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Privilege Undermines Disney’s ‘Gargoyles’ Attempts to Explore Oppression

Yet ‘Gargoyles’ is also a fantastic showcase of what can happen when creators possessing privilege write stories about the oppressed without their input. … ‘Gargoyles,’ with its “protecting a world that hates and fears them and has been fairly successful in enacting their global genocide” premise, seeks to be about marginalized peoples. At the same time, it consistently centers and prioritizes the lives of the privileged over those of the oppressed, and places the burden of obtaining justice on the latter.

This guest post written by Ian Pérez appears as part of our theme week on Unpopular Opinions.

[Trigger Warning: Discussion of allegorical rape]

The Disney animated series Gargoyles, created by Greg Weisman (The Spectacular Spider-Man, Young Justice) is often noted for being progressive in an industry that often was even less so than it is now. Debuting in 1994, it expressed this primarily via its co-protagonist Elisa Maza (Salli Richardson-Whitfield), the Black, Native detective for the NYPD who served as the secret-keeper, partner, best friend, and love interest to gargoyle-out-of-time Goliath (Keith David) decades before Sleepy Hollow raised our hopes and shattered our hearts with Abbie Mills.

Elisa wasn’t just a fantastic character in her own right, although she certainly was that. A large part of what made her special was that she was not dropped into the world of Gargoyles alone and contextless to be an accent in a white narrative. She has a family, whose members all take part in the story — her father, Peter (Michael Horse), who belongs to the Hopi nation and like Elisa works for the NYPD; Diane (Nichelle Nichols), her mother, an academic who we eventually see in Nigeria, connecting with her roots; and siblings Derek (Rocky Carroll), who flies helicopters for the NYPD (being a cop is in the Maza blood) and Beth, off in college. In short, thought was placed into this. While Elisa was not conceptualized with her canonical heritage in mind, once established, the writers did not shy away from it, and it seems on its own like solid evidence that Weisman, to some degree, gets the importance of diversity and inclusivity.

Yet Gargoyles is also a fantastic showcase of what can happen when creators possessing privilege write stories about the oppressed without their input. Weisman and his staff had good intentions, and yet that didn’t stop them from writing “Heritage,” a perennial contender for the award of Most Racist Story That Tried Not to Be Racist (Television). In the episode, Elisa essentially tells the chief of a failing First Nation village, whom she’s only just met, that he’s performing his identity wrong, and is proven correct by the narrative. While that episode is an outlier, it is not alone — despite the show’s attempts to be about oppression and about being the Other, it falls down in multiple and consistent ways featuring more than one episode where the message they wish to send is not the message they are actually sending.

The first of these episodes is “Revelations,” an episode focusing on Matt Bluestone (Tom Wilson), who is Elisa’s partner on the force and a white man. A conspiracy theorist, his private investigation into the Illuminati society leads him to discover that Elisa has been lying to him as part of her attempts to keep the gargoyles’ existence from him. Incensed, he one night insists on driving Elisa’s car (something she normally never allows) and then threatens to send it careening over a cliff with them in it unless she tells him the truth. The gambit works and Elisa not only spills, but actually apologizes for keeping the secret. Matt apologizes for threatening her and the episode acts as if the two offenses were somehow equivalent, and as if both characters are equally worthy of sympathy.

It’s entirely possible Matt’s threat was just a bluff, that Elisa was never really in danger; she takes control before tragedy can strike, so we can’t know. It doesn’t really matter; he threatened her. The way the episode shoves it under the rug indicates that his concerns, priorities, and feelings are more important than Elisa’s. Matt doesn’t need to accept Elisa’s secret-keeping, despite the fact that she has every right to keep secrets from him; Elisa will have to accept that she’s partners with a man who feels entitled to threaten her, and the show won’t even allow her to be uncomfortable or fearful about it. She just has to be the better person and forgive him.

This sort of false equivalency is part of a pattern for Gargoyles. Elisa is just as bad as Matt because she kept a secret. As seen in the episode “Shadows of the Past,” the would-be ally and actual traitor responsible for the death of Goliath’s clan gets to move on to the afterlife because he saved Goliath that one time, minutes after abandoning his own attempts to kill the gargoyle.

In another storyline, a rapist gets to get back together with his ex because he feels really, really bad about raping her. Okay, so it’s not technically rape, although there are certainly enough parallels in “Mark of the Panther” to make the comparison inevitable. The episode focuses on Tea (Roxanne Beckford), a Nigerian villager who breaks up with her boyfriend Fara Maku (Don Reed) because she wishes to start a new life in the capital. Consequently, Fara Maku seeks and finds Anansi (LeVar Burton), the trickster spider god, and implores it to turn him into a were-panther, so that he may then turn her into a were-panther, forcing her to remain and binding her to him. Granted this boon, Fara Maku attacks Tea and marks her, causing her to uncontrollably take feline form during moments of great emotional stress. Furious, frustrated, and ashamed, she becomes a poacher and returns to her village to hunt down panthers, and it is then that she discovers the truth. Upon doing so, Tea lays the blame for everything not on Fara Maku, but on Anansi, and after defeating the trickster god (with the help of the gargoyles and Elisa, who are also in this episode) both were-panthers decide that, as penance for what they’ve done, they should get back together and use their powers to protect the jungle. Note that for Tea, “what they’ve done” is “illegally hunt animals” and “attempt to kill the man who ruined her life in a situation where justice by legal means is impossible” (and all but impossible, had it been an actual rape) while for Fara Maku, it’s “violate his ex in a way that prevents her from having the life she wanted so that she would stay with him.” The show insists that these are equivalent. The show is wrong.

