Animated Children’s Films – Page 4

Animated Children’s Films: You Say Princess Like It’s a Bad Thing

This is a guest review by Myrna Waldron.

“The sarcasm is practically melting off the screen!”

If you’re an internet and animation addict like I am, you’ve probably come across several sets of images, like the one above, that point out the sexist flaws present in Disney films. While I wholeheartedly believe in critical analysis of popular culture, I think images like these are unfair, and further marginalize the characters by accentuating the negative. Most of the Disney Princesses, especially the ones from the Disney Renaissance, are admirable and strong female characters. It is to Disney’s credit that from the beginning they have made many female fronted films; compare Dreamworks and Pixar, who have only one female-fronted movie so far (Monsters vs. Aliens and the upcoming Brave respectively). It is my job, then, to remind us of the positive traits of the Disney Princesses while still taking a feminist perspective.

But first, a few caveats. For the sake of my sanity, I will only be examining the original films that the characters first appeared in. No sequels, no supplemental film merchandising, no consideration of the Disney Princess merchandising line. Second, there is a lot of truth in the feminist criticisms targeted at the Disney Princesses. I credit most of these truths, however, to the contextual historical origins of the stories. The Grimm Brothers, Charles Perrault and Hans Christian Anderson predate modern feminism, as do the films made before the 1960s. Lastly, I will be concentrating on the 6 most common targets: Snow White, Cinderella, Aurora, Ariel, Belle and Jasmine. With all that clarified, let’s begin.

“I wish I could get animals to help me do my chores.”

I knew it would be a difficult and thankless task to write a feminist defense of the pre-1960s Disney Princesses. But part of my personal definition of feminism is to celebrate and empathize with all kinds of women, especially if they are portrayed in a positive light. In that sense, Snow White is perhaps the sweetest and kindest of the Disney Princesses. Like many of the other Princesses, she is a victim of circumstance. Physically and emotionally, she can’t be more than 12 to 14. To be orphaned and subsequently demeaned at such a young age would be hard for anyone to deal with, but as we see in the beginning of the film, Snow White makes the best out of a bad situation. To remain cheerful and hopeful in a situation like hers is a strength of character I think many of us wish we could have.

Her song, “I’m Wishing”, reflects her emotional depth of character. It is not specifically a handsome boyfriend she longs for, she is longing for someone to love. That’s quite understandable considering she has lost everyone who loved her. “I’m Wishing” is a prayer for affection; “I’m hoping and I’m dreaming of the nice things he’ll say.” Her subsequent infatuation with the prince who meets her is another aspect of her personality. Since she is barely out of childhood, she still has a childlike trust and strong affection for anyone who treats her with kindness; we see this again later in her relationship with the Dwarfs, and her unfortunate trust in the disguised Queen.

What, then, of her famous domestic talents? Note that once she’s left the castle, she doesn’t do chores because she is expected to or forced to do them. When she stumbles upon the dwarfs’ cottage, she wonders if the messiness is because the inhabitants are orphaned children like herself. She sees herself in this situation; a motherless child forced to fend for herself. Her inherent sweetness and kindness shines through here. She volunteers to clean up the cottage because she does not want to deny anyone else that which she has been denied. This, I think, is a good feminist message. Women have been, and are, often denied rights and marginalized, but it is our conviction that someday this will end, and that if we can prevent it, or do anything else to help someone in a similar situation, we will gladly do so. And, like Snow White, when confronted with a difficult job, we will “Whistle While You Work” to give us strength to get through it.

“So pure-hearted she can touch bubbles without bursting them.”

This then leads into another “Domestic Goddess”, chronologically the next Disney Princess, Cinderella. Like Snow White, Cinderella was orphaned at a young age and subsequently abused by her stepfamily. Many critics of her character dismiss her as weak because she refused to stand up to her stepfamily or to leave their house entirely. To that criticism, I point out that it is often extremely difficult for a victim of abuse to be able to confront their abusers or leave them (and feminists should be unfortunately aware of this). Also, where would she go? Assuming the film takes place in the 19th century at the latest, she would have difficulty finding work on her own (other than working as a governess or more housekeeping!), and Lady Tremaine has done everything in her power to make sure Cinderella can’t meet someone and get married.

