Cinderella is beguiling proof that Walt Disney
still knows his way around fairyland. Harking back to the style of Snow
White and the Seven Dwarfs , a small army of Disney craftsmen has
given the centuries-old Cinderella story* a dewy radiance and comic
verve that should make children feel like elves and adults feel like
children. In rich but delicately tinted Technicolor, Cinderella is unalloyed
make-believe, without the disenchanting sight of a single photographed
human face. It embellishes the outline of the classic tale with half a
dozen simple, hummable tunes and the abounding whimsies of eight Disney
writers. The fairy godmother becomes a dithery homebody who has some
trouble remembering the magic words; the king is a wildly irascible
sentimentalist, and a whole Disney menagerie cavorts on all sides. The mice are no longer bit-players merely to be hitched to the pumpkin
but full-blown Disney creations, scampering and squealing through the
whole story in a chivalrous conspiracy to help Cinderella. Their fellow
conspirators include birds, an amiable barnyard nag and a hound named
Bruno, who is clearly a close relative of Pluto. Other new characters: a
monocled, silly-ass grand duke and the villainous Lucifer, a spoiled,
airily arrogant fat cat. The blonde heroine herself is properly all sweetness & light, the prince
is just what romantic maidens pray for and the cruel stepmother is
wicked enough to make Judith Anderson look like Pollyanna. These three
characters are drawn in an attempt at literal likeness that the best
technique of animation never brings off without a certain stiffness.
Nonetheless, the spell is never broken. The rest of the human
characters, including the sourpuss stepsisters, move flexibly in
delightful caricature, and the animals are pure Disney. Though the jousting between cat & mice is an old stand-by of the
animated cartoon, Cinderella redeems it with such lovably drawn mice as
the eager but inept Gus-Gus, and the droll characterization of Lucifer, a sort of feline
Charles Laughton. By remembering that his tale takes place “once upon a
time in a faraway land,” Disney avoids the temptation of gagging it up
with anachronisms or excessive cartoon acrobatics. With just the right
wizard's brew of fancy and fun, sugar and spice, he makes an old, old
story seem as innocently fresh as it must to the youngest moppet
hearing it for the first time. Dear Wife . The movie sequel is an old Hollywood custom
designed to repeat a success by imitating it. More often, as with this
pale wraith of 1947's Dear Ruth, it succeeds only in running a good
thing into the ground. With the same principals playing for farce in
the same suburban setting, Dear Wife sadly lacks a script to measure up
to the original. Ruth is married now to her wartime beau , but her meddlesome bobby-soxer sister is still
meddling. This time Mona puts Holden up for state senator without his
knowledge. The rival candidate: her father , With Holden
taking an interest in the campaign and family feelings already
strained, the script drags a redhead across his trail to alienate his
wife. Then it goes on alienating the moviegoer.
