For much of my childhood, I spent afternoons with a broomstick between my legs and a toy sword in my hand, indulging in my favourite Disney film Bedknobs and Broomsticks. Like Angela Lansbury’s Miss Price, I pretended to lead enchanted knights into battle. Despite the all-singing all-dancing magic-filled spectacle the film is, in my experience, hardly anyone has heard of it, let alone watched it.
How has it become so lost in the great Disney canon? How can you not be entertained by flying beds, animals playing football, and anti-Nazi witchcraft? As we approach the most bewitching time of the year—when witches’ hats can be found in every supermarket—I think it’s time I made my case for Bedknobs and Broomsticks.
For those in the dark, Bedknobs and Broomsticks follows Eglantine Price, an apprentice witch studying magic in order to aid the war effort, while also caring for three cockney evacuees. Charming, right? But we’ve heard this story before; a no-nonsense magical woman (who can fly), getting up to hijinks with her young wards.
Part of the reason why Bedknobs’ light is hidden under a bushel is because of the long shadow cast by Mary Poppins. The two films share several elements, including their musicality, the mixture of live action and animation, and actor David Thomlinson. In fact, the Bedknobs song ‘The Beautiful Briny Sea’ was a Poppins cast-off. With less than a decade between them, and Poppins winning several awards, it’s no wonder Bedknobs seemed the ugly stepsister of the two.
But Bedknobs deserves its place among the Disney pantheon, and there’s a cornucopia of reasons why. While Poppins deals with the personal and familial, the themes of Bedknobs are more adult and arguably darker. Yes, there’s a tyrannical anthropomorphic lion, but it’s the tense, far-reaching political situation that moves the plot.
There’s no evil queen or sorcerous vizier to fight against. The villains of the film are actual Nazis. We are faced with evacuations, unexploded bombs, and a pending invasion. The world of Bedknobs is fraught with real-life dangers that Poppins lacks.
Despite its similarities with Mary Poppins and other classics, Bedknobs is a tour-de-force of subverting tried-and-tested Disney tropes. The dynamic between adults and children in the film is unlike anything previously seen. Yes, there’ve been dead parents, step-parents, and no parents at all, but a pseudo-foster parent, and a reluctant one at that, is something new.
No one could describe Miss Price as maternal and she seems to have little interest in mothering—in one scene she turns the eldest child, Charles, into a white rabbit, surely the magical equivalent of smacking a child. Instead, Charles, Carrie, and Paul become collaborators in her quest. There is no make-believe or playing or lullaby singing; Miss Price insists on her charges being part of her adult world and occult mission.
Never before Bedknobs are witches the heroes of the Disney story. Cinderella has its fairy godmother, but this marks a turning point for the Disney witch: another trope turned on its head.
Bedknobs’ value goes beyond its place as a Disney film. Sandwiched between the likes of Bewitched at one end and Charmed on the other, Bedknobs is a significant part of the great witch media back catalogue that should not be forgotten.
Bedknobs positions a witch as a political figure. Miss Price’s magic is not for defeating demons or changing her clothes, but for overcoming a political threat. Historically, witches were the enemies of oppressors, targeting those in positions of power. Examples include the North Berwick witches, who allegedly raised a storm to wreck the King of Scotland’s ship.
Miss Price fits right in with these politically-aligned witches, not only a fact of history but part of our political present. In 2017, the #MagicResistance movement involved modern witches working monthly spells against Donald Trump.
Not only are historical witches figures of political resistance, but as Miss Price demonstrates, they are transgressive outsiders, ignoring social norms. Within the first 15 minutes, we see Miss Price ride a motorcycle, live alone and unmarried, and scorn both societal and magical restrictions of gender. And this is all in 1940s England. Compared to the supernatural domesticity of Samantha Stephens, and the heteronormative love storylines of Charmed and Sabrina the Teenage Witch, Bedknobs presents a witch who has little interest in following the rules.
Even when she does begin a relationship with Mr Brown, her liberty is not forfeited and her goals are not abandoned. It’s with his assistance and insistence that Miss Price masters the important spell and becomes commander of a bewitched army—all while on a broomstick, no less.
In another trope-twisting turn of events, the happy ending is not based on this relationship and its hopeful post-credits longevity. The final scenes see Mr Brown being waved off by his new non-traditional family and escorted to the station to join the army. Who knows what happens when he arrives at the front?
50 years after its release, Bedknobs and Broomsticks is long overdue to receive its proper credit and popularity. It holds a very special place in my heart, but it has a rightful claim to its place among the company of other famous witches. Grounded in reality and its dangers, Miss Price’s magic is a means to an end. Few Disney norms are left undisturbed, whether it’s the family dynamic or the centre-stage romance.
Angela Lansbury’s Miss Price is like no witch we’ve seen before, reminding us of the witch’s cultural and social significance then and now, their tenacity and their bravery. It’s not all sage and crystals. Bedknobs and Broomsticks is the perfect Halloween season watch, whether you want to dance like you’re on Portobello Road or ride a flying bed. And you’ll never look at a suit of armour in quite the same way again.
Words by James Reynolds
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