Adventure – Page 10 – Bitch Flicks

Animated Children’s Films: The Tale of Despereaux

This is a guest review by Robert Poteete.

Out the gate, this movie shows a lot of promise with great animated sequences. There were plenty of visually interesting scenes, such as a giant soup-making Rube Goldberg machine, and an advisor spirit composed of vegetables. The movie also features a rat protagonist who breaks the stereotype of ‘rats are evil,’ and features a mouse protagonist who breaks the stereotype of ‘mice are cowardly.’ And Sigourney Weaver narrates.

But…

The story centers on rescuing a princess, and in a fairly banal way—there is no self-conscious humor at the fact that the passive princess isn’t much of a character, but rather an object of rescue. Oddly, while the princess-rescuing contains the climax, the central conflict of the story resolves through largely unrelated means. This begs the question as to why have a rescue the princess plot at all.

In summary of a convoluted plot, with liberal spoilers: The good rat Roscuro falls into the queen’s sacred soup, which apparently gives her a fatal heart attack. The king then falls into melancholy, which leads the kingdom to suffer bad weather, Fisher King style. The king’s daughter, a Princess named Pea (in the credits, but if she referred by any name other than Princess in the movie I must have missed it), helplessly complains about her father’s melancholy and the weather. Meanwhile, a brave mouse named Despereaux is born, and he chafes against a mouse society which prizes meekness and cowardice. We are also introduced to an overweight swineherd turned servant girl, Miggory Sow, who dreams of being a princess.

By reading forbidden books, Despereaux learns tales of chivalric knighthood and fancies himself a ‘gentleman.’ He meets the princess and falls in love with her beauty. He gets himself in trouble with his mouse society, gets banished from the mouse town, and ends up with the good rat Roscuro. Roscuro tries to emulate Despereaux’s bravery, fails, turns evil, and ropes Miggory Sow into a scheme to kidnap the Princess. Despereaux manages to save the princess, with the help of a reformed Roscuro. And in a largely unrelated subplot, a chef manages to recreate the sacred soup and make the king happy again.

If the plot sounds banal, the dialogue adds nothing. The writers follow the school of “tell, don’t show,” and so we hear about five times through narration how Despereaux the brave mouse believes in honor, truth, chivalry, etc., I suppose in case we forget. (I may watch it again, muted, to test the theory that the dialogue adds nothing, and I encourage the reader to try this as well if so inclined). On other occasions the narrator tells us how Despereaux teaches others the virtues of honor, truth, chivalry etc., and we the audience are likewise left out of how exactly he manages to do this.

The movie DOES pass the Bechdel Test, barely. In one scene the Princess spouts some platitudes at a servant seamstress (no name given). And the female protagonist, Miggory Sow, has some dialogue with the Princess.

On the subject of that female protagonist, because she deserves emphasis: the narrator tells us that Miggory Sow wants to be a princess. The animators decided to make Miggory ugly and identify her with pigs. It’s even in her name! Plus, she gets easily swayed into committing evil acts, because in ‘The Tale of Despereaux,’ ugly correlates with evil and propensity for evil. Have the writers not learned the supposed lesson of ‘Shrek,’ wherein ugliness is not a reflection of virtue?

A muddled moral at the end of the film purports to teach the value of forgiveness, because Roscuro the rat forgives the Princess (or vice versa? The movie makes it unclear), and this turns Roscuro back into a good guy after his brief and wildly successful stint of villainy. And the movie has a strange subplot involving a chef who can summon a magical vegetable-spirit, but this subplot does not get much development despite the fact that it resolves the central conflict of the film. How did the chef learn to summon a magical vegetable-spirit? The movie does not say.

The redeeming point of the movie is its lesson against fear. The heroic protagonist, the titular Despereaux, does not feel fear despite the traditions of his mouse society. That same mouse society does not understand his lack of fear, and labels him a threat to their social order. Despereaux is persecuted and punished, but in the end triumphs because of his courage, and returns to his society to teach them his ways.

But another disturbing trope abused by the movie is that while the ostensibly good-guy Mousetown is visually characterized as European, the evil Rat society is cast as strange and dark and cringingly “Oriental,” with a rat snake charmer, a fat rat borne in a litter (made from a skull!), and rat-odalisques serving disgusting food to lounging rat-satraps. (My partner, who watched the movie with me, argues that the rats represent a thinly-veiled parody of Communist Chinese society.)

Overall the movie contains heroic journeys for the three protagonists. By the end, of course, the inherent courage of the mouse and the reluctant goodness of the rat save the princess, but the actions of the peasant girl do not avail her at all. By accident, Miggory’s long-lost father rediscovers her, and she lives a happier peasant life after that, but she lacks any instrumental effect on the plot other than helping the rats kidnap the princess.

Considering ‘The Tale of Despereaux’ with the lens of how it presents sex/gender stereotypes to kids, it is pretty awful. The women are passive victims: male Roscuro tricks female Miggory into evil, she kidnaps the princess only through Roscuro’s direction, and then herself gets captured through trickery. (Miggory later gets saved… by her father. I see a pattern!). The princess’s virtue constantly conflates with her beauty, just as Miggory’s wickedness correlates with her ugliness. The male characters, on the other hand, act and are capable of heroism, and the movie defines them by their deeds.

On reflection, the movie could have easily avoided a large chunk of its offensive usage of sex/gender stereotypes. The titular hero Despereaux could have been female. A female character insisting on herself as a knight would have been more meaningful, as would her bucking a repressive society insisting on her meekness and cowardice. A female Despereaux would have worked better and been more convincing as an allegory for courage.

But I suppose the most damning criticism of the movie, shared by the children of a friend, is that it is boring. Chivalry really is dead! Thankfully.

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Robert Poteete lives in Los Angeles with his partner. He is a lawyer, and tries very hard to be honest about it. He loves comics and animation but cannot draw to save his life.

Animated Children’s Films: Ferngully: Last Rainforest and Great Gender Equalizer?

This is a guest post by Emma Kat Richardson.

If you’re the parent of a child who has outgrown mindless fare like the Teletubbies but not quite ripened toward Harry Potter levels of sophistication, stumbling upon a film like Ferngully: The Last Rainforest to share with your family must be nothing short of an epic “Eureka!” moment. Released in 1992, this movie has managed to simultaneously entertain and educate young minds for close to 20 years. It upholds within the Western film canon something of a timeless, iconic quality for those in the age group most likely to become Wall Street Occupiers. Indeed, a trip beneath the leafy canopy of Ferngully, a lush, fictitious rainforest set in the Australian outback, always proves a nostalgic harkening back to that brief period in animated film history when female protagonists were front and center, relative to the action. At the same, its the sort of film that presents an upbeat outlook for young viewers, regarding the many ways that a world stripped of suffocating gender norms could help build an egalitarian playing field.

