"Chip 'n Dale: Rescue Rangers" Offers a Biting Critique of Disney's Artistic Banality

As a parodic take on the live-action remake genre, this new film takes square aim at the studio's aesthetic cannibalism.

I have to admit to a fair amount of skepticism when I saw that they were going to be doing a live-action version of Chip ‘n Dale: Rescue Rangers, the beloved cartoon show from the early 1990s. It wasn’t that I was a devoted fan of the series, per se. While I enjoyed it as a kid, it doesn’t occupy the same privileged place in my emotional nostalgia-scape as, say, DuckTales or The New Adventures of Winnie the Pooh or even Gummi Bears (which I passionately loved as a kid but which, shall we say, doesn’t hold up so well when it comes to adult viewing). Instead, it felt like just another cynical cash-grab from Disney, a company which has made a mint off of tapping into millennial nostalgia for the animated classics of their youth.

I wasn’t especially encouraged by the trailer, either. Don’t get me wrong. I love both John Mulaney (or did, before the embarrassing Dave Chapelle fiasco) and Andy Samberg (yes, it’s true). However, they both seemed just too world-weary, I guess, to voice two of the most beloved chipmunks in the history of animation. If nothing else, I thought, it was strange to have them actually have real human voices rather than the high-pitched (and sped-up) vocal intonations we’ve all grown accustomed to. 

Then I watched the film and, much to my surprise, it was far more clever than it has any right to be. More than that, it was also, I would go so far as to say, a scorching take-down of Disney itself. It was, in a very real way, the embodiment of a revisionist/parodic animated film, using the very format of the live action remake to critique Disney’s avaricious cannibalizing of its own properties. 

Let me explain.

In academic film and media studies, there’s a theory about genre that goes something like this. Most genres–the western, film noir, science fiction, etc.--go through three (or, depending on the source, four, sometimes five) stages of development. It begins with the primitive stage, in which the genre is still in formation, its basic elements still in flux, before moving into the classical period, in which the conventions are well-established and the genre becomes successful. Then it moves into some combination of the revisionist/deconstructive/parodic stage, in which the genre is called into question and, in the case of the parodic, outright mocked. 

How is this relevant to Chip ‘n Dale, you ask? Well, I believe we can characterize the recent spate of Disney live-actions remakes as a genre of their own. In fact, they fit neatly into the schema of the stages of genre development. It’s easy to see how films like The Jungle Book, Pete’s Dragon, and Maleficent were all attempts by the studio to see just how the formula would work. Maleficent, in particular, is a bit rough-around-the-edges (and, at times, downright bad). Then, we come to the classic iteration of the genre, when it reaches its fullest expression of its own internal consistency. Having jettisoned the more experimental aspects of the genre, with films like Beauty and the Beast, The Lion King, and Aladdin, the studio clearly decided that it was better to just make what amounts to a frame-for-frame remake of the original titles. Judging by the truly staggering success of these entries, it’s a bet that seems to have paid off in spades. 

Chip ‘n Dale, however, turns all of this on its head. To begin with, it’s not a remake of a Disney Renaissance property. It is, instead, a remake of one of the many cartoon shows that were all the rage in the late 1980s and early 1990s. While shows like Rescue Rangers might have lacked the artistic sophistication of their big-screen counterparts, they were still an important part of the pop culture landscape, particularly for elder millennials. Thus, it must have seemed to the powers-that-be that such a property could be yet another revenue stream. However, it is precisely Rescue Rangers’ less exalted pedigree that makes it the perfect purveyor of anti-Disney satire. 

From the beginning of the film, it’s clear that the film is willing to take risks and to poke fun at its own studio progenitor. More than a little embittered about the premature ending of Chip n’ Dale: Rescue Rangers, Chip has settled into a mostly stable (if boring) life as an insurance salesman. Unsurprisingly, he still has his classic 2-D animated form. Dale, on the other hand, has done everything in his power to make himself feel (and look) relevant to the changed world of animation. Having had the (aptly-named) CGI surgery, he now looks far more like the titular characters of Alvin and the Chipmunks (who actually make an appearance). After a tense reunion–they haven’t really spoken since Dale attempted to pursue a solo career, spelling the death of Rescue Rangers–they soon join forces once again to try to solve a mystery involving kidnapped cartoons, one of whom is their old pal Monterey Jack. 

As they set out to solve the mystery, one of their recurring disagreements is whether Rescue Rangers should be rebooted (Dale’s argument) or whether no one is interested and therefore they should just let matters remain where they are (Chip’s point of view). Given Chip’s cynicism–and enduring bitterness over what he views (somewhat rightly) as Dale’s betrayal of their partnership–this seems like a very tough sell, indeed. For his part, Dale has become something of a super-fan of the series, having collected various pieces of memorabilia, which he keeps stored in a garage. 

