Disney's new venture revives debate about its portrayal of environment

When Ollie Johnston, one of Disney's pioneering animators, died at 95 on April 14, his family requested that mourners donate to an environmental group, the Natural Resources Defense Council.

Anyone who has seen "Bambi," one of the many films Johnston worked on, can understand why. The loving depiction of the woods and animals, particularly Bambi with those big, soulful eyes and long lashes, was hailed by wildlife conservationists and denounced by hunters when it was released in 1942. An insult, declared Outdoor Life magazine, while the National Audubon Society compared its consciousness-raising power to "Uncle Tom's Cabin."

Just how much of a friend Disney has been to woodland folk (and their kin in the sea and jungle) has long been batted about by scholars and writers. The latest addition to the debate comes just in time for Disney's announcement this week that it is creating a new production unit for nature documentaries (not to mention Tuesday's Earth Day celebrations).

In "The Idea of Nature in Disney Animation," David Whitley, a lecturer at Cambridge University, argues that the finely wrought imagery and emotional power of Disney movies such as "Bambi" helped inspire generations of environmentalists — and movies such as "Finding Nemo" will inspire future generations.

"These films have taught us variously about having a fundamental respect for nature," he writes. "Some of them, such as 'Bambi,' inspired conservation awareness and laid the emotional groundwork for environmental activism."

Jon Coifman, the Defense Council's director of media relations, wrote in an e-mail message: " 'Snow White,' 'Robin Hood,' 'Bambi.' The forest is where they captured our imagination."

And in a comment that the folks over at the newly formed Disneynature might want to take note of, he added, "All those wildlife documentaries, on the other hand, were highly staged and never managed to rise above a 1950s sensibility about man's dominion over nature."

Of course, it doesn't take a Ph.D. to see the nature-loving themes in Disney movies: Hunters kill Bambi's mother and burn down a forest; Pocahontas sings, "The rainstorm and the river are my brothers/The heron and the otter are my friends/And we are all connected to each other." But many scholars have taken Disney to task on this very issue, citing the company for environmentally unfriendly policies and the films for candy-coated sentimentalism and distorted views of nature and animals.

Ralph H. Lutts, the author of "The Nature Fakers: Wildlife, Science & Sentiment," wrote that Disney's version of the original "Bambi" story by Felix Salten, first published in English in 1928, was "a 'Sunday school' vision of nature as a place without stress, conflict or death," and that compared with the original story on which it is based, the Disney version was a much less "ecologically and philosophically complex vision of nature." And while the Oxford scholar Marina Warner declares, "It is simply unthinking and lazy to denounce all the works of Disney and his legacy," she too has been critical of the black-and-white viewpoint of the films.

Rod Fujita, director of oceans programs at the Environmental Defense Fund, acknowledged the dangers of such simplification.

"Movies and nature documentaries that tug at one's heartstrings and offer simplified ways of understanding complex environmental problems can provide a bump-up in awareness of nature and threats to nature, and can also motivate action to address those threats," he wrote in an e-mail message. "But unfortunately, these effects seem to be quite transitory." They "won't result in behavior and attitudinal changes by themselves — they need to be reinforced by deeper learning experiences."

But to Whitley, the very sentimentalism and simplification being criticized are what give these animated features the emotional power that makes them effective environmental messengers. For instance, "the way the landscape is shot" in "Bambi," he said, "angles the film's attachment to ideas of conservation in particular ways." The emotionally wrenching scene of Bambi's mother being shot (off screen) underscores the impact of the natural scenes.

Whitley steers clear of other activities by Disney, which has tangled with environmentalists before, for example, over plans to build a ski resort in the unspoiled Mineral King Valley in the Sierra Nevada. Rather, he is interested in a close viewing of the cartoons themselves.

Through the decades, the films have embraced different classic conceptions of nature, Whitley argues. "Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs" presents the pastoral vision where nature is seen as a place for self-discovery in the tradition of Thoreau. The animal helpers are a crucial part of this 1937 landmark film, the first of Disney's animated features. "Bambi" adopts the view of American naturalists like John Muir and artists like Ansel Adams who exult in the virgin wilderness, while "Finding Nemo" and "Tarzan" depict a more complex world where humans and animals can exist harmoniously.

Are they escapist? Sure, Whitley concedes. But such films "also have the potential for putting us in touch with issues, in playful forms," that can allow "audiences to think as well as feel."