When I'm Sixty-Four -- Pokémon Snap and Pokémon Stadium -- The Pokémon Retrospective (2/7)

As a Pokéfan who loved his Nintendo 64, I was absolutely jacked at the thought of what Nintendo could do to my new favorite series on their 64-bit wonder console. Nintendo knew how to manage their franchises, and they eventually released four Pokémon titles on the N64 (two of which we’ll talk about today). Though both weren’t quite what I imagined, they were still fun in their own right, and hold a worth place in my library to this day.

When rumors of Pokémon migrating to home consoles first reached my ears in 1999, I imagined a full-on adventure, exploring the polygonal countryside and visiting expansive, 3D cities. In short, I wanted something like The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time, but with Charizard in lieu of the Master Sword.

Several months later, I remember seeing screenshots of a fully 3D Meowth and Pidgey in my issues of Nintendo Power. My mind raced with the possibilities, and, after pursuing every scrap of knowledge I could about the game, I found out that Pokémon’s debut on my favorite console would be…

A photography game? What?

Pokémon Snap

Yes, dear readers, the first Pokémon title to reach the comforts of the couch was a game where you shoot pictures of Pokémon instead of battling them. Sounds like the perfect recipe for lame sauce, right? You would be bubble-burstingly wrong, and I had a great time with Snap back in the day.

The game stars a young boy named Todd (you may have seen him on the TV show), who is exceptionally good at photographing Pokémon in their natural habitat. Todd is invited by Professor Oak to a small island to take pictures of the Pokémon that live there. On the island, he will travel through six different environments, discovering new Pokémon and doing his darndest to get them to say “cheese.”

Creativity and quick thinking can result in some fun and high-scoring pictures.

Pokémon Snap is basically an on-rails shooter. You travel along a predetermined path, taking pictures of whatever Pokémon you can before reaching a predetermined endpoint. You also have different items to lure Pokémon in from of your lens; food attracts the different ‘mons to where it’s dropped, while Pester Balls drive Pokémon away from where they’re thrown.

The real draw of Snap is its in-depth scoring system. After you get through with a level, you choose which pictures you want Professor Oak to evaluate. Oak scores the picture based on a whole host of criteria: how big the Pokémon is, what sort of pose it’s striking, if the picture is centered, and how many of the certain ‘mon is in the picture. Even though there are only six courses to go through, a heap of replay value comes from going through the stages and attempting to get better and better scoring pictures.

Snap's scoring system is surprisingly robust, and I put away many hours perfecting my high scores.

Of course, it is called Pokémon Snap, and the actual creatures themselves look great. The art style carried over to 3D really well, with the cool monsters looking totally sweet, and the cute monsters looking absolutely adorable. The environments are basic, but project a strong sense of place that makes up for their lack of graphical fidelity.

The only real complaint I have with Snap (apart from only having six environments) is that the game only has 61 different Pokémon. 61. That’s 89 less than there should be. I imagine that the developers ran out of memory to include more environments and all 150 different ‘mons, but it’s still slightly disappointing all the same.

Side note: you could pick your favorite pictures and take your cartridge to Blockbuster Video, where you could print out stickers of the pictures you took at a special station. The feature was a bit frivolous, but fun all the same; we were more of a Hastings family growing up, but I did manage to convince my parents to visit Blockbuster once in order to get my stickers. I frankly don’t remember what I did with them, but the novelty was fun.

The only thing more hilarious than the notion of a kid actually using this, is the kid who actually used it.

Snap was a fun diversion, but the real meat was coming, and faster than I suspected. As usual, Nintendo Power gave me forewarning about the game, and it sounded awesome: this new game allowed for battles between all 150 Pokémon in full 3D.

Of course, it would basically be only battles, but was beside the point.

Pokémon Stadium

Released in February 2000 to much fanfare, Pokémon Stadium let players battle in 3D for the first time. Pokémon Stadium is as true to its name as it could possibly be—instead of an epic, sprawling quest of travelling and filling Pokédex pages, you battle trainers in a stadium. It sounds barebones, and it is in some ways, but Stadium offers a surprising amount of options for a game that with an almost tunnel vision-focus on combat.

Players have two major options to choose from when the first enter Pokémon Stadium. The first is the Stadium itself, where players can compete in four different cups, each with its own rules and restrictions. The cups include the Pika Cup (for Pokémon levels 15 – 20), the Petit Cup (levels 25 – 30, with an additional weight limitation), the Poké Cup (levels 50 – 55), and the Prime Cup (up to level 100; all opponents’ Pokémon are level 100). Each cup consists of eight three-on-three battles, with players choosing which out of their six to send into the fray. In addition, the Poké and Prime cups have four different divisions, each named after a different kind of Pokéball (Pokéball, Great Ball, Ultra Ball, and Master Ball), giving the Stadium mode further legs.