One could, if one wanted to, surmise that Gargoyles — in presenting Matt Bluestone and Fara Maku’s actions as the result of frustration and ignorance rather than malice and entitlement — is attempting to express that things are not always simple and that good people can do harm. If that is the case, it misses the mark entirely. What it does instead is normalize the male characters’ entitlement, obfuscate the misogyny behind it, and then reward the characters with what they wanted in the first place. In the face of injustice, women’s — Black women’s, at that — only recourse is to forgive and be okay with things because, hey, at least the men feel bad about what they’ve done. Their lives, safety, and comfort are secondary.

Gargoyles, with its “protecting a world that hates and fears them and has been fairly successful in enacting their global genocide” premise, seeks to be about marginalized peoples. At the same time, it consistently centers and prioritizes the lives of the privileged over those of the oppressed, and places the burden of obtaining justice on the latter. It is on Elisa to de-escalate the situation by giving Matt what he wants. It is on Tea to get used to circumstances which she never asked for, and to be okay with living the life Fara Maku wanted for her. More generally, it is on the gargoyles to continuously be the better species, until humanity decides that it is willing to treat them like people.

Perhaps no one exemplifies how the writers reward privilege better than David Xanatos (Jonathan Frakes). An Unscrupulous Billionaire™, he purchases the castle the gargoyles lived on and protected and breaks the spell that has kept them frozen in stone for a thousand years. He acts as their benefactor, but soon enough it becomes clear that his motives are not altruistic. What he actually wants is to have superhuman servants, and he’s willing to lie and manipulate the gargoyles in order to keep them under his thumb, or kill them if he cannot. Thanks to Elisa, Goliath and clan see the truth about who Xanatos is and leave him behind, although the plutocrat will remain one of their two core enemies, enacting multiple plots against them and Elisa — even hiring her brother Derek as his bodyguard so that he can then “accidentally” and permanently mutate him into a winged cat creature. (Derek, too, is forced to accept this turn of events.)

Eventually, though, Xanatos’ attitude towards the gargoyles softens, most notably after they help him save Manhattan from a spell that turned every person in it to stone — a spell whose execution he facilitated, if accidentally — and then even more so after the gargoyles prevent his son from being taken by the Faerie King Oberon, after which Xanatos considers himself to be in the gargoyles’ debt. Not long after, after the gargoyles’ second home is destroyed by gargoyle hunters, Xanatos invites his former enemies to return to their first one, in the process getting the super-human guardians he always wanted. He’s still the same bastard he always was; he’s just now the gargoyles’ bastard. (He is a fan favorite. He used to be one of mine.)

With the proper context, this wouldn’t necessarily be a problem: a world in which the people with the most privilege are the ones who win most often, and where the underprivileged must often make moral compromises in order to survive is, disappointingly, an accurate representation of the one we actually live in. However, the show’s worldview is incomplete and one-sided. It delegitimizes anger as a response to injustice — the only gargoyle who is consistently angry at human’s genocidal instincts and consistently questions gargoyles’ protective instincts is the villain, Demona (Marina Sirtis), and initially the series’ only female gargoyle. The series argues that marginalized peoples will always be alright, in the end, eliminating the need for reparations or actual change: Matt is the perfect partner after learning the secret; Derek will eventually find a measure of contentedness, as will the gargoyles; we have no idea what happens to Tea, but she is presumably not again being abused by her former attacker. This is not actually the case in real life: being the better people and turning the other cheek has not, traditionally, been a recipe for large-scale social change. The show might have understood this, with more women and people of color behind the scenes.

I first began watching Gargoyles during college, long after the series had ended and I’d stopped being its target audience. It is in many ways my Buffy the Vampire Slayer, catching my attention with its character relationships and cleverness and what was then an attractive version of social consciousness. Like with Buffy, it took time for its limits to become apparent. My love for the series has survived a thorough examination of its flaws, although now it becomes impossible to praise it as I may have once done. Elisa is still fantastic, sure, and I love her to pieces; but the series is now also largely a reminder of how little things have changed since 1994 and how good intentions aren’t enough.

