A WORD FROM THE PRODUCER INTRODUCTION
I often ask myself why The Lion King works.
Of course, when talking about the stage version, my first answer is always Julie Taymor— the brilliant storyteller, designer, weaver of myths, and goddess of the theater. Without Julie there is no Lion King onstage.
But the story begins even earlier than that. For almost thirty years, every single day, The Lion King, beginning with the film and now the stage musical, has been a part of my life. Yet after all that time, and with this intimate relationship to the material, I continue to wonder this: Why does it work?
Why does the show work the same when I sit with an audience in Tokyo as it does when I sit with one in the Netherlands? Why does it work when I see a production in Johannesburg or Paris, or London or Hamburg, or Shanghai—or anyplace else that The Lion King has played? What is it about this show?
Mufasa (Cleveland Cathnott), Rafiki (Ntomblfuthi Mhlongo), and Sarabi (Balungile Gumede) in“Circle of Life,”Hamburg, Germany.
The Lion King certainly echoes the great fairy tales that have become major Disney films, such asSnowWhite and the Seven Dwarfs,Cinderella,andSleeping Beauty.Thesearestoriesthatscholars such as Bruno Bettelheim—in his The Uses of Enchantment—cite as cultural archetypes over the centuries.
It is also a legendary “hero’s journey,”a central theme of epic world literature that mythologists such as Joseph Campbell, in his The Hero with a Thousand Faces, analyze. Campbell’s theory is that tales of heroes of all kinds, from Buddha and Krishna to Jesus, all share a common mythological root, a primal idea that affirms in man how experience transforms us from childlike beings into adults. ChrisVogler’s guidance on the elements of Campbell were invaluable for us as we developed the film and in fact became the basis of his book The Writer’s Journey: Mythic Structure for Writers
In addition, The Lion King connects itself to innumerable primal mythoi, whether those are biblical narratives, such as the lives of Joseph and Moses, or great works of literature, from medieval epics to Shakespeare’s plays. (That being said, five of us were in the July 2, 1991, meeting where Scar became Mufasa’s brother, and I can assure you no one mentioned Hamlet . The tale of Hamlet ’s influence on the story made for good press copy later on, however.) But of course these are fundamental elements of the human experience: betrayal, redemption, acknowledgment, and acceptance.
As The Lion King permeates through and distills the myths of the ages and the study of our common culture of storytelling, it fundamentally reveals that it is, surprisingly simply, a story of us— and therein rests its greatest meaning and deepest resonance.
What’s fascinating is that no matter where you are, who you are, or what your circumstances are, it is an elegant and powerful allegory, a human story told with animals—but not of any specific location or real place, so each culture brings its own perspective to The Lion King. Everybody has family. Everybody has community. Everyone has to face this question of their responsibility for their family and community.
When do you own yourself? When do you take responsibility for who you are? And what do you do to set things right when you have made them wrong? It’s a very simple tale, but it has enormous resonance in global history and experience, as well as in great works of religion and literature and in the ongoing human struggle with the meaning of our shared experience.
All of the academic analysis and scholarly interpretation of The Lion King is fascinating and legitimate. But for me, it is—and always will be—about the people who made it.
Walt Disney himself once asserted that you can design and create the most wonderful things in the world, but it takes people to make the dream a reality.
I was on a panel right after The Lion King opened on Broadway (“Working in the Theatre,” which the late Isabelle Stevenson hosted for the American Theatre Wing). The panel was made up of me; Peter Schneider; Julie; Lebo M.; our publicist, Chris Boneau; and Rick Elice, who was then a marketing wizard for the Serino Coyne advertising agency and has since written Jersey Boys and other shows, including our own Peter and the Starcatcher.
Rick said something that started with, “Ten years from now, when this show is still running . . . ” and all of us on the panel, along with the invited audience, laughed out loud. The Lion King in ten years? Impossible. And here we are, incredibly, not only still running, but still at the top, twenty years later.