I take further issue with the dismissal of Cinderella’s character as weak. Right at the start of the film, she displays a strong will, and a sharp wit. Her sarcastic ranting at the castle’s bells remains my favourite scene in the movie. She also has a strong rebellious streak; I highly doubt her stepfamily would have approved of her releasing the mice from the traps and her giving them little hats and shirts. This strong will and sense of rebellion comes to a point when Cinderella hears that every eligible maiden is to attend a ball held for the returning Prince. Her assertion that she is able to attend the ball as well is an assertion of her rights as a woman. Despite her marginalization and abuse from her family, she is, in this invitation, considered an equal. When her stepfamily tries to ensure she will not have time to make a dress, Cinderella steels herself not to be too disappointed about missing out on the ball, showing further strength of character. It is only when her stepsisters destroy her dress (in a scene disturbingly reminiscent of sexual assault) that she finally falls into despair; it is one abuse too many. I cannot fault her for her reaction at this point, as not only has she endured horrific emotional and physical abuse, she has yet again been denied one of the few things she has asked for. The ball, for Cinderella, represents her marginalized rights. At the ball, there is no class distinction, she has a chance to have fun for once, and she has a chance to meet other people (not just the prince). Her stepfamily can thus be interpreted as a representation of people who deny rights to women, and Cinderella can thus stand in for the oppressed women who fight against misogyny.

“Aurora’s side of the wedding chapel was entirely comprised of animals.”

In the planning stages for this essay, I struggled the most with my defense for Aurora. I have decided that this is because she is not even the star of her own movie, never mind the fact that she’s asleep throughout the entire third act. Sleeping Beauty is really about the three (four if you count Maleficent) fairies. Aurora is ultimately a flat character; all we can say about her is that she’s lovely, she sings, and she’s nice to animals. My argument for Aurora, then, is that she is a victim of social conditioning. Compared to Snow White and Cinderella, she’s had a happier childhood, but has grown up in complete isolation. She has never gone to school, never played with other children, and has literally never met anyone else other than her “aunts” (is it any wonder she falls in love with the first man she ever meets?). On top of that, these aunts are deeply overprotective and paranoid (though with reason).

Aurora has thus grown up only displaying the traits that the fairies’ magicked into her, and they have never allowed her to develop into anything other than their ideal. The fairies idealized Aurora so much that they never think to consider that she has a mind and a will of her own, and assume she would be overjoyed that they kept vital secrets from her for her entire life. In many ways, though it was with the best of intentions, the fairies/aunts have done Aurora a great disservice. Their loyalty and promise to the king seems to supersede their loyalty to someone they have raised like a daughter. Though Maleficent must magically hypnotize Aurora into touching the spindle, I believe it is the fairies’ insistence on obedience above all that partly led to Aurora’s downfall. In Aurora’s case, my feminist defense of her character will be one of empathy for her.

“Disney’s ode to teenage angst.”

We now move 30 years into the future to discuss Ariel. A feminist defense of The Little Mermaid was the original subject of this essay before I decided to expand its focus. She is one of my favourite movie characters, so I reacted with dismay at the criticisms dismissing her as a woman who mutilates her own body to get a man. I point to the “Part of Your World” scene as perhaps the most important scene in the movie when it comes to Ariel’s character. She has always felt like an outcast, and has ALWAYS wanted to be human, and this takes place BEFORE she meets Eric. Her falling in love with Eric is a catalyst for her achieving something she’s always dreamed of, not the sole reason. If she’d had the means and the opportunity to become a human, she would have done so beforehand; “What would I give to live out of these waters.”

A second criticism for Ariel is the idea that the film espouses Ursula’s message that only quiet and submissive women are valued; “It’s she who holds her tongue that gets her man.” First off, this is the VILLAIN that says this. Second, this lyric is actually a good indicator of dramatic irony. Eric obviously wants Ariel to be able to talk (and not just because he’s infatuated with the memory of her voice). You can see from his reactions to her sometimes odd behaviors that he wishes he could find out her thoughts and feelings. This is a feminist reversal of Ursula’s claims; Eric values a woman who is able to speak her mind.

