SAVING MRS. TRAVERS

Life is an adventure. Like it or not, our adventures tend to follow the mythic hero’s journey discovered by mythologist Joseph Campbell.[1] It’s helpful to see how heroes, candidly portrayed in literature and film, illustrate the pattern. Mrs. P. L. Travers, depicted in the 2013 movie, Saving Mr. Banks, is a good example.[2]

Mrs. Travers (Emma Thompson) is in her ordinary world, her London home, when she receives the call to adventure. It comes from Walt Disney (Tom Hanks) who desperately wants the film rights to Mary Poppins. The author has refused the call for nearly twenty years. Pamela, as some of the characters in the film are so apt to call her, wants to protect Mary Poppins from Walt Disney. She is horrified at the idea of using her beloved character to remain solvent.

But her mentor, literary agent Mr. Russell (Ronan Vibert), encourages her to respond to the call. Russell points out that Travers is out of money and there are no more stories in the pipeline. To avoid losing her home she needs to sell the rights.

Travers knows of Mr. Disney’s work and is afraid that, in his hands, Mary Poppins “will be cavorting and twinkling, and careening towards a happy ending like a kamikaze!”  She would rather go to perdition than to prostitute Mary Poppins. But Mr. Russell coaxes her, “You only have to go there and work for two weeks. Collaborate. You haven’t signed over the rights, yet. You must make this work, Mrs. Travers.”

In a panic, Travers proclaims, “I have final say. And if I don’t like what they’re doing to her . . .” Russell picks up her lines, “Then you don’t sign the papers. He can’t make the film unless you grant the rights. It’s an exploratory trip. What do you say?”

She ruminates, “I want to keep my house.” And she thinks of the time when, as a child, she built a small structure out of twigs and leaves. The flashback includes her father, the inspiration of her imaginative mind.

Mrs. Travers crosses the first threshold when she takes a flight to Los Angeles. There she enters Walt Disney’s special world; and she encounters tests as she works through the proposed script with screenwriter, Don DaGradi (Bradley Whitford), and songwriters, Dick and Bob Sherman (Jason Schwartzman and B. J. Novak). Travers sees everyone at Disney’s headquarters as the enemy, especially Disney himself. She even treats her limousine driver (Paul Giamatti) with contempt and Mickey Mouse with derision. Yet Disney’s team makes herculean efforts to turn her into an ally. She feels free to be confrontational, for she holds the all-powerful trump card: the rights to Mary Poppins.

Halfway through the film, Travers crosses a second threshold and begins her ordeal: The proposed script, drawings, and songs for the film conjure up memories of her father’s alcoholism. She is dismayed by how they portray Mr. Banks, a remake of her father. So after DaGradi and the Sherman brothers sing “Fidelity Fiduciary Bank,” she cries out in pain: “Why do you have to make him so cruel? He was not a monster! . . . . Why must Father tear up the advertisement his children have made, and-and-and throw it in the fireplace? Why won’t he mend their kite? Why have you made him so unspeakably awful? In glorious Technicolor, for all the world to see? If you claim to make them live, why can’t he [pausing] they live well? I can’t bear it. Please don’t. Please don’t. I feel like I let him down again.”

Mrs. Travers is a complicated person, a conundrum to Walt Disney. The consequences of alcoholism are difficult to deal with, so she is given three more mentors—her limousine driver (whose name is revealed late in the film), Walt Disney, and even Mickey Mouse—to help her with the crisis. We’ll look at them in order of their appearance.

The author’s driver is exceedingly patient and pleasant in spite of her insolence. During their first ride to the studios, Mrs. Travers is irritated by his “Americanisms,” so she slams the window between them as if to say, “Get out of my life.” He responds, “No problemo.” On the second day, she asks irritably, “Will it be the same driver every day?” He replies, “Yes ma’am, I’m all yours.” She even complains about his observation that it’s a sunny day. When her tolerance for discussion about the merits of sunshine versus rain runs thin, she tells him to be quiet. “Yes ma’am,” he returns with amused restraint. During their third trip, she begins to see his humanity as he replies to her observation that nobody walks here in Burbank. He merely says, “A leisurely stroll is a gift.”