Years after its cancellation, Gargoyles got resurrected in comic book form in 2006, continuing Goliath and his clan’s adventures under the hand of their creator. It is in some ways an improvement, reflecting an increased understanding of the importance of diversity in world-building. In other ways, however, it is still problematic in the same places. Its first original story has Xanatos invite the gargoyles to a Halloween party at his castle, ostensibly as a way for the gargoyles to befriend the New York City elite in a safe environment at a time when anti-gargoyle sentiment has spiked. The gargoyles, still acclimatizing to their new situation, are nothing less than over the moon about this. Elisa, who has been invited to the party independently from the gargoyles, also attends, in costume and with a date. If she has reservations about attending a party hosted by the person who destroyed his brother’s life, and who has neither apologized or attempted to mitigate the harm he has caused, they remain unsaid. It, too, shall pass.

Ian Pérez is a Puerto Rico-based translator, editor, and writer currently working on doing at least one of those professionally. He thinks a lot about Gargoyles and writes about it at Monsters of New York and about other things, which he writes about at Chasing Sheep. He is also @DoKnowButchie on Twitter.

‘Lilo & Stitch,’ ‘Moana,’ and Disney’s Representation of Indigenous Peoples

Looking at ‘Lilo & Stitch’ can provide a valuable lens in which to analyze the upcoming ‘Moana,’ as well as other mainstream films attempting to represent Indigenous cultures. … Regardless of its individual merits, ‘Lilo & Stitch’ is a moneymaking endeavor to benefit the Disney Company, which has not always had the best relationship (to say the least) with representing Indigenous cultures or respecting Indigenous peoples.

This guest post written by Emma Casley appears as part of our theme week on Indigenous Women.

This November, Disney plans to release the much-anticipated Moana, advertised and hailed as the first Polynesian Disney princess. While it is the company’s first princess of Polynesian descent, it is not the first time Disney has ventured to represent Polynesian culture on-screen: the 2002 film Lilo & Stitch features sisters Lilo and Nani, who are of Indigenous Hawaiian descent as two of the central characters. Looking at Lilo & Stitch can provide a valuable lens in which to analyze the upcoming Moana, as well as other mainstream films attempting to represent Indigenous cultures.

Lilo & Stitch has been heralded as a film that avoids many of the harmful stereotypes of Polynesian culture that so many other white-produced works perpetuate. However, it is also worth considering how Lilo & Stitch as a film exists in the world, beyond the content of its storyline. As a mainstream blockbuster film made by Disney, Lilo & Stitch has an imperative to make money and to therefore appease ticket and merchandise buying audiences. Regardless of its individual merits, the film is a money-making endeavor to benefit the Disney Company, which has not always had the best relationship (to say the least) with representing Indigenous cultures or respecting Indigenous peoples.

The situation is a double-edged sword: mainstream films have the potential to challenge stereotypes and showcase Indigenous peoples’ voices on a large scale; but at the same time such widespread distribution and visibility almost always requires the heft of a multi-billion dollar company behind it — one which may or may not have the same interests in adhering to treating Indigenous peoples with respect. I’m not interested in looking at Lilo & Stitch and simply adding up the racist vs. un-racist points it scores to see which label holds up. Rather, I think that the film provides a helpful example of the complicated cultural space a film can occupy. Lilo & Stitch has racist elements; it also has moments where it challenges racial stereotypes in powerful ways for a broad audience to see. One fact does not negate the other, they coexist within the same text.

Many films set in Hawai’i do so from a colonialist white perspective, which Joy T. Taylor calls the “tourist gaze.” In these stories, Hawai’i is shown from an outsider’s perspective: often the islands are used to represent some kind of beautiful, lush, post-racial utopia that white people can visit and enjoy with no harmful repercussions — completely forgetting the Islands’ painful colonial history. The post-racial fantasy of Hawai’i can be seen in instances like the now infamous whitewashing casting of Emma Stone to play the role of half-Asian Hawaiian character of Allison Ng in Aloha. Under the “tourist gaze,” Hawai’i becomes a melting pot of different peoples in a way that explicitly favors white culture. Rather than addressing the ways in which white culture was very much forced upon Indigenous Hawaiians, films like Aloha center white actors with mainstream (read: white) sensibilities who then wear a couple of leis and hula skirts to showcase some vague form of “cultural mixing,” while still assuming whiteness as the dominant and default perspective.

On the other hand, Lilo & Stitch primarily adopts the point of view of the young, native Hawaiian Lilo, rather than the outside white visitors who come to the islands. Lilo’s hobby of taking pictures of the tourists she meets can be read as an inversion of the “tourist gaze.” Instead of Lilo becoming the subject of scrutiny and outside observation, she literally turns the camera onto the people doing the observing. Rather than being a side character in a white person’s journey, Lilo has the agency to not only be the protagonist of her story, but to turn the tables on the typical white narrative of Hawai’i by taking pictures of the white tourists that surround her: they’re the ones out of place on her island, they’re the ones that should be gawked at.

