immiscible

how you test me.

each better hour of my bitter days,

you arrange the torment of the seconds,

you essay the sunlight,

you deliver the silence

that reminds me of you.

I mistook you in the morning,

viewing through the glass a yellow car,

like daffodils, asleep along the lane,

as parallel with the curb

as you with my heart now run.

But you traded that car for another.

I upset the soft-blue basket with 

the bread, the cheese, the jam

you would have favored.

I gather, spread, pretend

to honor fuzzy memory,

tasting the sweetness

you never offered.

I speak with the wind,

consult the rain,

conspire with the sky,

but everywhere and everything

has found you first.

Every little gesture,

each tender confidence,

the kindly world entire

knows your pity and your love

for me, and plays along.

Sandman TV Review

DISCLAIMER: I watched the whole thing in a COVID-induced fever-fugue state over the course of about 25 hours. Arguably, this only heightened the experience.

I dearly love the Sandman comics, it's no exaggeration to say that my first read of them was a revelation. They changed my life, opened my eyes to a new way of telling and relating to stories. but the techniques and presentation that were so well-suited to comics seemed doomed to make them a poor fit for film/TV. I never really got my hopes up over the years at this or that news, and until I heard Gaiman discussing details of production earlier this year, I didn't really let myself believe it was happening. too much could go wrong, and even Gaiman's support only meant so much after Martin's fervent defense of the latter seasons of Game of Thrones.

I avoided spoilers, promo materials, and even forced myself just to skim conversations friends were having about it before I got around to watching it. Having watched it, my reaction is...mixed.

It's a very well-made show, the most important casting choices are all excellent, the CGI is beautiful, and the story is adapted and presented faithfully and appropriately. at times I felt myself transported to the feeling I'd had reading the comic, those highs are really hard to nail and at times, they did it.

But I have reservations in spite of those positives. I didn't have any major issues with changes from the comic after the first episode; that is, the first ep changed little enough that I found the few changes distracting and pointless (seems to have been mostly an effort to make Alex a more dynamic character through various ways). later eps changed more to the point it didn't seem worth critiquing differences when the shape of whole subplots could be different.

Ultimately, I think they didn't change enough to justify this version. There's a certain sense that the whole production is kind of gratuitous. Recreating beautiful, heartfelt moments from the comic is a nice idea, but they're delivered with so much emphasis that it feels like the show wants to stop and wait for you to applaud whenever one of the characters says something iconic. It stops feeling natural and strikes more theatrically. One of the most glaring character traits of comic Morpheus is his lack of self-awareness, but show Morpheus never lets you forget that he's *performing*.

There are other ways the show's production is doomed to fall short of the comic. The surreal landscapes and impossibly vivid grotesques featured in graphic detail in the comic have been narrowed, simplified, or simply removed. This is probably in service of saving money on CGI so that the more up-close, character-oriented stuff can be better, and the CGI that remains is generally really high quality. Sandman TV's visuals are certainly trippy, but usually in the service of adequately realizing one of the less-trippy visuals from the comic. That's a legitimate artistic resource allocation choice, and I think the choices mostly make sense, but the overall effect is underwhelming compared to what's presented in the comic. Maybe some people are so desperate for live-action versions of their favorite works that they don't mind those compromises, but I can't help but feel a little sad for the visionary limits associated with those costs.

There are basically two avenues to take in this kind of project:  make something that depends and expands on the original work, or make something that works as an alternate interpretation or introduction to the original work. They clearly went with the latter choice, and I don't blame them for that. And this is no alternate interpretation, but an earnest attempt to repackage the same story for a modern TV audience. It's an effort to expand the Sandman audience to people who might not want to read 35-year-old comics. It seems successful in that regard, but that choice means its appeal is necessarily limited compared to what might have been created with a different goal in mind, and being aware of that makes me feel a little disappointed, even though I understand what would appeal to me most would be a far less commercially viable product (ain't that always the way).

All in all that's to say I'm really glad this was made, I'm glad there is an audience for Sandman stories, I'm glad there are producers willing to fund efforts to tell those stories. The issues that were adapted for Season 1 are by far the most straightforward and easily-adapted to film, so I'm optimistic that future seasons may dig more deeply into a comparatively philosophical, cerebral storytelling approach (though I shouldn't get my hopes up too much, as most viewers would probably find that stuff pretty boring). But for now, as much as I enjoyed being reminded of the stories I've grown around, my appreciation for the series never really transcended being grateful for the really vivid reminder.

