My library recently had its 6th annual Sci-fi/Fantasy Festival, and because of that thing that's ruining the world in 2020 (No, not that one. The virus.) we did it as a virtual con for the first time. As such I had the privilege of speaking on more panels than usual; Monty Python, cartoons, female comic book characters, and nerd-dom in general, just to name all of the few of them.
A couple of different times, the panels came back to the damsel in distress trope. We're all familiar with this. Most people's feelings on the matter range from irritation to indifference. I don't think anybody really defends it, at most we just kind of shrug it off as a lazy motivator. Because it is. I'm not sure when exactly rescuing the damsel crossed over from trope to cliche, but at this point we seem to respond to it with a collective eye roll.
Except we seem more tolerant of it in video games. Perhaps because game play is more important to us than legitimacy when it comes to platformers we're more comfortable accepting the 'get the grail' motive, and by proxy less willing to demand that the pretty princess be treated as more of a character than 'the grail'.
Again, because of that thing that's ruining the world right now, I'm unable to make my long awaited Nintendo Switch purchase that I finally have the funds for. So to get my gaming fill I'm stuck watching playthroughs online. I recently watched Luigi's Mansion 3, which involves a mass kidnapping of Mario, Peach, and a handful of Toads. Luigi to the reluctant rescue. He goes through rescuing the characters in succession; first the unimportant Toads, then his brother, and at last Peach.
It got me thinking.
If Luigi (and the player) had managed to rescue Peach first, would you have still been inclined to keep playing? Presumably we play games because we want to complete them, but if the game includes a rewards system does it disrupt the feeling of accomplishment if 'the grail' is obtained before the climax? There are some problematic implications when a setting as big as the Mario-verse continues to equate its most high-profile female character as the ongoing grail.
If you were to list Princess Peach Toadstool's characteristics, being kidnapped is invariably at the top of the list. And this trait tends to evoke some strong emotions among her detractors; gamers who believe the character sucks often cite this as their primary argument. To a point I follow the logic, but I feel the knee-jerk conclusion is unfair. I don't believe she sucks. I do believe she's the victim of a string of disservices to her character, starting with Nintendo itself. And I also believe there's a way to turn it around without fundamentally changing the core of her character.
So here we go.
What is Peach?
Looking at her through the eyes of feminism (which is actually a very good thing, in case you need a reminder) she's in an uncomfortable place in Western culture. In Japan, the role of the homemaker is thought of highly. A woman who maintains an aesthetic home and excels at entertaining her guests is viewed honorably, and Princess Peach reflects these ideals. In America, not so much. The fifties sitcom housewife is viewed with no small amount of disdain over here. The role has taken on an implied subjugation to a patriarchy, which doesn't sit well with anyone pro-career woman.
I've said this before, but it's worth repeating. The problem with the housewife was never about the housewife role itself, but with who was deciding it for whom. There's been an unfortunate backlash among the feminist circles towards women who genuinely want to be homemakers because of how much of an emotional button the concept is. It's easy to get stuck on this idea that 'homemaker' and 'feminist' are incompatible when this is simply not true. Peach naturally taps into this highly emotive debate.
Now in Super Mario 64, I think we all had a good time yelling "Eff you!" at the screen when after 90+ vertigo inducing stars Mario's reward is going to be a cake (by the way, what happened to the one she claims to have already baked that got him to the castle in the first place?). Most of us were hoping for a strip tease, but that's not who Peach is (at least not until Thousand Year Door).
From Peach's perspective, baking a cake is the kindest thing she can do. And Mario is less of an egotist than the people controlling him, so he's accepting of the sentiment in its purest form. Can you imagine if you ever rescued Kate Middleton and she rewarded you with a cake she baked herself? Do you think whine about the fact that it wasn't a Mercedes? No. You'd sit there and eat it and like it even if you choked on it.
And that's a character trait with Peach that usually gets lost. She's royalty (for some reason), she's not obligated to be kind. We'll get back to that in a minute, for now let's look at the lack of details surrounding her monarchy.
I don't know what Nintendo considers canon about the origin of the Mushroom Kingdom. I think Peach's father was mentioned one time back in nineties in one of the game manuals, so that may not matter. We're left with theories. Here's mine. The world in which the Mushroom Kingdom exists is closely related to a pagan setting; in conjunction with sprites and cognitive forces of nature. It's why so many rocks have eyes. The Toads are an evolved form of Mushroom in the same way that humans evolved from primates, although in a much tighter time frame. Peach could be any number of things. Perhaps she's a mushroom that's gone one step further in mutation to appear more human. Or perhaps her in tuned-ness with the natural world was an influence in why the Toads sprang up in the first place. For whatever reason, Peach never entered into a pre-existing monarchy, the political structure grew organically around her (a similar thing happened with Daisy in Sarasaland).
The plumbers incidentally are not mushrooms. I don't know if they came from New York or New Donk, but they represent immigrants who came to a better place with the intent of making an honest living.