For the first time, players could experience the thrill of victory and agony of defeat in three dimensions of goodness.

The other option is the Gym Leader Castle, where players can challenge Gym Leaders and collect badges, similar to the Game Boy games. In each Gym, players must first defeat three trainers before ultimately challenging the Gym Leader him or herself. This mode has a bit more of a narrative thrust than the Stadium mode, and the different Gyms all look varied and dramatic. Gym Leader Castle is also tough as nails, and took me a rather long time to work through.

This actually goes for the rest of the modes in Stadium as well. Unlike Blue, the trainers in Stadium don’t have any bullcrap, sissy moves like Harden or Tackle. No, they are out for Pokéblood, and will fight you to the very last. Fortunately, the results never feel cheap, and the computer never seems to swing in the AI’s favor; this helps the game feel less like a grind, and asks players to think strategically about their moves.

Stadium is far from a cakewalk, but the feeling of progression is incredible.

The main draw to Stadium is the ability to import Pokémon from a player’s copy of Red and Blue. This is done with the use of the Transfer Pak, an accessory that plugs into the bottom of the N64 controller. Players can insert their copy of Red or Blue into the Transfer Pak and see their team brought to life in full 3D, adding a point of pride to the competition. Players can also play the Game Boy game on their TV sets in an area called the Game Boy Tower (it’s about as straight-forward as it sounds).

With this little accessory, I could see hundreds of hours of my life represented onscreen. It was effing sweet.

There are a few extra modes as well. Players can rent Pokémon and engage in Free Battle, and players with two Transfer Paks and their own copies of Pokémon Red or Blue can enter an Event Battle, which allows for things like custom rule sets. The Gallery option allows Pokémon to be photographed, which can then be printed at the Blockbuster stations mentioned above. Lastly, the Kids Club has a series of nine Mario Party-style mini-games, ranging from watching Rattata race over hurdles on a running track, to a Lickitung version of Hungry Hungry Hippos.

While not quite what I was expecting, I ate up Stadium, and have many fond memories playing it (even writing about it makes me want to go fire it up right now). However, it’s not a game for those unfamiliar with the franchise. The adventure elements that helped make the game popular are absent, and the difficulty curve is steep and craggy. Still, for the already-converted, it is a hell of a good time, and, as Nintendo Power wrote in their review, “it’s super effective.”

The Ones I Missed

There were two other Pokémon games released for the Nintendo 64 that I didn’t buy; by the time they came out, I was thigh-deep in Nintendo Gamecube stuff, and didn’t have time to fiddle faddle with outdated technology. The first was Pokémon Stadium 2, which was similar to the first Pokémon Stadium, but allowed for players to use their copies of Pokémon Gold and Silver (which we’ll cover next time). Stadium 2 also included more cup types, Gym Leaders, mini-games, and a Pokémon Academy where players could bone up on battle strategies. Basic, but adequate for a sequel to Stadium.

The other was an odd, very late-in-the-game title called Hey You, Pikachu. Hey You was comparable to the Dreamcast game Seaman: players used a microphone peripheral to talk to Pikachu in order to cultivate a friendship with it. Unlike Seaman, which featured a sarcastic Leonard Nemoy as the titular pet, Hey You, Pikachu featured, well, everyone’s favorite yellow electric mouse in all of his red-cheeked, er, glory. I can’t even begin to tell you how this game was played, and it sold rather poorly, if I remember correctly.

Concluding Thoughts

It’s easy to kvetch and whine about the lack of a full-length Pokémon RPG for the N64, but a home console version of the game would be missing the point. Pokémon was, at heart, a social game, and the draw of trading and battling friends would have been incredibly stunted if kept confined to the living room. In fact, the only way to effectively duplicate the Pokémon experience on a home console would be to make it a World of Warcraft-style MMORPG, which the Nintendo 64 would not have been capable of. Come to think of it, though, that’s not such a bad idea…

Next up: Gold and Silver

In The Beginning -- Pokémon Red and Blue -- The Pokemon Retrospective (1/7)

I don’t remember the exact moment I was compelled to rush out to the store and buy my copy of Pokémon Blue, but I imagine the scenario went something like this. As a borderline-religious reader of Nintendo Power magazine, I was constantly (and I mean constantly) bombarded with previews and sneak peeks and inside looks at this new franchise coming stateside. A franchise that reached frothing levels of popularity in Japan, and now threatened to ensnare North American gamers everywhere.