At such an empowering crossroads do we find Ferngully, a stunningly animated early ‘90s classic that preaches an important lesson on environmental protection in the simplified language of children. Leading the charge is Crysta, a spunky, quasi-adolescent forest fairy who begins the film frivolous and carefree, but finishes it as a respected leader among the forest sprite community. Alongside her mentor Magi Lune, the two flit about Ferngully’s dense and lovely layers of vegetation, using their combined magical powers to conjure up the forces of nature and help all sorts of exotic plants grow. Things turn problematic, however, when an evil, primordial force of destruction – a demonic smog cloud called Hexxus, voiced by Tim Curry in always reliably flamboyant Dr. Frank mode – is released from his tree prison, trapped there generations earlier by Magi, to wreak havoc on the serene oasis of Ferngully. Its perhaps no coincidence that the moniker “Hexxus” sounds like it could double as a brand name for a major chain of gas stations, seeing as how the villain spends the bulk of his time on screen sucking down human produced poisons and plotting how best to capitalize on manmade machinery, to aide in Operation: Rain Terror. (And acid rain.) Assisting Crysta and co in the struggle against Hexxus are Batty Koda, a fruit bat who has been experimented on by humans and has the voice of Robin Williams, among other afflictions, and Zak Young, a hunky human forester whom Crysta accidentally shrinks down to fairy size while trying to protect him from a rapidly falling tree aimed at his head. (Obviously, shouting “timber!” is not a phrase found in fairy vernacular.) And of course, there’s the aforementioned Magi Lune, whose flowing, matronly robes provide an early contrast to Crysta’s biker chick meets lady Tarzan look.

But, in spite of their differences, the movie’s climactic sequence finds the two female protagonists dovetailing in strength of character, each embarking upon a courageous suicide mission of self-sacrifice for the benefit of all. In Magi’s own parting words, “We all have a power and it grows when it’s shared,” the sort of sentiment that lends vocal credence to one of Ferngully’s most prominent tropes: we all have the ability to make positive change, but that power multiplies when there is community cooperation readily at hand.

Through it all, the film presents a very positive perception of female role models, set amidst a piece of media targeting an impressionable audience. In classical tradition, coming of age quests don’t often revolve around a heroine, preferring instead to linger in strict hero territory. (Here’s looking at you, J.R.R.) But Crysta, she of the spunky, tomboyish haircut and quick giggle, does just that – growing from a lackadaisical teen to a noble warrior, willing to die for the sake of protecting the forest community. And the fairies themselves, in a number of ways, appear to be a genderless society: over the course of the movie’s scant 75 minutes, there is no talk of getting serious about marriage, children, or domestic obligations. There is only the reinforcement of protecting one’s home and working for the benefit the place you call home. Perhaps the message here could even be interpreted thusly: free from the confines of limiting gender roles, the forest fairies are better able to practice magic and serve the planet.

Probably the worst you could say about Ferngully’s representation of gender is that its main motif gently reiterates some stereotypes about the nurturing quality of women and and the rough, aggressive nature of men, but, in my view, the use of female characters as the plot’s central exemplars more than compensates for this small fact. Ferngully is where good environmental stewardship and positive female role models meet. It’s a film that surely has more uplifting things to say about approaching the working world than any lesser, gender norm promoting contemporaries might.

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Emma Kat Richardson is a Detroit-reared freelance writer living in Austin, Texas. Her work has appeared in Bitch, Laugh Spin Magazine, 944, Alternative Press, Real Detroit Weekly, and on Bust.com.

Animated Children’s Films: From the Archive: Howl’s Moving Castle and Male Adaptations of Female Work

This piece by Emily Belanger originally appeared in June 2011.

The first time I saw Howl’s Moving Castle, five or six years ago, I was delighted. I’d seen Spirited Away, but other than that I’d never seen any Miyazaki films, and as far as Miyazaki films go, HMC is a tad more accessible to Western audiences. Plus, they dubbed the animation so well that a friend convinced me the film was not, in fact, a translation, but that it had originally been done in English.

Well, that wasn’t true. It’s definitely a dubbed film. But I was surprised, a month ago, when my older sister handed me a copy of the book Howl’s Moving Castle and recommended I read it. She said it was a little like The Princess Bride, in that the book was different from the movie but still delightful. And delightful it was – but I was surprised by the ways the story and characters changed when it was transferred from a Welsh novel written by a woman, to a Japanese film directed by a man. Miyazaki did a fantastic job with the film, and I still love it, but his adaptation places more focus on male characters and all but strips Sophie of her power. On the flip side, the film complicates age and evil witches in a really interesting way. I want to make it clear up front that I don’t know enough about Japanese culture and Welsh culture to comment on how culture has impacted this transition. In fact, I haven’t even seen the movie undubbed. Accordingly, this review will compare a book that was published in English, to a version of the film that was released in English though Disney, and which was marketed to an American audience.

First of all, in the movie, Howl is the main event. He’s dashing and pretty, and he swoops into Sophie’s boring life to save her from the soldiers who are flirting with her. Yes, Sophie doesn’t really need saving from those men, and Howl in fact puts her into more danger when the Witch of the Waste sees him with her and decides to put a curse on her, but there’s still something heroic in the gesture. These heroics don’t show up so soon in the book – instead of scaring off unwanted suitors, Howl is the unwanted suitor. Sophie gets nervous when he tries to buy her a drink, so he chuckles, offers to escort her wherever she’s going, and backs off when she doesn’t want him to. And the Witch of the Waste doesn’t curse her because she’s seen with Howl – she curses her because of a misunderstanding and a mistaken identity. I can see why Miyazaki simplified the witch’s motivations here, mind you.

The Witch of the Waste is a complicated character in the book, in ways I won’t fully describe here, since I hope you’ll all read the book for yourselves. But I will say this: while the film complicates the idea of witches by turning the Witch of the Waste into a victim you can sympathize with, who is ultimately an ally, the book complicates the idea of witches in other ways by making Howl’s struggle into one where he’s trying to avoid becoming like the witch. She isn’t evil by virtue of being a powerful woman, (and every powerful woman in the movie is, in fact, evil – even the witch only turns good after losing her powers). She has turned evil over time because she made the same choice Howl made, and his only hope is to undo that choice before it hurts him like it hurt her.

And gaining power in the book doesn’t corrupt all female characters. While the movie carries a warning to all magical beings – all the other wizards and witches in the land are losing their humanity to war – the only witches we meet (Madam Suliman and The Witch of the Waste) use their power for evil, while the wizards we meet (Howl and his apprentice) use their magic to help people/ to hide. In the book, however, we meet several witches who are good, including Howl’s teacher, a woman who teaches magic to Sophie’s sister, and Sophie herself. Yeah, that’s right, Sophie herself has magical powers in the book. In fact, in the book Sophie is able to save Howl because of her magical powers, not because they’re in love – although they are.

And that last point transitions nicely into my last critique of the movie – the movie is more a love story, where the book is more a coming of age story. Accordingly, it follows traditional patterns of love stories in ways that downplay how powerful women are and play up how powerful men are, while also reinforcing the Beauty and the Beast myth that a virtuous woman can save a dark, brooding man from his animalistic nature. In the book, Sophie plays a huge role in defeating the evil force they fight toward the end. In the movie, it’s mostly Howl, and Sophie’s role pertains mostly to Howl’s heart, which, remember, she is moving through their emotional connection and not through her own power. To reiterate: in the movie, her power and influence are defined in relation to Howl, but in the book she has her own power.

Still, there’s a silver lining to all this: the movie and the book are both about a young woman who only finds herself after losing her youth. How feminawesome is that?? Also, the characters are interesting and fleshed out in both mediums, and the movie’s approach to war is interesting. And the animation and music – just incredible. So if you love the movie, I hope you keep on loving it. But take the time to read the book too so you can appreciate the powerful side to Sophie’s nature.

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Emily Belanger currently lives in Utah, where she’s completing an MFA in creative writing. When she isn’t writing fiction or teaching, she co-edits Not Another Wave, a feminist blog with an inclusive angle, and writes for Go Girl Magazine, a travel magazine for and by women. She’s originally from rural New Hampshire and misses the humidity very much.

Animated Children’s Films: Anthropomorphism and Sexism in Disney’s The Aristocats*

This is a guest post by Rhea Daniel.

