On Brave and Disney Princesses
Jun. 25th, 2012 01:13 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shadowfireflameOne day, there will be an animated movie with a non-human female protagonist who is not physically defined by her hair and whose weapon of choice is not the bow and arrow. This movie will explore themes that are not about love, marriage, or chafing against arbitrary societal bonds that the protagonist eventually learns to work within instead of break. But unfortunately, today is not that day.
Don’t get me wrong: I’m glad that at least now, the Pixar studio has a female protagonist under its belt. (Hey, 1 out of 13 isn’t bad! Ugh.) This is nice because usually in Pixar movies, the females are weirdly absent or just, you know, pleasant memories but definitely dead. And, yes, Brave is visually stunning, meaningful, and uproariously funny at times (especially with the triplets). It tackles the dynamics of relationships between a mother and daughter in a somewhat nuanced way without demonizing anybody (except when it, uh, actually demonizes them by turning the mom into a demonic bear). No, we still have hardly any movies about positive female friendships, but at least this is a step in the right direction. But my issue is with the theme and the message, and how Brave feels more like a well-made but strange next-generation sequel to a Disney princess movie than a Pixar movie.
Pixar’s themes have always been relatable to me. In my two most favorite Pixar movies, A Bug’s Life and WALL-E, the theme was essentially, “Even the smallest person can change the course of history.” In the case of those two movies, the protagonists were literally the most insignificant creatures on their planets—an ant and a robot trash collector. And yet they each saved their societies from ruin. The Pixar films Toy Story (and its sequels), Finding Nemo, and Ratatouille also have similar themes of small creatures making differences in a big world, though those also focus on other themes like friendship, parenthood, and following one’s dreams. It’s not a coincidence that one of my favorite movie franchises, Lord of the Rings, has the exact same underlying message. Harry Potter’s message isn’t too far off from that, either: even the most lowly, skinny nobody can be crucially important.
Brave, to me, felt somewhat hollow and preachy. I believe that its intended message was: “If you are brave, you can change your fate.” That’s nice and all—but here’s the thing, this movie felt rather empty because it seems to me that the film is unclear if in the end Merida, its protagonist, has actually changed her fate or just succeeded in delaying it. And since this is the crux of the entire film, to make it rather ambiguous does not sit well with me.
The issue to me is the difference between these two statements: (1) people should not be forced to marry until they’re older and ready vs. (2) people should not be forced to marry—period. Sure, Merida certainly seems to have planted the seeds towards changing her society’s policy of marriage-as-clannish-bond. But in the end, it’s unclear whether or not she will eventually have to be married—it’s just that maybe she can marry for love, and maybe it will be delayed “until she is ready.” But what if she’s never ready? What if she never finds a guy she loves enough to marry? What if Merida’s gay? Would her mother put up with that then? Would her society?
Maybe this is just an issue story-writers come upon when their story has a protagonist who is in a position of power at the beginning of the movie. Within the course of their films, most Disney princesses—and I’m talking those who actually are born into or marry royalty in their societies—alter their station in life and the amount of power they have. They loosely fall into one of two categories:
There are the lowly commoners who prove their mettle and fall in love with (and, it’s often implied, will later marry) a prince, thus becoming princesses:
And there are the ones who are originally princesses by birth but whose families have fallen under some horrible curse perpetuated by an evil magician (who is usually female but occasionally male):
To my knowledge, of all the Disney princesses, the only one who doesn’t fit into either of these categories is Pocahontas from Pocahontas. Mulan from Mulan would have slotted nicely into the first category had Captain Li Shang been royalty. Nala from The Lion King fits into either category depending on how hard you want to think about lion incest (because she and Simba are technically half-siblings).
But all of these ladies have one thing in common: they each change their fate and also their social standing/position in life, either by their own actions or by inspiring action in others. Those in the first category marry up, while those in the second category either fight to gain back their rightful place in their kingdom or (in Ariel’s rather tragic case) choose to give it up for the sake of love. In every case except Pocahontas, magic is involved—and magic is, of course, a convenient plot device, but I dislike its constant presence because of the implication that this sort of thing, changing one’s social situation, doesn’t happen to ordinary young women without some sort of supernatural aid. In every case except Nala’s, the protagonists are human (with occasional forays into being other creatures, in Tiana’s case, and this is considering mermaids as human). I suspect this is so the franchise can sell more dolls.
Merida in Brave doesn’t fit into either of these categories because her position in life does not change. Her social standing isn’t threatened; her kingdom/clan isn’t threatened. No matter what happens in the plot, win or lose her fight with her mom, Merida will remain a princess. And that’s fine—for a Disney princess, this is new, different! Different is good. Deviating from the formula is good. But it does make the story seem that much less…epic, less grandiose in scale.
This is kind of weird when you think about it, because Pixar movies are usually about small creatures saving big worlds. Merida can hardly get out of her own castle and the woods surrounding it. In fact, we hardly see any of Merida’s world. She seems to have no friends or conspirators other than her triplet brothers, she hardly interacts with anyone outside of her own family, and when she leaves the castle, the first and only person she meets is the witch. So I suppose my question is—where are the people you would become a queen for, Merida?