This sounded like a right treat for me; it had all of the adventuresome thrills of a Super Nintendo epic, but could fit in my ‘ittle bitty Game Boy. Like so many other times in life, though, I was waiting for just the right reason to rap me on the head, tell me to quit procrastinating, and get my mom to take me to Target and buy it. The reason finally came in the form of Nintendo Power issue 111—bundled into the back was a mini-magazine called “Pokémon Power,” a six-part walkthrough spread out over six issues. “Pokémon Power” had in-game area maps, item and trainer placements, and details on all eight Gym Leaders as only Nintendo Power could bring it to me (can I have my money now, guys?).

This little bugger was invaluable in getting my addiction started.

The combination of the media blitz, supplemental magazine goodies, and a powerful ten-year-old’s imagination finally won out, and I settled on Pokémon Blue (and would continue to buy the “alternate version” for every iteration after that). Dear readers, if I can’t remember the exact circumstance that lead me to buy Pokémon, I will remember, until my dying day, the thrill of standing in my kitchen, commanding my Charmander to victory over Brock’s Onyx, earning me my first Gym Badge. The taste of victory was sweet, the smell of adventure musky, and before I knew it, I was a Pokémaniac.

To get an idea of why Andrew from 1998 fell head-over-heels for this little 8-bit wonder, please allow me to repeat myself a bit. First of all, Pokémon Blue is absolutely ENORMOUS. Far from the small-sized Game Boy adventures I was used to, and large even compared to many SNES games at the time, Pokémon Blue was a game that could occupy much—MUCH—of my time. At an age when new games were scarce, and I had to milk every fresh cartridge I had to the very last, Pokémon Blue’s longevity was heaven-sent.

Blue was also bursting with imaginative possibilities. The Game Boy was not a graphical powerhouse by any means, but this added to Blue’s appeal by letting me fill in the details with my mind. The game’s graphics showed only part of the scenery’s look, but I loved picturing how the game “really” looked, and imagining going through it with my trusty team. Far from stunting my imagination, Pokémon Blue acted as a catalyst for many adventures I would have in the years to come.

Lastly, I think Blue was my first epic quest. In the days before Chrono Trigger and Final Fantasy VII opened my eyes to sprawling worlds and myriad journeys, Pokémon Blue gave me a massive countryside and told me, “Go get ‘em, tiger.” I felt important, like I could conquer everything. I was destined for greatness. I was gonna catch ‘em all.

Adventure is out there!

As a sidenote, Red and Blue was a veritable Wild West for what was possible with was possible to accomplish in a video game. Rumors abounded with what you could find and do: “Hey, if you go back to the S.S. Anne at the exact right time, you can ride it to the Orange Islands!” “Dude, go back to the spot where you found Mewtwo, then use the Pokéflute and Moonstone, and you can catch Mew!” “Aw man, when you catch all 150 Pokémon, go talk to Professor Oak, and he’ll take you to a new town where you can buy Rare Candies!” In the days before internet walkthroughs, these sorts of discussions happened all the time, and Pokémon was an especially popular target for them.

There was a good reason for all of the rumors and homespun remedies, though. The early Pokémon games were glitchy as hell. Exploits for duplicating items, finding certain Pokémon in places you weren’t supposed to, and even a new game-breaking glitch-émon were both possible and public knowledge, leading us to wonder what else was out there.

What the deuce is that?!

Blue is my favorite Pokémon game to date, but oh lordy, they did not make it easy on us back then. Pokémon Blue was the Isla de Muerta of video games, nigh unplayable except to those who already knew how to play it. The game certainly didn’t explain how the mechanics work, and the few tutorials that were there acted more like theoretical guidelines. It was pretty damn sink-or-swim, and I often wonder if I would have liked it was much if it wasn’t for my beloved Nintendo Power.

Blue would see its many kinks ironed out in later iterations, but I’m going to name off a few of my favorites. First and foremost, future installments would allow Pokémon not in battle to collect Experience Points through an item called Experience Share; this would allow weak Pokémon to level quickly while stronger ‘mons did the battling for them. In Blue, this feature was ABSENT. I won’t go into the finer details of why this was a pain in the ass, but it basically made leveling weak Pokémon incredibly time-consuming.

There are several other niggling complaints I have with the game, my favorite being the system that stores Pokémon after you’ve caught them. Pokémon are stored in boxes, and each box can hold 20 Pokémon. Well and good, but the game doesn’t do a good job of telling the player how many are in each box at a time. This leads to the inevitable encounter with an über rare Pokémon, only to find that game won’t allow it to be caught because the box is full, and there’s a half-hour hike to the nearest Pokémon Center if you want to do anything about it.

Great. Just great.

These complaints are just peanuts, though, considering how well the game comes together. The franchise was set in motion, and Red and Blue sparked a worldwide phenomenon. Though many, arguably superior versions would follow them, Red and Blue will always be the ones that started everything, and there will always be a special place in my heart for Blue.