Who is Peach?
It's telling about Peach's character that she would develop such a close friendship with a member of the working class. At the end of the day Mario's aspirations are pretty straightforward. He wants to do his job, go home, and relax. All of the heroic adventures are things he happens to fall into. He possesses a kind of 'It needs to be done, and I can do it' attitude that an empath like Peach would be drawn to. So why does she bake him a cake instead of build him a house? Probably because simple comforts would make him happier than luxuries would.
The relationship between Peach and Mario is one of the all time great aromantic romances. We, as the spectators, seem to spend as much time with them as they spend together, suggesting they more or less have separate lives. So in that regard I don't think they're technically an item, and neither seems to have any drive to push the relationship into something it isn't already. But they're fond of each other, and even platonically it makes sense why they would be the other's 'special one'.
And that brings us to the royal beast (not Daisy unfortunately). Bowser and Peach both wear crowns but their approaches to ruling couldn't be more different. Peach motivates her subjects by empowering them, while King Koopa threatens his into obedience. It's unfair to label the dichotomy as good vs. evil; more accurately it's love vs. fear.
Bowser is the delegated bad guy, but let's look at his story from his perspective. Whereas the Mushroom Kingdom is in touch with the innocence of nature, Bowser is rooted in the animalistic side. He's king because he's the biggest and strongest, things that the wilds value. In his mind Peach should be his, by virtue of the fact that he wants her, and the natural order dictates that the king should get what he wants.
Mario should be nothing more than a nuisance, and a lot of the games do a wonderful job at presenting this incorrect viewpoint from the big guy. Bowser projects his own views onto Mario, presuming Mario wants Peach the same way he does; at least once straight up accusing Mario of also wanting to kidnap Peach.
And here's where it gets tricky. Bowser views Peach as the grail. Mario does not. Oddly enough, the players tend to come away from the games playing as Mario, but viewing Peach in a manner similar to the way Bowser does. Now this would be nothing more than a curiosity if we weren't seeing real life examples of how this mentality can manifest itself in legitimately horrifying ways. A few words I can throw out there; incels and gamer gate.
Now I'm not suggesting a cause and effect relationship between Mario games and the #metoo movement. But I am sharing how taken aback I was when I first found out that, within this community I hold so dear, there continues to exist an underbelly of hatred towards women. I don't even understand it. My life's experience has coincided with the birth of nerd culture, and I can confidentially say, "Guys! This is what you've ALWAYS wanted. A chance to talk to girls without leaving your comfort zone. So what in the hell is the problem?"
It's a question I can't satisfactorily answer, and I don't think the wisdom lies in the Mushroom Kingdom. But what I can say is that Bowser, being an animal who kidnaps Peach and tries to kill Mario, still comes off as less of an asshole than how I've seen a lot of guys behave online.
Why is Peach?
It's difficult to determine where continuity begins and ends for a video game character with a thirty-five year history across multiple genres. How much of Peach's sass and aggression in the Strikers series is hidden fury versus situational showboating? Can her infamous "I'm your mama?" to Bowser Jr. be attributed to a translation issue or raise a serious concern about reproduction? And then there's the 'baby' versions of all the VIPs that even the X-Men timeline can't untangle. All of this is to say that if Super Smash Brothers has ANY legitimacy, Peach should technically be able to break herself out of any dungeon using only her hips.
The idea that Peach purposefully allows herself to be kidnapped is not a new one, but people all too quickly jump to the "sort of into that kind of thing" explanation. I would argue that there's a more plausible, and interesting, reason that doesn't shoehorn a kinky side into a character who really has never demonstrated one (Sorry, deviantartists). Not to worry though; I'm sure Daisy's first solo adventure is right around the corner, and you know she's got stock in Nintendo's old hotel chain.
Here's what I think is going on. You've got Peach's Kingdom (Princessdom?) in close proximity with Bowser's. From a monarch's perspective, Bowser has a certain usefulness, as there's a whole world out there of pokeys, boos, blarggs, and a freaking sun that doesn't even know what it's on about. Bowser brings a certain level of organization to all of these creatures. If he weren't so ineffective as a king that might create a bigger problem the chaos of the wilds, but as it stands Bowser is providing an unintentional service to the Mushroom Kingdom. They don't attack until he says to, which creates a predictability around the assaults.
Now that by itself is smart politics. There are other threats in the world(s) and Bowser's minions offer a line of protection from outside sources. When you factor in that Bowser feels...something for Peach that he may never fully wrap his horned head around, she herself is not in any real danger. Her reliance on Mario comes when Bowser gets overzealous but her status quo is never to crush Bowser entirely, only to keep returning him to a useful arm's length.
