Back in the 1960s, Walt Disney and Mary Poppins author P. L. Travers engaged in a lengthy back-and-forth over the rights to her popular magic nanny. Disney had promised his daughters he'd make a movie out of the beloved character, but Travers strongly resisted, concerned that, as is the Disney way, her very personal story would be mushed into a pandering, saccharine syrup and covered in glitter.
As we know now, Disney eventually got his way, and he naturally put a bunch of cartoon characters and wacky songs in despite Travers' wishes. And now, Disney is taking the author's even more-personal, biographical story and also mushing that into a pandering, saccharine syrup covered in the human glitter of Tom Hanks, because fuck you again fifty years later, Travers. Here's your lesson in why Marvel and Lucas just sold their shit no questions asked: