I’ve been saying for a while now (ever since “Toy Story 2”, if memory serves me right) that we are living in the kind of golden age of animation that we thought had long since gone by. Pixar’s animated films, with their emphasis on story, their intricate visual brilliance, and their sheer magic, are the kind of things that people will remember as classics in a century’s time. Basically, they’ll think of Pixar today the way we think of Disney in the 1930s and 40s.

But since this is the Internet, it’s not enough to make a sweeping declarative statement: We need to turn it into a pointless, absurd comparison! (Woo, Internet!) So let’s go ahead and pit the Disney films of their classic era against the Pixar films of today, and see who comes up top.

Snow White and the Seven Dwarves vs. Toy Story: On the one hand, Toy Story is a more densely layered, intricate story with more sophisticated narrative techniques. On the other hand, Snow White is sweeter, as the rivalry between Buzz and Woody is almost too intense at times to be “enjoyable”. And Disney, even in his first animated feature (actually, the first animated feature) already had a compelling grasp of imagery that made for some of cinema’s most iconic sequences. I think that I’m going to give Disney the edge here, even though Toy Story would probably beat most other entries.

Pinocchio vs. A Bug’s Life: Not even a contest in my mind. When it comes to orthoptera, Kevin Spacey’s mesmerizing Hopper easily beats out whiny, preachy, mealy-mouthed Jiminy. As to the rest of the movie, while Pinocchio does have some of the all-time champion scare-the-shit-out-of-little-kids sequences (Monstro the Whale, the kids turning into donkeys) it’s hard to actually root for the obnoxious little wooden dummy. The characters of A Bug’s Life are far more sympathetic and entertaining, and the plot holds together better than the “string of incidences” plot of Pinocchio. Pixar for the win here.

Fantasia vs. Toy Story 2: This is actually a very tough one for me. Both of these are among my favorite animated features (I’m watching Toy Story 2 as I type this) but one of them has to be better. Toy Story 2 earns major points for being a sequel with something to actually say rather than simply rehashing the incidents of the first film, but Fantasia was something never tried before (or, with the exception of Fantasia 2000, since.) It’s a dazzling feature, perhaps one of the purest expressions of art ever attempted by a commercial studio, and I have to love it a little bit more than Toy Story 2 for that. Plus, “Night on Bald Mountain”. Disney wins.

Dumbo vs. Monsters, Inc: Admittedly, Monsters, Inc isn’t one of the strongest Pixar films. Billy Crystal grates as much in animation as he does in live-action, and the sheer irritation factor of his character single-handedly knocks a great film down a notch or two. On the other hand, the crows in Dumbo? Much, much, much more than a notch. I realize that it was a different era, but still…wow. Pixar hands-down.

Bambi vs. Finding Nemo: Eerie parallels here, as both films are about single-parenting in the unforgiving world of nature. Disney’s expertly hand-animated forest is done as well in its own way as Pixar’s CGI coral reef, but I’ll give Finding Nemo the nod for its more involved story and the fact that its ending has not traumatized generations of small children. Those of you who believe that traumatizing small children is, in fact, part of what children’s films are for might choose the other way, but I’m picking Pixar here.

Cinderella vs. The Incredibles: I might be inviting controversy here by skipping films like Saludos Amigos and Melody Time, but I think that this should remain feature vs. feature, and so the Disney anthology films get a miss in favor of the full-length stories. Not like it matters, because this is The Incredibles we’re talking about, and pretty much any Disney movie is going to be steamrollered by it. I remain a comics fan, this remains one of the best super-hero films ever, and compared to it, even a sweet little Disney princess gets booted to the back of the line. No glass slipper for you, Cindy; it’s Pixar for the win here.

