A quick perusal of any major online bookstore yields numerous biographies of Walter Elias Disney. I should know, having emptied many piggy banks obtaining them over the years. These books run the gamut of objective to subjective, factual to conjectural, original to derivative, worshipful to denigrating. The best of them offer well-researched, balanced accounts of Disney’s life and works. The worst are tabloid slime containing a wealth of factual errors.
Now Disney has an opera detailing his purported last days. This piece of art tends towards the lower spectrum mentioned above, but that is not really the point of this column. A far more absorbing question is why it exists at all.