Nani similarly bucks stereotypes of Indigenous women on-screen, though in a different way. A related facet of the “tourist gaze” is the Dusky Maiden trope: where Indigenous women are cast as exotic, sexually available objects for the (generally) white male characters to consume, just another aspect of the beautiful Hawaiian scenery at their disposal. A clip from the 1962 film Mutiny on the Bounty (which the uploader has charmingly captioned as the “hottest scene in the history of cinema”) provides a pretty clear example of this trope in action:

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qDpD2757jrc”]

In the video, Tahitian women perform for the white sailors, and the film cuts between their dancing and Marlon Brando watching them. It is a spectacle of Tahitian culture and bodies designed to entertain and appease white observers, both within the context of the story as well as the film itself. It’s just as much about the audience being able to watch these women performing and smiling and implying sexual availability as it is about the characters watching the same thing. Indigenous women are there to be looked at, not just by anyone, but by outsiders, by white men.

Unlike Mutiny on the Bounty, Lilo & Stitch adopts a very different gaze towards its female characters. Nani has a small romantic subplot, but it is not a crucial aspect of her character. The film frequently shows Nani in action and with agency. Her primary role in Lilo & Stitch is as the older sister and guardian of Lilo, rather than as a sexual object of desire. She turns down co-worker David’s romantic advances in favor of spending more time caring for her sister. Though the circumstances of Nani’s legal guardianship of Lilo were outside of her control, the film still lets Nani have agency to prioritize what matters most to her — the preservation and happiness of her family — over her dating life, thus giving a substantial alternative to the Dusky Maiden trope so prevalent in other films featuring Indigenous women.

Perhaps the most heartbreaking challenge to colonialist sensibilities in Lilo & Stitch is the scene where Nani must tell Lilo she is going to be taken away by Child Protective Services. Nani takes Lilo onto the hammock and signs her “Aloha ‘Oe” as a way of explaining what is about to happen to their family.

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WraKfeFtOPs”]

“Aloha ‘Oe,” in addition to being one of the most iconic Indigenous Hawaiian songs, also has ties to the U.S.’ illegal annexation of Hawai’i and the fall of the Hawaiian kingdom. It was written by Queen Liliuokalani, the last ruler of Hawai’i, and has come to symbolize the loss of the Kingdom to Western rule. Using this particular song ties the experiences of Lilo and Nani to the history of the Hawaiian people. Much like Queen Liliuokalani lost her kingdom to a specter of Western civilization (the U.S. government), Nani faces losing her family to another Western force: Child Protective Services.

Despite Lilo & Stitch’s relative willingness to engage with colonialist issues faced by Indigenous Hawaiians, at least as compared to other Hollywood films, the animated feature does shy away from a more direct confrontation of modern day Indigenous issues. One such example of this hesitation comes from a deleted scene that more explicitly points criticism at the behavior of modern white tourists in Hawai’i.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=taPoeIQaOiQ

The deleted scene shows Lilo having to answer frequent questions by tourists butchering the Hawaiian language, as well as someone exclaiming, “Oh look a real native!” as she passes by. Unlike the “Aloha ‘Oe” scene, and Lilo’s hobby of taking pictures of tourists, this scene offers a more direct commentary on the lasting effects of colonialism and the media’s use of the “tourist gaze” when depicting Hawai’i. I am not discrediting the power of the two examples which remain in the final cut of the film, but it is worth noting that there were moments such as these that never made it on-screen.

And here lies the central tension in the production of Lilo & Stitch: even as a relatively low budget Disney film, ($80 million), it’s still a film being produced by a major studio for a mainstream audience with an imperative to make money. Anything that might threaten its profitability, such as direct critiques of modern white tourists in Hawai’i, often gets thrown out for being too big of a risk for financial success. On the other hand, the global reach of Disney films also provides a very large platform for issues of racism and colonialism faced by Native Hawaiians to be seen by millions of people.

A very similar tension can already be traced out in the upcoming Moana: a film that has been praised for its use of Polynesian voice actors but has also been criticized in its depiction of demigod Maui and its merchandise and marketing — in particular, the release of a racist Halloween costume of the Moana character Maui featuring brown skin and tribal tattoos, an example of brownface and cultural appropriation. A tweet by @LivingOffTheGrid perfectly encapsulates the conflicted emotions associated with the situation. Along with many others, this Twitter user expresses the simultaneous desire to support Indigenous voices on a large scale, while also frustration at the fiscal endeavors of the corporation which funds these films; endeavors which more often than not do not take into consideration the voices or concerns of Indigenous peoples. With the advent of cheaper filmmaking and distribution technologies, it is technically possible for smaller companies to provide a large platform for typically underrepresented voices, but it is undoubtedly harder and much rarer for such films to gain the amount of widespread attention Disney blockbusters get on a daily basis. Though for what it’s worth, Disney did pull the costumes after the large amounts of criticism it garnered through social media and other means — a conversation largely lead by Polynesian people, so there is undoubtedly always room for shifts, however small, in this dynamic.

Moana has also faced criticisms from Indigenous Hawaiians for white people telling the stories of Indigenous peoples. While Taika Waititi wrote the film’s initial draft, the credited directors and writers are all white people. As Tina Ngata writes at Civil Beat, Disney is participating in “colonial subversion of storytelling as a statement of diversity”:

“While they are celebrated for presenting a protagonist who will ‘not put up with mansplaining,’ Disney is patently ignoring the fact that this entire film is an act of whitesplaining.”