Madame Adelaide Bonfamille, a wealthy retired opera singer, lives in Paris with her cat Duchess and her three kittens Marie, Toulouse and Berlioz. Edgar the butler is surprised to learn that Madame, with no living relatives, plans to bequeath her entire estate to her cats and he is only second in line, all this after his service to her over so many years. Now that is a little unfair, but since the audience’s loyalty would be with the cute set of Aristocats, he becomes the villain when he decides to get rid of cat and kittens at the outset, drugging them and depositing them somewhere outside Paris. Edgar, compared to De Vil, is a bit of diluted villain, so his undoing offers little entertainment. The fun part begins when the Aristocats meet Thomas, a self-professed cat of the free world and make their way back to Paris with his help, meeting many a quirky character on the way.

But (and it’s a big one) in spite of having my undying admiration, Disney almost always manages to do something wrong. Disney’s humanizing its animals is part of its charm, but with that comes the inevitable pressing of human laws of behavior on to the jungle world—take Colonel Hathi bellowing, “A female leading my herd? Utterly preposterous!” in The Jungle Book (1967). Alright, so the Aristocats are household pets, they ought to have absorbed some of the human characteristics of their owners, but then Disney has always been unapologetically sexist, telling from its girls-can’t-draw-but-girls-can-trace rejection letters to aspiring female animators in its early years. The Aristocats aren’t far out of reach of this Disney cliché either. In recent times they’ve been trying to right several wrongs, but they’re still in the process. So, on the insistence that some things are just because, anthropomorphism in Disney cartoons is, safe to say, not just a reflection of the human world but also a reflection of Disney’s sexism.

In the original idea, Duchess isn’t denied agency and protects her children by moving from house to house to escape the villains. But true to Disney law, Duchess does little in The Aristocats beyond flapping her paws and calling “Marie! Toulouse! Berlioz!” every time they get into trouble. Perhaps she’s not used to the rough and tumble of the world outside, being an Aristocat and everything, but do her natural instincts emerge over time? No. Thomas comes along to do most of the work. Though Duchess is curious about Thomas’ world, she is incapable of getting her Aristocatic paws dirty, even if it is to save her children.

At this part when Thomas makes his entrance, though Duchess responds positively to his flirtation, I find his serenading and circling and gawking a tad creepy. I’m unaware if this is a cat ritual, but it so closely resembles human ones that I can’t help but judge Thomas as a bit of a creep. Duchess welcomes the attention with eye contact and by washing herself and giving that trademark Disney lowered eyelashes look. I notice that while her motherly instincts are conspicuously missing (aside from a few gentle admonishments) her sexual ones are intact, especially with her kids nearby. It would all be okay if little Marie didn’t think it was all terribly romantic. It’s cute and harmless when Marie is trying to be like her mother, but not when it’s a child made to imitate adult artifice with no idea of the consequences. We see the same behavior with Shanti in The Jungle Book (1967), pretending to drop her pot as Mowgli is ‘lured’ by her into the Man Village. In the making-of documentary it is revealed that it was what Walt, who took active interest in the making of The Jungle Book before his death, required**. The Aristocats was made after his death but wasn’t too far from his influence, so I take it that this recurring female characteristic is Walt’s legacy. I was a fan of Disney well into my late teens, a large poster of The Little Mermaid (1989) adorning the wall of my room, but as an adult I couldn’t bear to watch it. What changed? Could it possibly the cult built around the Disney Princess, that virginal but seductive monument to girlhood that always seemed unattainable? It seems Disney in 1970 was oblivious to the second-wave feminist movement, still upholding the image of the nymphet. Now that we’ve been screaming it off the rooftops at every opportunity, hopefully they’ve got wind of it.

Which brings me to the second annoying aspect of the movie—Marie. As I watch Marie reinforce her weakness again and again, falling off an automobile, falling into the water, I feel it necessary to point out that her brothers are as the same level of maturity and motor-skill development, so it’s obvious that Marie is chosen to be the weakest link—an essential quality for the lady-in-training. I feel some relief as Marie stands her ground against her brothers when she becomes an object of their derision. Could it be, that in spite of the popular notion that little girls ought to primp, preen and be weak, Marie’s creators have managed to let a bit of spirit trickle into her? They fail again, for if the incorrigible little girl is loud and defensive, it is because she is spoilt, and the adorable Marie, being an aristocat, is definitely spoilt. I ponder a bit longer and look for some respite, but notice a conspicuous lack of female alley cats in that ode to Cathood, Everybody wants to be a Cat. In the real world, an ever-lovin’ female cat of the free world, living off scraps is a troublesome character to deal with. Taking anthropomorphism in all seriousness, she would probably be unkempt, pregnant, a prostitute, or all–not very good kiddy-toon material. If a romanticized feral female feline managed to make it through to the final edit, she would pose, and this I say only within popular notions of how females function, a threat to Duchess. I only consider this briefly as Duchess is regarded with a worshipful gaze yet again and there is no other female to disrupt the feline brotherhood.

Thomas is a wonderful father and the British geese add an entertaining subplot, but as you can see, I had issues with this film, perhaps a bit much? It is after all, a cartoon, an oldish one, reeking of the biases of a now dead dude whose work I can’t help but admire. I’ll justify this with a quote from Alice Sheldon (James Tiptree Jr.)***:

“Consider how odd it would be if all we knew about elephants had been written by elephants. Would we recognise one? What elephant author would describe — or perhaps even perceive — the features which are common to all elephants? We would find ourselves detecting these from indirect clues; for instance, elephant-naturalists would surely tell us that all other animals suffer from noselessness, which obliges them to use their paws in an unnatural way. […] So when the human male describes his world he maps its distances from his unspoken natural center of reference, himself. He calls a swamp “impenetrable,” a dog “loyal” and a woman “short.””

*I’ve deliberately left out the racist stereotyping in The Aristocats because it’s already been addressed in several reviews.

** But the general opinion is that it was tastefully done, so it’s a non-issue.

*** Stolen from here

Rhea got to see a lot of movies as a kid because her family members were obsessive movie-watchers. She frequently finds herself in a bind between her love for art and her feminist conscience. Meanwhile she is trying to be a better writer and artist and you can find her at http://rheadaniel.blogspot.com/

Animated Children’s Films: From the Archive: Fantastic Mr. Fox

This review by Amber Leab was originally published in 2010.

After hearing repeatedly that Fantastic Mr. Foxis Wes Anderson’s best film, I gave it a try. I’m not the biggest Anderson fan—I generally find his aesthetic too precious, his characters over-privileged bores, and his daddy issues repetitive and tiresome—but it seemed to me that stop-motion animation might be the ideal medium to capture his intentions.

And, before I say anything else, let me say that the look of the film was great. It was fittingly retro and playful for (an overgrown man-child like) Anderson and (the all-style-no-substance preferences of) his ideal audience. The style, however, isn’t enough to garner the near universally-glowing reviews Fox has received. If you look at the film with anything other than squinty eyes and plugged ears, the problems are immediately evident.

Mrs. Fox. Meryl Streep voices the only female character in the entire cast. Okay, there’s a love interest to bat her eyelashes at the boys, but I don’t even think she had a line. Not only is the lone female character a wife and mother—seen cooking and husband-scolding more than any other activity—but also is a waste of a talented actress. Commenter gmarv on A.O. Scott’s NYT review puts it well:

Note to Wes: if your one female character (wife + mother) is supposed to be a professional artist, could you at least show her working during the DAY in her STUDIO, not cooking all day and painting outside at night with her kid and husband sitting around her?