Countdown to Black and White -- The Pokemon Retrospective

After four years, two rereleases, and an announcement of a new handheld, it’s finally happened. A new Pokémon game has ascended from on high to claim the hearts and minds of America’s youth, and the wallets and credit cards of their parents. Forgoing the precious metal naming scheme of the previous two installments, Pokémon Black and White have been released, promising new ‘mons to collect (the total count is now 649), new cities and countryside to explore, and new Gym Badges to earn. Dear readers, I’m effing excited.

I’ve long been a fan of the Pokémon series, with my fandom running 12 years strong now. It’s combination of strong play mechanics and nostalgic charm has made the franchise my title of choice when gaming on the go.

I’ve said for a while (and will continue to say until I croak-émon) that Pokémon is the perfect portable game. Quite a big statement to make, but hear me out. Pokémon’s pace is slow and methodical, making it easy to continue playing after being interrupted (say, when you to need to hastily stow the Game Boy in order to avoid being caught with it). In the portable space, the ability to quickly pick up and put down your game is a lifesaver. Moreover, Pokémon lets players save the game anywhere, meaning that I can fire up the game, play it for ten minutes, and turn it off without worry that I’m wasting my time or spinning my wheels.

Pokémon also strikes the perfect balance of easy to learn and hard to master. Everyone knows how rock-paper-scissors works, and those same mechanics carry over to the Pokémon series; one type is generally weak against some other type, and part of the strategy is deciding which Pokémon types to build your team with. Hardcore trainers can cut their teeth on building the best team ever, while neophytes and children can learn the simple mechanics.

Lastly is the trading aspect, and this is where Pokémon goes from being a regular RPG to being something truly special. Pokémon’s biggest appeal is its community features. Back when I was in 6^th grade, there was a whole group of kids who would meet at recess with their Game Boys and respective copies of Pokémon. Kids who had one version would trade for the creatures that were in the other (and vice versa), and everyone wanted to battle. Without the ability to interact with others, Pokémon may well have fallen by the wayside.

The icing on the cake is that Pokémon, from a marketing standpoint, is absolutely brilliant. With two separate versions available to purchase, kids will get their friends to buy the one they don’t have. Then they play with their friends, and the franchise spreads. Hell, its slogan is a bloody CALL TO ACTION. If the game itself wasn’t so fun, I’d say this franchise was borderline evil.

My history with Pokémon is long and involved, and I aim to further it with Pokémon Black and White. I’ll need a bit of time, though, to dive in and formulate my opinions. Therefore, while you folks wait with bated breath for me to tell you whether or not Black and White is the best thing since sliced Pokébread, I’ll be doing a daily recourse of my experiences with this franchise, counting down (or up?) to next Wednesday, when I’ll give my weekly report card. It will be far from all-encompassing (I’ve missed a few games), but you’ll be able to walk the path of an original Pokémaniac (you should be so lucky). For those not interested, well, there’s still Our Feature Presentation and Blu-Balled to fall back on.

Our Feature Presentation (16/50) -- Tarzan (1999)

Back in the summer of 1999, Disney gave the public Tarzan, a monster event of a motion picture if there ever was one. Based on/inspired by the Edgar Rice Burroughs books of the same name, it had brand recognition, a huge budget, and above all (at least, to this Movie Surfer-watching fifth grader), Deep Canvas. Deep Canvas was a new technique that allowed animators to map out three-dimensional backgrounds with a traditionally animated look, giving the camera unprecedented freedom to zoom about this way and that—perfect for a character whose claim to fame is swinging on vines through the jungle.

I remember being in awe of the Tarzan teaser when I went to see Mulan in 1998 (this was how Disney rolled back then: “You think this is going to be awesome, come see what we’ve got next year!”), and loving the movie when I actually saw it a year later. Memory, though, is a fickle mother, and over time my recollection of Tarzan dulled to a faint, “Oh yeah, that one. It was pretty good, I guess.” If this has been you recently, make a point to see this movie again, because Tarzan is AWESOME.

If you're like me and forgot how good Tarzan is, Netflix it, and do it soon.

Tarzan, like the books this movie is based on, is a story of a man raised by apes. Tarzan is found as a baby by a gorilla named Kala (Glenn Close) and raised as her own, though Kala's mate, Kerchak (Lance Henriksen! *melt*), is none too pleased by this. Tarzan (Alex D. Linz) spends much of his early life questioning the obvious differences from him and the group, before finally growing up and becoming comfortable with himself (he also acquires Tony Goldwyn’s voice).

Just as Tarzan is becoming an accepted member of the tribe, a group of strangers arrive in the jungle—strangers that look like Tarzan! The three (very British) explorers are Professor Porter (Nigel Hawthorne), his daughter Jane (Minnie Driver), and their explorer guide Clayton (Brian Blessed). Kerchak wants nothing to do with them, but Tarzan is curious about them, and, after some careful observation, saves Jane from a group of raging baboons.