That may sound manipulative; and it is, it's politics, and Peach is a responsible ruler. But where she really shines is how she sneaks her rule-by-love approach into Bowser's rule-by-fear. Out of the four elements of alchemy, love is always represented by water. And with good reason, it's the most powerful. Displace it, evaporate it, it will always come back, adapting to whatever container it needs to fill. Meanwhile, given enough time and patience, a single trickle can reshape a mountain. And that's what Peach is doing to Bowser. As I said, Bowser is a brute. You can't teach him a lesson directly because he'll ignore it. If you want to see him change, it has to be so gradual that he doesn't realize it's happening.
How many times has Bowser shown up at the Mushroom Kingdom with a tennis racquet? How many towns full of goombas and koopas have sprung up in walking distance that look to Peach for inspiration instead of Bowser? This is why Peach allows herself to be kidnapped, because she cares enough to keep the process going. She may never see Bowser become selfless, but she's carefully nurturing a decency in him that he's unaware of. If Mario has to take on the role of her paladin from time to time, he's fine with it. But beneath the cheerful obliviousness and the hair flips, Peach has a genuine wisdom and empathy.
Did you ever play Bowser's Inside Story for the DS? The quick version: Bowser accidentally becomes a hero without ever realizing he's doing anything other than moving obstacles out of his own way. In the end, he's not entirely sure what the hell just happened, but he knows his actions wound up keeping Peach safe. And she thanks him by baking him a cake. You remember the "Eff you" we all yelled at the N64 when the game ended on that note? This time it brought a tear to my eye.
Friday, July 31, 2020
Tuesday, March 24, 2020
Book Review: Daphne and Velma: The Vanishing Girl
It never fails to fascinate me how much of a cultural impact Scooby-Doo has had over its 51-year-and-counting history. The fans don't just love the series, they're passionate about it. If you need proof (and you have no human decency) just pop into any message thread and ask "Which series was your least favorite?"; within minutes people will be lobbing their ascots and lavender pumps at each other.
So, YA novel Daphne and Velma: The Vanishing Girl by Josephine Ruby comes with the pleasure of, and responsibility for, a built in audience with predisposed emotions for the lead characters. In case you don't know, Ruby is a pseudonym for an as yet unidentified author (or authors). But even with no previous titles associated with Ruby, I'm happy to say the writing carries both the air of professional experience, and a love of the source material.
Scooby's more visual tropes don't translate well into written format, and Ruby is wise to make sure the story works as a YA novel first before selecting which familiar elements to throw into the mix. For example, the dog makes several appearances but only communicates through barking; thus grounding itself in more of a reality than we've seen before.
Minus a prologue and some scattered interlogues, the narrative alternates between Velma and Daphne's perspectives. The voices are distinctive; and unlike last year's (dare I say unwatchable?) live-action DVD movie which focused on these characters, the cornerstone of the plot is their conflict.
We've seen Velma's insecurities before, but here they're on display in full glory because sixteen year old Velma doesn't have a successful track record to lean into. She's confident in her mental prowess but she doubts her ability to follow through. From the opening paragraphs, you hear her voice. This is the seed that's going to grow into the woman who will stare down her hero Ben Ravencroft. At her core, Velma has an intellectual thirst for truth, and this is the period in her life where it hurts her with the most regularity; when she's alone.
On the other hand, this version of Daphne is a bit of a jarring flavor. She's much further from her familiar(ish) personality that the franchise can't ever quite nail down. This Daphne is a mean girl. Not unsympathetically so. A combination of circumstance and the fact that adolescence is a hormonal circus, this Daphne can't stop herself from erupting. It's a painful, sometimes literally tear-jerking character arc she goes on. And it's poetically heart-breaking every time she refers to herself as a monster hiding behind a mask.
If there's a weakness to the novel, it's that the mystery takes a back seat. I don't think it's a bad thing; I was happy spending the bulk of the pages getting to re-know these old friends of mine. If you're coming into it purely for the mystery elements you might find yourself having to flip through the first hundred pages before the vanishing girl actually vanishes. But that's not the heart of the book. Like the title reads, it's about Daphne and Velma before it's about the case of the week. As this series continues, I hope those priorities continue.
Final thoughts: Ruby is an author with a legitimate spark. She's willing to take some risks with the characters, and her ability to manage the fallout is admirable. The Scooby franchise doesn't have a rigid canonical timeline, so don't try to force this into one 'verse or the other. Ruby seems to take most inspiration from the Mystery Incorporated series, while possibly answering why Daphne thought she might be going to hell in the Supernatural crossover. It's a YA book, so there's some mild profanity that I'm kind of surprised the WB allowed, but nothing to make it feel not-Scooby. And there's a nice surprise appearance in the third act that I won't spoil here.
In the end, I recommend both reading the book and supporting the series. The second installment is due in July, and all signs point to this being a deeply satisfying journey.
So, YA novel Daphne and Velma: The Vanishing Girl by Josephine Ruby comes with the pleasure of, and responsibility for, a built in audience with predisposed emotions for the lead characters. In case you don't know, Ruby is a pseudonym for an as yet unidentified author (or authors). But even with no previous titles associated with Ruby, I'm happy to say the writing carries both the air of professional experience, and a love of the source material.