If Peter Schneider and I, and Jeffrey Katzenberg, and Roy Disney, and Don Hahn and Roger Allers and Rob Minkoff, and a pile of brilliant animation artists had not set out on this journey, there would be no Lion King to contemplate.
When you go, as an audience, to see a film or a play, that’s what you see. But when I see one of our films or shows, I see people I know. I know what they did.
Forever seeing the indelible mark of my friends, colleagues, and collaborators on every component of the finished piece is, for me, the truest joy of our work. Brenda Chapman, as head of story, shaped so much of the film. Chris Sanders, as a designer and storyteller, leaves a mark that can’t be denied.
Peter and I know what Hans Bacher did by creating a series of small panel paintings early on that deeply influenced the opening of the animated feature (as well as designing, years later, the stage show’s unforgettable logo). We know that Dan St. Pierre supervised astounding layouts that reinvented the way a “camera” works in animation. We know that Andreas Deja animated this, and Ellen Woodbury animated that. The idea that Rafiki is a baboon who carries that stick and has that expression, well that’s a contribution from Joe Grant, long gone now.
In the stage show, I still look at “He Lives in You,” Mark Mancina’s brilliant song when the dancers all come on in their dashikis, and in my mind’s eye I’m still watching Aubrey Lynch from the original production. I see Michele Steckler sitting next to us in the theater with her headset on, during our long tech rehearsals and then previews, to keep us apprised of each calamity onstage. I can sometimes smell the frankincense on Ashi Smythe, one of the original ensemble members, as he came down the aisle. I look at the bird women and I see the Dlamini sisters, two beautiful South African women who joined our ensemble in the beginning. I know what Tsidii Le Loka created as the original Rafiki. I see the remarkable Heather Headley as Nala and her Simba, the extraordinary Jason Raize, now sadly passed. I see Jeff Lee and Doc Zorthian and all the other people who made this miracle happen onstage; so many people who are also unsung, unknown . . . they’re all part of this extraordinary event.
I see Don Holder behind the gorgeous lighting design. Richard Hudson created the most startling and stunning scenic treatment. Irene Mecchi, note pad in hand, running down the aisle with a change to make. Michael Curry was right next to Julie, delivering those astounding masks and puppets, and Michael Ward worked with Julie to create the extraordinarily detailed signature makeup designs for the show.
Can you even imagine the fortitude of the crew that made this show come to life? Nothing we did was normal on Broadway, but Drew Siccardi, Jimmy Maloney, Victor Amerling, Kjeld Andersen, and Louis Troisi honestly didn’t flinch. They made the impossible possible.
The Lion King was given life twice: first by the animation team that created one of the most glorious films of all time, and second by an intrepid company of actors and technicians and designers and musicians who shaped Julie Taymor’s stage version.
And that can never, ever, ever be forgotten. The people who have touched The Lion King, who created its rich and meticulous texture, this ornate and compelling tapestry, are deeply moving to me—because nobody in the audience really knows they’re there.
Animation and theater are in many ways “arts of the invisible.” The greatest contributions people make are so often unrecognized—they are, in fact, unseen. And every contribution anyone makes requires all the contributions that have gone before. The power of The Lion King is in that collective humanity.
Today The Lion King (with its iconic songs by Elton John and Tim Rice) appears around the world with a team that encompasses our various licensees and partners. It indeed takes a village. But for as long as most can remember, a gang of soldiers led by the indomitable Anne Quart— including Thomas Schlenk, John Stefaniuk, Anthony Lyn, Marey Griffith, Celise Hicks, Clement Ishmael, David Kreppel, Doc Zorthian, and a team of dedicated design associates (Mary Peterson, Peter Eastman, John Shivers, Louis Troisi, Jeanne Koenig, and Carolyn Wong)—has kept us together.
The irony is that The Lion King is a story with no people in it. But the whole power of what it has become lies in the vision, the talent, the commitment, and the passion of hundreds and hundreds of unforgettable people.
—Thomas Schumacher President
and Producer, DisneyTheatrical Productions
Producer Thomas Schumacher consults with director Julie Taymor in the early stages of production.