Last point: although the casting is generally great, I have some concerns about the seemingly pervasive choice to cast as many parts as possible with black actors to the exclusion of other non-white actors. Maybe that's primarily a factor of the demographics in southeast England -- filming in America it might have been easier to cast people of asian, middle eastern, or other non-white appearance. At any rate, it doesn't detract from the stories except in how obviously sparsely populated the show is with actors who aren't white or black. Given the subject matter, it also means the show seems particularly intent on killing or traumatizing black people. A change for diversity's sake is harmless enough, but a series of changes that happen to depict the suffering of one group over and over again for no clear reason just starts to feel uncomfortable.

UPDATE: Netflix released an 11th episode over a week after I finished watching the series, and it's a fantastic adaptation of two of the comic's best issues; one entirely CGI, and the other almost entirely without. They were so well done it raised my opinion of the entire show. We have so much to look forward to.

the car ride

My name is David Lime, and these are my final thoughts.

It's a little silly to be narrating them as a blog post, I guess. But that's the way I'm used to thinking through problems. Sentence by sentence, paragraph by paragraph, dig out the heart of the matter and turn it around. Examine every side. Notice how I'm feeling.

I've been taking a mindfulness class at work. When I remember to go, it's really edifying. The instructor tells me I'm really making strides. I know that's just something they say, but I'm still proud. She's right, even if she has to say it no matter how I do.

Right now I'm feeling a lot of ways. Scared, confused, angry. Hard to tell which emotion is winning out. All because my girlfriend, or ex-girlfriend, can't control herself. I've always known that about her. I used to find it really attractive, how she'd just say what she was feeling all the time. It's something I'm still working on.

Guess I'm out of time, now. These are my final thoughts because of the predicament I'm in. That predicament involves a roll of duct tape, a brick, and my 2002 Chevy Impala. Well, my mom's Impala, actually, but she's letting me drive it because the insurance is cheaper that way.

I can't actually see the brick, not anymore. I saw it in my girlfriend's, or ex's, hand when she went to place it on the gas pedal. Then she looked really surprised as the car sped off with me in it, like that wasn't exactly what she expected to happen. 'Let's drive to the river and talk,' she'd said. It was pretty hard to talk with my mouth taped shut.

It was my fault, really. I know, I know, 'violence isn't the answer' and all, but I guess I was pretty stupid. I didn't think she'd take it so hard -- we basically only talk over text anymore -- but breaking up with her that way was a bridge too far. Oh, yeah, I can see the bridge out the window, too. There isn't really that much bridge before the river, so I'm thinking this all pretty fast. All part of the skillset for working out my feelings in awkward situations.

I should be more upset, shouldn't I? My girlfriend, who's about to be my ex, or maybe already is, is about to have killed me. I think she's my ex, at least. It ought to kick in as soon as one person decides it's over. But maybe that's not how it works. Maybe you have to give the other person a chance to accept it first. At any rate, this car is going in the river, and then we'll be exes one way or the other.

I remember on Facebook once, back when we still used Facebook, we set our relationship status to 'It's Complicated', as a joke. But it was true, too, even if we didn't let our friends see. We fought a lot, back then. We've barely been fighting at all lately. I'd been thinking things were going pretty well. Hmm, now I'm having trouble remembering why I wanted to end it. Maybe it's the stress. That seems reasonable.

Ow! Oh, the car just hit a bump. I can hear the brick rattling back and forth. Did she place it wrong? Maybe it's an irregular brick. That'd be funny, wouldn't it? Saved by my girlfriend's failure to procure an evenly shaped brick. Well, it was her first time. Mistakes are to be expected.

If I survive this... listen to me. If. The hope is just oozing out of me now. I can't even move. If the car stops, I don't go in the water, what if she just comes back and finishes the job? Or is she going to keep acting surprised, and pretend she didn't mean to do it? What if this is the thing that saves our relationship?

No, no. This girl is trying to kill me. I can't look past that. Forgiveness is great, and moving on, but she's demonstrated she's a danger. The only way out is through, they say. 

Actually, I have no idea what that means.

The car tilts forward, and I lift into the air. Weightless. So the brick stayed on. Here comes the river. Some last words. I wish I had learned why people love sports. I wish I had held a baby that wasn't crying. I wish I had gotten to visit my friend's microbrewery. I wish I had tried harder at work. I wish I hadn't made my girlfriend so angry that she decided to murder me.