Scooby's more visual tropes don't translate well into written format, and Ruby is wise to make sure the story works as a YA novel first before selecting which familiar elements to throw into the mix. For example, the dog makes several appearances but only communicates through barking; thus grounding itself in more of a reality than we've seen before.
Minus a prologue and some scattered interlogues, the narrative alternates between Velma and Daphne's perspectives. The voices are distinctive; and unlike last year's (dare I say unwatchable?) live-action DVD movie which focused on these characters, the cornerstone of the plot is their conflict.
We've seen Velma's insecurities before, but here they're on display in full glory because sixteen year old Velma doesn't have a successful track record to lean into. She's confident in her mental prowess but she doubts her ability to follow through. From the opening paragraphs, you hear her voice. This is the seed that's going to grow into the woman who will stare down her hero Ben Ravencroft. At her core, Velma has an intellectual thirst for truth, and this is the period in her life where it hurts her with the most regularity; when she's alone.
On the other hand, this version of Daphne is a bit of a jarring flavor. She's much further from her familiar(ish) personality that the franchise can't ever quite nail down. This Daphne is a mean girl. Not unsympathetically so. A combination of circumstance and the fact that adolescence is a hormonal circus, this Daphne can't stop herself from erupting. It's a painful, sometimes literally tear-jerking character arc she goes on. And it's poetically heart-breaking every time she refers to herself as a monster hiding behind a mask.
If there's a weakness to the novel, it's that the mystery takes a back seat. I don't think it's a bad thing; I was happy spending the bulk of the pages getting to re-know these old friends of mine. If you're coming into it purely for the mystery elements you might find yourself having to flip through the first hundred pages before the vanishing girl actually vanishes. But that's not the heart of the book. Like the title reads, it's about Daphne and Velma before it's about the case of the week. As this series continues, I hope those priorities continue.
Final thoughts: Ruby is an author with a legitimate spark. She's willing to take some risks with the characters, and her ability to manage the fallout is admirable. The Scooby franchise doesn't have a rigid canonical timeline, so don't try to force this into one 'verse or the other. Ruby seems to take most inspiration from the Mystery Incorporated series, while possibly answering why Daphne thought she might be going to hell in the Supernatural crossover. It's a YA book, so there's some mild profanity that I'm kind of surprised the WB allowed, but nothing to make it feel not-Scooby. And there's a nice surprise appearance in the third act that I won't spoil here.
In the end, I recommend both reading the book and supporting the series. The second installment is due in July, and all signs point to this being a deeply satisfying journey.
Saturday, January 25, 2020
Disney Princess 301: The Magical Millennial Tour
If you're just joining me, like the four random hits my blog has gotten from Singapore, one of my unofficial goals is to thumb through the entire Disney animated canon and giving snide reflections. As the princess lineup is the backbone of the studio's library I tend to devote more words to those films, and I've found it convenient to group them into threes. If you're not sick of my writing by the end of page, feel free to check out Disney Princess 101 where I cover Snowy, Cindy, and Thorny, and then head on over to Disney Princess 201 for Fishy, Booky, and...um...Jasminey. And on with the show!
For a corporate juggernaut like Disney it's impossible to reduce its turning points to a simple cause and effect.
Now just from that statement alone, I feel confident that I understand the company better than former CEO Michael Eisner ever did. He was a savvy businessman (which is not necessarily a compliment) but he was no artist.
The Animated Renaissance was to Disney what Iron-Man was to Robert Downey Jr.; a phoenix-from-the-ashes resurrection that carried box-office profits for an entire decade. The big three (Ariel, Belle, and Jasmine) were the foundation on which everyone from Simba to Tarzan reaped the benefits in terms of technical achievement and quality; and arguably Pixar. History remembers this as the Jeffrey Katzenberg era prior to the mediocrity with which he infused DreamWorks's library. But inside sources point to the late Frank Wells as the unsung genius behind Disney's survival and triumph. Whatever the spark was, Disney's soul exploded into the theater with a renewed passion...and then slithered onto the home video market with its half-assed sequel excuses.
By the time board members Roy Disney Jr. and Stanley Gold had had it up to Mount Olympus with Eisner oversaturating their supply of pixie dust, the Disney name was no longer synonymous with quality. Pixar was the new Disney, while Disney was slipping to trend chaser status (AKA New DreamWorks. Am I snide? I think I'm snide.). All of which brings us into the Bob Iger era and a return to formula; Princess Fairy Tales.
For a corporate juggernaut like Disney it's impossible to reduce its turning points to a simple cause and effect.
Now just from that statement alone, I feel confident that I understand the company better than former CEO Michael Eisner ever did. He was a savvy businessman (which is not necessarily a compliment) but he was no artist.
