ALADDIN. Entertaining Disney movie [REVIEW]

The 1992 Aladdin was, after Beauty and the Beast, Walt Disney’s second major success of the 1990s. Like the fairy tale about Belle, released a year earlier, Aladdin won two Oscars. Critics received it with similar enthusiasm, making it practically a classic from the day of its release. In the case of Aladdin, the creators adjusted the balance between the dramatic weight of the story (and the sentimentalism characteristic of the studio) and the fast-paced action based on movement and spectacular staging. This time, the latter seems to carry more importance. Aladdin therefore has a slightly different tone and targets a different audience. Raising adrenaline matters more than delicately manipulating the viewer’s emotions.

The story of Aladdin, taken from One Thousand and One Nights, seems almost overly simple. The titular hero, a homeless boy, falls in love with Princess Jasmine and desperately tries to win her attention. In the meantime, he luckily acquires a lamp containing a Genie, who can grant him three wishes. Standing in his way is Jafar, who wants to seize power from Jasmine’s father—the kind-hearted but naive Sultan—at any cost. Jafar’s second obsession is the magical lamp, which can grant him ultimate power. The conflicting interests of the characters lead to an inevitable clash.

In Aladdin, what bothers me is not the very clear division between good and evil, but the one-dimensionality of the characters. They lack an interesting past or distinctive traits—foundations on which their personalities, motivations, and potential weaknesses could be built. In the depiction of their psychological profiles, I see no nuance or shades, not even a hint of mystery. The creators took too many shortcuts in shaping them. Aladdin, the Sultan, Jafar, and Jasmine work well as carriers of values, but less so as real, fully developed characters. Clearly, we had to wait a few more years for complex, less obvious, and intriguing personalities like Scar or Captain Hook.

However, Aladdin works as entertaining cinema—less ambitious and fleeting—but grabbing attention with its pace, grandeur, and vibrant color palette. There is little room for intimate dialogue. Many sequences, however, impress with their pomp and scale of events. The overactive Genie excels perfectly in this context, dominating the screen with his charisma and sweeping gestures. Aladdin is accomplished spectacle cinema, though it does not wield the same emotional impact as the earlier Beauty and the Beast, not to mention later giants like The Lion King, Pocahontas, or Mulan. In those films, exceptional visuals were paired with mature storytelling, tackling serious themes (historical or psychological). The result was a complex and artistically engaged work, aimed mainly at young audiences but also sparking the imagination of adults. That doesn’t mean Aladdin has nothing to offer.

The film’s opening scene introduces a postmodern convention rarely seen in Disney productions. We follow a merchant entering the city of Agrabah and setting up his stall. He tells the story of a boy, his magical lamp, and the Genie inside it. Yet he addresses the audience directly, aware of the camera. During his monologue, he asks the cinematographer for a close-up. The request is executed too violently, smashing the lens against the narrator’s nose. This is Disney as we had never seen it before.

The character of the Genie is treated in a similarly modern way, referencing 20th-century American culture through his various disguises. Props are often used to remind viewers they are watching a filmic spectacle. The Genie might pick up the Aladdin script to remind the protagonist of a line, or frame a shot with his fingers and ask Aladdin for a comment to the camera. Disney had never accustomed audiences to this kind of joke. The studio consistently adhered to classical cinema principles: maintaining dramatic seriousness, narrative unity, avoiding intertextuality or irony, and keeping the world of the audience separate from the screen. Aladdin gently breaks these rules, giving the film freshness and a distinctive character.

Perhaps the most beautiful scene in Aladdin is when the Genie grants Aladdin his first wish. The poor boy transforms into a prince. His shabby clothes are replaced with a rich, snow-white costume, and his head is adorned with a headband. The hero’s monkey becomes an elephant, on whose back Aladdin sets off for Jasmine’s palace. This is a clear and clever visual reference to Cinderella, perfectly adapted to this story, which relies on an entirely different cultural code. Disney proved it can create timeless, universal images and creatively transform familiar motifs.

Walt Disney’s films always unfold behind the gates of their magical castle, which also serves as the studio’s logo. We are invited in when we buy a cinema ticket. Aladdin is undoubtedly a full-fledged part of this animated universe. John Musker and Ron Clements’ film remains charming and classy, representing the highest technical standards, with engaging action dynamics and a catchy soundtrack. Walt Disney never falls below a certain level; it is always high-quality cinema.