Alice In Wonderland vs. Cars: I know that Cars has its fans, but I actually feel like this is comparing two of the weaker entries in their respective canons. Disney’s Alice in Wonderland has the thankless task of adapting a story with almost no narrative drive whatsoever, while Cars is about car racing, a sport so boring that fatal accidents are actually welcomed as a brief respite from the monotony. Under the circumstances, I will choose the blessedly Larry the Cable Guy-free Alice, and give Disney the win on this one.

Peter Pan vs. Ratatouille: It’s interesting, but Ratatouille doesn’t seem to have made much of an impact the way that some other Pixar/Brad Bird films have; sandwiched between the immensely popular Cars and the ground-breaking WALL-E, it’s become sort of a forgotten Pixar film. And sad to say, it continues to get short shrift here, because Peter Pan is one of Disney’s best adaptations, Captain Hook one of its best villains, and Tinkerbell one of its best-loved characters. Which means that in this case, Disney wins. Poor little rat.

Lady and the Tramp vs. WALL-E: Did I say earlier that I gave Fantasia bonus points for trying something new, different, and artistic? Then I have to give WALL-E bonus points, too; not many films have the guts to open up with no human characters, no voices, and still be one of the most heart-warming and affecting character studies in years. Compared to the fantastic animation, the powerful story, and the overall quality of what could be Pixar’s best film, Lady and the Tramp is bound to come up short. Pixar by a country mile, and that’s nothing against Lady and the Tramp.

Sleeping Beauty vs. Up: On the one hand, I do have to give Sleeping Beauty points for what some consider to be the best villain in Disney’s canon, Maleficent. She’s got style, she’s got panache, and she even swears in a kid’s movie. But it also has a dull, passive heroine, a bland Prince Charming, and I’ve never been a fan of the animation style in this one. So it loses to Up on style points. Fair? Perhaps not, but I’m giving this one to Pixar.

One Hundred and One Dalmatians vs. Toy Story 3: Sorry to say, but at this point the rot was beginning to set in at Disney. The budgets were getting lower, the animation was taking short-cuts…even the films were getting shorter (One Hundred and One Dalmatians clocks in at just 79 minutes.) Pixar, on the other hand, seems to be getting stronger with every release; they’re finding more confidence, they’re learning how to do more with computer animation as processing power gets cheaper and graphics rendering becomes more powerful, and they’re established as the top dog at Disney and not worried about interference with their proven system of generating classics. This is where the picks start getting easier, and I suspect it’ll be a while before Pixar loses another head-to-head.

The final tally: By a final score of 7-4, Pixar wins! (I’m sure John Lasseter will covet this far more than the Oscars.)

Posit the first: the Guardians of the Universe are the super-evolved descendants of the Smurfs, who existed in the universe prior to the current DC Universe.

vs.

Posit the second: the Smurfs are evolutionary offshoots of the Guardians of the Universe, much like the Controllers or Zamarons, who eventually forgot their history.

DISCUSS.

Heroes:

A-List: A hero who is capable of sustaining their own series for an extended period of time (possibly more than one series, but at least one.) If they guest star, they are given major billing on the cover and their presence is usually intended to be a sales boost to the title. May be known to the general public, although this is not a requirement. They are almost immune to comic book death; if they do die, their books do not cease publication and the character returns from death in no more than five years. Examples: Superman, Green Lantern, Spider-Man, Captain America.

B-List: A frequent recurring hero in their fictional universe, someone who is usually a regular in an ensemble book. They may or may not have gotten their own series, but usually have not been able to sustain one for more than about five years. They are generally popular, to the point where a casual observer might think them to be more popular than an A-list hero simply because of the clamor for them to get their own book. They make guest appearances on a fairly regular basis in other books, but are not always billed as such on the cover. They are relatively safe from comic book death, but they can die in major crossovers; however, they usually return within five years as well. Examples: Martian Manhunter, the Thing, the Beast, Guy Gardner.