You always think there's going to be more time for this sort of stuff. You think you're going to get a cancer diagnosis and waste away for a few months, or decline gracefully into an old age that's practically like being dead already. I had a lot more blog posts to write.

There's a huge smack, and water starts coming in. I smack, too, straight into the seat in front of me. Something in my cheek cracks. I guess that is my cheek. It hurts, which is weird for that spot. My right leg is wedged under the passenger seat, now. It's getting wet. But the rest of me isn't.

I twist my body as much as I can, but all I can see is door and sky. Looking the other way, I can see the water level isn't rising, and the car isn't really angled anymore. I'm not sinking. How deep is this river, anyway?

There's a splashing sound, and my girlfriend tears the door open, ugly crying and shouting how sorry she is. Half a brick floats across the backseat and bumps into my knee. The sun is making a halo in her hair, and she smells like apples. I can't help but smile up at her, and she pulls me into a warm embrace, not even recoiling at how soggy I am. I wince when she presses her cheek against mine, but it's worth it.

'I love you,' she says, meaning it. I can tell.

'Will you...marry me?' I ask, taking some time to adjust my mouth so the words come out normal. A couple of my teeth seem to be in the wrong spot.

'Yes!' she yells, still crying. Women can be so emotional.

She tears off the duct tape, which is pretty painful on my face, and helps me sit up. Looking around at the car, I get a sinking feeling. Not a literal one, the car isn't going anywhere, but in my stomach.

'My mom is going to be pissed.'

My girlfriend keeps kissing me on the cheek. I notice I'm confused. I mentally scroll up a few paragraphs.

'Did you just...try to kill me?' I ask, carefully keeping any emotion from my voice. It's not productive.

She goes really quiet, and the kisses stop. The brick bumps against my shin this time.

'I wasn't trying to kill you,' she whispers, 'I just wanted to scare you. It got... out of hand.'

I nod slowly at that. It had, indeed, gotten out of hand. 'Well, that's settled,' I say firmly. 'Please don't do that again.'

She nods, almost crying again. She helps me out of the car, and we walk to the riverbank.

'Oh, your sundress, it's all dirty,' I comment, seeing the hem of her favorite dress all messed up by the river water.

She frowns. 'It's nothing. Don't be silly. How's your face?'

I let her dote on me for a while. This kind of fussing makes her feel like she's being useful, and letting her feel that way is important. I focus on the ruined car. It was really old. She'd probably done my mom a favor. I'd need to take the bus for a while, but that wasn't so bad.

Two birds land on the car's roof. They scan its peeling paint, looking for some morsel, and chirp at each other in disappointment when they find nothing but paint chips. They look so pretty, and perfectly suited for their purpose. Perfectly suited for each other. I feel a little better. They start to sing.

The car explodes, a sudden torrent of fire ripping up through the songbirds and into the sky, more of a column than a ball, like directed fury. It takes the rest of the car too, and in moments, as the heat wave gives me a sunburn, and steam rises from the river, my mom's Impala is reduced to a skeleton.

My girlfriend grips my wrist tightly as it burns.  'Oh my God!' she cries. 'I'm so glad I saved you!' She throws both arms around me, and goes to jump into my arms, like we used to do. I sway, my legs losing their ability to stand, and collapse to the ground, hitting my head on a cool, smooth river rock--

Poetry - Release

Release

By Scott Hansen

Late autumn, in that chilling cage,
He placed the better part of nine
Confusions, thoughts perplexed and sage,
To pickle in his wrinkled brine.

December brought him fast and low,
A curtained, wailing kind of place.
One thought flew, but eight were slow,
Content there in their meand’ring pace.

Until, with Eros’ arrows loosed,
That warm and snowy day of hearts,
His second thought was soon seduced
By her darker, nimbler arts.

So on and on, past ides of gloom,
His fortress cracked and brittle grew.
She spun the third on golden loom,
And taught him how to love anew.

Four was subtle, fast and deep,
And five escaped with tender care.
But six, she drew forth in his sleep,
Her lips so soft, her skin so fair.

By summer’s moon, he knew he’d lost,
His mind submerged in all she’d shown.
He laughed at what his fears might cost
And opened the cage, and found them flown.

