The.prince.of.egypt.1998 -

“Deliver Us,” the opening number, is a harrowing slave lament. As the Hebrew women sing a call-and-response while staggering under heavy stones, Zimmer’s score introduces a mournful shofar (a ram’s horn). It is a far cry from “Hakuna Matata.”

Then, there is the Red Sea. For five minutes, the film stops being a cartoon and becomes a symphony of destruction and salvation. As Moses raises his staff, the water doesn’t just part; it explodes outward in towering, translucent cathedrals of blue and green. The animators used fluid dynamics and hand-drawn layers to create a wall of water that feels both beautiful and terrifying. When the waves crash back down upon the Egyptian army, it is not a victory lap. The film pauses to show the silent horror of the drowning soldiers—a choice that earned it both praise and a PG rating, cementing its refusal to sugarcoat the story. No discussion of The Prince of Egypt is complete without acknowledging its divine musical pedigree. Stephen Schwartz ( Godspell , Wicked ) wrote the lyrics, while Hans Zimmer composed the score. Together, they created a soundscape that blends Hebrew liturgy, African gospel, and Middle Eastern instrumentation. the.prince.of.egypt.1998

First, the dream of the golden calf. In a surreal, nightmarish sequence, a guilt-ridden Moses imagines the Hebrews worshipping the idol he accidentally helped create. The animation distorts into feverish, flowing brushstrokes—a rare moment where the medium admits it is paint, and uses that fact to evoke psychological collapse. “Deliver Us,” the opening number, is a harrowing

Against all odds, The Prince of Egypt didn't just succeed; it soared. The film was personal. Jeffrey Katzenberg, a former Disney chairman who had left on bitter terms, wanted a statement piece—something that would prove DreamWorks Animation could tackle material Disney would never touch. He approached Spielberg, who had long wanted to make a serious, respectful adaptation of the Moses story. Their rule was ironclad: do not trivialize. Do not parody. Treat the source material with the same reverence as a live-action biblical epic like The Ten Commandments . For five minutes, the film stops being a

The Prince of Egypt dared to ask: What if an animated film could be a prayer? The answer, it turns out, was a masterpiece.

Today, 25 years later, its reputation has only grown. In an era of cynical reboots and CGI churn, The Prince of Egypt stands as a monument to risk-taking. It is a film that believes in the power of sincere faith—not necessarily in God, but in story, in art, and in the audience’s ability to handle sorrow.

Then there is “When You Believe.” Sung by a doubting Moses (Val Kilmer) and a terrified Tzipporah (Michelle Pfeiffer), the song is a quiet, fragile plea for faith. It later explodes into a gospel choir as the Hebrews walk through the parted sea. The song won the Academy Award for Best Original Song—the first for a non-Disney animated film in years.