C-List: These heroes usually enjoyed a brief spate of popularity at the beginning of their existence, only to fall out of favor with the comic reading public. They rarely appear in their fictional universe, and when they do, as often as not it’s simply to provide a “shocking” death in a major crossover. (C-list characters’ deaths are almost always permanent; if they do return, it’s most often with a different character bearing the same name/costume.) They are highly unlikely to get their own book or even to make regular appearances in other books; while they have their fans, they’re generally considered “cult” characters at best. Examples: Speedball/Penance, War Machine, Vigilante, Judomaster.

Villains:

A-List: These villains have lofty goals (world domination, destruction of the universe, unmitigated chaos) and the ability to achieve them. Their appearance is considered a significant event every time they show up, usually an occasion for serious difficulties for the hero and a major extended plotline is needed to defeat them. Heroes sometimes need help against A-list villains, and they can be the headliners of crossovers (but not always.) Their defeats will be less ignominious than other villains, and they may even have a few victories notched up on their belt. (Sometimes they wind up having their defeats explained away as the work of imposters, clones, or similar.) If they do die, it’s almost guaranteed that they will return from that state. Examples: Doctor Doom, Darkseid, Thanos, Lex Luthor.

B-List: These villains tend to have less interesting, more self-motivated goals (personal wealth and power, revenge against the hero or society, et cetera) and are of a lower level of power. They are still significant threats to the hero (although they become less so over time–it’s more likely for a B-list villain to become C-list than A-list) and they generally remain thematically tied to a single hero. They put up a good fight most of the time, and are still exciting to read about, but generally more because of their particular quirks and personality than because they present a major obstacle to the hero’s life. They are not immune to comic book death, but it’s generally presented as a major event when they die. Examples: Kraven the Hunter, the Abomination, Metallo, the Parasite.

C-List: These villains are usually hired out or serve as lackeys to more powerful villains; regardless of who they originally battled against, they now make appearances in any book where a “disposable” villain is called for. They do not present a significant threat to whatever hero they face, and indeed they usually wind up defeated in comically ignominious fashion; their power levels may or may not be low, but if they are powerful, they are not skilled enough to use their powers in a threatening fashion. They are frequently the targets of “edgy” heroes or other villains, who kill them to show how tough/uncompromising they are. If they are killed, as with C-list heroes, someone else usually winds up taking on their mantle. Examples: Plantman, the Constrictor, Terra-Man, Weather Wizard.

A younger friend of mine saw this and inquired as to what Tombstone was. I naturally had to beat him with a shovel.

No, not that Richard Pryor movie. I mean, the toy that was officially The Best Toy Ever when you were a kid. The one that you got for a Christmas, or a birthday, or a Hannukah or a Bar Mitzvah or just a one-time surprise that you never got tired of and that always seems, in memory, to be tinged with a special glow of nostalgia. Does anyone else have one of those?

For me, it was the Death Star Play Station. I got it when I was four, and when fully assembled, it stood almost as tall as I did. It had pretty much everything you needed to recreate the entire Star Wars movie (which I had pretty much memorized by then)…a trash compactor with foam “trash” and a dianoga, which finally gave me a good look at the monster; a bridge that Luke and Leia could swing across; a laser cannon…and the best part, it could all be taken apart and you could play with it piece by piece. You could run around with the laser cannon like it was a toy gun, use the elevator shaft like a bazooka, and everything else a four-year-old’s imagination could come up with. I think it was probably a good four or five years before everything was lost or broken to the point where it wasn’t worth playing with anymore.

Does anyone else have a toy like this? Did anyone else have this specific toy? Feel free to share a piece of your childhood in the comments!

Elsewhere: classic rock, the alignment chart.

A while back, in the comments section on my post about the five best comics deaths, I asked people to remind me to talk about my Sandman theory. Nobody did in all this time, but I’m going to tell you all about it anyway. This is, quite possibly, the Essence Of Blogging.

