Dean Jones's Animal Instincts

When Dean Jones passed away at age 84 on September 1, there wasn't much fanfare. For many, like me, he was a childhood memory of The Wonderful World of Disney on Sunday nights. Although he hadn’t been very active in films for many years, and his leading man days were over long ago, at one time he was the very visible face of the live-action Disney films of the mid-to-late 1960s.

He got his start in Hollywood in 1956, landing small and uncredited roles until finally breaking through in 1957 as the disc jockey Teddy Talbot in Elvis Presley’s third film, the now-iconic “Jailhouse Rock.”

From there he continued to get larger parts, usually in supporting roles. As the 1960s took shape, Jones, along with other young male stars like Jim Hutton and Jeffrey Hunter, became a sort of figurehead of the streamlined mid-century man, handsome in slim-fitting suits, white shirts, skinny ties, perfect hair, and beguiling smiles a girl (or guy) just couldn't resist.

Older male stars who'd gotten their start in the 1930s but were still active in the '60s, such as James Stewart and Henry Fonda, had a more old-fashioned, home-spun persona; but by updating that unpretentious, boy-next-door quality to a younger generation and bracing it for the more freewheeling '60s, Jones became the everyman persona's heir apparent.

Jones smooches a surprised Jane Fonda
in "Any Wednesday."

At this time, he took top billing in a couple of light comedies that are emblematic of the period in look and attitude, including “Under the Yum Yum Tree” (1963), with pretty Carol Lynley; “Two on a Guillotine” (1965), with bubbly Connie Stevens; and “Any Wednesday” (1966), with Jane Fonda. These three co-stars are emblematic of '60s leading ladies.[1]

Most people today would find these fluffy romances fairly dated, and maybe even sexist; but they are entertaining diversions indicative of their time. In them, Jones represents the glib, charming, glossy modern ladies’ man as seen through the lens of Hollywood. In between television appearances, he also had the chance to do a few dramatic roles as part of an ensemble cast, such as "The Young Interns" (1964)--which, no surprise, also cast him opposite some hot ladies of the era, including Stefanie Powers, Barbara Eden, and Inger Stevens.

In 1965, his fortunes changed. Walt Disney Studios was trying to find new ways to cash in on the teen market. They already had a money-maker in Hayley Mills, but she was growing up and no longer the little girl from “Pollyanna.” So they found a vehicle that would capitalize on her existing marquee value, but help make Jones their avatar for live-action comedy. Plus, he enabled them to add a little clean-cut male sex appeal.

Hayley Mills and Jones paws
for a moment to think about the crime.

Jones’s first Disney movie was “That Darn Cat!” (note the exclamation point), which gave Miss Mills the chance to be adorable, yet grown-up. Meanwhile, Jones was able to capitalize on his charisma and proven comic ability. (It’s worth noting that the studio wasn’t quite ready to make Mills his leading lady; in this comedy, Jones falls for her sister.)

An unequivocal hit, “That Darn Cat!” led to a series of Disney movies that cast Jones opposite other then-current leading ladies who basically played second fiddle to whatever the animal of the moment happened to be. There was “The Ugly Dachshund” (1966), with Suzanne Pleshette; “Monkeys Go Home!” (1967), with Yvette Mimieux; and “The Million Dollar Duck” (1971), with Sandy Duncan.

In 1968 alone, he appeared in three Disney films, including “Blackbeard’s Ghost” (with Pleshette again); “The Love Bug,” with Michelle Lee (and a Volkswagen); and “The Horse in the Gray Flannel Suit,” with Diane Baker—and a horse, of course.

Jones's most popular and well-remembered
Disney feature co-starred an adorable car.

But by the end of the sixties, the Walt Disney-Dean Jones formula was wearing thin and audiences were losing interest. Perhaps it was the grim realities of the fast-changing Vietnam era that made these films seem out of step with the times.

And as if in response to the excesses of the ‘60s, Jones’s personal life took a turn. He had grown weary of the Hollywood way of life and some of its more self-destructive aspects. While his film career foundered, in 1970 he was cast as Bobby in Steven Sondheim’s “Company,” and although he had a magnificent singing voice, he quit the production just two weeks into its initial run due to marital problems. You'll be wowed, and perhaps surprised (as I was), by his powerful rendition of "Being Alive," an emotional performance that indicates the true depth of his talent (and seems to indicate what was going on in his personal life).

It was around this time that he hit a point of crisis that led to him becoming a born-again Christian. His presence in films from then on would never reach the level it had been in the 1960s, yet he would continue to act in parts small and large, in feature films and television. He made his last film appearance in 2009.

Periodically, he returned to Disney territory, including two mediocre features that attempted to follow on the success of the studio’s earlier films. “The Shaggy D.A.” was a 1976 sequel to 1959’s “The “Shaggy Dog” (which had starred another Disney leading man, Fred MacMurray). “Herbie Goes to Monte Carlo” was a meager 1977 follow-up to the original Love Bug movie. (I remember going to the theater to see it when it came out.)

As if hanging onto his most popular and iconic film, Jones participated in other retreads of the cute Volkswagen storyline, including the short-lived television series “Herbie the Love Bug” (1982) and the television movie “The Love Bug” (1997). Neither made much of an impression, nor did his appearance as the villain in 1997’s remake of “That Darn Cat.” (Note that this 1997 take on the 1965 title dispensed with the exclamation point, as if to underscore that the ‘90s was a decidedly less lighthearted decade.)

With that smile and those boyish good looks, he just seemed like a
nice guy--the perfect Disney hero.

Jones was a bright, engaging presence who sleekly represented his era. His modern look, affable demeanor, and easy-going charm helped balance the slight scripts of those popular Disney comedies. He never complained about their formulaic nature, and knew they were innocuous light entertainment. Yet his deft handling elevated the material and indicated a true professional who understood his appeal.

In a career that spanned nearly 60 years, Jones made his mark in those relics of a different era’s snappier, less complicated approach to entertainment. The Disney movies in which he co-starred with a cat, a dog, a horse, a duck, even a ghost and, most iconic, a cute little car, are the ones for which he’ll be best remembered.

[1] Granted, Fonda's career went much further than Lynley's or Stevens', and changed significantly into the 1970s in lockstep with the anti-war, anti-nukes, and women's rights movements.