The Animated Renaissance was to Disney what Iron-Man was to Robert Downey Jr.; a phoenix-from-the-ashes resurrection that carried box-office profits for an entire decade. The big three (Ariel, Belle, and Jasmine) were the foundation on which everyone from Simba to Tarzan reaped the benefits in terms of technical achievement and quality; and arguably Pixar. History remembers this as the Jeffrey Katzenberg era prior to the mediocrity with which he infused DreamWorks's library. But inside sources point to the late Frank Wells as the unsung genius behind Disney's survival and triumph. Whatever the spark was, Disney's soul exploded into the theater with a renewed passion...and then slithered onto the home video market with its half-assed sequel excuses.
By the time board members Roy Disney Jr. and Stanley Gold had had it up to Mount Olympus with Eisner oversaturating their supply of pixie dust, the Disney name was no longer synonymous with quality. Pixar was the new Disney, while Disney was slipping to trend chaser status (AKA New DreamWorks. Am I snide? I think I'm snide.). All of which brings us into the Bob Iger era and a return to formula; Princess Fairy Tales.
The Priceless and the Frock
Let's get this out of the way up front. Disney dodges the whole race issue, and I honestly can't blame them. The fallout from Song of the We Have No Idea What You're Talking About has no end in sight, why the hell would they want to launch that bandwagon against themselves (the Halle Bailey backlash is on you assholes, not the mouse). Particularly in a family film, racial inequality either has to be hit head on, like Zootopia, or relegated to subtext like it is here. Since this movie is ultimately about something other than race, I believe this was the correct choice.
My six word review: "Awesome! And a little less so".
As a love letter to the entire history of Disney animation, the film is amazing; talking animals, transformations, an ultra charismatic villain, a New Orleans setting (Walt Disney's personal obsession), swamp scenes (a nod to the Don Bluth period), a deconstruction of star-wishing, a Disney death that actually sticks, and a deliberate karate chop to the ugly step sister trope. It properly utilized all of the elements that Enchanted only checked off as it went.
Story-wise, Tiana's arc was wonderful, and deliberately adult. She was not the spoiled princess looking for love, she was a workaholic looking for autonomy. Her best friend Lottie got the traditional Disney motivator, and proved she was a better person not getting what she wanted. But the main problem with the film is that Tiana's story has to carry so much extra weight she's never able to really dance on clouds.
Sandbag #1: Louis, the alligator trumpeter. Everything about his character reads "Well, we designed him, and damn it we're gonna throw him in there!" He honestly doesn't help the plot and he's one of the reasons the second act in the swamp drags. Sandbag #2: Mama Odie, the voodoo priestess. She comes out of nowhere just to pad out the soundtrack. Either that or to balance out the way practitioners of voodoo are being portrayed in Disney films? Sandbag #3: and this one might have worked itself out by cutting the first two loose, Prince Naveen. If there was ever a princess who didn't need a man, it was Tiana; but the story requires it, so fair play. But directors Ron Clements and John Musker seem to forget what his role in the movie is. Naveen is all personality and narrow goals, which is great if you're the villain or one of the scene-stealing side characters. But he's just too in love with himself to be a credible love interest for Tiana.
As for the villain, Dr. Facilier is impeccably animated and voiced (Keith David rules!), but he's strangely underused. His motivations feel a little first draft-y; he wants to rule New Orleans? Why exactly? And wouldn't he have had a stronger presence if he had a prior connection to Tiana? Imagine if instead of him tempting her at the end of the film it had been a first act encounter, where she turned him down and it ruffled his feathers. Like I say, Dr. Facilier's a great villain, but it's a missed opportunity to stand him next to the all time greatest.
Overall, I'm being needlessly hard on an otherwise wonderful film because I felt it held itself back with a few rookie mistakes. I care, and I know what Disney is capable of. If you really want to see them bring their A-game, look at the character of Ray, the lovesick firefly. He is not appealing, and the previews make him out to be a lowbrow comedic sidekick who's there just to keep the kiddies interested. But Jim Cummings does the unthinkable with his performance, he breaks your heart open. This ugly insect manages to spark a little more hope in you than you had before you popped in the DVD. And he does it with a legitimate Cajun accent (ball's in your court Streep). Disney magic? I'd like to say there's no such thing, but I really can't back it up.
Dangled
Rapunzel was inevitable but alas Disney felt they had to trick boys into going to see what's perceived as a girl movie, hence the prominent gap in the princess lineup doesn't get her own film named after her. Instead they placed the spotlight on hair. Yes, that's much more rugged, isn't it?
Age is kind of fluid in fairy tales, which extends to Disney adaptations. You may not have realized that Tiana was 19. Rapunzel is on the eve of her 18th birthday, but the two of them may as well be from different generations. While Tiana was a working woman focused on adult goals, Rapunzel is very much a girl. That's not a criticism, just a distinction. Her kidnapper, Mother Gothel, has actively prevented her from growing up, giving Rapunzel an anime-like imbalance of overdue emotional puberty. It makes her an interesting character study, but unfortunately that takes a backseat to...stuff happening.
