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The Emperor’s New Groove’s troubled production is the stuff of legends, yet you wouldn’t know it from watching the film. Originally an epic genre mash-up called Kingdom of the Sun, Disney executives balked at the production overruns and hot on the heels of the underperforming, overly ambitious latter films of the Disney Renaissance, they demanded numerous changes. What was left was a slapstick heavy film that lasts about 75 minutes, and it’s one of the underrated gems of the Disney output.
The original production re-conceived The Prince and the Pauper as a musical epic in the Inca Empire, complete with plans for grand dame baddie Yzma to call upon the god of death, Supai, to destroy the sun, turns the real emperor into a llama, and makes the impostor do her bidding. Practically none of this appears in The Emperor’s New Groove, aside from a few names, and the typical Disney homogenized variation of an ethnic culture. The film’s treatment of Latin American culture, and the Inca Empire in particular, is as hodge-podge as the vaguely Arabic garnishes of Aladdin.
Where The Emperor’s New Groove excels is in creating memorable characters, a string of strong gags, and numerous quotable passages of dialog. This film tosses out the typical Disney playbook, borrows liberally from the humor found in The Simpsons, The Muppets, or Chuck Jones’ shorts, and is all the better for it. There are only so many glossy, prestige-chasing films one can watch before you wish for something different from the studio, and this one delivers big time.
Kuzco, our hero, is quite the little twat, who deserves to be taken down a few pegs and learn some humility. David Spade’s bratty vocals are a perfect fit for the character, and he really sells the snarky humor. Kuzco comes armed with a series of sassy one-liners, and his transformation into a llama only escalates his acerbic disposition. He bounces off of John Goodman’s empathetic and humble Pacha quite well, and the film is a solid buddy comedy road trip.
Even better is the dynamic between Eartha Kitt’s Yzma and Patrick Warburton’s Kronk, her dim-bulb, sweet, brawny henchman. Kitt plays her role for all of the hysteric camp potential she can find, and she can find a lot. Yzma is a most pleasing villain, not because she’s threatening, but because she’s so grandiose and melodramatic. Watching her is a lot of fun given how much pleasure she takes out of being evil and chewing the scenery. Kronk is a nice contrast to her, as he frequently finds himself fighting between wanting to do the right thing and helping Yzma complete her goals. The revelations that he’s an excellent cook, can talk with squirrels, and argues with the angel and devil on his shoulders only add to his charm.
It’s also nice to finally encounter a film with some bravura vocal work from the cast. Goodman would go on to voice several more roles for Disney and Pixar, and his warm tones are a nice contrast to Spade’s whiny quips. Warburton has become omnipresent in animation by this point, but Kronk is still one of his greatest roles. Yet the entire show belongs to Kitt, who steals every scene she’s in with her purrs and large gestures.
This was the first of a series of films that would pull back in scale, offering the studio the chance to make better films that didn’t feature nondescript princes and princesses, numerous songs, and images that scrambled for a Best Picture win. The magic of a good Disney movie is in creating characters we want to spend a lot of time with, and giving us memorable moments. All you have to do is look across the various corners of the internet to find memes, clips, and various quotes used recycled for new jokes. The Post-Renaissance years weren’t great for the Disney studio, but they did produce a series of minor cult classics. This is one of them.