His patience pays off when they have a chance lunchtime encounter outdoors. She remains sarcastic and confrontational; but he perseveres. As he helps her build a miniature structure out of twigs and leaves on the lawn, he tells her about his daughter, Jane, a beautiful little girl who is handicapped. “She’s in a wheelchair. See, that’s why I concern myself with the weather so much. Sunny day, she can sit outside in the garden. Rainy day, I gotta leave her cooped up inside. I worry about the future, but you can’t do that. Only today.” Mrs. Travers seems to understand. She responds with a measure of empathy. She tells her driver that they are working on a miniature bandstand. He reflects, “I sure would like to take her there.” Travers agrees, “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Mrs. Travers’ driver helps her simply by accepting her. He treats her with dignity and respect. Over time, his humility softens her spirit. He seems to remind Mrs. Travers of her father. Their friendship coalesces at the airport as she takes the road back to London. In the midst of kind words exchanged, she tells him that he is the only American she has ever liked. Curious, he inquires, “Well, may I ask why?” Her reply: “No!”

Mickey Mouse shows up everywhere. He appears on the placard that greets Mrs. Travers at the airport, and on the balloons in her hotel suite. When the author walks into her bedroom, a nearly human-size version of the mascot welcomes her with open arms. Startled, she grabs the stuffed creature by the nose, plops him in front of the window (facing outward), and tells him, “And you can stay there until you learn the art of subtlety.”

He remains there until one night, as Travers lies awake trying to make sense of her life, she spots the mouse. The troubled author gets up, reclaims him, and cuddles up with him in bed.

Twice more, Mickey helps Travers complete her journey: He sits across from her as she makes a difficult decision; and he escorts her to a momentous event. Mickey is Disney’s logo; it only makes sense that he would be present to Pamela.

Walt Disney is both nemesis and guide to the author. The rights to Mary Poppins are so important and so personal to the producer that he is scarcely objective; but he is gentle, patient, and persuasive.

The two couldn’t be more different: he, a practical Midwestern American; she, a proper English woman. He invades her personal space; she keeps her distance. He has been dangling for twenty years; she feels corralled. Both maneuver to stay in control of the situation.

During their first conversation, Mrs. Travers declares, “I won’t have [Mary Poppins] turned into one of your silly cartoons.” He absorbs the insult, sits across from her (knee-to-knee), reaches for her hands, and mesmerizes her. “Now Pam, I want you to know that the last thing I would do, the very last thing, is tarnish a story I have cherished. Now, the pages of your books are worn to tissue. They are dog-eared and falling out because I have poured over them, gripped and tormented—because I love her, Pam. I love Mary Poppins. And you have got to share her with me. Nothing happens without your say-so.” Shaking off the spell, she proclaims, “Quite right!” He hands her the contract to sign. She folds it and puts it in her purse. Let the games begin!

Yet, they are not evenly matched. Disney has processed his own childhood pain, so he responds to the challenges productively. As Travers labors through the script with DaGradi and the Sherman brothers, she quibbles over every detail. Each new crisis tests Disney’s ability to keep the project on track.

For example, Pamela impulsively decides that she doesn’t want the color red in the film—at all! Walt appeals to her common sense: “The film is set in London, for Pete’s sake . . . .  And there’s buses and mailboxes, and guards’ uniforms and things—and heck the English flag.” She remains unimpressed. After a moment’s pause, Disney turns to his creative team and announces, “All right. No red in the picture.” As he walks out of the room, livid, the trio protests, “Walt! Walt! Wait!” And Mrs. Travers gloats over the power of the unsigned contract.