I have mixed feelings about this film. On the one hand, the aforementioned stuff is quite entertaining on its own. Flynn Rider is a funny character. His lines are well written, and it's refreshing to see a male Disney lead also be the goofy sidekick character. And determinator Maximus is a cool horse, possibly the coolest horse Disney has given us (and they've given us a lot of horses). The problem is, it feels like they've come from a different story where they were the central focus. And I know it was the studio's intention to have the film be about Flynn as much as Rapunzel (again, because boys), but in this regard I think the film fails.
You can have a movie about two characters; think Toy Story. While Buzz Lightyear became more of a supporting character as the series progressed, the first film was about him as much as it was about Woody. But the difference is, Toy Story was a single story that Buzz and Woody were on polar opposites of. Flynn and Rapunzel are having two different stories competing for screen time, and it's a disservice to the character whose fairy tale it's supposed to be about.
It's been said many times that a story is only as good as its villain, which is obviously an oversimplification. But in the case of Tangled, it plays out both ways. Most of the script that focuses on Rapunzel and Flynn is spright; certainly enough to highlight just how drab the rest of the Kingdom Hearts III dialogue is. The bits with Mother Gothel feel more like dead weight, kind of a reversed Sleeping Beauty. Gothel's a well designed, and voiced, character, but once outside of her oppressive tower she's not that much of a threat. Disney's done so much better in the past, see Frollo's maniacal outbursts or Lady Tremaine's venomous seething. Better yet go all the way back to Queen Grimhilde from Snow White who had a similar motive, to restore status quo. It's not an inherently dramatic incentive but when it's given to someone as ruthless as the queen it becomes the stuff of nightmares. Gothel's more of a leash than a whip.
As for the music, I don't have a polite way of saying this: it wasn't Alan Menken's A-game. This is the guy who gave us the soundtracks to Little Shop of Horrors and almost the entire Disney Renaissance. And it's not like he's past his peak, check out both seasons of Galavant if you don't believe me. But the songs here are sub par. Not bad, but not Disney. Maybe good enough for Dreamworks.
So in the end I think it's overall a fun movie just not a disappointingly unrefined one. While The Princess and the Frog had unneeded padding in places, it's story flowed organically. Tangled feels assembled; no real padding, but trying too hard to cover bases that it doesn't need to. Rapunzel waited decades for the Disney treatment, and what she got was good...enough. But she deserved better.
Age is kind of fluid in fairy tales, which extends to Disney adaptations. You may not have realized that Tiana was 19. Rapunzel is on the eve of her 18th birthday, but the two of them may as well be from different generations. While Tiana was a working woman focused on adult goals, Rapunzel is very much a girl. That's not a criticism, just a distinction. Her kidnapper, Mother Gothel, has actively prevented her from growing up, giving Rapunzel an anime-like imbalance of overdue emotional puberty. It makes her an interesting character study, but unfortunately that takes a backseat to...stuff happening.
I have mixed feelings about this film. On the one hand, the aforementioned stuff is quite entertaining on its own. Flynn Rider is a funny character. His lines are well written, and it's refreshing to see a male Disney lead also be the goofy sidekick character. And determinator Maximus is a cool horse, possibly the coolest horse Disney has given us (and they've given us a lot of horses). The problem is, it feels like they've come from a different story where they were the central focus. And I know it was the studio's intention to have the film be about Flynn as much as Rapunzel (again, because boys), but in this regard I think the film fails.
You can have a movie about two characters; think Toy Story. While Buzz Lightyear became more of a supporting character as the series progressed, the first film was about him as much as it was about Woody. But the difference is, Toy Story was a single story that Buzz and Woody were on polar opposites of. Flynn and Rapunzel are having two different stories competing for screen time, and it's a disservice to the character whose fairy tale it's supposed to be about.
It's been said many times that a story is only as good as its villain, which is obviously an oversimplification. But in the case of Tangled, it plays out both ways. Most of the script that focuses on Rapunzel and Flynn is spright; certainly enough to highlight just how drab the rest of the Kingdom Hearts III dialogue is. The bits with Mother Gothel feel more like dead weight, kind of a reversed Sleeping Beauty. Gothel's a well designed, and voiced, character, but once outside of her oppressive tower she's not that much of a threat. Disney's done so much better in the past, see Frollo's maniacal outbursts or Lady Tremaine's venomous seething. Better yet go all the way back to Queen Grimhilde from Snow White who had a similar motive, to restore status quo. It's not an inherently dramatic incentive but when it's given to someone as ruthless as the queen it becomes the stuff of nightmares. Gothel's more of a leash than a whip.
As for the music, I don't have a polite way of saying this: it wasn't Alan Menken's A-game. This is the guy who gave us the soundtracks to Little Shop of Horrors and almost the entire Disney Renaissance. And it's not like he's past his peak, check out both seasons of Galavant if you don't believe me. But the songs here are sub par. Not bad, but not Disney. Maybe good enough for Dreamworks.