This theory has to do with a plot development that, strangely, never seemed to be the subject of much speculation, despite the fact that it would seem to be one of the key developments in the series. Perhaps this is because it happened so late in the series’ run, or because there never seemed to be much chance to get an answer on the topic–apart from a cryptic comment or two in the book’s afterword, I don’t believe Gaiman has ever discussed it. In ‘The Kindly Ones’, Loki and Puck kidnap Daniel Hall, with the apparent intent of driving his mother Lyta mad and sending her on a quest for vengeance against Morpheus. Which, to all intents and purposes, they succeeded magnificently at.

I say “apparent intent”, because it’s clear that they had greater intentions than merely framing Morpheus for kidnapping. They had some sort of plan that involved burning away Daniel’s mortality, leaving just the part of him that gestated in dreams, and they hinted that they were working for someone else. But the identity of the mastermind behind the plan was never uncovered in the series, and to the best of my knowledge, Gaiman has never revealed his or her identity in any subsequent source. So who was it that was behind the plan to abduct Daniel? Who set the events in motion that ended in Morpheus’ tragic death?

I think it was Morpheus.

Think about it. Everyone assumes that Lyta was being irrational for leaping to the conclusion that Morpheus was responsible, but really, how irrational was it? He out and out said, “Take good care of your baby. One day I will come back for it.” The two actual kidnappers were both connected to Morpheus (Loki says, “I will be under an obligation to no-one,” which seems, on the surface, to suggest that he’s getting rid of Morpheus to get out from under his debt…but which could equally mean that he’s performing a service to pay it.) And the plan to burn away Daniel’s mortality does seem to suggest that his gestation in dreams was why he was chosen…exactly why Morpheus was interested in him.

What if Morpheus wanted to take Daniel for some purpose, something that involved burning away the child’s mortality, and “hired” Puck and Loki to do the job? What if they saw it as an opportunity to do mischief to their “employer”, necessitating Morpheus to send the Corinthian after them? And what if, on a subconscious level, he knew the act would be self-destructive? Perhaps he had two plans for Daniel…the plan he let himself know about, and the plan that prepared his successor. “But the stuff you do, where you do it, and you won’t even admit to yourself it’s what you’re doing. What would you call it?” That’s how Death described him, at the end. It fits the theory pretty well, doesn’t it?

Of course, we may never know. As I say, Gaiman’s never explained it. But it’s what I’ll always believe. Dream couldn’t let go of his kingdom the way Destruction did, but he couldn’t go on the way he was. He needed a successor, and found one in the most devious way possible. Death was his escape, and he planned it so meticulously that even he couldn’t stop him.

Somewhere in the Doctor Who production offices, deep within the BBC Wales complex (if there is such a place — go with me here) there is surely a list of “Stories Not to Pitch Us.” Nearly all serials have a list like this, consisting of stories ideas that are unsuitable because they change the lead character too much, because they hurt the franchise, or just because you don’t seriously think you’re the first freelancer to pitch that, do you? The following story idea is undoubtedly on that list:

It begins, as so many Doctor Who stories do, with the TARDIS arriving on a future Earth where everything seems calm and orderly… too calm and orderly, at least to the Doctor (“Never trust a utopia,” he’ll say to whatever fetching young lady is his companion at the time.) A bit of investigation reveals that this peace and order is, indeed, artificial, but it’s not achieved by force: instead all war, violence and conflict are defused before they even begin by a mysterious, unseen figure only ever referred to as “He” or “Him.” The Doctor can sense that time manipulation is afoot, and begins to suspect that this is the work of Daleks, or the Master, or even a lost Time Lord who somehow survived the Time War. Until he finds a little asteroid in the middle of nowhere where time literally stands still and finds the machine that is constantly making all those little alterations to history, to maintain “His” utopia —

— and finds it’s the TARDIS. His TARDIS. And it’s screaming, because it’s being made to violate time in ways it was never made to do — and to end history itself, grinding it down into the stasis of enforced peace.

