This is the belated part six of a (never-ending) project that is inevitably going to kill me.

I think pretty much everyone who’s grown up in the Western world has fond memories from their childhoods of Disney movies. But fond memories are there to be destroyed, and I have taken it upon myself to bring forth that destruction, by rewatching every Disney movie ever, in release order, and ripping them to shreds with my cynical, world-weary adult eyes.

So, without further ado, let’s delve into the next Disney “classic”. Their 1942 spunk pile that goes by the name of… urgh… Bambi.

Before we even begin to look at the movie, let’s reflect on that image. Was that the first poster art for the movie?  Really?  It looks like a book designed to teach children to count the alphabet.  There’s even a picture of the book at the bottom, in case people didn’t know what a book looked like (which should be more necessary nowadays, surely.  “Based on the kindle-downloaded-word-saturated-document” doesn’t really have the same ring – but it does sell more Kindles.  [I expect a  cut of all Kindle sales if you pick that idea up, Amazon] and I guess that is what’s really important). Oh, and don’t miss the title that declares the movie;

Multiplane
Technicolor
Feature

Which are all words that mean something, I’m sure.  But not in the context demonstrated, by which they’re orphaned, hovering in thin air.  You’d sell as many tickets if you replaced them with the words;

Flangeplugged
Cockmolding
Arsehorder

The only difference being that one out of every twenty nine people would be asking the ushers what an Arsehorder is, let alone how and/or why one would choose to horde arses. Especially whilst molding their cock.

Now, on to business. Almost. You see, I’ve been doing research.

Interesting fact:  In order to prepare his army of draw-ers for this movie, racist rapefan Walt Disney had two deer, several squirrels and a bag full of skunks sent to the animators so they could study their movements.  When the movie wrapped, these animals were all ritually slaughtered as a sacrifice to Yog Sothoth. However, unfortunately for the animators, he did not appreciate being given offerings of cute animals who had died of Walt’s brutal sodomy. The animators were all skinned alive, their organs melted, and their bones crushed to dust.  Contrary to popular belief they did not die, cursed by the Outer God with the gift of eternal life, and to this day they still animate for Disney Studios, albeit without skin or bones, their organs sloshing about in meaty fleshsacks as they work diligently for their frozen-headed overlord.

True story.

Now, on with the deconstruction.

Have I established how much I have come to HATE the opening titles of Disney movies?  No?  Not enough?  Well this movie has FOUR WHOLE DAYS of opening titles before we actually get to see the first few frames of a cocksplitting movie. And it’s not even a good first few frames.  They not only credit everyone who helped with the movie in whatever small capacity – but decided that the list of names was in no way long enough, and took the initiative to poll 1942 America, featuring the names of every person living at the time who said they would even vaguely consider seeing the movie at some time before their death. And all those names are here. Although I know for a fact that Mr. Gregory H. Fuckballs of Wankington, Cuntarolina at no point in his life had even heard of Bambi, let alone seen the fucking thing.  So we shall add ‘liar’ to the list of crimes committed by Walter Disney,  to go along with being a racist, a rapist… in fact, I don’t need to go through all the things he’s done wrong – here’s a goddamn song about it:

Back to the movie…

After two hours of orchestral masturbation, choral voices, and snoring – yes, this movie starts with SNORING, as if it wasn’t boring enough seeing fucking plates of forests for SIXTEEN MONTHS before anything actually happens in this shit-chewing movie. We then see Disney animators ANALLY VIOLATE THE LAWS OF PHYSICS by having a mouse hold a ball of water in his hands like a fucking sorcerer. You’re reading correctly my friends, Walt Disney is encouraging black magick in his young audience.  I guarantee any child who sees this will find themselves embroiled in the dark arts before their first pubus grow on their filthy sexgenitals. You have my word.

What follows from this perversion of science is a low budget reconstruction (or should that be ‘preconstruction’?) of the opening of The Lion King – with all the forest animals voyaging across the wood because “the new prince is born”.

Whilst the Lion is the king of the jungle, it seems that the deer is the prince of the forest. Is there logic to this?  No.  Should there be? Who cares.

“It’s not every day a new prince is born.  You should be congratulated.”

Wise? He looks like he has downs syndrome...

says a wise old owl.  Note that ‘wise’ is italicised. As it should be, because he is stating the cockpunching obvious. If a prince was born every day since the dawn of man, there would be approximately 876,000,000 princes on the face of the earth. If you haven’t got your calculators at the ready it’d mean one seventh of the world’s population would be royalty. One out of every seven of you hairless apes would be in line to whatever throne the wise owl is referring to. There wouldn’t be enough thrones, let alone crowns to accommodate them all – even if there were, every single day of the year would end up becoming a public holiday for a million prince’s birthday – and society would crumble into a puddle of it’s own rectal secretions.

So. To conclude my point. Of course a prince isn’t born every mother fucking day. You dick.

Six and a half years later, we finally meet Thumper; he (she?) will be the comic relief in this here moving picture.  By ‘comic relief’ I mean ‘reason for me to want to slit my throat within the next hour of this cockchugging film.

You know what?  Bambi is a goddamn moron.  He doesn’t know the difference between a bird and a butterfly, a butterfly and a flower, a flower and a gay skunk.  And oh dear fucking God. NOTHING happens in this donkeypunch of a movie. Almost half an hour in and all we’ve watched is Bambi twat about.  Wasn’t someone supposed to get shot at some point?  Isn’t that the crux of this fucking thing?  Where Bambi learns to be a real ladyboy and take revenge on mankind, brutally murdering one hunter at a time, until s/he finds, rapes and murders the guy responsible?  Isn’t that this movie?  Have I been lied to?