Lastly, I wish to shortly refute the criticisms about the climax of the film. It is true that Ariel was incapacitated by Ursula’s magic, and that it was Eric who ultimately killed Ursula. However, only moments earlier, Ariel physically fought against Ursula, and even forced Ursula into accidentally destroying her pet eels, so she is obviously not weak and submissive here. I also think of the incapacitation as a dark echo of a sentiment Ariel expressed earlier in the “Part of Your World Song”; “Sick of swimming, ready to stand.” As a mermaid, she feels and has been exploited into uselessness, as a human, she’s ready not only to physically stand, but to metaphorically stand up for herself.

“I sing to my books all the time, don’t you?”

Belle is probably the easiest Princess to defend. I will first entirely dismiss the “Stockholm Syndrome” interpretation; Belle does not change psychologically, her defense of the Beast is not irrational, and it is the Beast who changes personality, not Belle. With that out of the way, let’s discuss Belle’s character. First and foremost, and refreshingly for an animated female character, she is a beautiful intellectual. Her love of books marks her as a nonconformist in her village, as her neighbors generally take an anti-intellectual philosophy. One of Belle’s most defining characteristics is her complete refusal to compromise herself to please others (which is yet another point against the Stockholm Syndrome nonsense). She wonders if she is odd, and notices that she has never been able to form a friendship with anyone in the village, but notably never considers giving up her books to fit in better. Her nonconformity is thus inherent, and is not a sign of outright rebellion, but a feminist pride in herself.

Feminist messages in the film are also easily indicated by the differences between Belle’s two suitors, the Beast and Gaston. At first, there is not much difference between the men; neither initially takes Belle’s wishes and desires into account when courting her. Note that Belle is undaunted by the lack of respect shown by the men; she ignores Gaston’s dismissal of her interests and responds to his flirtations with sarcasm, and she stands up to the Beast when he has his temper tantrums. Interestingly, both actions demonstrate different kinds of courage: to rebuff the advances and “advice” of a leader of the village shows further confidence and courage in her nonconformity, and to stand up to and argue with a physical embodiment of fear is symbolically feminist of our efforts to stand up to those that would use fear to subdue us.

Later on, Gaston openly proposes to Belle, and affirms his characterization as a male chauvinist. His plans for his marriage to Belle involve forcing her into subservience; he fantasizes about her massaging his feet and bearing him 6 or 7 “strapping” boys (he evidently doesn’t value female children). Once again, he shows no concern for Belle’s wishes and assumes that this life is what all women dream of. Once Beast’s personality starts to change, he differentiates himself from Gaston. He no longer tries to force her affections (such as the demand that she join him for dinner), and shows that he values her intellectualism and cares about her interests when he gifts her the library. In the third act, there is almost a role reversal in the evolution of Gaston and Beast’s characters. Gaston tries to “trap” Belle into marriage through blackmail, and the Beast officially “frees” Belle (though at this point she is arguably staying in the castle willingly) out of love for her, knowing that she may never return. The suitors’ very different approaches to relationships thus serve as excellent examples for the types of relationships that feminists seek to end/embrace: We reject relationships solely based on the wants and desires of the man with no consideration of the woman’s feelings, and seek relationships of mutual respect and understanding, with careful consideration of the interests, wants and desires of both partners.

“I like making you feel uncomfortable.”

Lastly, I will briefly argue for Jasmine. Her character arc and central conflict lies in her father’s legal requirement that she marry a prince by her next birthday. I will have to step on a few minefields here by pointing out that the sultan’s allowing Jasmine to choose her own husband is already astoundingly feminist for medieval Arabia (we unfortunately don’t see that kind of freedom often even today). It’s not an ideal feminist position, but it is part of the Sultan’s own character arc for him to recognize the sexism of his laws. She states that if she must marry, she wants to marry for love, which is conveniently both a common fairy tale trope and an important feminist stance.

Jasmine is characterized as a woman with an intelligence, courage and wit that surprises the men around her (which is perhaps a subtle jab at Middle Eastern oppression of women). Her escape from the palace shows a feminist emotional fortitude; she will put her happiness first. She catches on to Aladdin’s schemes very quickly, showing that she is just as clever about getting out of bad situations as he is. One particularly controversial scene (the one I have pictured) involves her quick-thinking abilities. In order to distract Jafar, she exploits his attraction to her by pretending that she has magically fallen in love with him. It is partly a scene about using her sexuality as a weapon, but I also believe that her actions are equally as much about utilizing her intelligence and adaptability to any situation.

