Atlantis: The Lost Empire was released on June 15, 2001. Like The Emperor’s New Groove before, it represents another foray into an untapped genre for Disney Animation, a bold departure from storybook fantasy.
In October 1996, after the release of The Hunchback of Notre Dame, directors Gary Trousdale and Kirk Wise, along with producer Don Hahn and screenwriter Tab Murphy, all mainstays at Disney’s animation studios, met up for dinner. They reminisced over drinks about the films they grew up on, the ones that “just didn’t get made anymore.” Chief among these influential films of their youth were live-action adventure films, many of which Disney themselves released all throughout the 1950s and 60s. They yearned to add to this canon, to create something different: an animated film that could join the ranks of Indiana Jones and the Swiss Family Robinson. After all, as Wise noted, Disney parks had a whole section named Fantasyland with princess movies galore. It seemed fitting to take animation into the realm of another section of the Magic Kingdom: Adventureland.
Trousdale and Wise, fresh off a series of successes at Disney, got little pushback from executives. Michael Eisner, Peter Schneider, and Thomas Schumacher all had their attention directed toward other corporate interests and endeavors. This allowed the Atlantis team a relatively smooth production. Much of the team had already been working together for years, and the camaraderie and ease allowed for a lively and exciting workplace environment. Their team t-shirts read: “Atlantis: Fewer Songs, More Explosions.”
This was a project laden with firsts. They had to build a mythos from the ground up. They buried themselves in the theories of Atlantis, both the grounded and the far-fetched. In typical Disney fashion, they wanted to incorporate supernatural mysticism into a real-world setting. Much of their research was devoted to crafting a version of the myth of Atlantis that, although fantastical, could seem plausible enough to engage the audience on their journey to its discovery.
The world-building for Atlantis was some of the most extensive ever conducted by Disney Animation. Marc Okrand, a renowned linguist and expert in constructed languages, was brought on to develop the Atlantean language. This was key to help orient the animators in the design of Atlantis and its people. Trousdale and Wise thought it best to avoid the stereotypical depictions of Atlantis that relied on Greco-Roman imagery. Instead, they focused on drawing influences from other cultures. The team was attracted to the theory that Atlantis was something like an island continent that bridged North and Central America with Africa. Hence, they built their idea of Atlantis as a sort of root culture. The structure of Atlantean drew from Indo-European and Sumerian branches, lending credence to the imagining of it as an old-world mother language that many other languages could have developed from. The architecture was inspired by Southeast Asian temples and buildings. The use of pyramids also connected this setting to an ancient time, since pyramids are some of the earliest large structures that span many different cultures.
Depicting Atlantis in all its wonder required an imaginative style of animating. CGI was used very heavily in Atlantis, much more than any other traditionally animated film Disney had made before. Many of the vehicles, creatures, and dynamic vistas were all achieved through the use of CGI. Only a few years before, a simple shot at the end of Hunchback was a major hassle to animate and complete while using CGI. Atlantis is a testament to how quickly animation techniques can evolve over time. The film utilizes CGI to broaden the scope of the world, to make every sweeping landscape as awe-inspiring as possible. The film was also animated in widescreen to amplify its scope. The animators wanted everything to feel like a classic adventure story. Widescreen allowed more space to fill each frame with life and depth. This format also led to longer scenes with more complex character movements as they moved to and fro across the screen and had their conversations.
Atlantis overall has a beautiful visual aesthetic that is markedly different from Disney features made before or even since. Mike Mignola, the creator of Hellboy, was handpicked by Trousdale, Wise, and Hahn to be a creative lead for the design of the world of Atlantis. Lead animators on the team broke down Mignola’s characteristic style, from his sharp, angular faces to his large square hands to the kinetic crackle of his beams of light. Mignola’s influence is felt all throughout Atlantis, not just in the visual language of the film but in story aspects as well. There is a maturity to Atlantis, one that helps it situate itself firmly as a robust adventure story. There are deep shadows, and bright, almost otherworldly lights and explosions. The color palette is striking and dynamic, sticking to the brightest hues of nearly every shade.
Most notably, Mignola’s style is seen in the design of Atlantis’s characters. This is a large ensemble cast, and everyone is visually distinct and leaves an impression. Everyone is full of life and energy, with varying accents and turns of phrase, and eccentric quirks. It’s notable that the cast is, quite literally, very colorful. The protagonist, Milo Thatch, leads a team of explorers from all walks of life. Sweet, the doctor, is Black and Native American. Vinny, the demolitions expert, is an Italian immigrant. Audrey, the mechanic, is Puerto Rican. It’s a much more diverse cast than many other Disney animated features. They form a ragtag sort of family, a story detail influenced by Mignola.
Trousdale and Wise were continually looking to push boundaries. In 1996 with Hunchback, they were already trying their hand at telling a more adult story through the lens of animation. Atlantis continues their exploration of more adult content through this medium. The film is by no means shockingly gruesome, but there is a verve to its action scenes that Disney had never showcased before. The story takes place in 1914, a turning point for industrialization. There are massive submarines, torpedoes, and plenty of gunfire. The action takes advantage of the otherworldly setting and features many uniquely designed creatures and vehicles. The widescreen allows for the action to feel bombastic and rattling, and the film is constantly keeping its trek at a fast pace. A striking aspect is that people unequivocally die in the film, in explosions and drownings and all kinds of disastrous circumstances. Trousdale and Wise do not skimp out on the harrowing aspects of the adventure story they have undertaken.