So in the end I think it's overall a fun movie just not a disappointingly unrefined one. While The Princess and the Frog had unneeded padding in places, it's story flowed organically. Tangled feels assembled; no real padding, but trying too hard to cover bases that it doesn't need to. Rapunzel waited decades for the Disney treatment, and what she got was good...enough. But she deserved better.
Frosting
It was a moment. Three words: Here. I. Stand. Elsa slammed her foot to the ground. And the ice. Not just a collection of water molecules, and not just a sequence of computerized pixels, but a metaphor. Fear. That cannot be evaded. That cannot be defeated. The ice. Bent to her will. It was a moment that rippled through the film, through the Disney studios, through the audience, and through history.
Entertainment doesn't make things happen. It reflects on things that are already happening. Things we can barely understand because they're happening on an emotional level. Entertainment processes those emotions and gives us something tangible to hold onto while we try to figure it all out.
Frozen was released in 2013. It was seven years after 'Me Too' was first used as a phrase for surviving sexual harassment, and four years before it would take root in the mainstream. Two years prior Demi Lovato publicly revealed her diagnosis of bipolar disorder. Three years later Trump's America would stick its fingers in its ears to the concept of empathy. All these events happened or would happen whether or not this film existed, but that ripple has stuck in our heads. We continue to feel it as we face the monsters both inside and out. It was a moment that we couldn't have realized then; all of us are Elsa.
As much of an icon as Elsa instantly became, her debut film has some issues; mainly the result of a ten year development process that still managed to feel rushed. Everything about Act One is great! The music comes out of the gate swinging, you have the emotional baggage, and the animation grips you in a way you don't consciously realize. But then "Let it Go" happens, and the problems kick in.
It's not a problem with the song; I know you got sick of hearing it after the first nine thousand times but it was played that much because it's that amazing. The problem is the effect it has on the story that Disney wasn't prepared for. The whole film is designed to be Anna's story, her complicated relationship with her sister as the primary arc. Originally Elsa was the movie's antagonist. She went through several iterations; villain, sympathetic villain, anti-heroine, probably one draft where you find out she'd been dead the whole time. But once the songwriters got inside her head Elsa could no longer be the object of the arc, she'd become the protagonist.
And therein lies the issue with everything after that one song, the movie is still determined to make it Anna's story. Oaken, ha ha, get back to Elsa. Kristoff and Sven, that's nice, get back to Elsa. Olaf's song, come on, just get back to Elsa. The trolls again? For the love of God, get back to Elsa! It's not that the film falls apart, it's just that we all can tell the movie we got is getting in the way of the much better movie we could have had.
In the end the movie is good enough. When it shines it really shines, making itself destined to become a classic. When it trips it only lands in the snow, nothing broken, just a quick brush off. You know you were affected by the movie as much as I was, even if you want to pretend you liked The Great Mouse Detective more. Nothing is perfect, and if it were I don't imagine it would be a lovable as a really good flawed journey.
I'd normally end the blog here, but as we're in between the theatrical and home releases of Frozen II, this is probably the best time to give the follow up a little attention.
To reiterate a couple of points I made in my most recent entry, this time around we really get to know Elsa as an individual (which was a wise move). We learn more about Arendelle's history, which isn't something I thought I wanted to know but it turns out to be intriguing. Everyone is a little older and a little more responsible, and the choices before them aren't so easy to discern the consequences thereof.
Anna manages to take a supportive role without getting pushed to the background, and with that shift comes some ideas that don't entirely get resolved. For example, she's angry with her sister for going off alone. Nothing comes of it, but the moment is still valuable. You get mad at people you care about. It's natural. And it's a concept that Disney films don't regularly incorporate. There's no life's lesson spelled out, just an implied "It's okay to feel."
As a sequel, Frozen II does what a sequel should do; raise the stakes, develop the sidekicks, and end in a place other than the beginning. Frozen II does all three (comparatively, The Jungle Book II does zero). The first film has a raw energy that the sequel can't replicate but the overall quality is more mature. It remains to be seen whether or not it carries a comparable impact to the original, but I give the makers credit for building a more sophisticated plot (sans any real villain no less. Brava!)
I'm confident that there will be a third film. If not, there will be something; a book, a streaming series, another Olaf-does-something-marketable short, in any case Disney isn't done with the ice rink and neither are we. I can only hope Elsa still winds up without a love interest, but the main takeaway is that the Disney Princess archetype has evolved from the passive damsel who only existed to bring out the characters around her.
Disney, like it or not, is the studio that has created the vocabulary we all use, and the Disney Princess holds a special place in that alphabet. More women are taking the reins in our stories and bringing with them an overdue layer of insight into how we, as the audience, process our own experience through them, and the men who are staying relevant amidst this transformation are the ones who've embraced this layer. I long for the day when we no longer have to consciously empower our princesses, letting it just naturally happen, but until then we can see that the process is advancing.
