GO WAKING SLEEPING BEAUTY Last fall saw the release of the documentary Walt & Grupo, about Walt Disney and a team of his most talented animators trekking to Latin America in 1941 for both artistic inspiration and to act as cultural ambassadors for President Franklin D. Roosevelt. It was enjoyable hagiography most likely to be valued by hard-core Disney aficionados. Waking Sleeping Beauty is something else entirely. A documentary about the lucrative rebirth of Disney's animation arm between the years 1984 and 1994, it's a warts-and-all tale of clashing egos and the eternal war between art and commerce, wrapped inside Hollywood's favorite self-stroke material: the comeback. Directed by Don Hahn, a former Disney Young Gun, the film (distributed by Disney) teems with amazing behind-the-scenes footage (including of a young Tim Burton at work) that illustrates everything from the animation process and the business of selling movies to the brutal fallout from the changing of the guard. Filled with enough bloodletting and male bitchiness to be endlessly entertaining, the film glides into tearjerker territory when addressing the brilliance and loss of songwriter Howard Ashman. Tying it all together is Hahn's transparent love for the art of animation, and for Disney — its history and once geek-heavy in-house culture. Hahn balances that love with a critical eye that allows him to sing the praises of unsung heroes while letting the assholes hang themselves. (Ernest Hardy) (AMC Century City, AMC Burbank)
GO WEST OF PLUTO Maybe I'm overconditioned by The Office and all those Christopher Guest mockumentaries to find deadpan humor everywhere, but I thought that a lot of this very cinema vérité film about francophone high-schoolers in Quebec — maybe more than intended? — was pretty funny. (Two guys, discussing names for their band, suggest Never Break My Nose and Microwave Distortion; assigned in class to give an expository speech about his passion, one kid chooses peanut butter.) It's not a documentary, but it looks like one, mainly because nothing in the lives of these middle-class kids is exaggerated. They're bored and alienated, but not melodramatically so. The few adults depicted are not clueless and malignant. No one's implausibly beautiful (actual acne and unfortunate midpubescent attempts at facial hair can be seen). And the dramatic incidents are merely the sorts of things dumb, underentertained kids do, not jolting bloodbaths. The camera just follows around a dozen or so characters, from a day at school to a parents-out-of-town, beer-and-make-out party that gets out of control. Except for the absolute absence of cell phones — what year is this? — every second is believable and compelling. (Gavin Borchert) (Downtown Indie)