Porter and Jane decide to educate Tarzan in the ways of Man in hopes that he will show them gorillas, which they came to the jungle to study. Tarzan is hesitant at first, but becomes fascinated by the many ways he is like them, and especially interested in Jane. His home with the gorillas and his heart with Jane, Tarzan must eventually choose between the jungle that reared him and the humans that found him.

Though not a straight adaptation of Burroughs' novels, Tarzan ultimately hits the emotional heart of the story.

Tarzan is the last film of the Disney Renaissance, before Disney diluted its brand by coming out with three (3!) films in 2000, and started releasing a series of less-than-universal-appealing films (though let it be said that I will defend Atlantis: The Lost Empire to the death). To me, Tarzan always seems lost in the fame of the other films around it; it’s not as unabashedly successful as The Lion King, but not as strange and cult-y as The Emperor’s New Groove. This is unfortunate, because Tarzan has quite a few things going for it, and could be one of my new favorite Renaissance titles.

To start with, Tarzan is staggeringly, breathtakingly GORGEOUS. The much-touted Deep Canvas system offers a sense of freedom heretofore unseen in ANY animated feature, with Tarzan swinging through the jungle with complete 360 degree movement. Whether it’s Tarzan and Jane fleeing from a pack of ravenous baboons, or Tarzan pursuing Sabor the Leopard, the simple act of watching Tarzan just feels exhilarating.

Art direction is also very strong. The Disney staff was clearly at the top of their game here, and everything from the imposing stature of the gorillas to the comparably-frail builds of the humans looks absolutely top-notch. The jungles are also rather impressive, with rich, deep colors and wide vistas, made all the more satisfying to watch as we hurtle through them at breakneck speeds.

The freedom of movement in Tarzan rivals even many modern CG films.

Sonically, Tarzan is rather pleasing. The film is scored by Mark Mancina, who gives the film the bravado it deserves, with well-placed horns and tribal drums throughout. Much has been made of Phil Collins’ “You’ll Be in My Heart,” which won both an Academy Award and a Golden Globe (though who gives a toss about the Globes, am I right fellas?). For my money, though, I love “Son of Man” the most, with its soaring melody and energetic tempo (though it could be that I’m simply remembering the way the commercials were edited, and loving the song for being in the commercials). The others are pretty good too, with only one semi-crummy number (seriously, the less said about “Trashin’ the Camp,” the better).

Tarzan boasts an exceptionally strong voice cast as well. Tony Goldwyn impossibly portrays Tarzan with both the roughness of someone who was raised in the wild and the gentleness of someone who merely wants to be accepted. Glenn Close is a perfect choice for a character who needs to be a strong, motherly figure, and Lance Henriksen (*melt*) lends his sub-basement baritone to Kerchak with great effect. The real surprise, however, is Jane. I haven’t seen Minnie Driver in any movies, but she is absolutely fantastic (as the Brits might say), channeling the English gift for wry understatements, while giving her character all of the right emotional notes in the more serious places. The result is one of the most charming characters I’ve seen so far in this retrospective, and potentially one of my favorite female Disney leads to date.

Jane works as both a comic supporting character and an emotional foundation for the movie. If only other characters could imitate her.

If I must make a complaint, though, it’s that Disney had clearly gotten too comfortable with animating talking animals, because the results sometimes look…typical. The gorillas, for all of their muscles and realistic proportions, turn into sitcom characters when not in the presence of humans, rolling their eyes and looking like they’re auditioning for a part in “Full House.” Apart from Kala and Kerchak (who convey the exact amount of emotion to make them seem believable), most of the gorillas’ facial expressions are straight out of a Silly Symphony.

This minor complaint leads me into my major one about the writing. Tarzan, at its core, is a well-written movie; Tarzan’s divisiveness between the gorillas and humans well-realized and articulated, and the major characters have strong and interesting portrayals. The whole effort is undermined, however, by a whole host of obnoxious “kid’s stuff” moments, headlined by Tarzan’s gorilla buddy Terk (Rosie O’Donnell, doing her best impression of 90’s post-Chandler snark) and elephant buddy Tantor (Wayne Knight). Whether it’s Terk and her buddies acting like typical jerk 90’s teenagers (oh boy, a “stop hitting yourself” joke. This won’t date the film at all) or Tantor telling someone he’s “had it with [their] emotional constipation,” the film flip-flops between compelling character drama and the non-action parts of a “Power Rangers” episode.

The film's nadir is the section where Tarzan and Terk are kids. Thankfully, it's not that long.

Ultimately, though, Tarzan is a good film, and well-deserving of a second look (especially if you haven’t seen it in a while). Despite being fairly uneven in places, Tarzan’s highs are much more potent than its lows, and they create a film well-worth being called part of the Renaissance.