It’s disappointing that this film incorporates Dahl’s lack of interest in women (that veers close to misogyny). I guess it’s not that much different from other Wes Anderson films that way…but with a little more imagination it could have been so much better.

“Lack of interest in women” seems to put it mildly. Anderson’s films do typically have problems with—and lack of (interest in)—women (the topless intern from The Life Aquatic comes to mind). But, not a single one of the creatures in the big plot to save the Fox family could have been female? Seriously?

While I’m not typically a stickler for accurate adaptations, Amy Biancolli of The Houston Chronicle points out some poignant changes from Roald Dahl’s novel:

1) In the original, Mrs. Fox was complicit all along. 2) Mr. Fox never went on the wagon. 3) Mr. and Mrs. Fox had four cubs, not one little nutcase, and Dahl made no mention of a yoga-bending super-nephew. 4) I’m pretty sure the point of the story wasn’t Mr. Fox’s flagging self-esteem or his strained relationship with his son. But this is cinema in the time of Oprah, when Reductio ad navelgazing is the inevitable narrative arc.

Wouldn’t Mrs. Fox have been so much more interesting and dynamic if she hadn’t been the domesticating, shaming force in the man’s (and boy’s) life? If she actually remained a person after marrying and having a child, who struggles with being a “wild animal” too? The tiny (ha) complication of keeping Mrs. Fox complicit would have done wonders for the story.

Wouldn’t it also have been great if Anderson—who, despite all my negative comments, does have directorial talent—had changed course just a little bit and not made a movie about a strained father-son relationship? Talent grows only when it’s challenged, and perhaps that’s why I keep giving Anderson another chance. After Fox, though, I’m not sure he gets another shot.

Animated Children’s Films: Lilo & Stitch

This is a guest review by Sarah Kaplan.

In the spirit of Whitney Mollenhauer’s bullet point review of Tangled, please enjoy this review of Lilo & Stitch, the most feminist kids’ movie I’ve ever seen, organized by character.

The Grand Councilwoman

The first character we see in this movie is female, powerful, and complex. She appears to be the head of an interplanetary government, and could easily have been a stereotypically pure figure. Instead, she’s a strong woman who makes tough decisions. She’s compassionate but not soft, and, as much as is possible within the framework of a kids’ movie, is shown to be a politician dealing with difficult realities. A hard woman with a temper, she is deeper than some characters in similar roles in adult cinema, such as Padme Amidala in the Star Wars prequels and the president in Fifth Element.

Jumba and Pleakley

When Experiment 626, the destructive and very dangerous creation of mad geneticist Jumba Jookiba, escapes a prison ship and crashes on Earth, Pleakley, a one-eyed expert on our planet, suggests that a relative be sent to retrieve the “monstrosity.” Jumba is the closest thing to family that 626 has, so he is sent to do the job, and Pleakley is sent to keep him under control. Their sojurn on Earth involves them masquerading as a human man (Jumba) and woman (Pleakley). I can’t think of another Disney movie featuring crossdressing. And then there’s this scene as the two of them get ready to camp out for the night.

Pleakley is enjoying his “feminine side” through a wig, and when the more stereotypically masculine Jumba catches him, he wants a turn with it. This movie came out in 2002. When you think about it, this is really quite remarkable.

Lilo

Lilo, shown here with Scrump, a doll she made herself (“…but her head is too big, so I pretend bugs laid eggs in her ear…”), is a feminist’s dream girl character. She is creative, individual, in no way sexualized, and intelligent to boot.

Life isn’t easy for Lilo, whose parents are dead, leaving her sister as her legal guardian. Lilo describes her family as “broken,” and it’s clearly a difficult situation for both sisters. Lilo is aware that her family isn’t normal, but she still considers the concept of “ohana,” family, very important. It’s a central theme in the movie.

Lilo also faces the cruelty of female cliques, despite her young age. In the scene pictured in the screenshot above, other girls her age refuse to play dolls with her. (In a nice touch, the other girls’ dolls, while Barbie-shaped, match their different hair colors. Two of these girls, like Lilo, are native Hawaiians.) To be fair, she had bitten one of them not long before. This movie doesn’t whitewash its protagonists, and it isn’t afraid to show children as cruel and violent at times.

Nani

Lilo’s older sister is also her legal guardian, and they have a realistic relationship. They argue and yell at each other at times (though at one point they agree to only do so on “special occasions” and Lilo says “Tuesdays and bank holidays would be good”), but they also clearly love each other. Central to the plot is Nani’s struggle to keep custody of Lilo. Nani isn’t a perfect guardian. She makes some major mistakes, like leaving the stove on when she isn’t home, and isn’t exactly forthcoming with the social worker (she and Lilo have a rehearsed routine). Nani breaks the Disney mold of either idealized or vilified parents and step-parents in important ways.

Nani also has the movie’s only romantic relationship. Nani doesn’t have time for romance, but Lilo has read her diary and knows Nani is interested in David (“She likes your butt and fancy hair.” “She thinks it’s fancy?”), who asks Nani out during the course of the movie and is implied to become her boyfriend afterwards.

Aside from the strong female characters and the far-from-sexist behavior of every male character in the movie, it’s worth noting that the core themes of Lilo & Stitch are about as feminist as they come. I don’t want to spoil the ending, but it highlights the importance of family and the concept that biology is not destiny, though admittedly the latter is applied to alien genetic experiments rather than sexual differences.

Lilo & Stitch is a wonderful, thoroughly feminist children’s movie, and one of my personal favorite movies of all time. It’s funny, thoughtful, and a surprising treat from Disney.

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Sarah Kaplan is an English major at a Maryland community college.

Animated Children’s Films: Spirited Away

This is a guest review by Jason Feldstein.

Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland has been one of my favorite stories for years now. Artists have used the storyline of a young girl finding herself in a magical world numerous times. If there is one version that resonates with me, it is a film called Spirited Away (Hayao Miyazaki, 2001). This film’s version of Alice is named Chihiro. She is frightened, self-centered, and overprotected. The only thing she can think about is how upset she is with her parents moving everyone to a new home in the countryside. After her parents take a detour to an abandoned theme park, they gorge themselves on food that has been laid out and are transformed into pigs. The theme park turns out to be a spirit world, and Chihiro is trapped. Her first reaction is to run, and when that doesn’t work, she kneels down and begins to cry. She meets her first friend in a mysterious boy named Haku. She begs him not to leave her alone. Chihiro may not be very mature in the beginning of the film, but she does have certain weapons at her disposal. She knows certain rules and ethics out of pure instinct that prove helpful. When her parents wonder off into the theme park, Chihiro knows it is not a good idea. She also knows not to take the food from the stand. It is not because she knows what will happen, but because the food is not hers. These same instincts help her in the spirit world. She knows when to take the advice of elders, but also when to challenge her superiors. Chihiro is not the type of female protagonist who is only interested in finding a boy. She does love someone but it is only one factor of her life rather than a defining trait. She is a fully developed character with her own set of strengths and weaknesses who proves to be both intelligent and heroic, helping both herself and others around her.

Chihiro can only survive in the spirit world if she gets a job at a bathhouse from the ruler and sorceress, Yubaba. She gets one, but she has to exchange her name for the name Sen. Throughout the film it becomes more and more difficult for her to remember her real name. One of the concepts explored in Spirited Away is the threat of losing one’s identity through maturation. How does one become an active participant in the world without losing their sense of individuality? The film’s message is that the pressures of fitting into society can cause someone to lose their sense of self. There are some characters in this film who have already fallen under this sort of spell. Haku is a servant to Yubaba. Like Chihiro, he was forced to give up his real name, and now he cannot remember it at all. As a result he has no hope of leaving the spirit world. Loss of identity can be seen throughout the spirit world. Workers are driven by nothing other than a boss’s orders, and the spirits are often depicted as faceless shadows. One spirit is specifically named No-Face.

