Cinema: THE MOUSE THAT WALT BUILT

MICKEY MOUSE first hove into public sight at the wheel of a steamboat rushing round a bend of what appeared to be the Mississippi River. As he swung in for a landing, Mickey tootled a tune—oom-pah-pah, with a tweet now and then—on his signal-whistles,which suddenly had faces that scrooged up as they blew. In the next release, our hero for the first foolish time met Minnie, a mousy young lady who looked as much like Mary Pickford as a rodent could. And all at once, for no apparent reason, there was Pegleg Pete, a monstrous mingling of common house cat and Long John Silver. Everything always went blooey, of course. Pegleg charging, music pounding, Minnie squealing—and Mickey rushing madly to the rescue.

What was new in all this, aside from its frenetic ingenuity, and what struck the public most, was the music. It hopped, it jangled, it twitched, it plankety-planked, and from that day forward was known as “Mickey Mouse Music”—an exquisite melding of bad honky-tonk and good rattletrap. And then, of course, there was Mickey.

In those days The Mouse was a skinny little squeaker with matchstick legs, shoebutton eyes and a long, pointy nose. His teeth were sharp and fierce when he laughed, more like a real mouse’s than they are today, and he staggered stiffly through the hasty animation. He had the same tiny, squeaky voice, however; usually, Walt himself speaks Mickey’s lines.

As the years went on, and Walt prospered, The Mouse got some of the benefits. In 1931 he was given his first pair of shoes. By 1935 he was fatter and sleeker, and his eyes had grown large and almost soulful. In 1938 he felt the pinch of rising costs: he lost his tail, thereby saving the studio a sizable sum of money on each cartoon. Next year, after Snow White, he got the tail back, only to lose it again during Walt’s dark years in the ’40s. But in 1952 Walt made up for everything by giving Mickey eyebrows.

During this time there was also a change in Mickey’s disposition. From the cocky little youngster who pulled cats’ tails and whanged away with six-shooters, he slowly mellowed, like Walt himself, into a more substantial, middleaged, suburban-type mouse—a parallel which, taken together with a certain facial resemblance between Walt and The Mouse when both were young, has convinced Walt’s brother that, in fact, “Mickey is Walt.”

The success of The Mouse was instant and immense. The League of Nations endorsed him. Madame Tussaud put him in her famous wax museum. The Encyclopaedia Britannica devoted a separate article to the little fellow. He was the Nizam of Hyderabad’s favorite movie star. Jan Christian Smuts, Avila Camacho, Mackenzie King declared in his favor. Franklin D. Roosevelt never missed a Mickey cartoon. Mussolini adored him; Hitler hated him. The Russians called him a proletarian symbol; however, the line changed in time, and Mickey is now a “warmonger.”*

Mickey has worked business miracles. During the Depression the Lionel Corp., manufacturer of toy trains, was rescued from receivership by the prodigious sale (253,000 items) of a handcar carrying figures of Mickey and Minnie Mouse. The Ingersoll people were pulled out of a bad financial hole by a terrific run on their Mickey Mouse watches—of which more than 8,000,000 have been sold to date. Since 1929 Mickey’s name or picture has appeared on 5,000 different lines of merchandise, from milk of magnesia to a $1,200 diamond bracelet to a radiator cap, and has sold more than $250 million worth of goods.

Even after 26 years, the public eye has not wearied of watching Mickey Mouse. Of all the cartoon animals, only Donald Duck and Bugs Bunny are more popular today. In any event, Mickey is likely to be remembered, long after all the others are forgotten, for one decisive moment when he stood at the absolute center of human affairs. On June 6, 1944, the D-day of the Allied invasion of France, the code word for the entire Allied operation was “Mickey Mouse.”

*Although the Russians affect to despise Disney, his cartoons are still shown behind the Iron Curtain. Until a few years ago, the Disney organization disclosed, the Russian embassy in Washington would politely ask if they could borrow a Disney print for an embassy showing. The print was then put in a diplomatic pouch, rushed to the airport, flown to Czechoslovakia, copied, flown back to Washington—all in about 72 hours. It was then handed back to Disney, with thanks.