“How can you tell this is fanart? The Characters show an actual personality.”

Many internet and media-savvy Disney fans are by now well aware of the feminist issues present in many of the films, with particular emphasis on the Disney Princess films. I do not disagree. The films’ plots are heteronormative, show very little racial diversity, encourage unrealistic standards of beauty, and foster unrealistic standards of relationships. And yet, despite these problems, there are many things to celebrate about the Disney Princess films. As I have argued, the characters embody the virtues of kindness, generosity, mental and emotional fortitude, courage, intellectualism and staying true to oneself. Even the Princesses that predate the 1960s have traits that feminists would value or empathize with. My recommendation for parents with concerns about the messages these films present to children is for them to talk to their kids honestly. There is always room for improvement, especially when it comes to feminist representation in film, but it is important to recognize the positive feminist messages that are already present. Explain to your children about both sides, and let them figure it out for themselves. They’ll thank you for it.

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Myrna Waldron is a 24-year-old pop culture fanatic with a special passion for animation. She can be reached on Twitter at @SoapboxingGeek, where she muses openly about whatever strikes her fancy.

Animated Children’s Films: From the Archive: Tangled

This guest review by Whitney Mollenhauer was published at Bitch Flicks in May 2011.

Last Friday, I saw Disney’s Tangled with my husband. I thought it was a pretty good feminist-y movie, especially considering that it was a Disney princess-type movie. Because I am lazy, I have written my review in bullet-point form:

Rapunzel’s father (the king) cries on Rapunzel’s birthday as he remembers his kidnapped daughter. It seems like usually in these kind of movies, you see the mom crying and the dad consoling her; but here, it’s the other way around. Win! Men can express emotion, too!

Rapunzel sews and bakes, but she also reads, does astronomy, and paints like no other.

She is so awesome with her hair! She ties the male protagonist up, lets herself down from the tower, and climbs everywhere. Seriously, it’s very impressive. She can do just about anything with that hair–it’s not just for show.

Rapunzel ends up with short hair! Okay, that’s just a little thing, but have you ever seen a Disney princess with a pixie cut before? Even Mulan had longer hair!

So yeah, the mom is the bad guy because she’s vain/wants to be young forever, blah blah blah. But I don’t know how they could have had a male villain or some other way for the mom to be the villain without straying too far from the original. But at least she gets some jokes.

The frying pan proves to be a superior weapon compared to the sword! This might be getting a little too psychoanalytic, but I saw the frying pan as symbolizing a kind of feminine/transgressive power, while the sword represents traditional masculine power. I just thought it was neat. You don’t have to be a swashbuckling dude to kick butt.

Her story and her adventure starts not because the guy “whisks her away” or something; but rather, she plans and schemes: she catches him breaking into her tower, and strategically decides to use him to reach her goal of seeing the flying lanterns on her birthday.

Spoiler alert: in the end, she’s not “saved” because of her compassion, but in spite of it–her compassion might actually have been her downfall. Unlike other movies/fairy tales where a woman’s only redeeming quality is self-sacrifice, this ending suggests that self-sacrifice isn’t always such a good thing–or at least that it’s not solely the domain of women. Men can be self-sacrificing too! (Didn’t want to reveal too much here. Go see the movie if you want to figure out what on earth I’m talking about.)

I liked the ambivalent nature of how it shows her mom’s and her relationship when Rapunzel leaves the tower for the first time. She feels guilty, but MAN is she happy and excited and brave!

She doesn’t get married at age 18!!!!

In my opinion, the relationship was not even really a central feature of the story, but rather a sub-plot. The main plot was getting away from her mother, figuring out her actual identity, getting to the flying lanterns she wanted to see.

I felt like it was good and feminist because it was a major improvement from how Disney usually is. Also, overt sexism did NOT distract me from what was otherwise a visually appealing, witty movie (as it usually does). And that is really saying something.