For all its issues, Tangled did a great job of showing this. In Tangled, the scene in which Rapunzel returns to her city on her birthday and paints and dances with all her happy subjects was incredibly moving. In Brave, I have no idea why this place even needs royalty since we never once see a person who does not actually live in the main castle.
And in this vein, other than Merida, her mother, and the female servants (I think there are, like, three in total? One of whom is the heavily-bosomed nurse, perhaps?), again there are no other females shown, so I have no idea what to make of this world and how realistic the ending is. When Merida demands (well, actually, she hesitatingly asks the gathered patriarchs for) the right to delay marriage until she is ready, I have no context in which to place this request.
Sure, everybody leaves in the end, but will they all be back in their boats next year, demanding to know if she’s made up her mind about which suitor she’s chosen? I think Merida understands what she’s asking for, and I think her dad, the king, might also understand, and maybe the suitors do as well—she wants the right to her own hand, to pull a Queen Elizabeth I and not marry, ever, unless she wants to—but does everybody else get it, and will they honor it? I’m left with no earthly idea.
And because of this, the message and oh-so-wise ending words just seem incredibly naïve to me. I feel a little like I do when re-watching The Little Mermaid: Ariel, you were willing to give up everything that makes you special and unique and powerful to this man who doesn’t notice or care a thing about you and who was, in fact, about to marry an actual witch just because she had a nice voice. Your marriage is doomed. In short, very little about Brave seemed, well, brave to me.
As a Disney princess movie, Brave is unusual but not unwelcome. There are things that it does very well that are shockingly missing from most Disney princess movies (i.e. a fairly normal mother/daughter relationship). For a Pixar movie, Brave is a strange fit. At times, I saw hints of what makes Pixar so great: the humor, the humanity, the attention to detail, the deceptively simple story, the surprising but fitting plot turns.
In general, though, Brave did not seem like a movie made by Pixar. It seemed like a very well-made movie created by Disney. I’m not going to judge an entire studio’s future based on one movie, but I hope in upcoming projects, we’ll have more movies by Pixar that actually feel like they were made by Pixar. (But hey, at least it was better than Cars?)
As a side note, the short film, La Luna, was absolutely breathtaking and in my opinion actually better than the feature film that followed. I haven’t enjoyed a Pixar short this much since the delightful Geri’s Game (ahead of A Bug’s Life), in which an old dude with multiple personalities plays chess against himself for the right to wear his teeth.
Don’t get me wrong: I’m glad that at least now, the Pixar studio has a female protagonist under its belt. (Hey, 1 out of 13 isn’t bad! Ugh.) This is nice because usually in Pixar movies, the females are weirdly absent or just, you know, pleasant memories but definitely dead. And, yes, Brave is visually stunning, meaningful, and uproariously funny at times (especially with the triplets). It tackles the dynamics of relationships between a mother and daughter in a somewhat nuanced way without demonizing anybody (except when it, uh, actually demonizes them by turning the mom into a demonic bear). No, we still have hardly any movies about positive female friendships, but at least this is a step in the right direction. But my issue is with the theme and the message, and how Brave feels more like a well-made but strange next-generation sequel to a Disney princess movie than a Pixar movie.
Pixar’s themes have always been relatable to me. In my two most favorite Pixar movies, A Bug’s Life and WALL-E, the theme was essentially, “Even the smallest person can change the course of history.” In the case of those two movies, the protagonists were literally the most insignificant creatures on their planets—an ant and a robot trash collector. And yet they each saved their societies from ruin. The Pixar films Toy Story (and its sequels), Finding Nemo, and Ratatouille also have similar themes of small creatures making differences in a big world, though those also focus on other themes like friendship, parenthood, and following one’s dreams. It’s not a coincidence that one of my favorite movie franchises, Lord of the Rings, has the exact same underlying message. Harry Potter’s message isn’t too far off from that, either: even the most lowly, skinny nobody can be crucially important.
Brave, to me, felt somewhat hollow and preachy. I believe that its intended message was: “If you are brave, you can change your fate.” That’s nice and all—but here’s the thing, this movie felt rather empty because it seems to me that the film is unclear if in the end Merida, its protagonist, has actually changed her fate or just succeeded in delaying it. And since this is the crux of the entire film, to make it rather ambiguous does not sit well with me.
The issue to me is the difference between these two statements: (1) people should not be forced to marry until they’re older and ready vs. (2) people should not be forced to marry—period. Sure, Merida certainly seems to have planted the seeds towards changing her society’s policy of marriage-as-clannish-bond. But in the end, it’s unclear whether or not she will eventually have to be married—it’s just that maybe she can marry for love, and maybe it will be delayed “until she is ready.” But what if she’s never ready? What if she never finds a guy she loves enough to marry? What if Merida’s gay? Would her mother put up with that then? Would her society?