I'm proud to have the personal connection to Disney's legacy that I do, and equally proud to be neither a Disney-can-do-no-wrong nor Disney-can-do-no-right kind of guy. I criticize the company where I feel it's deserved, and I praise it where I feel it's earned. In the case of their Princess line, I feel they're doing some very good work. I look forward to seeing what the 401 course teaches us.
Entertainment doesn't make things happen. It reflects on things that are already happening. Things we can barely understand because they're happening on an emotional level. Entertainment processes those emotions and gives us something tangible to hold onto while we try to figure it all out.
Frozen was released in 2013. It was seven years after 'Me Too' was first used as a phrase for surviving sexual harassment, and four years before it would take root in the mainstream. Two years prior Demi Lovato publicly revealed her diagnosis of bipolar disorder. Three years later Trump's America would stick its fingers in its ears to the concept of empathy. All these events happened or would happen whether or not this film existed, but that ripple has stuck in our heads. We continue to feel it as we face the monsters both inside and out. It was a moment that we couldn't have realized then; all of us are Elsa.
As much of an icon as Elsa instantly became, her debut film has some issues; mainly the result of a ten year development process that still managed to feel rushed. Everything about Act One is great! The music comes out of the gate swinging, you have the emotional baggage, and the animation grips you in a way you don't consciously realize. But then "Let it Go" happens, and the problems kick in.
It's not a problem with the song; I know you got sick of hearing it after the first nine thousand times but it was played that much because it's that amazing. The problem is the effect it has on the story that Disney wasn't prepared for. The whole film is designed to be Anna's story, her complicated relationship with her sister as the primary arc. Originally Elsa was the movie's antagonist. She went through several iterations; villain, sympathetic villain, anti-heroine, probably one draft where you find out she'd been dead the whole time. But once the songwriters got inside her head Elsa could no longer be the object of the arc, she'd become the protagonist.
And therein lies the issue with everything after that one song, the movie is still determined to make it Anna's story. Oaken, ha ha, get back to Elsa. Kristoff and Sven, that's nice, get back to Elsa. Olaf's song, come on, just get back to Elsa. The trolls again? For the love of God, get back to Elsa! It's not that the film falls apart, it's just that we all can tell the movie we got is getting in the way of the much better movie we could have had.
In the end the movie is good enough. When it shines it really shines, making itself destined to become a classic. When it trips it only lands in the snow, nothing broken, just a quick brush off. You know you were affected by the movie as much as I was, even if you want to pretend you liked The Great Mouse Detective more. Nothing is perfect, and if it were I don't imagine it would be a lovable as a really good flawed journey.
More Frosting
I'd normally end the blog here, but as we're in between the theatrical and home releases of Frozen II, this is probably the best time to give the follow up a little attention.
To reiterate a couple of points I made in my most recent entry, this time around we really get to know Elsa as an individual (which was a wise move). We learn more about Arendelle's history, which isn't something I thought I wanted to know but it turns out to be intriguing. Everyone is a little older and a little more responsible, and the choices before them aren't so easy to discern the consequences thereof.
Anna manages to take a supportive role without getting pushed to the background, and with that shift comes some ideas that don't entirely get resolved. For example, she's angry with her sister for going off alone. Nothing comes of it, but the moment is still valuable. You get mad at people you care about. It's natural. And it's a concept that Disney films don't regularly incorporate. There's no life's lesson spelled out, just an implied "It's okay to feel."
As a sequel, Frozen II does what a sequel should do; raise the stakes, develop the sidekicks, and end in a place other than the beginning. Frozen II does all three (comparatively, The Jungle Book II does zero). The first film has a raw energy that the sequel can't replicate but the overall quality is more mature. It remains to be seen whether or not it carries a comparable impact to the original, but I give the makers credit for building a more sophisticated plot (sans any real villain no less. Brava!)
I'm confident that there will be a third film. If not, there will be something; a book, a streaming series, another Olaf-does-something-marketable short, in any case Disney isn't done with the ice rink and neither are we. I can only hope Elsa still winds up without a love interest, but the main takeaway is that the Disney Princess archetype has evolved from the passive damsel who only existed to bring out the characters around her.
Disney, like it or not, is the studio that has created the vocabulary we all use, and the Disney Princess holds a special place in that alphabet. More women are taking the reins in our stories and bringing with them an overdue layer of insight into how we, as the audience, process our own experience through them, and the men who are staying relevant amidst this transformation are the ones who've embraced this layer. I long for the day when we no longer have to consciously empower our princesses, letting it just naturally happen, but until then we can see that the process is advancing.
I'm proud to have the personal connection to Disney's legacy that I do, and equally proud to be neither a Disney-can-do-no-wrong nor Disney-can-do-no-right kind of guy. I criticize the company where I feel it's deserved, and I praise it where I feel it's earned. In the case of their Princess line, I feel they're doing some very good work. I look forward to seeing what the 401 course teaches us.
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