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當(dāng)藝術(shù)家和設(shè)計(jì)師比安卡·馬卓麗于1935年獲得了在當(dāng)時(shí)看似異常理想的工作時(shí)，她的周薪為18美元，供職于迪士尼工作室知名的故事部門。當(dāng)時(shí)，這個(gè)部門在短時(shí)間內(nèi)負(fù)責(zé)制作了1938年的《白雪公主與七個(gè)小矮人》（Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs）以及1940年的《匹諾曹》（Pinocchio）。

作為對比，同一個(gè)部門、干著同樣工作的男同事們則拿著超過75美元的周薪。

盡管你可能會(huì)像某一位紫色動(dòng)畫精靈那樣對此感到大吃一驚，但這種差異甚至是暴行僅僅是馬卓麗及其女性同事不幸的開端，而當(dāng)時(shí)正值所謂的好萊塢黃金時(shí)期，同時(shí)也是動(dòng)畫電影的開拓時(shí)期。

在Little, Brown and Company出版的《動(dòng)畫皇后》（The Queens of Animation）一書中，作者納沙利亞·霍爾特講述了華特迪士尼動(dòng)畫公司初期的故事，并描述了在該部門首批（少數(shù)）女性雇員的生活和職業(yè)情況。誠然，迪士尼在20世紀(jì)20年代和30年代也有很多女性雇員，但其中的絕大多數(shù)都被下放到“油墨和著色”部門。在那里，她們費(fèi)力地對每一幀畫面進(jìn)行最后的潤色，從勾勒角色的輪廓一直到熒幕上呈現(xiàn)的所有色彩、花樣，以及所謂的魔法。

正如該書的副標(biāo)題（顛覆迪士尼王國、締造影院歷史背后鮮為人知的女性）所示，這一群動(dòng)畫繪制人員在熒幕上的影響力是顯而易見的，并通過霍爾特對少數(shù)健在前雇員的采訪或其健在友人和家人的介紹而重見天日。他們的影響力還通過素描、繪圖和故事創(chuàng)意而躍然于紙上。有鑒于馬卓麗迷人、憂郁的短片《Elmer Elephant》，人們不難找到《小飛象》（Dumbo）的原型；而她在圣迭戈動(dòng)物園描繪小鹿出生的野外旅行立即讓人回想起《小鹿斑比》（Bambi）的上映。

然而，在這個(gè)每天她們進(jìn)出的職場，公司里的很多男性同事一再地以各種可能的方式來侵?jǐn)_她們，因此其藝術(shù)才干還保留了其有關(guān)職場惡意的感受。動(dòng)畫繪制人員格蕾絲·亨廷頓在其中一幅個(gè)人的四格漫畫中則表現(xiàn)得很直白，畫面中有一只肥碩的老鼠（你可以猜猜是誰），慢慢地爬上了坐在她桌子前的婦女身上，伸出他超大的手掌，上面的對話泡沫寫著“我愛你！”。在第二格中，畫面上只有一個(gè)空桌子和一把從桌子上掉下來的椅子，而這個(gè)怪物般的老鼠感到異常吃驚，不知道自己到底都做錯(cuò)了什么。

在這些女性去世如此之久，幾乎被人遺忘之際，霍爾特為講述這些女性的故事所付出的努力值得贊賞。該書將其個(gè)人歷史娓娓道來，似乎這些動(dòng)畫師扮演的就是故事中的角色。誠然，霍爾特從自身角度出發(fā)講述了這個(gè)故事，她自己也承認(rèn)這一切會(huì)令她自己和我們感到失望，因?yàn)楸姸嗟脑瓌?chuàng)主題都已經(jīng)消亡，她只能將素描、信件和采訪信息進(jìn)行拼湊，而這些采訪的對象是那些能夠講述自己最初所聽到內(nèi)容的任何人。我們都知道，二手信息始于電話游戲，作為讀者，我們很難判斷書中所出現(xiàn)的對話是否在現(xiàn)實(shí)中真實(shí)發(fā)生過。