If Chihiro is Alice, does that make Yubaba the Queen of Hearts? Not quite. One look at Yubaba suggests that she is a villain, pure and simple, since she is keeping Chihiro and her parents trapped against their will. However, she has redeeming qualities. She is organized and orderly, running the bathhouse with smooth precision. She welcomes guests who need her service. She protects all of her workers from guests who she knows are dangerous. She also clearly loves her son and would do anything to keep him safe. This difference in her character is reflected visually by the fact that she has an identical twin sister, Zeniba, who is her opposite in terms of personality. Like Yubaba, Zeniba is a witch of formidable power. Unlike Yubaba, Zeniba prefers a quiet life built on compassion and understanding as opposed to militaristic order. At first glance the dichotomy presented through the twin sisters would seem very sexist, as it would be portraying a powerful businesswoman as a villain and a loving grandmother figure as decent. Fortunately, this film is more complicated than that. Yubaba might be the opposition, but she is not a simplistic villain. Her actions are not motivated by banal evil but by unexamined greed and a commitment to the rules of the spirit world. Chihiro does not defeat her in battle. Instead, she teaches her to reexamine her own behavior.

Loss of identity is a theme that couldn’t be explored in a film that pits good against evil. One of the themes that Miyazaki constantly explores in this film is the concept of dual identities. Almost none of the Characters in the spirit world are what they seem to be. Characters who appear to be perfectly good soon prove that they have much darker qualities. Haku seems like a trustworthy guide and a friend to Chihiro. He helps her whenever he can. Later on we find out that he does a lot of Yubaba’s dirty work. He is also very motivated by personal gain. He steals a gold seal from Zeniba out of pure avarice. This difference in his character is reflected visually by the fact that he can take the form of both a human and a dragon. Another character who seems to have a split personality is No-Face. When Chihiro first sees him he appears to be a kind traveler who just needs a place to stay. She gladly lets him in the bathhouse. However, despite his kindness, he is very gluttonous. He devours as much food as he possibly can at the expense of other people’s safety, and he soon transforms into a monster.

There are also minor characters who seem like villains at first but turn out to be decent. A boiler room manager named Kamaji is a frightening old man with as many limbs as a spider, but he has a good heart, and he helps Chihiro in her task to escape from the spirit world. Lin is Chihiro’s personal boss who is upset that she has to take care of Chihiro but she still gives her advice on how to do her work properly. American audiences are used to animated films presenting good and evil as being very clear-cut. They also suggest that violence is the only solution. This film presents us with a situation that is much healthier and more realistic. It shows us that there is a very blurry line between good and evil and that those two terms in general are often very childish. The villains in this film are not vanquished, but cured. It is because of Chihiro’s actions that good people overcome their bad natures and that bad people see the light. This film suggests that there is such a thing as learning from experience and that people are capable of changing before it is too late.

Greed is everywhere in this film. Chihiro’s parents are greedy for food. When they arrive at what they think is an amusement park they greedily eat the food and forget about Chihiro. As a result, they are transformed into grotesque pigs. The workers in the bathhouse are greedy for gold. They have such a craving for it that they serve No-Face as much food as he wants without realizing that he is dangerous. When they try to collect the gold, No-Face eats them whole. Haku may be good but he too is greedy. He has a desire for wealth and power and resorts to theft to obtain them. Yubaba is the greediest character of all. She is so thoroughly concerned with her profits that at one point she does not realize that her own baby is gone. While these characters may be greedy, they are also able to overcome it. The film portrays greed not as an insurmountable evil but as a weakness in human nature that keeps us from remembering what is most important to us.

Hayao Miyazaki was always an avid environmentalist and he knows how to show it in his work. He can make his points about the destruction of nature through a plot’s entirety such as in Princess Mononoke, or in one simple shot of garbage in a river such as in My Neighbor Totoro. Chihiro’s first big victory in the spirit world comes when she cleans and saves the river spirit. When it arrives at the bathhouse, everyone assumes that it is a stink spirit. It is covered with sludge. Once Chihiro gives it a bath it turns out to be a beautiful creature that takes the form of a dragon and is made entirely of clean water. Pollution is everywhere. The bathhouse pipes spew smoke into the air. Chihiro’s father notes in the beginning of the film that there are several amusement parks that were built during the boom era in Japan but were abandoned after the economy went bad. As a result there are now several landscapes that are covered by rotting buildings. Haku is the spirit of a river that was paved over for an apartment complex. Several of the characters are, themselves, polluted. Both No-Face and Chihiro’s parents pollute themselves by eating so much food. Haku is polluted because of a slug that Yubaba infected him with as a means of controlling him.

Spirited Away is a reflection of a nation and its culture: specifically, the transformation from a traditional Japan to a modern Japan. Miyazaki stated that Chihiro represented a modern Japanese child to him. She is cranky, morose, and spoiled. She is suddenly challenged when she enters the spirit world and she is faced with work that is associated with an older and more traditional Japanese society. Spirited Away is often quite nostalgic for an earlier Japan. The spirit world that Chihiro enters is full of buildings, landscapes, and social traditions that reflect an earlier Japanese dynasty. In the film’s most meditative sequence, Chihiro takes a train to Zeniba’s swamp home to return a gold seal. The train is very old fashioned. Its interior is made of wood, the passengers seem fashioned after nineteenth century immigrants, and the ticket inspector has an outdated roller to collect Chihiro’s ticket. This imagery along with the tranquil piano and string musical score creates a mood to suggest a sad but necessary transition from the past to the present. It is important to note that this film is aware of its nostalgia. It knows about the dangers of holding on to tradition simply for its own sake. Many of the inhabitants of the bathhouse are portrayed as prejudiced towards newcomers. They instantly recognize the smell of a human and despise it. Yet it is this same newcomer who helps them overcome these instincts. She is the one that breaks the curses put on them that make them crave gold and obey Yubaba without question. At the end of the film Chihiro is able to return to the human world with her parents and is specifically told by Haku to not look back. The past is something to learn from, not take solace in.

The values that Chihiro learns, once all is said and done, do not seem particularly revolutionary: a sense of identity, a belief in herself, the courage to face what lies ahead. These are hardly new concepts to be put into a children’s film. What makes Spirited Away so different is the journey that Chihiro takes in order to obtain these values. She does not gain self-respect by defeating an enemy, but by surviving a situation and teaching others to question themselves. Liberated storytelling, feminist narratives, and progressive politics make Hayao Miyazaki one of our most important filmmakers, and Spirited Away is one of his best films.

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Jason Feldstein graduated from NYU with a Master’s Degree in Cinema Studies. He specializes in fairy tale films.

Animated Children’s Films: From the Archive: WALL-E – The Flick-Off

WALL-E (2008)

Originally published in April 2009.

While the beginning of WALL-E is a lovely silent film (and would’ve been a fantastic short film), when you brush away the artifice and the adorable little robots, all you have is standard Disney fare: a male protagonist and a female helper, told from his perspective. Why the robots are gendered at all isn’t clear; the movie could’ve been about their friendship–and far more progressive than the heteronormative romance that ensues.

