We come to understand that he’s a great storyteller, too. Many years prior, he held steadfast when others wanted to buy Mickey Mouse from him. Both have touched many lives with their tales. Disney movies brought families together. Travers’ “Mary Poppins” helped Walt bond with his daughters.
We get it: He wants to reinvent the story so millions can enjoy it. She needs to stop trying to control the ghosts that haunt her. “Banks” isn’t about the artist vs. the corporation. It’s about how the wonderful world of Disney is so magic, it can not only wedge the word “tuppence” into a jaunty tune, but also heal all ills. At Walt’s insistence, Travers rides the carousel horse while at the theme park. She kind of smiles, and it does not bring about the apocalypse. She goes back to the hotel, wracked with loneliness. She opens the closet, and there’s gleeful, dead-eyed, stuffed Mickey. He’s all she’s got. I guess you’d weep, too.
John Serba is film critic and entertainment reporter for MLive and The Grand Rapids Press. Email him at jserba@mlive.com[2] or follow him on Twitter[3] or Facebook[4] .
References
- ^ “Saving Mr. Banks,” (www.imdb.com)
- ^ jserba@mlive.com (www.mlive.com)
- ^ Twitter (twitter.com)
- ^ Facebook (www.facebook.com)
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