The more adult themes are also present in the story and interplay between characters, in the quieter moments and conversations. The kingdom of Atlantis is much more complex than a hidden paradise. The cataclysm that sunk it was not mere happenstance or divine punishment. As the elderly King explains, he greatly misused the magic crystal that imbues Atlantis with its energy, with light and life, as a weapon, and triggered a flood that almost doomed them all. As such, he has made the decision to try to wipe away their history, so that his enterprising ventures into the world of war will not be repeated. It’s a curious parallel to real-world events in 1914, one that probes the dynamic between industrial development and progress and hasty warmongering and violence.
Atlantis also deconstructs the nature of white exploration, of the voyages of academics who rummage through ancient cultures and decide what is worth bringing to the rest of the world to be gawked at through glass. Milo learns that the commanding officer on this mission, Rourke, has set out on this quest solely to find and sell the Atlantean crystal for profit. He has no qualms about completing this mission, despite the fact that he has found an entire living people and removing the crystal would kill them all. Rourke justifies his actions, explaining that the nature of academic discovery necessitates this messy work, the massacring of cultures, their sacred objects, and the ways in which they preserve their culture. It’s a curiously anti-capitalist message from Disney, of all places. Rourke dismisses the Atlanteans and sees them as nothing more than a weaker subset of humanity that Darwinian law dictates cannot survive in an industrializing world. He underestimates the value of their existence and imposes himself as the ruling authority of deciding what way of life is worth preserving. His greed leads to his violent end at the hands of a brutal transformation and explosion fueled by the very crystal he was willing to commit genocide to sell.
Atlantis’s more mature thematic exploration of race and culture is another fascinating aspect of the film. Some have criticized Milo’s relationship with Atlantis and with Princess Kida as emblematic of the white savior trope. Milo’s status is that of a white outsider who possesses an intimate knowledge of an aspect of Atlantean culture that has been lost: their language. Milo is the only person within the city who can read it, and he guides Kida along as she fills in the gaps in her knowledge and understanding of her own history. Through his understanding of Atlantean, he also guides Kida and her people to a greater rediscovery of their culture. He remains in Atlantis at the end of the film to help Kida restore her people’s lives to the most fulfilling extent and teach the Atlanteans the written language they thought they had lost. On the surface, the fact that Milo has this knowledge, while native Atlanteans do not, can read as a permutation of the white savior trope. However, Milo and Kida’s relationship does not exactly fit that classification.
White saviors have an inherent superiority complex. When they insert themselves into a culture, they have preconceived notions or stereotypes about the people. Their ideas are challenged (often by a pretty girl), and eventually they are lauded as the great white hero who saves this foreign culture from a threat only he could defeat. Milo does not have this air of superiority. He does not treat Kida with condescension. His motivations throughout the film are to prove himself a great academic and explorer like his grandfather, and to prove to naysayers that his ideas about Atlantis were not pure fantasy. He is not expecting to find a living culture. He at no point assumes he is better than the Atlanteans. Milo holds great reverence and respect for every aspect of their way of life. Moreover, his role in Atlantis is not to fulfill some sort of prophecy declaring him a hero. He unknowingly brought a great danger to Atlantis and thus it is his responsibility to fix it. The film does not establish Milo as a great white hope descending to save Atlantis. This in large part is due to Kida and her strength as a character.
Kida is headstrong and passionate, but above all, caring. She longs for an easier life for her people, to a return to the former glory she can just barely remember from her childhood. She is destined to be Atlantis’s next ruler. She does not throw her woes into Milo’s arms for him to fix. Instead, she takes advantage of an opportunity to enrich her own understanding of history as well as better the lives of her people. Yet, because of her driven nature, it would be difficult to believe that had Milo not come on his expedition, Atlantis would be doomed. Kida’s strong character is the audience’s way into understanding Atlantis as a whole. It and its people are warm and helpful, but also fiercely determined to take care of each other. Milo does not grant them a gift to continue their existence. Instead, he forms a new helpful part of the community that Kida will continue to lead. It is especially interesting that this is another Disney film from this era that once again looks beyond romance as a vital part of self-actualization and happiness. Kida and Milo are affectionate and they care for one another, but Atlantis is a film that focuses more on found families and communities rather than soulmates. It does not bog itself down with kisses or romantic confessions.
The white savior trope has many different components that can bleed into stories written by white people looking into cultures that are not their own. This is not one definitive interpretation of Kida and Milo’s relationship. The complexity of these themes and relationships present in Atlantis, though, display a level of craft and care in its storytelling that makes it a rewarding film to explore. Visually, it remains one of the most stunning ventures in Disney’s canon. The writing is electrifying, fast paced, and peppered with some of the best quips since Indy first graced the screen decades prior. Atlantis: The Lost Empire is exhilarating fun, tapping into a charming energy that truly feels right at home with Jules Verne’s works.
That rambunctious and earnest energy did not seem to mesh well with audiences in 2001, however. It was fighting an uphill battle against shifting attitudes regarding 2D animation. Atlantis unfortunately premiered right around the same weekend as Shrek. While Atlantis was imaginative and fun, it was also corny and sincere. Audiences felt drawn to the new offering from Dreamworks, a snarky and sarcastic and three-dimensional animated feature. It was out with the old and in with the new. Atlantis performed disappointingly at the box office, barely able to compete with Shrek and other blockbusters. Its very existence was scrubbed from the Disney brand, with planned attractions and a television series quietly cancelled in the wake of its theatrical run. Even before its release, Disney was already preemptively deciding to give up on 2D animated projects of this scale. April of 2001 saw them making huge layoffs in their animation department, as well as salary cutbacks. All across the industry, the sentiment that 2D was dying was beginning to take hold, and Disney would make less and less of an effort to disprove the theory.
Despite it all, Atlantis is a stunning adventure film that deserves its flowers and all its praise. The levels of creativity and artistry on display are truly some of Disney’s best.