WALL-E “dating” EVE

EVE is sleek and lovely, and is physically able to do things WALL-E cannot, but she’s part of an army of task-oriented robots. The mere push of a button shuts her down, and she lacks the self-protectionist drive that WALL-E exhibits when his power reserve drains. He is, of course, beholden to no one since the humans left Earth; he is autonomous and self-sufficient. EVE, on the other hand, is fully robotic: she’s a badass, complete with gun, and she’s more intelligent and cunning than WALL-E, but she’s been programmed to be that way. She’s an advanced form of technology, but she needs WALL-E to liberate her.

WALL-E, it seems, has developed human qualities on his own. He is also capable of keeping up with a robot approximately 700 years newer (read: younger) than he is–an impressive age gap in any relationship. EVE worries over WALL-E and caters to his physical limitations (he is, after all, an old man–with childlike curiosity), acting as nursemaid in addition to all-around badass. Who says we can’t be everything, ladies? While EVE doesn’t have any of the conventional trappings of femininity, she’s a lovely modern contraption with clean lines, while WALL-E is clunky, schlubby, and falling apart (not to mention he’s a clean rip-off of Short Circuit‘s Johnny 5)–reinforcing the (male) appreciation of a certain kind of female aesthetic, while reminding girls that they should look good and not worry too much about the appearance of their male love-interest.

More contrary opinions about WALL-E–including the troubling way it portrays obesity–on:

If you know of some other good discussions on the film, leave your links in the comments.

Animated Children’s Films: Why I’m Excited About Pixar’s ‘Brave’ & Its Kick-Ass Female Protagonist…Even If She Is Another Princess

Disney Pixar’s Brave, in theatres June 2012

This is a cross-post from The Opinionesss of the World.

A few days ago, Disney’s Pixar released its trailer for its newest animated film, Brave. Why is this such a huge deal? Why am I so freaking excited to see it?? Because out of the 12 films Pixar has produced, not one has featured a female protagonist. Not one. Until now.

Pixar’s first fairy tale, Brave follows the story of Princess Merida, voiced by Kelly McDonald (Boardwalk Empire, No Country for Old Men). I know. You’re probably thinking ANOTHER princess?! Young girls are entrenched in sexist princess culture. But trust me, this one’s a bit different.

In the Scottish Highlands, “courageous” and “impetuous” Princess Merida is “a skilled archer” who would rather focus on her archery than her role as a docile, demure princess. She defies her parents and tradition, determined to forge her own path in life. But her actions “unleash chaos and fury in the kingdom.” After she turns to a Witch (Julie Walters) who grants her an “ill-fated wish” (yes, this is still a fairy tale), Merida attempts to undo a curse. Her bravery will be tested as she tries to change her fate.

Merida’s mother, Queen Elinor (Emma Thompson), tells her in the trailer:

“A lady enjoys elegant pursuits.”

But Merida replies:

“I want my freedom.”

You go, girl! (Sorry, couldn’t resist the clichéd 90s catchphrase.)

Too many animated films don’t feature girls and women in leading roles. Originally titled Rapunzel, Disney’s Tangled, the most recent animated film featuring a girl, was renamed a gender-neutral title to be less girl-centric. Its marketing didn’t just focus on Rapunzel but featured “bad-boy” thief Flynn Ryder in order to lure a male audience. Lovely. ‘Cause movies shouldn’t be geared to girls, only to boys. You know, ’cause they’re the only ones who really matter.

Male characters dominate animated films. Shrek, Ice Age, Rango, Kung Fu Panda and the entire pantheon of Pixar’s films (Toy Story, Up, Wall-E, etc.) put male roles front and center. Out of Disney’s 51 animated movies, only 12 feature a lead female character. When you DO find an animated female protagonist, she’s usually a princess. Aren’t there any more roles for girls and women?? The exception to this rule are the Japanese-based Studio Ghibli’s films (My Neighbor Totoro, Kiki’s Delivery Service and Spirited Away) which often feature female leads, sans royal titles and tiaras.

Women rarely direct animated films. Brave is the first Pixar film to feature a woman as director (Brenda Chapman) and all female screenwriters (Brenda Chapman & Irene Mecchi). Although Chapman, who worked on the project for 6 years, was fired (such bullshit) and replaced by Mark Andrews, although she’ll still receive credit as co-director. Yes, women can certainly be perpetrators of sexism, gender stereotypes and tropes. But having more women as writers and directors usually leads to more female protagonists and perspectives.

Inspired by Chapman’s relationship with her daughter, Brave also features two parents, a mother and a father. It’s rare for an animated movie to have a loving mother, considering too many Disney films kill off mothers, demonize stepmothers and solely focus on both daughters’ and sons’ relationships with their fathers.

In her eye-opening book Cinderella Ate My Daughter: Dispatches from the Front Lines of the New Girlie-Girl Culture, Peggy Orenstein writes about Brave’s premise:

“Sounds promising, though I cannot help but feel, after waiting patiently (and sometimes not so patiently) through twelve genre-busting films about male robots, male superheroes, male cowboys, male rats, male cars, male bugs, male fish, and a small male mailman, that it would have been nice if the movie was not about a princess, even a kick-ass one. Honestly, is that too much to ask?”

Nope. It really shouldn’t be too much to ask.

Yes, Brave features another white girl as a princess. We desperately need more racial diversity in animated films (and live-action ones too). I mean it took Disney only 72 years to have its first African-American princess with Tiana in The Princess and the Frog (seriously, Disney?? What the hell’s wrong with you?!) And we sure as hell don’t need another goddamn princess. Princesses are EVERYWHERE. Christ, even the inquisitive Dora the Explorer has been turned into a freaking princess in some merchandising. Princesses don pink dresses, wear tiaras and wave scepters. Their only goal? To look pretty of course. Their looks matter more than their personalities.

Girlie-girl images saturate the media, telling girls to strive for physical perfection. Too many films focus on girls and young women wishing to be rescued and giving up their voice for love (um, can anyone say The Little Mermaid’s Ariel??). It’s refreshing to have a spunky, outspoken protagonist who’d rather pursue her dreams of archery than aspire to matrimony.

Girls should be valued for their intellect, skills and kindness. Not their beauty. Hopefully, Brave will help shatter the rigid princess imagery, paving the way for more empowered female protagonists. Girls (and boys) deserve better role models than bullshit stereotypes.

‘Brave’ will be released in theatres June 2012.

Megan Kearns is a feminist vegan blogger, freelance writer and activist. She blogs at The Opinioness of the World, where she shares her opinions on gender equality, living cruelty-free, Ellen Ripley and delish vegan cupcakes. Her work has also appeared at Arts & Opinion, Fem2pt0, Italianieuropei, Open Letters Monthly, and A Safe World for Women. She earned a B.A. in Anthropology and Sociology and a Graduate Certificate in Women and Politics and Public Policy. Megan lives in Boston with more books than she will probably ever read in her lifetime. She is a Monthly Guest Contributor to Bitch Flicks.

Animated Children’s Films: James and the Giant Peach

Based on the book by Roald Dahl, James and the Giant Peach has been a favorite movie of mine since childhood. After all, what kid wouldn’t love a cast of singing and dancing insects?

(Before I go into a review of the movie, I must state that I have never read the book, and do not know how closely the movie follows. Any comments I make are on the film alone, not the book.)