Just dusty leaves, the scent of pine,
Some lingering doubts therein remained.
His dreams had led him to a sign
That read, to him, of futures pained.

Wisdom’s weak when love is near,
And much seems fit to sacrifice.
But no good life is made of fear,
And no cage safely made of ice.

Disney Movie Reviews #7: The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad (Part Two)

Ichabod Crane! Explicitly not titled "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow," for some reason! I liked this one. At the same time, it's very strange.

Sleepy Hollow, a cheerful and charming New York town.

It's better than Mr. Toad in every respect, but it still shares some of the tonal clashes that plagued its forerunner. 90% of Ichabod's tale is just him bouncing around a quaint Mid-Atlantic countryside, hitting on chicks and eating a lot. Then the final 10% is SHEER TERROR.

Always a bad sign, a bindle.

Sleepy Hollow is an unassuming yet lovely little town nestled next to the Hudson River. Its people are simple, but pleasant, and the entire place exists in want of only one thing: a schoolteacher! So Ichabod Crane follows his vocation to their step. At first, this ostrich-inspired fellow seems like little more than a lazy, lettered anorexic. But that's wrong! He's actually a very skinny glutton.

Manhattan is just twenty miles down the river, but Disney wants you to think this is the middle of nowhere.

The town is nice to look at, and the populace is fairly interesting, in a gallery-of-American-archetypes way, but nothing about the place comes together in the way even Mr. Toad's neighborhood managed to evoke a sense of placeness. Even though we see its layout from above, Sleepy Hollow feels less like a lived-in town, and more like a series of backdrops for vignettes. Which is a shame, because the foreground stuff is really pretty good!

Brom Bones, ladies and gentleman. The complete package. Gaston, but with a keg instead of a chip on his shoulder.

Brom in particular leaps about town with the easy confidence of the big fish in the little pond. He's exciting and fun and generous, sure of himself without crossing the line into arrogance. He doesn't need his fun to come at anyone's expense. And see, that's the thing about this story:  Ichabod is just the opposite.

Ladies with pies ought beware the purported helpfulness of bone-gaunt gentlemen. Also, what's wrong with her face?

Although the whole town seems fooled, with all the eligible women throwing themselves at his feet (and their cooking at his mouth), it's clear to the viewer that Ichabod is essentially selfish. He has no interest in others beyond the good they can do for him, and outside of that, he keeps to himself. He quickly ingratiates himself with the local ladies, pretending to give them piano lessons, but it's pretty obvious he's in it for the vittles.

If you were wondering why he's so dreamy, it's because he's voiced by Bing Crosby.

As a schoolteacher, Ichabod leaves much to be desired, occasionally wandering away and only pretending to teach, or confiscating his students' lunches so he can have a mid-morning snack. He's the worst! Only the students come to know the terrible truth about him.

This emperor has no clothes, indeed.

But Mr. Crane has a weakness, and it is the charms of one Katrina Van Tassel, presumed heiress to her father's vast tassel empire. She's rich and hot, and has no personality to speak of, which gets full marks on the early American man's Chick Rubric.

Hey, her eyes are up...wait. What's wrong with her eyes?

Seeing Katrina in the park finally reveals to Ichabod that there's more to life than bilking desperate women out of pot roast and loaves of bread. At first, he's perplexed and put off by her aggressive flirting:

Then, he starts to realize he may have bitten off more than he can chew:

In the end, Ichabod realizes that she offers him something precious and irreplaceable. A life with Katrina would mean he would at last have access to that most beautiful resource, the stuff which nourishes the human spirit like none other. After all, what is the one thing money can't buy?

That's right:  more money.

These scenes are a little perplexing, because it's never quite clear what Katrina sees in Ichabod. She's got her pick of the fellas, unlike every other woman in town, who've got to content themselves with Katrina's leavings. And Brom spends every day falling all over himself to woo her. Nevertheless, she allows Ichabod to dream of a wonderful future with her.

He's beside himself with joy.

This leaves Brom a bit put out. He's used to being the big man on commons, and finds himself playing second fiddle to a nerd. So when there's a huge Halloween party at the van Tassels', Brom decides to take his revenge, in the form of telling Ichabod a very scary story!

BOOGA BOOGA BOOGA!!

Ichabod is completely terrified by Brom's story, and freaks out at every errant sound on the dark ride home. But he's so relieved to discover it's just his own superstitions alarming him.

