Out of all the Disney Animated Classics, Aladdin is surely the gayest (in all senses), most objectively superlative (well, Pinocchio's animation might be greater, but in regards to all criteria, Aladdin is the finest) and also the most loathsome of all Disney features.
Initially, it seems to be an improved edition of The Jungle Book: it incorporates a number of contemporary comedians (Williams and Gottfried as opposed to Phil Harris), has a similarly upbeat jazz-style score, and is a journey to becoming who you really are. The Jungle Book, of course, has an unpleasantly racist core to it, that can only be somewhat shirked if you pretend that it's actually about growing up (after all, Mowgli chooses to go to the Man Village when he undergoes a sexual awakening). But it's a frustrating story about predestination, and is only carried along by a series of disconnected, meandering sketches. It's delightful to watch and laugh at, yet as Walt's Last Hurrah in animation is disappointing. Moreover, the "sketchy" xerox process and the lack of detailed layouts/backgrounds supply it with a very bland look.
While The Jungle Book is dull, pallid and ugly, Aladdin makes use of its own exotic setting and develops an enthralling atmosphere. Whereas The Jungle Book struggles with the bratty semi-adolescent Mowgli, Aladdin creates a genuinely charismatic young male protagonist. Whilst Jungle Book cannot structure its plot to accommodate its cast, Aladdin triumphs in he his area better than any preceding animated classic. Of course, the moment Aladdin rubs the mysterious lamp, this interpretation quickly collapses. It abruptly appears to have been invaded by a comic actor playing himself, converting the story into a 'star vehicle'. However, it soon transpires that what Robin Williams is leading the charge towards is a compelling new idea of telling stories in a post-Walt world, an idea that was so good, it's remained popular and current for two decades, lasting far longer than Howard Ashman's Broadway musical idea. However, this idea should never have been replicated.
One of the key traditions of Disney is to provide a different experience and idiosyncratic idea with each feature: Snow White is a mix of things, but unequivocally a romantic fairy tale designed to entertain; Pinocchio is a darker, sinister film, intrigued more by the eerie than by the magical, while also caring greatly about its precise technicality and animation; Fantasia's uniqueness needs no delineation; Dumbo is a sweeter, deeper, funnier Silly Symphony, albeit with a dose of surrealism; Bambi is impressive in how realistically it portrays nature, thus giving it an alienating and distancing coldness...of course, after the package features, it was safer to follow formula, but the best post-Bambi films remain the most distinctive: Alice, Sleeping Beauty, Dalmatians, and so forth. In a similar manner, Aladdin goes above and beyond the Ashmanesque formula inspired by Mermaid and Beast: it is a film infused with modernity via pop culture, self-referential satire, ironic comedy, a "meta" production.
It is, of course, enormously entertaining, and at the time ingeniously original. Unfortunately, it is a now tired cliche that spawned Dreamworks and indirectly killed traditional animation. Replicating the sparkling brilliance of Aladdin is as stupid and disastrous as, say, doing a sequel to Fantasia.
Yet for all we should detest Aladdin...it's terrific. It never stands still. It's excellent style and substance. It's perfect fun. The visuals are lurid and vibrant; Lazario once said that it was so colourful it almost hurt his eyes. This provides the best stage for whimsical escapism, evocative of "The Wizard of Oz" (1939) and "The Red Shoes" (1948), bolstered by the overwhelming sense of cinematic scope via the explicit influence of Spielberg and the Indiana Jones films, particularly in the action-adventure Cave of Wonders sequence. A lot of this is thanks to the necessity of the setting: a hot, sizzling desert with appropriate colours. Music is a delight too. The "I Want" song is regulated to a small handful of verses, a low-key, forgettable piece dedicated more to characterisation than a sense of formulaic obligation (as it regrettably is with Beauty and the Beast, Hercules, etc.). The songs are here for pure show-stopping magic.
However, amongst the creatively fecund Renaissance period, this doesn't stand out very much. What does stand out is the characterisation and the themes. The sense of imprisonment and identity is back, yet doesn't take a back seat as it understandably did in Beauty and the Beast; it is closer to Mermaid, doubtlessly due to the writing of Musker & Clements. However, as sublime as Mermaid is, like his predecessors, Eric is lacking in characterisation, becoming nothing more than the hunky prize-to-be-won that Ferdinand/Charming/Philip previously defined. This time, we are able to see the Eric archetype become their own character and can better recognise the inevitable flaws of the world above.
Of course, Jasmine is an awkward balancing act. She's more passionately feminist than either Ariel or Belle, which sometimes renders her harder to like, sometimes easier. It's worsened by the issue of her feminism being objectified and the fact she perpetually wears something awfully revealing, and at one point we literally see her through (Aladdin's) Male Gaze. Ultimately however, she is redeemed by her sheer intelligence.
The entire cast is wonderful and likable, even the protagonist himself. This is a rarity within Disney, and it succeeds because the writers choose to give everyone the same resonant journey of discovering who you really are (which is, to call back to earlier classics, just another form of growing up - strange how these relics of childhood are all concentrated upon telling you to grow up, isn't it?). Even the Genie gets one, so that, despite his anachronistic comic shenanigans, he remains a developed character. Considering his antecedents are such bland plot devices as the Blue Fairy and Cinderella's Godmother, Genie is a victory for Disney storytelling.
But, considering how many Disney films are about imprisonment and identity, and all of the, are rather colourful, what makes this one especially 'gay'? Merely the amusing fact that, apart from the heteronormative heroes at the centre of the story, every character is some gay stereotype: the flamboyant GBF Genie, the dryly sardonic Jafar (whose villainy is almost certainly a result of his repression), etc.
The ending is a metatextual triumph: finally, the protagonist saves the day, and there's no deus ex machina to spoil the narrative either. The hero is smarter than the cocky villain, and therefore wins - a much more satisfying resolution than any other DAC, followed by an act of heartwarming selflessness.
I've never thought much about TJB, but something about those characters comes across vaguely like racist caricatures for some reason, like the crows from Dumbo or the Indians from Peter Pan.