Directed by Henry Selick, the story revolves around a boy named James, who after the death of both parents, ends up a slave to his two cruel aunts, Sponge and Spiker. After an encounter with a strange man promising him “marvelous things,” James receives a bag of magical sprites, (crocodile tongues boiled in the skull of a dead witch for 40 days and 40 nights, the gizzard of a pig, the fingers of a young monkey, the beak of a parrot and three spoonfuls of sugar to be exact), that inadvertently end up planting themselves within a barren peach tree. An enormous peach sprouts from the tree at contact, which James later escapes into, turning into a claymation version of himself. Alongside a band of personified insects, the group sail across the ocean on the peach, encountering various trials as they head towards their destination in New York City.

The aunts, Sponge and Spiker, are two of the worst people to ever grace the silver screen, with their terrible abuse of young James setting the stage for the adventure ahead. They serve as the main antagonists of the story, chasing James across land and sea to recapture him.

The Aunts are horrific caretakers; starving, beating, and emotionally abusing James relentlessly. Mind you, this is a movie for children. And like in most children’s movies, the Aunts’ outward appearance reflects their inner evil. Both women are made to look terrifyingly cruel and yet simultaneously clown-like, dressed in orange-red wigs and slathered on make-up. During their first 20 minutes on screen, the two women participate in dozens of morally reprehensible practices, everything from shameless vanity to verbally attacking a woman and her children.

The fact that the villains are female does not bother me, nor that they are portrayed as greedy, selfish people. After all, women are just as capable as men of committing child abuse. However, while the style of the movie is very dark and Tim Burton-esque, I can’t help but wish that the Aunts’ appearances were not related to their evil. Too often in the world of children’s movies a villain need only be identified by their ugly appearance, as if that is a symptom of inner ugliness. Just look at most Disney movies from the past century!

The women’s abuse of James was also very dramatic and purposeful, most likely so that the children watching the movie could understand James’ need for immediate escape. The film could have used the Aunts as an opportunity to delve into the other types of child-abuse, but instead meant to focus on the strong atmosphere of fantastical adventure. (With a story that involves death by Rhinoceros, skeleton pirates, and mechanical sharks, it is easy to understand why the people themselves are wildly unrealistic. The world itself is wildly unrealistic.)

Transformed by the sprites themselves, James finds a group man-sized insects living within the giant peach, each with a unique personality that relates to their species. There is a smart, cultured grasshopper; a kind, nurturing ladybug; a rough-talking, comedic centipede; a neurotic, blind earthworm; a poetic, intelligent spider; and a deaf, elderly glowworm.

The spider, glowworm, and ladybug are all female, each very different and yet immensely likeable. It’s great to see several types of female personalities represented, though perhaps they are a little clichéd. Miss Spider is the typical sensual seductress, the Ladybug a doting mother-figure. The glow-worm has no real part except serving as a lantern inside the peach, and occasionally mishearing a phrase for laughs.

James: “The man said marvelous things would happen!”

Glowworm: “Did you say marvelous pigs in satin?”

Miss Spider in particular is a great female character; strong, smart, and willing to stand up for herself and those she cares about. Despite her reputation as a killer and cave-dweller, she repeatedly defends James and wards off the assumptions the other insects have made-about her. From the moment she is introduced in her personified form, you can’t help but like her. She doesn’t take anyone’s crap.

Ladybug comes off as an older, traditional woman, complete with a flowered hat and overfilled purse. She is kindly, though strict about manners and being polite. When describing what each bug hopes to find in New York City, Ladybug is most concerned with seeing flowers and children. And while Ladybug does resemble an Aunt of mine to disturbing proportions, I felt like she had no purpose in the story other than to serve as James’ replacement mother/grandmother. While the other insects are having swashbuckling adventures and near death experiences, Ladybug is just scenery, screaming and cheering in the correct places. Which is odd, because every insect has a large amount of screen time devoted to their stories and transformation, minus the glowworm and ladybug. Both female characters. In the end, it was James, Miss Spider, Centipede, Earthworm, and Grasshopper who repeatedly saved the day. Ladybug was just there to reassure James of himself whenever fear or doubt overtook him.

Despite this unfortunate exclusion, I still would highly recommend the film to anyone who is interested. It is visually stunning, undoubtedly original, and teaches a lesson about family that is quite touching.

From a feminist perspective, my favorite thing about the film is that it doesn’t pay any attention to sex at all. At no point are the Aunts’ criticized for being a disappointment to the name of maternal women. At no point is Miss Spider treated differently because she is female. No, almost every character has an inner and outer struggle, each reaching a defining moment in the plot where they must test themselves to save those they love. Together, the insects and James form a makeshift family, each working equally with one another to build a happy life in their new home. (And the boy who plays James is too cute for words, all his emotions and inner growth come off as genuine. You can’t help but cheer for him as he finally stands up to his aunts.)

Overall, James and the Giant Peach is an excellent movie, and I would suggest it to any parent or person who likes stories of adventure and fantasy. Any warnings I would give would refer only to the dark nature of the beginning of the film, and to any people who may be afraid of giant, rampaging rhinoceroses.

Libby White is a senior at the University of Tennessee, studying Marketing and Spanish full-time. Her parents were in the Navy for most of her life, so she got to see the world at a young age, and learn about cultures outside her own. Her mother in particular has had a huge influence on her, as she was a woman in the military at a time when men dominated the field. Her determination and hard-work to survive in an environment where she was not welcomed has made Libby respect the constant struggle of women today.

Animated Children’s Films: Is Smurfette Giving it Away? Let Your Kids Decide

My younger daughters are obsessed with their Smurf Village. They build things, create and sustain communities, plant virtual peas that need to be watered. In general, they have an excellent pseudo SIM experience, only with little blue guys. Civilization building is fun for boys and girls. My involvement in Smurfland is limited to checking in now and then to make sure, when my kids are in school, that the plants get watered and don’t die.

‘Til I heard the question, “Mom, can I buy Smurfette?”

Of course she wants Smurfette. What girl doesn’t love Smurfette? I loved Smurfette. My sister loved Smurfette. She’s fabulous. She’s fun. She’s blue. Now she’s Katy Perry, for goodness sake.

“What are you buying her for?” I asked.

Blank looks.

“What do you mean?”

“Who else can you buy? And what for? ‘Cause your village is filled with hundreds of frantically busy little blue dudes hoeing and hammering?”

I was happy and relieved to hear that other Smurfs were also available for premium purchase: Tailor, Miner, Farmer and a handful of others, almost all eponymously named for their JOBS (a handful for their vices, like Lazy).

But, the one female Smurf?

No job. Not even a personality trait like, Lazy or Vanity (who, by the way is a male, but has a pink mirror, because, please, we all know that vanity is a female trait).

Smurfette?

She’s named for her VAGINA. Know any boys or men with the diminuitive “ette” at the end of their names? It’s usually a dead giveaway.

She does nothing except be female, the token ‘non-male’ – the one who deviates from the norm, which in this case is 50,000 blue boys with floppy white tams who apparently have magical maleparthenogenesis capabilities. Nada but little tail-wagging lusciousness. I know. I know. It’s just a game, a story, right?

And what, exactly, does the Smurf village story teach boys and girls about being Smurfette? It tells them that:

· Smurfs are boys

· She’s defined by her sex, reduced entirely to her femaleness, which is after all simply not-maleness

· She was created to wreak havoc on the utopian male world (what else is new?)

· She doesn’t work, have a job, or serve any “real” function

· She’s super pretty, did I say that?

· Oh, I almost forgot, Smurfette is expensive, the most expensive one for sale

My kids get to download apps on my Ipad in exchange for cultural deconstruction credits (woo-hoo, party time in our house!). So, before they could sign on to play in Smurfland, they had to tell me what The Smurfette Principle was. They already knew that it was bad enough that there is only one female Smurf, who, by the way, serves two purposes 1) she was created to sow dissention and jealousy among the males and 2) she’s there to show that the little blue men aren’t…shhh…gay. But, actually selling her, for being female. IT SUCKS. I know, blah blah feminist blah. So boring.

