Disney's Most Notorious Film

DISNEY’S
MOST NOTORIOUS FILM

Disney’s
Most Notorious Film

RACE, CONVERGENCE, AND THE HIDDEN HISTORIES OF
SONG OF THE SOUTH

By Jason Sperb

UNIVERSITY OF TEXAS PRESS

Austin

Copyright
© 2012 by the University of Texas Press

All rights reserved

Printed in the United States of America

First edition, 2012

A version of
chapter 6
first appeared as “Reassuring Convergence: Online Fandom, Race, and Disney’s Notorious
Song of the South
(1946),”
Cinema Journal
49.4 (2010): 25–45.

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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

Sperb, Jason, 1978–

Disney’s most notorious film : race, convergence, and the hidden histories of Song of the South / by Jason Sperb. — 1st ed.

p. cm.

Includes bibliographical references and index.

1. Song of the South (Motion picture) 2. Walt Disney Productions. 3. Race relations in motion pictures. 4. African Americans in motion pictures. 5. Stereotypes (Social psychology) in motion pictures. 6. Motion picture audiences—United States. 7. Convergence (Telecommunication) I. Title.

PN1997.S63337S64 2012

791.43′6552—dc23

2012025848

ISBN 978-0-292-73974-1 (cloth : alk. paper)

ISBN 978-0-292-73975-8 (e-book)

ISBN 978-0-292-74981-8 (individual e-book)

doi: 10.7560/739741

For
Melina

CONTENT
S

Preface

Acknowledgments

Introduction

ONE:
Conditions of Possibility: The Disney Studios, Postwar “Thermidor,” and the Ambivalent Origins of
Song of the South

TWO:
“Put Down the Mint Julep, Mr. Disney”: Postwar Racial Consciousness and Disney’s Critical Legacy in the 1946 Reception of
Song of the South

THREE:
“Our Most Requested Movie”: Media Convergence, Black Ambivalence, and the Reconstruction of
Song of the South

FOUR:
A Past That Never Existed:
Coonskin
, Post-racial Whiteness, and Rewriting History in the Era of Reaganism

FIVE:
On Tar Babies and Honey Pots: Splash Mountain, “Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah,” and the Transmedia Dissipation of
Song of the South

SIX:
Reassuring Convergence: New Media, Nostalgia, and the Internet Fandom of
Song of the South

Conclusion: On Rereleasing
Song of the South

Appendix: Timeline for
Song of the South
and Its Paratexts

Notes

Selected Bibliography

Index

PR
EFACE

This book is dedicated to understanding the lost ideals, disturbing truths, and hard facts underlying the histories of Disney’s most notorious film. I wish to state upfront that I empathize with the more skeptical, even resistant, Disney fan. In many ways, I was a member of the company’s key demographic. Raised by television, I was a child of the Reagan ’80s, when the company most emphatically cemented its retrospective status as both a unique brand and a tradition of family entertainment. I am a white, middle-class American who grew up in the suburbs in the wake of “white flight” from major cities in the 1970s. I was also one of countless people who were themselves the product of a “Disney household.” A key factor to the company’s long-term business success is that parents are “encouraged” to raise their own children on all things Disney and to instill in their offspring the desire to raise their own kids in the same reassuring environment (i.e., buy recognizable stuff and get your kids to do likewise). Disney’s phenomenal, largely self-generating, success in historical terms is really that simple—the plan to sell generational experiences, or more precisely, to sell the
always already nostalgic
experience of being a member of a particular kind of generation. This is not the only prospective audience for the company, but the one most conducive to the Disney brand today.

Growing up, I was constantly brought along on a preprogrammed journey for my parents’ own commodified nostalgia. In that environment, I was initiated into a longing for a time I never experienced firsthand (and, as a new father myself, I can now understand the appeal of that thoroughly selfish impulse). I remember hearing about how my parents’ first date was to a Disney movie. I remember seeing
Snow White
and other rereleased “classic” films in theaters when I was young—in the era, before home video, when Disney still recycled their old films theatrically for every new generation of children. I remember the yearly pilgrimages
to
Anaheim and Orlando. I remember paid subscriptions to the Disney Channel in its earliest cable iteration, back when it was mostly repurposed older footage with little original programming. I remember the “limited-time only” marketing of VHS tapes that created a mock-frenzy with consumers and secondhand dealers. I remember my parents’ home littered with Disney memorabilia. I knew all the major films, characters, and songs. And I remember hearing in sometimes-embarrassed whispers about a film called
Song of the South
. But, as I would discover later, that film was more beloved, remembered, and
accessible
than I had first realized in the perpetual present of my ignorant youth.