Now He makes his appearance — he’s been watching the Doctor for some time, of course — and reveals that he is a future incarnation of the Doctor. It’s not clear whether he’s the last regeneration or whether he somehow extended his lifespan beyond the normal limit for Time Lords, but one thing is clear: he’s on his last go-round. (We’ll call him “Doctor Thirteen” for convenience; if this were a two-parter, that would be a good title for the second episode.) He explains how he saved the Earth, and the universe, again and again, and still it needed saving; how his allies died, and he got older and older, but his enemies just kept coming back.

Now the Doctor is given a choice: he can leave, and let things run their course until he winds up here again, or Doctor Thirteen will use his bastardized TARDIS to make him relive all the agonizing steps between them almost instantaneously. And the Doctor runs, but it’s no use because Doctor Thirteen is older and cannier than he is, and knows all his tricks, and in the end the Doctor is caught once more. The Doctor’s fetching young companion rescues him, of course, but it’s too late: in just a few minutes he’s experienced everything that brought Doctor Thirteen to where he is — the last defender of the Earth, all alone.

Except that our Doctor isn’t alone: though his companion couldn’t save him in time, the fact that she was there for him makes him realize that the only way he’ll ever run out of allies is if he turns humans into something not fit to be his companions. Together he and his companion fight Doctor Thirteen and defeat him, and Doctor Thirteen begs him not to destroy everthing he’s built, to have pity — after all, he was the Doctor once. But the Doctor turns back from the door to his TARDIS, shakes his head and says “Not you. You were never me.”

THE IMAGINED SITUATION IS: The BBC has decided to air a one-time four-hour miniseries event of Doctor Who. The miniseries will be entitled “The Eleven Doctors” and feature every single Doctor as the cast, with a number of companions rounding it out.

Paul McGann, Christopher Eccleston, David Tennant and Matt Smith will play the Eighth through Eleventh Doctors. (Some suggested that at 51 McGann was too old to play his Doctor, but fans argued that he deserved a second chance to play the Eighth Doctor again and really, 51? That’s not a big deal.) However, the remaining living former actors who have played the Doctor all agreed that they should let more age-appropriate actors play the younger incarnations of the earlier Doctors (perhaps with one or two making jokes about “the need for a sonic cane,”) and of course Jon Pertwee, Patrick Troughton and William Hartnell are all long dead.

So:

1.) Who plays each of the first seven Doctors?

2.) Which companion does each Doctor get, if any? (Assume, for marketing purposes, that Amy Pond will be present and accounted for. Possibly Rory as well. And Sarah Jane Smith is a definite, played by Elizabeth Sladen.) Note that some Doctors will have to go without.

3.) Who then should play those companions?

To finish this post, I’ll give my answer for number 1:

First Doctor: Alan Rickman. Really, kind of obvious.
Second Doctor: Richard Coyle (of Coupling and Going Postal, among others). Has “Impish-but-clever-and-wise” down to a T.
Third Doctor: Stephen Fry. Has the sort of combination of comedic aura/gravitas that Jon Pertwee did; age-appropriate; would balance out Rickman as the second of the “older doctors” by being the friendlier one to the First Doctor’s icy, alien cool.
Fourth Doctor: Rowan Atkinson. A bit old for it, maybe, but he’s got the rubberface that the Fourth Doctor demands. Also, it would be fun to see him in an whiteboy Afro.
Fifth Doctor: Andrew Garfield (The Social Network). The Fifth Doctor is trickiest because you need someone young, from the “lost generation” of kids who grew up without a lot of Doctor Who. I considered Tom Hardy initially but Hardy is too buff and rugged to be the Fifth Doctor, who’s slightly unassuming in his looks. Garfield, I think, can pull it off. (And yes, he is British.)
Sixth Doctor: James Nesbitt (Jekyll). If you’re going to redeem the least-favorite Doctor, you need a real charismatic madman to pull it off.
Seventh Doctor: John Oliver (yes, The Daily Show‘s John Oliver). This is my stuntcasting pick, but I think Oliver can do the job.

Your turn.