Even the rich, hypermasculine stereotype is challenged–the male protagonist reveals his true name/identity, as an orphan, and she says she likes him better than the fictional (hypermasculine) character that he aspires to be like.

In the end, I think it makes a good case for women’s “proper place” NOT being just in the home, but out in the world/public sphere! I’m not sure how you could get any other moral out of it. Even in Mulan, after she saves China, she ends up returning home, and (we suspect) marrying the army captain guy, instead of taking a job with the emperor. In Tangled, the movie’s premise is centered around the idea that it’s wrong and horrible to expect a woman to spend her whole life at home.

When the male protagonist breaks into her tower, she kicks his butt; she stands up for herself in the bar; and she stands up to her mother in the end (about having been kidnapped).

At the end of the movie, SHE dips HIM and kisses him. (I always hated it when guys would dip me. If I want to kiss you, I am going to kiss you, so just let me stay on my own two feet.)

Body image stuff: Okay, so Disney’s not breaking down any boundaries here. Also, infantilization much? Rapunzel’s face is that of a two-year-old.

So, I’m not very good at remembering specifics, but I DO remember not getting angry at seeing her needing rescuing again and again and again. It seemed like mostly she was able to save herself, and the guy didn’t save her a whole lot.

In the bar, Rapunzel and the guy (Flynn) meet a whole bunch of rough guys. They sing a song about how everyone’s got a dream: the one tough guy says to Flynn, “Your dream stinks,” referring to his dream of getting rich. The other tough guys have dreams of becoming mimes, finding love, being a pianist, becoming a baker–and one made little tiny unicorns. Even tough guys have nuance and feminine qualities!

Rapunzel’s animal companion is Pascal the chameleon. Pascal is super cute, and is possibly named after Blaise Pascal the mathematician (suggesting that Rapunzel is a math nerd like me, though that could just be me reading too much into it). Pascal can’t talk, and I felt like that was a good thing (feminist-wise), so he couldn’t show her up and become the hero (remember Mushu the dragon in Mulan?)

My points are random and some are not very significant. But still, small wins! And when it comes to Disney princess movies, any hint at feminist ideology is a HUGE win. And if nothing else, it at least passes the Bechdel Test:

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Whitney Mollenhauer is a graduate student in California where she studies sociology. She has an awesome husband who doesn’t mind her running feminist commentary when they watch movies together. And, she loves cereal.

Animated Children’s Films: The Land Before Time

This is a guest review by Juniper Russo.

My three-year-old daughter is a short-haired, bluejean-wearing feminist who will eschews the princess genre as “impractical and silly” and views “dinosaur movies” as the zenith of modern cinematography. “We’re Back” and “Fantasia” get honorable mentions in her book, but her favorite film by far is “The Land Before Time.”

And why wouldn’t it be? As much as I look for some reason to find my daughter’s favorite film objectionable, it’s one of the few kids’ movies that gets this feminist mama’s stamp of approval. The film’s subtle-but-present feminist message is evident from the animation alone. The protaganist Littlefoot, who is a male apatosaurus, is purple with long eyelashes, while his friend Cera the triceratops dons masculine features, a proud gait, and (both literally and physically) thick skin.

Although Cera is unfriendly something of a bully, I find myself viewing her as strong female character for this very reason. She has her flaws, but weakness and vanity are not among them. Nowhere in the film does this tough, fiercely indepentent reptile worry about her appearance or the pursuit of romance. Cera’s excessive independence and hubris do land her in trouble– just as the same features have harmed Lightning McQueen, Simba, and other male protagonists. Yet, while she eventually understands the importance of accepting others and working together, she never loses her admirable and independent spunk.

Parasaurolophus Ducky, the other female child-character, does bring a touch of toddler-like giddiness to the prehistoric table, but it seems to be reflective of character development and irrelevant to her gender. Similar traits are seen in male characters, including Petrie.

Although, like many films, this 1988 classic has a male protaganist, Littlefoot defies stereotypes of masculinity. He is sensitive, crying at several points in the film, and plays an almost maternal-role to the younger, less experienced members of the gang. Petrie the pteranodon and Spike the stegosaurus also defy all stereotypes associated with male heroes– Petrie is awkward and not particularly bright; Spike is cumbersome and strangely mute.