As I’ve gotten older and somewhat wiser (in a very narrow sense), I remain sympathetic but also skeptical on the subject of Disney fandom. I’m decidedly less sympathetic when it comes to the company. My relationship to the larger Disney “universe” is perhaps ambivalent. Within those contradictions, it’s been a thrilling but also daunting experience to write about the histories of a film for which I have no personal affection. There is a certain faction of fans who will never accept the possibility that either Disney or
Song of the South
is, or ever was, guilty of racist transgressions (to say nothing of class, gender, and other forms of ideological manipulation). There is not much to be said there. Instead, this is an informative, scholarly history written with one eye on the more reflexive and open-minded Disney fan, the one who seeks to go beyond nostalgia and consumption practices to know more about the company’s too often neglected history. It is difficult to accept, or reflect on, a beloved object’s complicated past without feeling as though one’s own deep affections were being threatened. But there is no simple way to approach the subject.

Summer 2011

ACKNOWLEDGMENT
S

I did not think it would take so long to write another book. But perhaps that’s just as well. I’ve learned to appreciate the opportunity more. And I’ve learned to better value the people who’ve stood with me the whole way. Any appreciation for this book must begin with my former adviser, Barbara Klinger. I was a very different scholar when I arrived at Indiana University in 2005; my interests were valid, but narrow. No one played a bigger role in opening my eyes to the larger world of film and media studies out there than did Barb, first as my teacher and then as my dissertation director. I cannot sufficiently express my gratitude, but I hope this book will validate her faith in me. Her imprint is on every page, and indeed, on everything I have ever written since I first walked into one of her classrooms. I can think of no better compliment than to say that Barb has been, and always will be, the biggest influence in my career.

That said, there is no shortage of individuals at Indiana University for whom I am thankful. This starts with my prospectus and dissertation committee members: Christopher Anderson, Purnima Bose, Karen Bowdre, and Joan Hawkins. I am likewise grateful for other former professors at Indiana whose courses challenged and inspired me: Jane Goodman, Yeidy Rivero, Jon Simons, Robert Terrill, and the late Matei Calinescu, whose recent passing devastated me. Of course, as with all graduate programs, I was lucky to be surrounded by an amazing group of colleagues and friends who motivated and supported me throughout: Mark Benedetti, Jon Cavallero, Amy Cornell, Seth Friedman, Mark Hain, Eric Harvey, Jennifer Lynn Jones, Amanda Keeler, Andrea Kelley, Michael Lahey, Dave McAvoy, Lori Hitchcock Morimoto, James Paasche, Justin Rawlins, Bob Rehak, Kathy Teige, Travis Vogan, and Sabrina Walker. Finally, I am especially grateful to Greg Waller. He was not only a great professor, chair, and friend, but he also gave me his old
Uncle
Remus record. His thoughtfulness was one of the highlights of my time in Bloomington.

Through the years, I’ve given talks based on my
Song of the South
research here and there. I originally presented my work on Disney fans at the Affecting Representation/Representing Affect Conference at Ohio State University in January 2008. Later that spring, I presented it again at the Society for Cinema and Media Studies Conference in Philadelphia. Two years later, I was back at the same annual conference—this time presenting my research on Ralph Bakshi’s
Coonskin
in Los Angeles. In between, I had the good fortune to present work from
chapter 3
at the Medium-to-Medium Conference at Northwestern University. I’d like to thank the various organizers for putting together uniformly excellent experiences.

During my research, I was assisted by Michael T. Martin of the Indiana Black Film Archives, Erika Jean Dowell at the Lilly Library, and the good folks at the Northwestern Microfilm Room. Originally, a version of
chapter 6
first appeared in the summer 2010 issue of
Cinema Journal
. That research benefited from the feedback of the journal’s two anonymous readers, and from the editorial guidance of Frank Episale and Heather Hendershot. On a broader note, I am blessed to be a part of a larger network of friends and colleagues who have been endlessly generous with their time and support throughout the researching and writing of this manuscript: Scott Balcerzak, Scott Bukatman, Robert Burgoyne, Corey Creekmur, Tim Davis, Sarah Delahousse, Steve Elworth, Marilyn Ferdinand, Michael Gillespie, Catherine Grant, Jonathan Gray, Hollis Griffin, Richard Grusin, Sara Hall, Lucas Hilderbrand, Derek Johnson, Selmin Kara, Amanda Ann Klein, Jason LaRiviere, Meredith Levine, Paula Massood, Tara McPherson, Jason Mittell, Roopali Mukherjee, Linda Haverty Rugg, Sean Stangland, J. P. Telotte, Rachel Thibault, Christopher Weedman, Susan White, Mark Williams, and Tony Williams. I would be nothing without them. To those I forgot, I sincerely apologize. It’s been a long several years.