Anne Keala Kelly at Indian Country Today Media Network also criticizes Disney and Moana for “mining” Indigenous Hawaiian culture for profit:

“Most Indigenous peoples under U.S. control, certainly Hawaiians, have yet to carve out a meaningful space to represent ourselves, what we value, and our reality in mass media and film largely because America’s master narrative relies on our subjugation. […] The cultural imperialism of Disney mirrors the military imperialism of the United States and the other industries it uses to erase our Indigenous belonging…”

The controversies Moana has faced, even before the film has even been released for wide audiences, demonstrates how Lilo & Stitch is by no means an anomaly in terms of its complex relationship with race and representing Indigenous peoples. There are moments where Lilo & Stitch offers a profound counterpoint to mainstream narratives about Hawai’i and Indigenous Hawaiian people. There are also ways in which the desire to make money keeps the film away from making more direct or explicit statements about these issues. While it’s imperative to critique racist, colonialist, and white supremacist narratives, tropes, and representations, simply trying to look at Lilo & Stitch (or any film), and trying to determine if it’s good or bad in terms of its representations of race and Indigenous peoples overlooks the complicated cultural space these films occupy.

Unilaterally praising a film like Lilo & Stitch as being a pinnacle of “good” Indigenous representation ignores its significant flaws, and the flaws of the Disney company as a whole; just as completely dismissing the film overlooks the ways in which it can be used as a vehicle for positive change. As with most films, Lilo & Stitch occupies a more tenuous middle ground — a space of conflict and tension that must be acknowledged and explored, not overlooked in favor of either/or categorizations. Upcoming films like Moana deserve similar treatment.

Emma Casley is a Brooklyn-based film writer. She recently participated in the New York Film Festival’s Critics Academy and currently interns at the Metrograph. She can be found wandering the streets for good coffee and also on Twitter @EmmaLCasley.

The Problems with Disney’s ‘Pocahontas’

In ‘Pocahontas,’ Disney missed an important opportunity to represent Indigenous women in a relatable, empowering way, and instead focused on commodifying their culture for mass-market appeal. … Pocahontas’ life only became a story worth telling when a white man became involved. She only became a princess when a white man recognized her as royalty. She only became the center of a Disney movie because white men realized they could profit off of her myth.

This guest post written by Shannon Rose appears as part of our theme week on Indigenous Women.

For as long as I can remember, my brother who has autism and I have loved Disney movies, and they have given us a real way to connect and bond with each other over the years. Disney has had such a positive impact on my life and my relationship with my brother that it is difficult to look back and see how problematic the films are, especially with regards to Indigenous women. However, I have realized that it’s important to step back from our own attachments and examine the harm Disney has done by perpetuating damaging stereotypes. This, in turn, will help us fight for better representation in future animated films that will positively impact the next generation of Disney movie fans. In Pocahontas, Disney missed an important opportunity to represent Indigenous women in a relatable, empowering way, and instead focused on commodifying their culture for mass-market appeal.

Pocahontas is an animated romantic musical drama about a young Native American woman in the 17th century who falls in love with a colonizing European, John Smith, and saves his life, bringing temporary peace between the colonizers and the Indigenous people. I always assumed it was an overly embellished rendition of history, but it is actually a heavily romanticized version of John Smith’s account of the events. This is problematic because there is a long, fraught history of European storytelling that involves a colonizing white man being saved by an Indigenous woman, who then falls in love with him and becomes a Christian, which is suspiciously similar to Pocahontas’ tale. The Powhatan Nation criticized Pocahontas for perpetuating the trope of “the ‘good Indian,’ one who saved the life of a white man.” White men have been fascinated with “civilizing” gorgeous Indigenous women, and John Smith’s story is only one of the many that have been perpetuated. Knowing this changes the context of the film. It’s no longer a story of a woman who falls in love with a seemingly unattainable man, but rather the delusions of a white colonizer who dreams of a beautiful Indigenous woman wanting to give up her life among “savages” to become a proper “civilized” European, aiding him in his desire to spread white civilization and power across the world.

Disney sells the film as having a female protagonist, but since the source material originated from a white man’s point of view, she lacks the agency to guide the story. Pocahontas is immediately “othered” as a mystical creature deeply in touch with nature, and not a complex human being. She communicates with animals, she can leap from great heights, she asks advice from a tree, and the wind leads her along her journey. All of these magical touches create distance between her and the audience. More importantly, it creates distance between Native Americans and how they are represented on-screen. When Disney made Pocahontas and her culture otherworldly, they erased the humanity of Indigenous people.