We’re now told that the biggest, baddest stag in the forest is “The great prince of the forest”.  So. Maybe all deers are princes?  Are there 867,000,000 deer-princes?  WHY DO THEY SET THESE THINGS UP AND NEVER ANSWER THEM? I swear to fuck this movie has more unanswered questions than six seasons of Lost.

I stop paying attention, and suddenly all the animals are running.  For five minutes. If I cared more, I’d rewind and find out why they were running, but I so don’t care. Plus, Bambi’s going to get the answer for me all by himself.

“Why did we run?”

“Because Man was in the forest.”

Of course, if I was watching the Blaxploitation version, Blackbi, that would read;

“Because The Man was in the forest, and The Man always wanna keep the black deer down.  The Man loves to shoot him some niggers.  And also pheasant. But mostly niggers.”

That quote, an extract from my ‘Disney (finally) Goes Black‘ collection, is why I have been asked to cease writing blaxploitation children’s books.  Penguin objected to the implication that pheasants are routinely shot by the white man.

Almost FORTY WHORE-STRANGLING MINUTES IN and Bambi’s mother is FINALLY shot.  About fucking time.

From my research (read: googling) In the original script Bambi was shot instead of his mother (his?  Is Bambi a guy? Why does he have girl-eyes?) That would have made for a shorter movie.  A shorter movie, but also a better movie.  Take note Disney – sometimes a movie DOESN’T HAVE TO BE A FUCKING MUSICAL. Hang on, that’s the wrong criticism. Sometimes a movie DOESN’T HAVE TO BE AN HOUR AND A HALF LONG, you anus bleaching twat staplers.

Suddenly, it’s years later.  What happened to Bambi in this time, you ask?   Traumatized by witnessing his mother’s death, Bambi left the woodland creatures and turned to drinking, gambling, whores and crack.  After his inheritance ran out, he succumbed to the need to pay for his habit, and entered the murky world of prostitution, turning tricks just to smoke it up a crackpipe.  He found himself on the wrong side of the law, in and out of juvenile detention, then prison.  It seemed like the young Prince would never turn his life around when he was saved; having found God.  Unfortunately, it was the Mormon God.  The Mormon God who likes to be referred to as “Mr. Ticklebottom”.  Mr. Ticklebottom helped him through the rough times, cleaning up his act until he could finally close that chapter of his life and return to the forest. And return he does.

“Turn around and let me look at you”

says the wise old owl, checking out Bambi’s fine, toned deer-ass.  The memories of his addiction, the incarceration,  and the dirty feeling of being used as a sexual commodity flow back – but Mr. Ticklebottom’s words echo from the recesses of his mind;

“Don’t do be done redoing what did do done dat here now what did do you do before now then there when what when why and how. Think a dink a link aboot when what and where-when the here-now and the then-there become what-a-doodle-dipsy-do and dang-a-lang-lang. Who puts the Ram in the lama dama ding dong? Doctor Crackpipe, that’s who. And he done ain’t gonna what-where reverb your condition intrinsically fandango now, is he?”

Bambi doesn’t seem to know what that means – but he knows that it’s important.  Maybe Mr. Ticklebottom’s words of advice will help him in the future, some time, some place. Maybe not in the course of the story this movie is telling, but maybe in Bambi 2: The Quickening, or Bambi 3: Return of The Sith.  Who knows?  Not I. That is for fucksuredness.

I missed another 10 minutes of movie somehow.  Everyone in the forest seems to be pairing up and fucking… and now… uh…

STAGFIGHT!

Why? Who cares.  But I think Bambi just did a murder.  And he liked it. Now he’s chopping up the bodies, putting them in sacks and taking him out to the ocean on his boat.

Wait, I think I just flicked over to Dexter.  No wonder Bambi isn’t animated anymore, and is now the gay brother from Six Feet Under.

Ok, I confess; I watched the end of that episode of Dexter and let the movie play on.  But an hour into the movie and there is STILL no plot. Some dogs are chasing Bambi and his ho’.  And.. uh… I think he was just shot.

Like mother like son, I guess.  It must have been one of those predisposed genetic conditions. Bullets count as those.  Or at least on my health plan they do.

FIRE!

Why? Because obviously we can’t just have one crisis at a time – especially not when we’ve spent OVER SIXTY MINUTES waiting for a plot and it never materialized.

So. The forest burns down.  But everyone is still alive. And the forest is entirely un-burnt. As if the fire was all some acid trip that Bambi went on.

And now… uh… “A new prince is born”… again…

For. Fucks. Sake.  Is this a movie or a Möbius strip?

Oh God it is. The DVD player is starting the movie up again. From the top.  And it won’t let me eject. This is NEVER GOING TO END.

All Deconstructing Disney columns from now on may have to be about Bambi. Over and over and over again. Until the end of time – or at least until I avert my eyes, pull the player from the wall and throw it out the window.

And kill a homeless man, who was outside the window.

Cut up and roast said homeless man on a spit.

Feed him to guests.

Crisis over.  It’s all going to be ok.

Ok, and also delicious.

—

And that’s it for another Deconstructing Disney, folks.  Next time it’s… uh… Saludos Amigos? Well. Maybe not, because after checking it out, it seems that disc is in Spanish and has no subtitles.  Victory Through Air Power it is.

As always, if you’ve enjoyed my ramblings in this Disney Deconstruct, why not check out the previous columns for The Reluctant Dragon, Dumbo, Pinocchio, Fantasia and Snow White, or celebrate me and my words by buying one of my books, available from only £1/$1 at Amazon UK, and Amazon US.   Hurrah!