Top 3 Songs:

1. “Son of Man”
2. “Two Worlds”
3. “Strangers Like Me”

Favorite scene:

• Jane says goodbye / ending curtain call

Favorite character:

• Jane

The Jar Jar:

• Terk

How I Watched It

Back in 2005, Disney trumpeted that it was releasing a new two-disc edition of Tarzan, with its veritable bucket overflowing with bonus features and extra material. This turned out to be a total fib, as the version that shipped was a fairly barebones one-disc edition, with little more than the actual movie itself. I picked up the Limited Edition two-disc set from 1999 instead, and am glad for it.

Similar to the newer, single-disc release, there is a feature-length commentary from producer Bonnie Arnold and directors Chris Buck and Kevin Lima, which is supposedly fun and informative. This particular edition of Tarzan, however, comes with a second disc chock full of supplementary goodness.

Extras on the second disc include Tarzan’s history and development (a look at the “Tarzan” novels, research trips, etc.), a look at the music for the film (as well as several music videos), several in-depth character animation segments, and an explanation and demonstration of the Deep Canvas process. Also on the disc are many HUNDERDS of stills, including concept art, backgrounds, and promotional material. This is hands-down the version I will recommend if you’re into bonus features, though you’ll have to go to the internet to find this edition. That said, Tarzan isn’t exactly the most sought-after movie in the Disney canon, and there’s a good chance you can get it for less than $12 on Amazon.

Next up: The Adventures of Icabod and Mr. Toad

Our Feature Presentation (15/50) -- Oliver & Company (1988)

One of the Walt Disney Company’s many bread and butters has been retooling old tales for new audiences, starting with Snow White and the Seven Dwarves in 1938 and continuing as recently as Tangled. This formula has various stages of success; when the formula hits, you get something like Aladdin. When it misses, well, you get something like Oliver & Company.

This may be a bit harsh, but not by much. Released in 1988 as the first movie under Disney’s new one-a-year plan, Oliver & Company was the latest in a lengthy series of attempts to reestablish relevance for Chateau Disney ever since Walt died. The O&C was a critical mixed bag, but it made a hefty chunk of money ($54 million was nothing to sneeze at in the 80’s), so clearly someone went to see it.

Oliver also holds a small place in my life as well: it’s the only Disney film I’ve seen as part of its theatrical re-release program, which was eventually dropped in favor of the far more lucrative home video market. Truth be told, I don’t remember much about this picture, other than seeing how many pieces of BubbleYum my cousins could fit into their mouths while in the theater. And when your audience is more fixated on the amount of junk food they can cram into their craw than the on actual movie they’re seeing, it doesn’t speak well for the finished product.

By the time this I saw this in ’96, it had a slew of much better Disney pictures to compete with.

Oliver & Company is a modern day retelling of Charles Dickens’ Oliver Twist. In this version, Oliver (Joey Lawrence) is a kitten who is abandoned by a pet shop, only to be found by Dodger (Billy Joel), and inducted into his band of miscreants. The gang is lead by Fagin (Dom DeLuise), a sad sack who is in dire need of paying off his loan shark, Sykes (Robert Loggia). Sykes gives Fagin three days to repay his debt, leaving Oliver no choice but to help prevent the poor guy from losing his kneecaps.

During a routine radio-stealing, Oliver gets picked up Jenny Foxworth, a young, wealthy girl in need of a friend. Jenny takes Oliver home, where he’s pampered and loved for the first time in his life, but he’s stolen back by Fagin and crew in an attempt to ransom Oliver and settle Sykes’ debt. When the time comes, though, Fagin can’t con the child, and gives Oliver back to her. Sykes, however, kidnaps the girl in an attempt to ransom her off, and it’s up to the homeless dude and his pack of strays to rescue her.

Justice rides a scooter.

I’ve never read Oliver Twist (we did Great Expectations instead), but I did see David Lean’s 1948 adaptation, and from what I remember of that film, Oliver & Company is more or less… not what happens. Even for a Disneyfication of the story, the plot in Oliver is both too simple and too stretched out. There’s a fair bit of back-and-forth, but not much that really “happens,” making much of the movie seem like it’s spinning its wheels.

Part of the problem comes from Oliver himself. The best, most interesting Disney characters are the ones who are actively involved in their stories, taking charge of their own destinies. Oliver, by contrast, is probably the most passive Disney protagonist ever. The little guy is handed off from one party to the next, and he has barely any impact on his own story, apart from simply being alive. If you were to swap Oliver out for, say, a stuffed teddy bear full of jewels, the movie could continue on with very few changes to the plot.

A cat in the hand is worth none in the plot.