The audience is introduced to John Smith as an English man who has traveled all over the world, and has proudly killed many Indigenous people in order to spread his idea of “civilization.” “You can’t fight Indians without John Smith!” a fellow shipmate says. “That’s right, I’m not about to let you guys have all the fun!” Smith elatedly responds. Here is a man who has never hesitated to kill Indigenous people before, but when he finds Pocahontas at the end of the barrel of his gun, he suddenly has a change of heart. He doesn’t stop because she’s a woman; he stops because she is stunning. Her body is worth more to him alive than dead.

Another magical element that does more harm than good is the way Pocahontas immediately learns how to speak English, to the shock and delight of both her animal friends and Smith. Off the hook, Smith now has no need to learn her language because Pocahontas adjusts herself to accommodate his needs. The language barrier that exists between cultures has always required give and take from both sides; it makes us better communicators and strengthens our ability to understand each other in a deeper, more meaningful way. By forgoing that struggle, the white colonizer is accommodated and their white supremacist beliefs are sustained.

Part of the problem with Pocahontas is how it teaches young Indigenous girls that their worth is dependent on the men in their lives. To be seen as a princess, as royalty, they must be willing to risk their lives to defend white men and turn away from their own culture. While Pocahontas is portrayed as a heroine, did she ever have a choice? Would her story ever have been told if she had let Smith die, if she had chosen her family over him? She would have been erased from history, as far too many Indigenous women have been. Pocahontas’ life only became a story worth telling when a white man became involved. She only became a princess when a white man recognized her as royalty. She only became the center of a Disney movie because white men realized they could profit off of her myth.

Disney exacerbated the erroneous long-held belief that Indigenous women welcomed Europeans and their culture to America, erasing the history of racism, colonialism, and genocide against Indigenous peoples. Disney went one step further, however, and commodified Native Americans and their culture in ways we have not been able to recover from. In early 1995, months before the movie was released, Disney spent millions marketing the film. Pocahontas Barbie dolls, Payless Shoes moccasins, and Halloween costumes can still be found today, twenty years later, giving white girls permission to appropriate Native American culture and treat race and culture as costumes. Because Disney made Pocahontas an American “Princess,” many non-Native people assumed her as one of their own. Thus, we now can claim a shared American heritage, and not have to think twice before appropriating her culture. Many of us have long struggled with our place in the U.S.’s violent and troubled history but Disney single-handedly made cultural appropriation “okay” for an entire generation of children in order to sell merchandise.

It is hard to accept that something we love is deeply flawed because their flaws reflect back on us. It’s much easier to brush those criticisms off and push it to the back of your mind. It’s important to know, though, that you can love something that is flawed (I’ve been singing “Just Around the River Bend” for a week now) and still push Disney and other filmmakers to not make the same mistakes again.

We need to amplify stories of Indigenous women, and give them the support they need to tell those stories and make them be heard to a larger audience. Indigenous women need to be writers and directors, not props in white people’s stories to make us feel better about colonizing their home. The true story of Pocahontas, where she was kidnapped and used as propaganda by the Virginia Company and whose real name was Matoaka, is tragic and should embarrass us non-Native people. It was never Disney material, but there are stories about Indigenous women out there that are. Disney just needs to look beyond source material created by white men.

Shannon Rose is a writer and director living in Los Angeles. She has her MFA in Film & Television from USC School of Cinematic Arts, and she is passionate about creating opportunities in film for diverse voices. You can follow her on Twitter and Instagram @femmefocale.

Violence Against Indigenous Women: Fun, Sexy, and No Big Deal on the Big Screen

Over and over, violence against Indigenous women is made to titillate, built into narratives along with action, suspense, swashbuckling, and romance. Indigenous women become exotic props, and when we are identified with these dehumanized caricatures, it becomes easier to treat us inhumanely.

This guest post by Elissa Washuta originally appeared at Racialicious and on her Tumblr. It previously appeared at Bitch Flicks is reposted here as part of our theme week on Indigenous Women. It is cross-posted with permission.

The body of 15-year-old Tina Fontaine, a member of Sagkeeng First Nation, was pulled from the Red River in Winnipeg on Aug. 17. Her murder has brought about an important conversation about the widespread violence against First Nations women and the Canadian government’s lack of concern.

In her August 20th Globe and Mail commentary, Dr. Sarah Hunt of the Kwagiulth band of the Kwakwaka’wakw First Nation wrote about the limited success of government inquiries and her concerns about other measures taken in reaction to acts of violence already committed, such as the establishment of DNA databases for missing persons. Dr. Hunt writes:

“Surely tracking indigenous girls’ DNA so they can be identified after they die is not the starting point for justice. Indigenous women want to matter before we go missing. We want our lives to matter as much as our deaths; our stake in the present political struggle for indigenous resurgence is as vital as the future.”

Violence against Indigenous women is not, of course, happening only in Canada. In the U.S., for example, the Justice Department reports that one in three American Indian women have been raped or experienced an attempted rape, and the rate of sexual assault against American Indian women is more than twice the national average. This violence is not taking place only in Indian Country.

In the Globe and Mail on August 22nd, Elizabeth Renzetti wrote about three recent murders of First Nations women.