然而在大多數(shù)情況下，我們無需在意對話是否精確到一字不差，但其主旨十分明確：如果迪士尼故事部門沒有招聘女性雇員，我們當(dāng)前所認(rèn)為的那些經(jīng)典電影可能就不會(huì)具有如此大的影響力，但這個(gè)部門甚至曾經(jīng)積極阻礙女性去申請這份工作。（沃爾特·迪士尼自己也存在這類問題，盡管如此，他確實(shí)曾經(jīng)直接聘請了參演電影《紅桃王后》的大多數(shù)女性。另外一件值得一提的事情是，所有女性都是白人。迪士尼工作室沒有多元化這個(gè)理念，即便是出演批判性電影《南方之歌》的非洲裔美國明星也未獲邀參加這部如今被人鄙視的電影的首映式。）

如果不是因?yàn)檫@本書，她們的心血可能就會(huì)被永遠(yuǎn)忽略和忽視，不幸的是，油墨與繪畫部門的女性依然沒能擺脫這個(gè)厄運(yùn)。工作室數(shù)千名雇員參加了《白雪公主》的制作，然而如果現(xiàn)在觀看這部影片，你會(huì)發(fā)現(xiàn)片頭字幕中僅提到了67位工作人員的名字。（財(cái)富中文網(wǎng)）

譯者：馮豐

審校：夏林

When artist and designer Bianca Majolie landed what (on paper) seems like the dream job of a lifetime in 1935, she was paid $18 per week as a member of Walt Disney Studios’ illustrious story department—then the unit that would soon become responsible for 1938’s Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs and 1940’s Pinocchio.

By comparison, her male counterparts in the same role in the same department were making upwards of $75 per week.

While you might be picking your jaw off the floor similar to a certain animated, violet-hued genie, this is only the beginning of some of the disparities—and even atrocities—that Majolie and her female colleagues suffered at the onset of the so-called Golden Era of Hollywood but also the pioneering days of cinematic animation.

In The Queens of Animation (Little, Brown), author Nathalia Holt goes back to the earliest days of the Walt Disney Animation, tracing the lives and careers of the very first (and few) women who were hired to work in the story group. Certainly, there were many female employees at Disney in the 1920s and 1930s. But the vast majority of them were relegated to the “Ink and Paint” department, where they painstakingly put the finishing touches on each and every frame, from tracing the outlines of the characters to all of the color, flourishes, and frankly, magic that filled up the silver screen.

As denoted in the book’s subtitle (The Untold Story of the Women Who Transformed the World of Disney and Made Cinematic History), the influence of this group of animators is evident on the screen, brought to light through Holt’s interviews with a few remaining former employees still alive or passed along through their surviving friends and family. Their influence also survives on the page through sketches, drawings, and story ideas. It’s not hard to pinpoint the origin of Dumbo through Majolie’s charming and melancholy Elmer Elephant short films, and how her field trip to sketch the birth of a fawn at the San Diego Zoo immediately brings to mind the opening of Bambi.

But their artistic talents also preserved their feelings about the hostile workplace they entered each day as many of their male colleagues repeatedly harassed them in virtually every way imaginable. Animator Grace Huntington didn’t leave much to the imagination in one personal comic strip, depicting an obese mouse (you can guess who), creeping up on a woman at her desk, reaching over with his oversized hands with an dialogue bubble reading “I LUV YOU !” In the second cell, there is just an empty desk with a chair that has fallen over, and the ogre mouse is left dumbfounded as to what possibly he could have done wrong.

Holt’s dedication to telling these women’s stories after they’ve been lost—and nearly forgotten—for so long is palpable, narrating their personal histories as if the animators were characters themselves. Admittedly, Holt had her work cut out for her as, she acknowledges to her and our dismay, that many of the original subjects are no longer living, leaving her to piece together sketches, correspondence, and interviews with whomever could pass along what they heard first. And as we all know, second-hand information is the beginning of a game of Telephone, making it a bit hard as a reader to know when some of the dialogue presented actually happened or not.

But in most cases, regardless if the dialogue is word-for-word accurate or not, the theme is clear: the movies we consider classics now would not have turned out the way they did if it were not for the inclusion of women in the Disney story department, which actively discouraged women from even applying at all. (That goes for Walt Disney himself, too, although he did directly hire most of the women featured in Queens. It should also be noted that this all pertains to only white women. Diversity at the studio was nonexistent, and even the African American stars of the derogatory Song of the South were not invited to the premiere of the now-despised film.)

And if it weren’t for this book, their work might have gone ignored and overlooked forever—and sadly that will remain the case for many of the women in the Ink and Paint department. Hundreds of studio employees worked on the production of Snow White, and yet only 67 are listed on the opening credits when you watch the film today.