The other characters aren’t much better. Billy Joel’s Dodger is surprisingly flat, and not half as charming as the movie makes him out to be. Sykes talks quite a bit, but doesn’t amount to much of a villain. Jenny was originally supposed to be Penny from The Rescuers, and we all know what I think about her. Fagin’s gang is a group of mismatched pups (including, notably, Cheech Marin as a Chihuahua named Tito) who don’t make much impact, and Fagin himself is probably the worst parody of a Dom DeLuise character I’ve ever seen (and I saw A Troll in Central Park). Last is Georgette (Bette Midler), a pampered, prima donna show poodle with the dubious honor of having the film’s worst song.

Oh yes, there are songs. After several films with a half-musical motif, Oliver & Company comes out swinging in full-on musical mode, similar to the next eight or so films to be released after it. How unfortunate, then, that Oliver lacks any memorable numbers. Seriously, as hard as I try, I can’t remember the melody to any of the songs in this film. Well, all but one, anyhow—I’m a big Billy Joel fan, and “Why Should I Worry” is easily my favorite Disney tune from around this time period.

This is the high point of the movie—a dog riding a Volkswagen

The film’s not all bad, though. Oliver & Company sports a reasonably-clean look that, while very simple compared to even The Great Mouse Detective, gets the job done. The character designs are also fairly good-looking, with Jenny and Oliver both looking exceptionally cute.

But these are small tosses in the bucket of what is a rather underwhelming experience. It’s not the worst children’s film you’ve ever seen, but there’s far more chaff than wheat here. The best thing that can be said about Oliver & Company is that it doesn’t have that patronizing feeling of a “kid’s film,” and instead plays out like a regular movie. Not a very good movie, granted, but audience respect is hard to come by even nowadays, so it’s worth mentioning.

Top 3 Songs:

1. “Why Should I Worry”
2. “Streets of Gold”
3. “Good Company”

Favorite scene:

• The ending subway chase

Favorite character:

• Sykes’ car (Seriously. It’s a hulking, Jaws-like entity that represents Sykes’ presence as a villain even better than Sykes himself)

The Jar Jar:

• Fagin (I was thinking it was going to be Tito for a while, but I was wrrroooonnngg)

How I Watched It

I snagged the 20^th Anniversary edition of Oliver & Company from Amazon for fairly cheap, though you should be able to find it at your friendly neighborhood DVD retailer. The movie looks good enough, though oddly sketchy and zoomed-in during certain scenes (I couldn’t tell if this was the movie or the disc, though). Also, certain nighttime scenes are almost too dark, making it difficult to see the action.

Oliver & Company has a surprisingly inclusive set of bonus features. It has a tiny Making Of featurette (at six minutes, it’s more promotional than anything else), as well as art galleries and movie trailers for both the original and re-release. Also included are not one, but two Pluto shorts: Oscar-winning “Lend a Paw,” where Pluto finds an orphaned kitten, and “Puss Café,” which has Pluto fending off two alley cats from eating Mickey’s fish and drinking his milk. As with most not-quite-beloved Disney films, it lacks production insight, but has enough frivolous material to make it worthwhile.

Blu-Balled: I've Got a Secret -- National Treasure: Book of Secrets

If there’s one type of fiction I have total, unabashed affection for, it’s the Treasure Hunting story (see my Uncharted entry for further details). Whether it’s their exotic locales, emphasis on problem solving, or healthy blend of adventure and humor, Treasure Hunting stories are some of my favorite slices of cinematic escapism. Not every Treasure Hunting movie is created equal, however, and not every film can be Romancing the Stone. It is with mixed feelings, then, that I bring up National Treasure: Book of Secrets. Not because I don’t like it, but because it’s so bad, and I still like it.

National Treasure: Book of Secrets picks up shortly after the first movie ends, with Benjamin Franklin Gates (Nicholas Cage) and his father, Patrick Henry Gates (Jon Voight), giving a presentation on their ancestor, Thomas Jefferson Gates (this movie is chock full of naming I See What You Did There’s). An attendant revealing himself to be Mitch Wilkinson (Ed Harris) stands up and accuses Thomas Gates of being the mastermind behind the Lincoln assassination. Worse, he has proof: a missing page of the John Wilkes Booth’s diary, with Thomas Gates’ name among the conspirators.

Ben and Patrick know the truth, though: that Thomas Gates was a hero, who died trying to prevent the Confederacy from finding a massive treasure that would have helped turn the tide of the Civil War. In order to restore the Gates family’s good name, Ben and Patrick need to find the treasure and prove Thomas’ innocence.

For a paper-thin excuse to go out and find more treasure, it's not bad.