Don’t I know there are really serious things happening? And Nicholas Kristof, thank goodness, writes about them as much as possible. For example, girls being sold into slavery in other parts of the world.

That’s right. Slavery. And why?

Because they’re perceived as sub-human. They’re commodities. Something you trade, buy and sell. Sounding familiar?

“Are you serious???” you say. Cute, innocent, wholesome Smurfs, little blue memes of subtle but virulent sexism? No way. This is America. Not only do women have nothing to complain about, but for some people we’re destroying all the men. At the very least, we’re the good guys and gals. The genuinely most fair and equal place in the world…those are the core tenants of American Exceptionalism. We are better than the rest of the world.

So, no, it’s not just a story. It’s our culture and we get to make it. Then it makes us. That Smurf story is no different from 80% of the hyper-gendered stories we tell our kids. And if you find that hard to believe go visit The Geena Davis Institute Web Site where you will find hard stats.

‘Cause we’re at the stage in this country where the true hard work of equality has to take place. This is the land where culture’s destructive and dangerous messages about gender hierarchies and power are not delivered with blunt force trauma (like stoning a young girl for being raped, which is so obviously wrong), but rather through fun and entertaining games and movies.

Why would I let my children play culture-shaping games involving the commoditization and sale of the only girl in the land without explaining it? It would be like serving them lard for breakfast, lunch and dinner and then pretending not to know why they were having heart attacks at 35.

Anyway, before saying anything to my daughter (in age appropriate ways, for those of you who are praying for my children’s eternal salvation), I let my daughter purchase Smurfette to see what exactly she would do once unleashed onto the Smurf Village. Turns out she sweetly and innocently skips around town blowing heart kisses and distributing power credits to every little blue boy she swings by.

She should be careful. People will talk.

Besides, I’m kinda stuck on the idea that my daughters and I, my mother and sister, my sisters-in-law, my nieces and my female friends are fully human, not deviant from anything. Silly me. I must be a bitter, angry feminist. Oh, I forgot ugly. And old.

Soraya Chemaly writes feminist satire. She is a regular contributor to The Good Men Project and The Huffington Post. She is also the creator of the retired blogs: Poog, a Goop Spoof and The Guide to Manic Moms.

Animated Children’s Films: Onions have Layers, Ogres have Layers – A Feminist Analysis of Shrek

Shrek (2001)

Fairy tales are important. A longish history of oral tales modified and set in stone by the likes of Charles Perrault, Hans Christian Anderson and the Brothers Grimm. They don’t just capture children’s imaginations, they form them, setting them down a path towards developing their values and opinions against the background of certain societal expectations and gender specific behavior. Attempt to strip away the layers and one opens a Pandora’s box of underlying meanings: it may sound like a simple story about deviating from the path but we all know what Red Riding Hood is really about. A retelling of the tale, like in Angela Carter’s brilliant The Bloody Chamber and Other Stories, lead to interesting interpretations of the same, giving us a clearer picture of may lurk beneath these innocuous sounding tales.

For children however, simplified cartoon depictions of classic stories, told with the impeccable technique of Disney full length animation, made them easier to swallow. The wicked and usually ugly are punished and the good and usually beautiful get to live happily ever after. So, when Shrek the movie came out, it didn’t just turn the standard fairy tale on its head, it gave audiences something that was extraordinary for popular animation.

Artwork by William Steig

In the original story by William Steig, Shrek the ugly ogre hears of the fabled princess who is reputed to be uglier than he is and goes in search of her, quite sure that he plans to love and marry her, a charming and refreshing story deviating from the fairy tale norm. In the movie, however, Shrek isn’t so figured out and neither is the princess. Both live secluded lives; Shrek’s hermitic existence is self-imposed whereas Fiona’s is the result of a curse. The ogre state, its otherness, is shown to be reprehensible from the beginning of the film, with the local villagers out to burn and kill Shrek, who wants nothing more than to be left alone. He is the titular hero of the film, but towards the end we see that the heroine, Fiona, is more than just a secondary character.

Fiona, imagined by Dreamworks

In Jungian psychoanalysis, the shadow of the mind constitutes our unacknowledged weaknesses and instincts. The curse that turns Fiona into an ogre after sunset is a perfect representation of her wild, repressed shadow, one that Shrek, who has had to live with it his entire life, revels in on the surface for the power it brings him, but secretly, as we see in the course of the film, hasn’t comes to terms with either. Both are caught in a patriarchal mire, both possess desirable masculine and feminine qualities that they are loath to give up: she human beauty (Caucasian, specifically) and he the power and fear he inspires.

Fiona’s wish to put an end to the curse is also a desire for freedom, for then she will be out of the tower and amongst the normal folk. Trapped in the tower since she was a little girl and out of touch with reality, the fairy tale has become reality to her and when things do not go by the book, she is understandably confused. She is a princess but her royal status makes no difference to Shrek and she is hauled against her will through the forest, but towards her ‘true love’ and the destiny that she hungers for. In the course of time, her more ‘unprincessy’ aspects are revealed. She burps unapologetically, enjoys the savory meal of weed rat and doesn’t flinch at pulling an arrow out of Shrek’s bottom. The scene where she fights off Robin Hood and crew gives no explanation for her amazing martial arts skills except that she had a lot of time on her hands in the tower, but I didn’t feel as if the filmmaker was trying to pander to a young male audience, for though a hot young princess who kicks butt is an attractive addition, her other characteristics fall desperately short of established notions of feminine desirability.

Along the journey, Shrek and Fiona find out they have much in common. Unsure romantic feelings begin to emerge when they reach outside Farquaad domain and they both convince Donkey that he is sick so they can spend more time together. When the sun begins to set, she hides away in an abandoned barn and Donkey, that adorable creature and their go-between, tries to convince Shrek to reveal his feelings. Shrek is the first to reveal his own insecurities about being an ugly ogre to Donkey. Fiona in turn laments her condition to Donkey, the princess condition (if she reveals her ogre-self, she will lose her princess status). Shrek overhears and thinks she is talking about him. In the morning, Shrek rejects her, Farquaad arrives and Fiona abandons herself to fate. The ever-persistent Donkey pursues Shrek and misunderstandings are settled. Shrek, with no clue about Fiona’s ogre-curse, rushes from his swamp and solitude, everything he ever wanted, to stop the wedding. The sun begins to set and the Fiona’s curse begins to take shape. When she shows her transformation openly, it is a tremendous test of inner strength, for weigh this agonizing decision with the risk of being unloved, by both society and Shrek. She is not giving up, a relief at finally exposing one’s dark hidden aspect, but confronting it in its entirety. Farquaad (fuckwad?), so brilliantly voiced by John Lithgow, expresses his disgust as Fiona’s wild equivalent is revealed. That stuffy little creature is dominant culture, trying to compensate for its own imperfections by eliminating, hiding or surgically modifying its ‘ugly’ and unique members.

Shrek is chock-full of uglies, reviled and feared, who find each other and embrace their alternate halves. The one who refuses to embrace his shortcomings, no pun intended, is punished and gets swallowed by a dragon. Shrek speaks to the gulf within the self – to have the courage to embrace oneself or change/hide part of it to feel accepted (or feared). Its motley cast of social rejects make their choice, dashing the conformity of the feature length fairy tale to pieces.