[7.6/10] In a weird way, *Fantasia* is a reminder of the importance of storytelling to what Disney accomplished over its many decades of existence. The film features some of the most melodious and venerated pieces of classical music in history. It can boast some of the studio’s best animation, evincing different styles and approaches from the comic to the dramatic to the abstract to the downright frightening.

And yet, for all that achievement, it doesn’t hit as hard as many of the studio’s other efforts because, outside of the famed “Sorcerer’s Apprentice” segment, there’s not really a story amid this audio-visual carousel. Sometimes, as our humble presenter notes, there’s a general idea, or an outline of what’s happening as part of a given piece. But this is more of a showcase, a chance to simply give life to the music rather than spin a yarn with a beginning, middle, and end.

Love it or hate, though, you have to appreciate the ambition of Disney with *Fantasia*. To put together what amounts to a two-hour classical music concert, light on slapstick, heavy on theatrics, unlikely to hold a moppet’s attention for the entire runtime, took guts. Even without knowing the behind-the-scenes history behind it, it reads as a labor of love, one meant to show off the medium’s artistic potential that ought to place its practitioners alongside the classical masters of old.

More than that, if you squint, you can make out hints of Disney’s releases to come, both in the near term and the far future. You can see embryonic versions of Tinkerbelle in “the Nutcracker Suite.” Early echoes of *The Little Mermaid* are present in “Rite of Spring”’s underwater segments. The foundation for *Hercules* is present in “The Pastoral Symphony.” Hell, you can even see shades of *The Land Before Time* and *Primal* in the dinosaur-focused portions of the film.

Even as a showcase, you can see the studio trying out different moods and settings, some of which Disney itself would pick up years or decades down the line, and some of which others, inspired by its example, would realize in other ways in other company.

The film is, undoubtedly, a feast for the eyes. One of its most impressive aspects is the way that liquid is a unifying element across the different segments, and looks wonderfully realistic while also being just impressionistic enough to seem fantastical. Mickey nearly drowns in an unexpected, magic-induced whirlpool; magma erupts from volcanic spouts and washes over a prehistoric countryside; a flood of wine, of all things, subsumes a collection of mythical revelers. In every instance, the swishes and splashes of the fluids at play capture the unpredictable movement, but also the beauty, of their real life equivalents.

It can also boast incredible flashes of color and light. The film’s figures may be bathed in a golden hue or hidden in shadow or creep from one to the other. We might see mythical creatures horsing around in a rainbow forged by a benevolent god, or demons shifting across the grayscale birthed by a malevolent demon. As pure vision, *Fantasia* works at almost every level, sporting beauty in nearly every frame.

Just as notably, it has the noble aim of bringing these classic musical pieces to life. I’ll admit to finding myself doing the same while listening to classical music: imagining scenes, conjuring stories, seeing images dance across my mind. It’s hard to know whether that it an essential part of how a human being processes melodic sound, or a chicken-and-egg reversal, where decades of seeing scores compliment images on screen, in movies, music videos, and animation features like this one, have made it the default setting for processing song and melody for folks like me.

Whatever the source, Disney finds creative ways to realize these tunes. While there’s a natural bent toward the fantastical, there’s marked differences between an abstract introduction, the journey from the primordial to the present, a tour of Greek myth, a funny animal dance number, a floral boogie, a magical mishap, and an impressionistic rise and fall of evil and good seen as darkness and light. There is, if nothing else, variety to how the famed classical interludes are done up in animated splendor, even if common principles creditably abound between the different segments.


And yet, I will sheepishly confess to zoning out at times, despite that variety at hand and the unquestionable visual splendor on display. I can appreciate the artistry of Russian dancers realized in a floral aesthetic, or hippos doing pointe, or melodies visualized as bursts of hue and color over a cloudy vista.

But over the course of a two hour block, it starts to become densitizing after a while. Maybe that’s just evidence of the minute modern (read: my) attention span, but it’s hard not to think that this film may have been easier to appreciate in 2020 if I’d watched the segments individually (or at least availed myself of that intermission) rather than trying to swallow the whole thing in one big bite.

Still, the moments that stood out the most are the ones that had characters, if not exactly stories. “The Sorcerer’s Apprentice” has rightfully become iconic for its splendid animation and iconography, but it’s also the most memorable segment because it’s the only one that tells a tidy little tale.

The other stretches of the film that stand out feature recognizable personalities or clear situations, even if there’s not a great deal of narrative propulsion. Two dinosaurs struggle while others flee in fear; a herd of centaurs court one another while attended to by cherubs; a terrifying demon summons the armies of the night. There’s not exactly a plot to these sections, but there’s more in the way of major players and scenarios that help give form to the art.

That reaction is, in many ways, a failing on my part. The music alone is great art. The imagery by itself is great art as well. Why do I need some tale to envelope both of those things to hold my attention for the length of the feature? The only poverty I can plead is indoctrination by Disney itself, where a lifetime of movie-watching has taught me that beautiful music paired with luminous aesthetic delights should be matched with a story no less engrossing or compelling.

It’s invigorating to see the studio step beyond that framework, to experiment, to put its talents on display in a different way than usual. But it’s tough for a generation raised on that framework to feel, not just intellectually appreciate, a diversion that represents no less of an achievement, but strips away the stories that roped us in for so long.