Bambi - Beyond the Meadow
Yes, I butchered another childhood movie - Bambi. I'm feeling generally sedate, so it wasn't one of my psychotic rants, but rather an essay. Enjoy!
“Drip drip drop, little April showers.” The tune got stuck in my head recently after watching Bambi and it made me think. No, not the song – the movie. Was this just another Disney flick, or an urban drama laced with highly prejudiced social commentary disguised as a child’s movie? Now at first, one may not suspect anything of such a movie. All the animals are chillin together as they wait for the new prince of the forest to be born. There’s nothing too unusual about this, however as the storyline progresses and certain subtle revelations are made, one can think differently. Bambi is about AIDS. There, I made a baseless proclamation. Now as you read you’ll see why and squeeze your testes (or those of the nearest male, in case you have none) in disbelief at your auric-piscesian naivety.
Where has all the death in the movie originated from? I look at the hunting dogs, gunfire, bullets, burning trees and fighting, and I don’t see a DMX video. I see the meadow. Yes, the meadow, flowing fields of fertile land, open and fresh – a metaphor for the open and fresh fertile land that is sexuality. A parallel to the grisly disease-ridden money-draining cum-plains of poor urban life as Disney portrays it. Yes, it’s tempting to venture forth, as Bambi had experienced first hand, but his wise mother – single mother I may add – gave him fair warning. She should know, having been impregnated by the Great Forest Prince himself, who subsequently ran from the responsibility of rearing a plucky fawn to “watch over” the rest of the herd. Bambi’s dad had such responsibilities anyway, being a pimp and a gang leader and all. He had first pick of the tightest does, who had no qualm about his well-endowed antlers, and he controlled all the other males as they gallantly gallivanted in unison across the meadow, accompanied by an invisible symbol-happy orchestra. There was a lot going on in the meadow, and I’m not referring to the wave patterns created in the grasses as finches ascended for their aerial dances of pointlessness. Hell, Bambi met Feline in the meadow as he surveyed himself as he stared into the (gene) pool of water. From an early age he liked his bitches young, just like me. Okay, well not… At least the first part is true, as Feline’s knobby legs and narrow hips showed. He did beat the shit out of another buck for her, so he’s a resilient and consistent grass-chewing dead-mother motherfucker. The danger of the meadow was quite public to the population, just as any informed group would know about the negative repercussions of unprotected sex. This is not too profound, as we can view “man” as AIDS in all its immunodeficient glory. However, it is when we take a step back and look at life away from the meadow do we see Disney’s elitist, racist and overall prejudiced side stand tall with a full-on morning wood.
Listen. Listen closely. Not to me, but to Bambi and Thumper. Notice that accent? I’ll give you a hint, it’s not that of a Russian child, nor a white child. It is the voice of a small black child. It is no statistical secret that blacks have been diagnosed with the most cases of AIDS compared to other ethnicities and races, nor is it a secret that elitist whites like Walt Disney would blow such proportions, well, out of proportion. Hell, they even liked the “green stuff”, another stereotype. Feline’s would-be rapist was darker than the other deer as well. So it is no silent steel-toed kick in the decompressed mum beans from behind that Walt Disney would hide such viewpoints in his movies, but I caught his little tricks, the dead racist bastard. Hear that? From underneath the anaerobic decomposer bacteria, his remaining body mass just went “Ah, fuck”. Now look at Flower. Observe his behaviors around Bambi, how he talks to him (“oh, he can call me whatever he wants, teehee”), how he walks, and where he hangs out (flower patches). He’s clearly homosexual, and since the gay community experience the blow of AIDS almost 5 times as much as the others, why wouldn’t our favorite virulent Nazi demon attack them as well? I’ll limit my discussion to these three characters, as I only need to touch upon the slew of aviary and other such couples fucking in the trees, mice washing their faces with cumdrops, pheasants with post-traumatic stress disorder and squirrel-sodomizing chipmunks. Oh well, maybe another day my little antigens of unrestrained love.
Springtime rolled around and Friend Owl was chillin in his tree watching his neighbors fuck when our favorite herbivorous trio comes by, who then take a lesson from himself on life and love. Walt Disney’s sexual suppression came out in the transference of his views and personality onto Friend Owl. Friend Owl didn’t have any ethnic accents, nor any women for that matter. He was a cantankerously no-elbows-on-his-knees STD-free retiree, oh gee. He described the feeling of being twitterpated in quite the detail to Bambi, Thumper and Flower, but he wasn’t talking about love. Off your feet? Light as a feather? Finally walking on air? That sounds like the symptom of an AIDS patient who progressively becomes bed ridden, loses weight and dies. This is not love, this is a diagnosis, the morbid coffin-stuffer. The trio vows not to become twitterpated, but as they walk off they each fall victim. Who did the fuhrer, Walt make as the first victim? That’s right, Flower, the gay one, was the first to get AIDS. There’s no evidence that the other skunk was female. Thumper followed, getting with an orange fat chick with a severe growth of facial hair only to be seen on Santa and Rabbis. Bambi was the last one, but mom’s warnings didn’t overcome pure lust. Hell, she got a cap popped in her ass the previous year anyway. Bambi and Feline quickly “frolicked in the meadow”. Bambi’s uninvolved father could not help but be proud to see his son fuck such a tight-ass doe, despite the fact that she was probably his half-sister. After Bambi fucked up the hunting dogs, he got shot in the ass and needed his dad to come by and tell him to stop being such a little bitch and embarrassing the testicles he came from. A decent portion of the animals made it to the little island when the conflagration of immorality, disease and sin engulfed the forest, and when the flora grew anew, Bambi’s swimmers decided to invade both of Feline’s eggs that month and spark the development of twins. If you cared to notice, Friend Owl stayed in the forest the whole time, proving the consistency of my man=AIDS argument and the celibate avian’s protection against its incarnations. Naturally, he left just like his dad did only two full seasonal cycles ago. Before the scene even ended, his dad left to get another beer. The fucking end.
What does this all mean? Well, two things in particular. Firstly, Walt Disney did not respect ethnic and sexual minorities. He fed on stereotypes produced by blind upper class politics and applied them to all aspects of his life, from his raving anti-Semitism and white power ideals in real life to his hatemongering and disparaging of those that were different from himself in his cinematic creations. Secondly, Walt Disney had superpowers and was able to tell the future, which explains his knowledge of the AIDS epidemiological statistics a century later and his understanding of how HIV invades DNA strands (on the ice as Thumper tries to get Bambi to stand on the frozen water, he uncrosses his legs saying “Looks like you have to unwind it”, referring to the unwinding of the DNA double-helix and the replacement of certain areas with the RNA viral strand) which was discovered by scientists several decades later. Sweet nucleotide-synthesizing Jesus enzymes of fucking doomland, Walt Disney was a monster. Goodness gracious me. Boom. Goodbye.