He created Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck, and the most instantly recognizable versions of many of Western Civilization’s most enduring fairy tale characters. He’s founded the Happiest Place On Earth, where problems don’t exist, except when they do but then are promptly whisked out of sight. And he counted among his fans Einstein, Eisenstein, FDR, Doris Day, Groucho Marx and Jerry Lewis... and Sentaor Joe McCarthy... and Benito Mussolini. (His relationship with Hitler is, well, more complicated.)
He’s won Academy Awards for his short subjects, his features, and his groundbreaking nature documentaries. (That whole ugly business with the lemmings, well, that was unfortunate, but again, that was all Roy.) And he has dreams. He dreams of a city all his own... not another amusement park, but an entire city, over which he will enjoy eminent domain. And he dreams that, in the future, his head can be separated from his body, frozen indefinitely, then defrosted and returned to life.
Meet Walt Disney—violent, virulent, and desperate for immortality—as he stages a table read of the screenplay that will set the record straight once and for all about his status as “one of the most important people who ever lived.”