All of this is, of course, played for laughs, both because Mulaney and Samberg are innately funny (it’s hard to think of either of them ever fully playing it straight) but also because it’s quite laughable to imagine anyone, even the most devout Disney millennial, having that much of an obsession with Rescue Rangers. It’s not as if the series was a cultural touchstone in quite the same way as DuckTales was, after all (that series has also been rebooted, in animated form). While it might have been a key part of the Disney Channel’s afternoon lineup, it hasn’t had quite the afterlife as its theatrical counterparts. However, it’s precisely the incongruity of Dale’s desire for a reboot that makes the film so endlessly self-reflexive and, just as importantly, funny. 

I would argue that it is in fact Rescue Rangers’ rather obscure place in the Disney pantheon that allows its most recent incarnation to have as much bite as it does. Because it’s not a classic, per se, it is much more amenable to a critique of Disney writ large. 

This critique emerges most clearly in the film’s central conflict, which involves a plan by Sweet Pete (the adult Peter Pan) to remix Disney cartoons, effacing their central characteristics so that they can easily be turned into bootleg films that can capitalize on the Disney image without running afoul of copyright. On one level this is a not-so-subtle dig at the tendency–both in the US and abroad–to take advantage of the huge popularity of Disney films in order to produce cheap knock-offs that are just different enough to avoid getting sued. On another, deeper, level, however, it’s also a critique of Disney’s own recent habit of stripping away the particularity of its own beloved characters to turn them into nothing more than cheap commodities, whether that’s the numerous Disney Princess dolls that fill every toy store or the transformation of iconic characters into pale imitations of their former selves in one of the many remakes. 

But what of Peter Pan himself? It’s here that the film’s critique of its own studio becomes most biting and, arguably, tragic. Those who are well-versed in Disney history know that Bobby Driscoll, the boy who voiced Peter in the original Disney film, had a life story which is truly quite heart wrenching. As he aged out of  his youthful good looks, he found it harder to get better roles and, after his contract with Disney lapsed–due, it seems, to losing his child-like appeal. He would go on to die of a drug overdose at the tragically young age of 31. It’s something of an open question whether the filmmakers knew of Driscoll’s own story when they decided to make Peter Pan the villain of their story, but I find it difficult to believe that someone along the line didn’t know about this, and so there’s good reason for some of the blowback the film has received for seemingly making light of what was a very ugly story in the real world. 

Indeed, it’s obvious that Chip ‘n Dale doesn’t want us to think too deeply about Peter Pan’s plight, and he’s mostly played for laughs. In part, this is due to the casting of Will Arnett to provide his voice. With his gravelly, cartoonish delivery, he’s not exactly the type of person we’re led to feel sorry for, let alone sympathize with. His story, however, is one of those moments where Disney’s own titanic self-regard starts to rupture, a moment in which its own problematic history with its talent is laid bare for the discerning viewer to see. When he ultimately becomes an unholy amalgam of various cartoon characters due to his machine malfunctioning, it’s hard not to feel that his anger is at least somewhat justified. Though he’s defeated, he does at least have a few hardwon moments in which his revenge seems to be near its completion. If nothing else, he has at least had the opportunity to expose one of the uglier chapters in Disney history.

In the end, as with so many other Disney films, everything turns out (mostly) for the better. The mutated toons are freed from their captivity even though, as far as we know, they haven’t been returned to their normal forms. Even our beloved Monty has been changed into something not-quite-what-he was. Thus, though our heroes do end up walking triumphantly into the sunset, there’s still a lingering bit of doubt about just what will become of these mutated cartoons. Will they ever be able to return to their normal lives, or will they have to make do with their new appearance? Just as Disney has, I think, tarnished its own brand with its avarice, so these icons of the Disney canon have been changed in ways that can never be entirely mended.

A less skilled film than Chip n’ Dale would have come across as, at best, mildly entertaining. Thanks to its skilled writing, its surfeit of Easter eggs, and the talent of its voice cast, it becomes something else entirely. Rather than just supporting the Disney juggernaut in its seemingly never-ending quest for more corporate profits, the film instead holds a not-very-flattering mirror up to the studio that has worked so assiduously to drain the life out of its most beloved properties. 

There are, naturally, some limits to just how subversive even the slyest film can be, since it is still sheltered (and contained by) the Disney umbrella. Given the fact that the studio decided to release it straight to Disney+--rather than, say, giving it a full theatrical release–it’s easy to believe they didn’t think it would come to be such a success. They may even have thought that it would go the way of some of their more forgettable remake efforts (looking at you, Lady and the Tramp). What they got instead was a film that is far more intelligent and subversive than it has any right to be. 

It remains to be seen whether this film will receive a sequel. This is Disney, after all, and if they’ve shown us anything, it’s that they are more than willing to squeeze blood from a stone. If, however, there is a follow-up film, we can only hope that it will, in turn, take another vicious look at its parent company’s never-ending avarice.

In the meantime, let’s just enjoy the riotous joy that is Chip ‘n Dale: Rescue Rangers.

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