The anti-racist tones of this film are fairly subtle, but clear enough for children to pick up on. My daughter was quick to observe that “Sometimes grown-ups are wrong,” and that Cera’s domineering father is wrong for teaching his child to only socialize with other “three-horns.” Tolerance for diversity– in appearance, personality, philosophy and ability– are positively central to the story’s message.

Of course, there’s no way to discuss the feminist implications of “Land Before Time” without bringing up the heartbreaking scene in which Littlefoot’s mother dies. In that classic scene of parental martyrdom, preceded by “Bambi” and later echoed by the “Lion King,” Littlefoot’s mother fights a tyrannosaurus rex to defend her son and Cera. The battle is intense and the death scene is heartbreaking– and, if you don’t choke up just a little while watching it, you’re probably either a robot or Glenn Beck.

Although I feel hesitant to give my feminist stamp of approval to a film that characteristically employs martyrdom, I didn’t find anything about Littlefoot’s mother’s character sexist. Littlefoot is born to a dwindling herd comprised of his mother, grandfather and grandmother. No ado is made about the fact that he has no father, and his mother is clearly a competent caregiver. Unlike Bambi’s mother, who dies running, Littlefoot’s mom puts up a brave and ferocious fight, hurling the predator into a chasm. She dies not of weakness, but of bravery– in a display of “Don’t mess with my kid!” that is universally parental– and not grounded in patriarchal stereotypes.

Littlefoot’s mother comes back, as a ghost or a grief-induced hallucination, at two other points in the film to guide Littlefoot to the Great Valley, a promised-land free of predators and overflowing with food and water. It is here that the next several films of the series are set. Interestingly, the happily-ever-after doesn’t involve a descent into a patriarchal nuclear family structure. Within the almost-socialist structure of the Great Valley, Cera goes on to be raised by her single dad, Spike is adopted into a biologically unrelated parasaurolophus family, Petrie returns to his single mom, and Littlefoot is raised by his grandparents. No family is presented as any more or less ideal than any other.

That’s why this movie, which was such a staple to me in my own childhood, remains on my A-OK list of feminist-friendly kids’ movies. And, just as importantly, my dinosaur-loving, patriarchy-smashing kiddo finds the film both entertaining and educational.

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Juniper Russo is a freelance writer, activist, and dedicated mama. When she’s not busy raising her fantastically independent feminist daughter, she’s writing about topics including parenting, gender, queer rights, animal welfare, holistic health and green living. Juniper writes regularly for Yahoo! Shine, Cracked.com, Livestrong.com, Associated Content and Animal Wellness magazine.

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: The Two Leading Women of the Muppets Movie

This is a guest review by J. Lee Milliren.

I, like many other Americans, grew up with the Muppets. My personal favorite Muppet was always the zany Gonzo; I loved his ridiculous antics. Although what I really wanted from the Muppets was for there to be more female characters because I could never relate to Miss Piggy. I know that must sound so shocking to hear that a little girl could have a completely different personality than the one female cast member of a group.

But that was then and this is now.

For the Muppets Movie I’m going to try to give a brief summary of the plot, and I’ll try to avoid as many spoilers as possible. The movie begins with a new muppet, named Walter, growing up with his human brother, Gary, in a small town. As he grows, up he realizes he’s different from Gary and discovers the Muppet Show. Walter becomes the biggest fan of the Muppet Show while his brother is just happy to spend time with Walter.

Years later, Walter is still a big fan of the Muppets while Gary has been in a relationship with Mary for ten years. To celebrate their ten years together, Gary takes Mary to see California for the first time. He also invites Walter to come along, just so he can visit the Muppet Theater. When Walter tours the Theater he sees that it is falling apart, and he accidentally overhears the evil scheming of our villian, Tex Richman. Richman’s plan is to tear down the theater and drill the land for oil. This makes Walter run out of the theater, screaming in panic for several hours.

With the help of Gary and Mary, Walter is able to meet up with Kermit the Frog and tell him what he overheard. Kermit says that they might be able to save their theater if he could get the whole gang back together, but they haven’t seen each other in years. But through the power of hilarious montages he’s able to gather the whole gang back together except for Miss Piggy. Miss Piggy is now working with Vogue in Paris and doesn’t want to return to the old gang because of her breakup with Kermit.