Nonetheless, Disney understands her angst. Late one night, he tells Dick Sherman about his own struggle years earlier with businessman Pat Powers over Mickey Mouse: “Oh, he wanted the mouse, and I didn’t have a bean in my pocket back then. He was this big, terrifying New York producer. I was just a kid from Missouri with a sketch of Mickey. It would’ve killed me to give him up. Honest to God, would’ve killed me. That mouse is family.”

Three more exchanges between Travers and Disney give insight into the mentoring relationship. First, Disney phones Travers at her hotel the evening after her melt-down over Mr. Banks. “I’m calling to, uh… well, to check up on you. I understand things didn’t go so well today. Something about Mr. Banks?” She wonders aloud about why he would call this evening when he hasn’t stayed in touch before. He replies, “Pam, what’s this all about? I mean, really? I’m wondering what I have to do to make you happy. [She scoffs.] And you’re wondering that too, aren’t you?” Appealing to her inner child, he insists on taking her to Disneyland the next day.

When she arrives at the theme park the following morning, Disney gives her a tour that includes the amusement he prefers, a carousel. “Mrs. Travers, I would be honored if you would take a ride on Jingles, here. This is Mrs. Disney’s favorite horse.” Travers resists, “No, thank you. I’m happy to watch.” Disney persists, “Now, there’s no greater joy than that seen through the eyes of a child; and there’s a little bit of a child in all of us.” Again, she pushes back, “Maybe in you, Mr. Disney, but certainly not in me.” Finally, Disney insists, “Get on the horse, Pamela!” As they ride the merry-go-round, Disney promises, “The boys have come up with an idea for your Mr. Banks. I think it’s gonna make you happy.”

The idea is the song, “Let’s Go Fly a Kite,” which absolutely delights Mrs. Travers. That scene, by the way, is perhaps the most charming sequence in the film. She becomes relaxed and cooperative, until she discovers that the penguins in the “Jolly Holiday” scene will be animated. Storming into Disney’s office, she confronts him about the deception. The notion of animated penguins, when he has promised a live-action film, sends her over the edge. “I shall not be moved upon the matter of cartoons, sir. Not one inch!”

Disney explains that the animation is a sequence. She returns the volley, “You promised me. You promised me that this film would not be an animation!” He counters, “And it isn’t.” Confused, she queries, “So, they’re real penguins?” Disney admits that they are animated, but assures her that the actors are very much real. Calling herself a foolish old woman, Travers tosses the unsigned contract on Disney’s desk, wishes him a good day, and takes the road back to London to protect her treasure.

Lest I ruin the film for those who haven’t seen it, I’ll go no further—except to say that Disney pursues Pamela, and her elixir, to the ordinary world. There, they engage in one more deeply personal conversation. The movie began with Mrs. Travers trying to protect Mary Poppins from Mr. Disney. In the end, Disney and the other mentors save Travers from herself.

Life is full of adventures. It’s helpful to work through the stories we encounter—whether in film, literature, or in one’s own life—to see how they match up with the mythic hero’s journey. Analyzing Mrs. Travers’ adventure has helped me think through a recent episode in my life. I identify with Mrs. Travers, and I learn from those who come alongside to help her. Judging from the acclaim Saving Mr. Banks has received, others have gained much from this film too. So I commend it to those who enjoy a good story. More than that, I commend it to those who relish a rich adventure.

© Stan Bohall

May 22, 2014

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[1] Campbell’s discoveries have been made more accessible by story analyst, Christopher Vogler. The Campbell/Vogler outline is available at http://www.thewritersjourney.com/hero’s_journey.htm. small caps in my text refer to the outline.

[2] It is inevitable that the film alters Mrs. Travers’ personal story. A more accurate picture of Travers is available at http://sdsuchildlit.blogspot.com/2013/12/saving-mr-banks-but-throwing-pl-travers.html. With all due respect to the real P. L. Travers, I will take the film version of her story, and Walt Disney’s story for that matter, at face value.