“What unites these three cases is that the victims – Tina Fontaine, Samantha Paul and Loretta Saunders – were all aboriginal women. What else unites them, besides the abysmal circumstances of their deaths? What economic, cultural, historical or social factors? Anything? Nothing?”

I can’t answer that, but I know that all of these women — and every other Indigenous woman in Canada and the U.S. — lives in a society that includes images of violence against Indigenous women in its entertainment products. Over and over, violence against Indigenous women is made to titillate, built into narratives along with action, suspense, swashbuckling, and romance. Indigenous women become exotic props, and when we are identified with these dehumanized caricatures, it becomes easier to treat us inhumanely.

Take as an example Disney’s Pocahontas. Released in 1995, the cartoon feature has replaced the historical figure’s life story in the minds of many Americans. Much has been made of Disney’s exotification of Pocahontas. John Smith is only compelled to put down his gun because of her beauty. Pocahontas is imbued with animal qualities throughout the film as she scuttles, bounds, swims, creeps, and dives. This reinforces a long-held conception of Native peoples as being “close to nature” at best, “more animal than human” at worst — and the latter is a view that makes us easier to abuse.

The recent depiction of Emily (a Makah woman) in the Twilight series offers viewers a direct representation of violence in a fictional Native community. Emily’s broad, visible facial scar is said to be the result of her partner Sam’s (a Quileute man/werewolf) outburst of rage: he was a younger werewolf, with difficulty controlling his “phasing” from human to wolf, he became angry, and she was standing too close. The presentation of this story is problematic in its shrugging absolution of Sam of his responsibility in maiming Emily, and the aftermath is heartbreaking: in the more detailed version of the story presented in the Twilight books, after Sam mauls Emily, she not only takes him back, but convinces him to forgive himself. This sends the message that an episode of violence can and should be overlooked for the sake of romance. Emily, a Native woman, becomes expendable. Her safety is of little concern; the fact that Sam has “imprinted” on her, cementing his attachment, is more important than the reality of recidivism.

In a Globe and Mail editorial, “How to Stop an Epidemic of Native Deaths,” the author brings up the many social factors at work in the epidemic of violence against Native women. I bring up the problematic and pervasive imagery above not because I think it is the most problematic issue, but because it is what I know, and because we can start solving it with our individual actions. We don’t need to call Native women “squaws” and joke that they were “hookers” when forced into prostitution, as Drunk History did last year. We can make better choices than “naughty Native” costumes on Halloween. We have the freedom to choose the representations we make in the world, and when we perpetuate damaging stereotypes of Indigenous women as rapeable, we are using our autonomy to disempower others.

Karen Warren wrote in “A feminist philosophical perspective on ecofeminist spiritualities”:

“Dysfunctional systems are often maintained through systematic denial, a failure or inability to see the reality of a situation. This denial need not be conscious, intentional, or malicious; it only needs to be pervasive to be effective.”

I’m tired of hearing that these images aren’t harmful. I’d rather see how much they’re missed when they’re gone than continue to listen to the insistence that the image of Pocahontas at the end of a gun barrel is wholesome while, every day, more and more Indigenous women die while we are told that this is not a phenomenon, not a problem, nothing more than crime.

Elissa Washuta is an adviser in the Department of American Indian Studies at the University of Washington and a faculty mentor in the MFA program in creative writing at the Institute of American Indian Arts. Her first book, a memoir called My Body Is a Book of Rules, was recently published by Red Hen Press.

6 Gender-Swapped Films We’d Love To See: Male to Female Casts

From the gender-neutral, Alien-fighting Ellen Ripley, to the deadpan Vulcan Mr. Spock, to whiny Jedi Master Luke Skywalker (yes, that Luke), the genders of some of our best-loved characters have actually been swapping around for decades behind the scenes. The difference with ‘Ghostbusters’ is that – as a remake – the swap was public knowledge, thus inviting the barrage of misogynistic grumbling that flooded the internet.

This guest post written by the Fanny Pack Team originally appeared at Fanny Pack. It is cross-posted with permission.

By now, you’ve probably noticed that the all-female Ghostbusters reboot/sequel (uh, requel? seqboot?) has been out for a little while now, and judging by its healthy box office performance and mainly positive critical reception, has hopefully forced overgrown fanboys everywhere to eat their premature YouTube dislikes and Twitter rants about “ruined childhoods.”

Although there is chatter of the film as the flagship for a whole new “trend” for gender-swapped remakes in Hollywood right now, there’s actually nothing new about this treatment at all. From the gender-neutral, Alien-fighting Ellen Ripley, to the deadpan Vulcan Mr. Spock, to whiny Jedi Master Luke Skywalker (yes, that Luke), the genders of some of our best-loved characters have actually been swapping around for decades behind the scenes. The difference with Ghostbusters is that – as a remake – the swap was public knowledge, thus inviting the barrage of misogynistic grumbling that flooded the internet. It seems that we’re far more open to gender-swapping when we’re unaware of it, which highlights just how much gender alone can dictate a film’s narrative sometimes.