Now right off the bat, I have to say this movie was amazing. I laughed nonstop throughout it; I loved almost every second of it, and I recommend that everyone get into your cars and go and see it right now.

But.

My issue with this movie comes down to our two leading ladies: Miss Piggy and Mary, who I feel are almost the same character.

Now when I say this, I don’t mean that they act the same, but they do have the same goals and motivations throughout the movie. Which is–marry the man…….or the frog.

Miss Piggy originally refuses to leave Paris because she has a new successful life there. And (spoiler!) when she does return to save the theater, she says she’s not doing it for Kermit but for the theater itself. She also sais that she WILL go back to Paris, the moment their last show is done.

Throughout this movie, it is pretty clear that Miss Piggy still has feelings for Kermit and vice versa. And that Miss Piggy does want to be with Kermit. Which isn’t a really bad motivation for the character, except it seems to be her only motivation. The Miss Piggy I knew would have come back completely for herself and not for anyone else. The Miss Piggy I knew would have come back just so she could “hog” the center stage once more. But that original goal and motivation for who she was doesn’t seem to be there anymore.

Mary is our other leading lady who has been in a relationship with Gary for ten years, and she really wants to marry him. She even goes into a song and dance about it. Of course, I’m sitting there wondering, “Why don’t you ask him to marry you, Mary?”

This is taking place in modern time after all, where you know, it isn’t weird for the chick to ask the dude. ( I swear, I won’t think you’re weird if you do pop the question to him, Mary.)

But Noooo. If she wants a ring, he needs to give her one.

One of my biggest issues with these two having the same motivation is that they both only have One motivation and goal. All the other (male) characters have more than one goal and motivation throughout the movie. Walter wants to save the theater, reunite the Muppets, and find his place. Gary wants to be with Mary, and he wants his brother to be happy but struggles with maybe having to let go of him. Kermit wants to save the theater, be with the family that is the Muppets and re-kindle his relationship with Miss Piggy. Even Animal has two goals: wanting to save the theater AND to control his wild side.

I never felt like Miss Piggy truly wanted to save the theater like all the other characters, so I really do think she had only one goal in the movie, and that is to be with Kermit. And our one other leading lady wants only to be married to Gary. I also want to point out that these two ladies never conversed; there is a song where they’re both singing about being alone, but they’re doing it in separate rooms. So this movie does fail the Bechdel test.

Again, this movie was amazing. I personally loved it. But, I’m also very sad that there still isn’t more to the female characters. When a movie is this good and this amazing to watch, I’m personally disheartened when a little bit more effort wasn’t given to flesh out the leading women. What kind of message is this sending to a whole new batch of little girls who are meeting the Muppets for the first time, when there are only two leading ladies in a BIG cast … who both want to be married?

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J. Lee Milliren is an active feminist currently in her last year at the Art Institutes International Minnesota where she will earn her bachelor degree in Media Arts and Animation. She takes a critical eye to how characters are portrayed in films.

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: The Secret of N.I.M.H.

This is a guest post by Katie Roussos.

A rose bush inhabited by genetically modified rats who become murderous sounds more like a horror movie than a children’s story, but that is just one of the ways The Secret of N.I.H.M. breaks the mold.

The plow has come early to the Fitzgibbons farm, a frightening thought for all the animals that live in the fields. Mr. and Mrs. Fitzgibbons also happen to have a band of rats living on their farm who were part of an experiment from the National Institute of Mental Health that made them “intelligent.” As Nicodemus, head intelligent rat (who is also a little magic?) tells the audience eerily: “We found out, we could reeead.”

Besides the super rats, there are many animals, from mice, to crows, to wise old owls, and the family cat. As in most children’s films the animals can talk, can communicate across species, and have traits, clothes, and social institutions that mimic humans. It is the classic story of mouse meets mouse, mouse falls in love, gets married, builds tiny house with tiny beds and tiny tables, has children that wear gender appropriate clothing, has local shrew babysit. Yes, there is a character called Aunty Shrew, an actual shrew, and yes, she is portrayed as “shrewish”–annoying, controlling, and, mysteriously, British.