Maybe this is just an issue story-writers come upon when their story has a protagonist who is in a position of power at the beginning of the movie. Within the course of their films, most Disney princesses—and I’m talking those who actually are born into or marry royalty in their societies—alter their station in life and the amount of power they have. They loosely fall into one of two categories:
There are the lowly commoners who prove their mettle and fall in love with (and, it’s often implied, will later marry) a prince, thus becoming princesses:
- Cinderella from Cinderella
- Belle from Beauty and the Beast
- Tiana from The Princess and the Frog
- Giselle from Enchanted.
And there are the ones who are originally princesses by birth but whose families have fallen under some horrible curse perpetuated by an evil magician (who is usually female but occasionally male):
- Snow White from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs
- Aurora from Sleeping Beauty
- Ariel from The Little Mermaid
- Jasmine from Aladdin
- Rapunzel from Tangled
- Anastasia from Anastasia (this one is not Disney, but a great example of this category).
To my knowledge, of all the Disney princesses, the only one who doesn’t fit into either of these categories is Pocahontas from Pocahontas. Mulan from Mulan would have slotted nicely into the first category had Captain Li Shang been royalty. Nala from The Lion King fits into either category depending on how hard you want to think about lion incest (because she and Simba are technically half-siblings).
But all of these ladies have one thing in common: they each change their fate and also their social standing/position in life, either by their own actions or by inspiring action in others. Those in the first category marry up, while those in the second category either fight to gain back their rightful place in their kingdom or (in Ariel’s rather tragic case) choose to give it up for the sake of love. In every case except Pocahontas, magic is involved—and magic is, of course, a convenient plot device, but I dislike its constant presence because of the implication that this sort of thing, changing one’s social situation, doesn’t happen to ordinary young women without some sort of supernatural aid. In every case except Nala’s, the protagonists are human (with occasional forays into being other creatures, in Tiana’s case, and this is considering mermaids as human). I suspect this is so the franchise can sell more dolls.
Merida in Brave doesn’t fit into either of these categories because her position in life does not change. Her social standing isn’t threatened; her kingdom/clan isn’t threatened. No matter what happens in the plot, win or lose her fight with her mom, Merida will remain a princess. And that’s fine—for a Disney princess, this is new, different! Different is good. Deviating from the formula is good. But it does make the story seem that much less…epic, less grandiose in scale.
This is kind of weird when you think about it, because Pixar movies are usually about small creatures saving big worlds. Merida can hardly get out of her own castle and the woods surrounding it. In fact, we hardly see any of Merida’s world. She seems to have no friends or conspirators other than her triplet brothers, she hardly interacts with anyone outside of her own family, and when she leaves the castle, the first and only person she meets is the witch. So I suppose my question is—where are the people you would become a queen for, Merida?
For all its issues, Tangled did a great job of showing this. In Tangled, the scene in which Rapunzel returns to her city on her birthday and paints and dances with all her happy subjects was incredibly moving. In Brave, I have no idea why this place even needs royalty since we never once see a person who does not actually live in the main castle.
And in this vein, other than Merida, her mother, and the female servants (I think there are, like, three in total? One of whom is the heavily-bosomed nurse, perhaps?), again there are no other females shown, so I have no idea what to make of this world and how realistic the ending is. When Merida demands (well, actually, she hesitatingly asks the gathered patriarchs for) the right to delay marriage until she is ready, I have no context in which to place this request.
Sure, everybody leaves in the end, but will they all be back in their boats next year, demanding to know if she’s made up her mind about which suitor she’s chosen? I think Merida understands what she’s asking for, and I think her dad, the king, might also understand, and maybe the suitors do as well—she wants the right to her own hand, to pull a Queen Elizabeth I and not marry, ever, unless she wants to—but does everybody else get it, and will they honor it? I’m left with no earthly idea.
And because of this, the message and oh-so-wise ending words just seem incredibly naïve to me. I feel a little like I do when re-watching The Little Mermaid: Ariel, you were willing to give up everything that makes you special and unique and powerful to this man who doesn’t notice or care a thing about you and who was, in fact, about to marry an actual witch just because she had a nice voice. Your marriage is doomed. In short, very little about Brave seemed, well, brave to me.
As a Disney princess movie, Brave is unusual but not unwelcome. There are things that it does very well that are shockingly missing from most Disney princess movies (i.e. a fairly normal mother/daughter relationship). For a Pixar movie, Brave is a strange fit. At times, I saw hints of what makes Pixar so great: the humor, the humanity, the attention to detail, the deceptively simple story, the surprising but fitting plot turns.
In general, though, Brave did not seem like a movie made by Pixar. It seemed like a very well-made movie created by Disney. I’m not going to judge an entire studio’s future based on one movie, but I hope in upcoming projects, we’ll have more movies by Pixar that actually feel like they were made by Pixar. (But hey, at least it was better than Cars?)
As a side note, the short film, La Luna, was absolutely breathtaking and in my opinion actually better than the feature film that followed. I haven’t enjoyed a Pixar short this much since the delightful Geri’s Game (ahead of A Bug’s Life), in which an old dude with multiple personalities plays chess against himself for the right to wear his teeth.