Nothing supports a man like a solidly built horse.

But wait, there's more! You know the story, the Headless Horseman attacks, yada yada yada.

This horse has probably not received the same degree of sensitivity training as Ichabod's.

My goodness this is terrifying.

Horse bearing down on me, yes very scary. Man with sword, upsetting to say the least. Performing the above post-decapitation? Absolutely bonechilling.

The Horseman throws his head at Ichabod, and the scene fades to black. When we see it again, there are just bits of pumpkin, no Ichabod in view. Did he explode? Was he taken by the H.H. to hell? The townspeople don't really care. Brom marries Katrina and everyone is better off.

Almost everyone was better off.

But just in case you felt bad, the narration assures you that Ichabod did survive, and went on to spawn seven terrifying dopplegangers with an absolutely PRODIGIOUS lady. The end!

So, here's the deal:  the sonorous beauty of the narration, the good-natured Americana of the animation, and the ubiquity of the plot (which gives Disney the chance to take their time with the build-up) work together to give this one staying power greater than the sum of its parts. It's extremely silly, but in a harmless way. And Bing Crosby really is amazing! Compared to Mr. Toad, this is a work of absolute genius. Not so much compared to everything else -- it's essentially on the level of anything from "Make Mine Music."

Any other day, "simply enjoyable" would have been faint praise indeed for Disney. Today, though, in a package of the execrable "Mr. Toad," it's hard to see Ichabod as anything but a sign that the light still shone somewhere in the Disney workshops, late into the night.

THE ADVENTURES OF ICHABOD AND MR. TOAD

1949

RATING: D+

REASONING: It's hard to imagine a lower point for Disney storytelling than Mr. Toad, but Ichabod manages to spin the straw of American stories into something almost resembling gold.

Falling

I've always been interested in making my own computer games. Recently, I decided to really buckle down and force myself to learn the ins and outs of modern gamemaking tools, which are actually extremely simple to use once you learn the quirks!

Without further ado, I present my first experiment, Falling:

It's a 3-5 minute interactive visual experience. I made as a learning project, and used art from the following:

Character art from the game Flashback by Delphine Software.

Music by Kevin Macleod.
Light Thought var 2 Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com)
Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0 License
http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/

City image from the game Streets of Rage by Sega.

Moon image by fridaruiz.

Alley image by bomb998.

Everything else is by me.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Download for Windows. Extract and run Falling.exe.

Download for Linux.

Disney Movie Reviews #7: The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad (Part One)

(not in order of appearance)

Oh, geez.

Okay, I'm going to level with you. I've taken a pretty high-level approach to these reviews so far, only letting my raw emotions come through in little bursts, doing my best to keep a generally neutral, objective tone. The point, after all, is to provide an unbiased look at where each movie fits into Disney's canon, in terms of creative energy and artistic success. And that should be pretty fun! Except...

For the most part, the movies we've done so far, I knew what I was getting into. With the exception of Make Mine Music, I'd seen them all before. Yes, there were some surprises in how I felt about some stories on re-watch, and I was completely unprepared for how good much of the animation would turn out to be. But generally, I knew I would be experiencing a quality product. And even though there were some hiccups, I felt Disney's financial woes in the 40's adequately explained those.

And I mean, of course a movie would have to be good to be generally beloved by people who'd seen it, and to earn its own ride at Disneyland/world! Right?

But no. That was a mistake. And the proof is in the tragically froggy pudding.

The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad is two short films packaged together. They don't have anything to do with one another. I wasn't even sure I should review them. But then, I wanted to give them a shot, and understand what was behind the now-defunct Mr. Toad's Wild Ride. To keep things manageable, I'm going to aim this review at Mr. Toad (which comes first when viewing, despite the title), and a forthcoming one will cover Ichabod.

Mistakes were made.

I have a lot of trouble understanding this one in the context of previous Disney movies. This is our first protagonist who's in no way a child, who lives in his own right as an adult of means, and he's completely selfish. You might expect this to be a morality tale, a fable where he learns the error of his ways and comes to appreciate others.

Duck!!!!

But you'd be wrong. This is a story about a rich frog repeatedly jeopardizing his safety and fortune, as well as the lives and property of his neighbors, for a few yuks. His friends try to talk him down from it, but they can't get through to him. Here, he's careening around the countryside, terrorizing poor English countryfolk with a giant wagon hooked to his new friend Cyril Proudbottom. The best thing about Cyril is his entry on the Disney Wiki:

I do not agree with their assessment of his alignment.