So no, the The Secret of N.I.M.H. is not free from gender stereotypes or tired portrayals of women. But The Secret of N.I.M.H. has one thing that many children’s films don’t have, a female protagonist. A main character who is a hero because of her strong will, intelligence, and heart (not accidentally a hero because of her knowledge of beauty products a la Elle Woods).

Mrs. Brisby is a single mother known only by her husband’s name in the film. And time and again that name gets her help from the other characters in the movie who remember her husband, Jonathan, fondly. However, it is not just the name that gets Mrs. Brisby’s tiny house moved out of the way of the plow and keeps her children from impeding doom. She shows fear and dread, she takes risks and shakes and cries. Yet she presses on. She is not a female hero full of bravado and stereotypically male characteristics. She is a mother who will face even a large owl (owls eat mice) to find out how to save her family.

She humbly says to the great owl, “I don’t understand what you mean, but I will do as you say.” This is not subservience–it is smarts. When a large owl who could eat you and has lived longer than your mouse body is capable of gives you advice about the farm you live on, you take it. Especially when there is no other option. Points for Mrs. Brisby for being able to take a leap of faith and admit it when she doesn’t know what to do!

Brisby also has to face an almost completely male world. Aside from the shrew and her daughters, there are no other prominent female characters. There are however many males, who do their best to either help or hurt her.

Justin is the handsome rat who, at one mention of Brisby’s dead hubby, is committed to helping her move her house to avoid the plow. Jenner is the power hungry rat who wants to take over for the aging Nicodemus, by killing him. The crow Jeremy is love sick and bumbling but tries to help her after she saves him from the family cat. (If there is any meaning behind all the “J” names I haven’t figured it out.) And then there is Mr. Ages, the only surviving mouse who has had the shot that turns animals into reading machines. He’s not the grandfatherly type, but the old cynic, who’s it-can’t-be-done attitude is a good juxtaposition for Mrs. Brisby’s heart. The movie manages to balance cute camp and is genuinely scary. (See the theatrical release poster, which is mostly just scary…) While their mother is getting chased by a large and silent rat with a steel spear, the Brisby kids are tying up Jeremy, who was sent to babysit them, and accusing him of being a spy. A spy for what is unclear. The film ends with a love song and Jeremy finding his perfect female counterpart (blah). Even though Nicodemus is actually murdered and two other rats die in a fight after moving the Brisby home, there is a happy ending. Not too happy though. Brisby does not end up with Justin, despite the rather nauseating flirting that goes on at their first meeting.

Through it all Brisby avoids being the type of female character that make me cringe. A few more points that make her awesome:

No fur boobs: the tendency to sexualize animals’ bodies to make them look more human might have its place in comic books (or not), but luckily the 1980s illustrators of Secret did little to feminize Mrs. Brisby. She has long lashes and a small red cape, but no busting chest, long legs, or human-shaped butt.

She can read too!: She didn’t get experimented on and yet she can read. She was taught. Amazingly, all those male rats have used their smarts to steal electricity. Jonathan Brisby taught his wife to read. And guess what, it worked and did not require a big painful shot.

Her ultimate goal has nothing to do with finding a husband: At no point in the film is her lack of a husband an actual hurdle. Sure, Mrs. Brisby misses Jonathan, but the film takes for granted that she is making it alone in this crazy rat-filled world. And, as I already pointed out, she doesn’t marry Justin!

I can’t deny that parts of this movie are problematic. We never even learn the main character’s name. Brisby asks Jeremy, a decided clutz to babysit because “she needs a big strong male to watch the children,” and he jumps at the chance to play “domestic.” And yet The Secret of N.I.M.H. doesn’t belong with the worst offenders in children’s movies that teach little girls early how to be less than little boys. Maybe it is because I have been watching this movie since I was four, but Mrs. Brisby inspires me. If raising a cement block out of the mud with only the power of love and a ruby necklace to save your four kids is not worthy of respect, then I don’t know what is.

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Katie Roussos is a labor organizer living in New York City. She graduated from the University of Massachusetts Amherst with a degree in Comparative Literature and has not stopped writing, despite the fact that she is not working in the literary field. This is her first submission to Bitch Flicks, but she is a lover of feminist blogs and hopes to submit to others in the future.