This, of course, requires getting the gang from the first movie back together: Riley (Justin Bartha), Ben’s techno-savvy protégé, who all but wears a T-shirt with the words “COMIC RELIEF” written on it; Agent Sadusky (Harvey Keitel), an FBI member who assists Ben in lieu of pursuing him this time; and Abigail Chase (Diane Kruger), Ben’s old beau, who left him for his Nicholas Cage-level of social ineptitude. Joining the cast is Ben’s mother Emily (Helen Mirren), an expert in ancient languages (par for the course in stories like this).

A large part of the franchise’s appeal is how it integrates Dan Brown-esque conspiracy plots with American history. The first film was all about Revolutionary history, with Gates and co. traipsing about the East Coast to places like the Liberty Bell. Book of Secrets is trenched firmly in a Civil War setting, with the Lincoln assassination used as the plot’s main narrative thrust. While we don’t find out that Gettysburg is secretly the site of the Fountain of Youth (I can imagine the dialogue for that one: “The Conquistadors had it all wrong! It wasn’t Florida, it was Pennsylvania!”), Book of Secrets still exhibits Treasure's brand of over-the-topness, and the film is better for it.

"No, we're not looking for a 'crystal skull'."

I have fun with the National Treasure movies, but it would be remiss to think of them as anything revolutionary. Though fun and worthwhile, there are definitely aspects of Book of Secrets that could stand improvement.

Take, for example, the clues leading to the treasure. Treasure Hunting story formula dictates that the clues involve lateral thinking, but it’s also an unofficial rule that they be cryptic and mystical-sounding as well. Book of Secrets really likes the cryptic and mystical-sounding aspect, because many of the clues sound like the writers were playing Madlibs when they came up with them (“Okay, I need a noun!” “How about ‘twin’?” “Hey, that’s a good one! Now I need aaaan adjective.” “Um, okay, how aboouuuut, uh, ‘resolute’?” “Yes! Perfect! Alright, let’s go to lunch.”). One of the clues states, “The entrance shall only be revealed under a cloudless rain. Surrender your hand to the heart of the warrior.” Well and good, but the clue in question came from a letter written by Queen Victoria. Huh??? This isn’t some ancient language that was translated into an archaic form of English, it’s the bloody Queen. Surely she could have said something like, “Third rock from the left, chaps.”

I dunno what it says, but I bet it reads like a fortune cookie.

Speaking of the writing, the plot could have been massaged a bit before the movie went into production. For example, Book of Secrets ultimately deals with the search for Cibola, a lost city of gold (I was unaware that there was more than one). Fine, cool, chasing after a well-worn, if reliable, MacGuffin; hell, I can think of at least three different projects off the top of my head where people go looking for El Dorado in some form or another. My pause comes from the revelation that (SPOILER ALERT) Cibola is located in the Black Hills of South Dakota, specifically inside of Mount Rushmore. “They carved Mount Rushmore to erase the map's landmarks!” cries one character. “Mount Rushmore was a cover-up,” breathes another, heavily. What??? Certainly there are more practical ways to make a mountain look like something else.

There are also the usual slew of logistical problems that pop up in escapist entertainment like this. Things like the apparent lack of police during a heated car chase between Wilkinson and Gates in Paris. Or an apparent lack of security cameras in either the Oval Office or Buckingham Palace. Or the apparent ease in which Ben and co. can tie up an entire city’s hotel chains. The list goes on.

I'm imagining a sequel where we discover that the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor in retaliation for destroying the map to Shangri-La.

What makes these complaints more or less irrelevant, though, is the fun and craftsmanship brought to the rest of the table. Book of Secrets is better-cast than it has any right to be, with excellent performances from Cage, Voight, Kruger, Mirren, Keitel, and Harris, all of whom appear to be having a ball while making this film. The movie strikes a good balance between action and humor without straying too far into either territory, and Bartha’s well-timed performance as Riley has me in stitches every time I watch it. Sets, stunts, the whole nine is well-executed to the very last. Even if the movie doesn’t have a brain in its empty, conspiracy-laden head, it still knows how to have a good time.

This is ultimately what National Treasure: Book of Secrets is: a good time. A live-action, two-hour episode of “DuckTales,” sans Uncle Scrooge, plus US history and Dr. Stanley Goodspeed. A movie for playing in the background while you and your friends play Apples to Apples, occasionally paying attention to it and making an off-hand comment about it. Incidentally, this is why I bought it, and as such, I am satisfied with my purchase. Though not the best of its kind, National Treasure: Book of Secrets is still a Treasure Hunting story, and I still love it, Rushmore-shaped warts and all.

Blu-ray Breakdown:

Where purchased: Debo’s Pawn on Mendenhall in Bozeman

How much: $8

Favorite character: Riley

Favorite scene: Ben and Abigail break into the Queen’s study, while Riley acts as in-the-ear hacker guy

Rating: ***/****