In the aftermath of his reign of destruction, Toad abandons his friends, letting them deal with hundreds of fresh lawsuits caused by his running rampant over mailboxes, chicken coops, children &tc. Toad espies a fresh obsession in the form of a sweet new automobile, and decides he simply must have one.

Disneyland did a great job! The only thing they forgot was the air of STAGGERING SELF-CENTEREDNESS.

Toad tracks down the car's drivers, a bunch of weasels hanging out in a bar owned by the model citizen Mr. Winkie. The affable amphibian purchases the car on the spot, in exchange for nothing less than the deed to his ancestral manor house, Toad Hall. Later, it turns out the car had been stolen, so Toad is arrested.

Race is a completely invalid basis for predicting criminal behavior. Species is fine; weasels are awful.

There's an extended trial, jailbreak, and chase sequence, but I can't in good faith say that it amounts to very much, aside from a few goofy visual gags (and a horse in drag). Mr. Winkie testifies that Toad made no deal with him, and instead offered to sell him the stolen car. Off to jail Toad goes!

Finally, right where he belongs.

I have a certain standard which applies to all movies, and it is this: a bad movie is one where, if the hero is in danger, you find yourself rooting for him or her to die. Mr. Toad fails to rise above this standard.

In making his escape from prison, Toad steals a train. The police respond, to my view, appropriately.

Alas, Toad survives his jailbreak, finally making contact with his friends again. I hate to admit it, but in the matter of the car theft, Toad is indeed innocent. He and his friends therefore invade Toad Hall, now occupied by Mr. Winkie and his weasely company, so they can steal the deed back and prove that Toad purchased the stolen automobile from Mr. Winkie without knowing its criminal past. Does this make sense? Why are the criminals able to live in Toad Hall without anybody wondering what they're doing there? Well, most likely they're just relieved to have anybody but Toad as a neighbor. At least the weasels will just steal your stuff instead of running it over with a wagon.

Plus, these guys really know how to party!

There's a wacky shootout and the deed is reclaimed. Toad is restored to his rightful place in society, and immediately takes up aeroplane piloting, as is totally reasonable and not likely to result in any death or devastation.

Last premortem photo of J. Thaddeus Toad, Esq. & equine companion.

So that's Mr. Toad. If it seems I was too harsh on the little guy, bear in mind that his friends have more dialogue complaining about how awful he is than he himself speaks. Believe it or not, Disney toned down the selfishness. In the source material, it seems Toad went well beyond simple maniacal joyriding. The book relates how he'd crashed multiple cars, been hospitalized several times for it, and in fact he does steal the car that became the subject of the movie, no quibbles about his true innocence necessary. And while I'm truly glad that's not the movie we got, the animated Mr. Toad fares little better.

Story aside, the animation is fine, though it comes across a little cheaply in parts (though not as bad as the worst of Dumbo or Make Mine Music). Mr. Toad and his animal companions all have a great deal of charm to their movements. And in fact, I adore the way the weasels are animated, as though their entire bodies are looking at you sideways. For that matter, the humans look pretty good too.

The crown prosecutor is as delightfully malevolent as any you could hope to meet.

But nothing ever really rises above the level of charming, unless you have a particular penchant for sleepy English countrysides. And the slapstick is through the roof, which makes it hard to take any of the supposedly dramatic stuff too seriously, or feel as if the frequent fights and shootouts have much in the way of stakes. Everything's in such good fun, it's just a shame that's in service to such an unlikable and inconsiderate little toad of a toad.

There's not really any music worth mentioning, and in the end, the whole affair feels much like another easy cash-in on Disney's part (though, in their defense, the project was brought to them). But looking forward (and back), it's easy to understand why this is among the least-mentioned of Disney productions, and it firmly deserves a spot near the bottom of the canon in terms of quality. And I'm not alone in thinking this -- Disney put production on hold multiple times in order to try to bring the quality up and salvage the work.

Mole removal was more of an art than a science back then.

In the end, only packaging it with The Legend of Sleepy Hollow was enough to get Mr. Toad out the door. The reception was much more positive than any impression I may have given so far would lead you to expect, and I think most of that has to do with the second part, because this first part does nothing but spin its wheels.