Billy Joel, Huey Lewis and Bette Midler, a sensational soundtrack, streetwise dogs and a huge heart come together to form one of Disney’s most underrated musical adventures.

I’m not sure whether the rough-and-ready aesthetic was intentional, or whether this was simply a cheaper production designed to fund future mermaids, bitter beasts in castles and magic carpet rides, but the animation is incredibly reminiscent of lesser-invested Disney Channel cartoons from the late 80s and early 90s. I like it. It gives the film real character and suits the Dickensian grit of the Oliver Twist story beautifully, albeit through Disney’s lighter and more sentimental lens.

You can feel the momentum building behind the scenes at Disney throughout this comparatively short film. Oliver and Company feels like a smorgasbord of ideas, texture, risk and musical experimentation that would eventually shape some of Disney’s most iconic family musicals. It feels like Disney experimenting in public, throwing contemporary music, celebrity performances, urban storytelling and Broadway sensibilities into a blender just one year before The Little Mermaid changed the studio forever.

This is the point where the studio’s traditional musical theatre stylings begin to loosen and evolve. The soundtrack and story start dancing together rather than existing as separate stop-start components.

What’s particularly interesting is the diversity of the cast and setting. Shortly after pressing play, I did wonder whether some characters might drift into stereotype, but the film instead feels like a genuine love letter both to Dickens’ original material and to the chaos and colour of New York City itself. Oliver and Company riffs on Oliver Twist rather than copying it verbatim, and that gives it far more personality.

The film also feels like Disney testing the waters to see how much intensity, risk and action younger audiences could handle whilst still preserving that unmistakable sense of magic. Oliver and Company isn’t interested in shielding children from the real world. Instead, it invites them into it, showing that warmth, love and hope can still exist against even the most chaotic and unpredictable backdrops.

I also can’t remember another Disney film from my lifetime containing quite so much tobacco consumption. I’m not suggesting this charming romp ever sent children rushing to light cigarettes, but it is fascinating to see how casually smoking exists throughout the film.

As for the soundtrack itself, I genuinely don’t think Disney has produced one packed with more bona fide pop talent. “Why Should I Worry?”, “Streets of Gold”, and “Perfect Isn’t Easy” blend seamlessly into the narrative without ever feeling like obligatory “and now we sing” moments. Everything flows naturally. My only real criticism is that the songs virtually disappear halfway through the film, creating a noticeable disparity between the soundtrack’s confidence and the rougher visual presentation.

Howard Ashman, Barry Mann, Barry Manilow, Jack Feldman, Bruce Sussman, Dan Hartman, Charlie Midnight, Dean Pitchford, Tom Snow, Ron Rocha and Rob Minkoff were never truly celebrated enough for their contribution to a soundtrack that still feels vibrant decades later.

Interestingly, once the Broadway energy fades, the orchestral score quietly takes over and begins tugging far harder at the heartstrings. It almost feels intentional. As Oliver experiences real comfort, family and stability for the first time, the rhythm of New York begins to lose its warmth and excitement. The city suddenly feels harsher, lonelier and more dangerous once survival is no longer a game.

Oliver and Company may lack the polish of the Disney classics that followed, but its ambition, musical confidence and emotional sincerity make it one of the studio’s most fascinating transitional films.