Inspired by Hollywood’s new appetite for gender-swapping remakes, one of our writers, Chelsey Lang, recently wrote a ‘reverse-Ghostbusters’ list featuring her picks for female-led movies remade with male casts, testing if they would still make sense or be rendered absurd to our stereotype-addled brains. We enjoyed Chelsey’s article so much that we decided to expand on her list across a two-part series featuring both female-to-male, and male-to-female remakes. So, without further ado, here are our top picks for male-to-female gender-swapped films.

Which ones would you shell out some cash for at the box office?

1. The Lost Girls

Written by Hannah Collins

Before there was Edward Cullen, Spike, Angel, or even Being Human’s Mitchell, vampires were mainly styled by pop culture as ruffle-shirted, older men with a gentlemanly turn of phrase and a penchant for dwelling in Eastern European castles or stately homes. That was before 1987 rolled up with it’s bleached mullets and Duran Duran-brand of hyper-masculinity to give the aging undead that sexy teenage make-over they didn’t know they needed. I’m talking about cult-classic, The Lost Boys.

To those unfamiliar, yes – the title is a direct reference to J.M Barrie’s “lost boys” from Peter Pan, and merging this parable about the pros and cons of eternal youth with vampire mythology (along with the come-hither-fanged smirk of a then unknown Keifer Sutherland) turned out to be pretty effective at revitalizing both for the modern day. The result is a punk-inflected fairy tale of male youth in revolt – alluring to teen audiences but suitably shocking to all those grown-ups who just don’t get it, man.

But while main character – the mostly human, Michael (Jason Patric) – feels threatened by David (Keifer Sutherland) and his undead gang, he doesn’t feel so threatened by the only female member, Star (Jami Gertz). This is consistantly the plight of the lesser-spotted female vampire: an object of submissive sexuality compared to the sexual dominance that her male counterparts exude. Moreover, Star’s regaining of her humanity by the end of the film paints her more as a victim to be “saved” from the vampire curse, rather than revel in it as the male gang members are allowed to do. (They’ve got at least another ten years to “party hard, Wayne” before Buffy stakes the shit out of the whole nest, after all.)

This is why The Lost Boys is so ripe for a gender-swapped remake, and it needs to happen soon before the vague afterbuzz of Twilight and The Vampire Diaries has fully settled. I want to see a dangerous, morality-ridden teenage girl gang – fanged and fierce – skulking the Santa Carla Boardwalk at night with a token brown-eyed boy member (he could still be called ‘Star’) to reel in the new, unsuspecting human protagonist (let’s call her ‘Micheala’). Less Bella and Edward and more, uh, Beau and Edythe, I guess.

We’ll need some relatively less famous, young faces keeping in line with the original casting, so let’s have Taissa Farmiga (American Horror Story, The Bling Ring) as our fiesty, vamp-busting heroine ‘Micheala,’ Tyler Posey (Teen Wolf) as our eye-candy ‘Star,’ and Zoe Kravitz (Mad Max: Fury Road, Dope) as our badass leader of the pack, ‘Darcy.’

2. Arsonist’s Daughter

Written by Amy Squire

I would love to see a new film about female writers that doesn’t center on the “woman fights against society’s expectations to become a writer” trope. Instead, it would be refreshing to see the fact that they’re writers taken for granted. Wonder Boys was based on Michael Chabon’s novel of the same name about a writer unable to finish his latest novel as his personal life unravels. In the 2000 original, a middle-aged literary professor (Michael Douglas) gets caught up in a weekend’s misadventure in the company of his troublesome editor Terry Crabtree (Robert Downey Jr.) and young protege James Leer (Toby Maguire). Their capers involve the theft of a piece of Marilyn Monroe memorabilia, a dead dog, and Crabtree’s roving eye for any man he meets.

This all may sound foolish, but a witty script, showing off the imagination and dark side to these characters, elevates the film above the average comedy. This calls for an accomplished cast. In my reimagining, Jodie Foster plays the dry, weed-smoking genius Professor Tripp who wrote her award-winning novel seven years ago and is hounded by her editor, family, and students to produce the long-awaited follow up. After her husband walks out, her misbehaving editor turns up to chase progress. Crabtree would be the most difficult to cast but perhaps Maggie Gyllenhaal could strike the right balance of intelligence and mischief. Mia Wasikowska has the perfect combination of naivety and brilliance to play the seemingly-innocent but prodigal student Leer.

Something of a cult classic, the thought of remaking Wonder Boys seems sacrilege, but who wouldn’t want to see this dream team’s comedy of errors? We need more female-driven comedies, especially ones that don’t find humor in a woman chasing a man. There is a sub-plot based on Tripp’s love-life, but it’s more of a resolution of an existing relationship, than a romantic love story. The fact that the original film went under the radar at the box office could spell success for a reboot. Since the original title wouldn’t work and Wonder Girls sounds patronizing, I would suggest a new title; Arsonist’s Daughter, the name of Tripp’s eponymous debut.

3. Ant-Woman

Written by Robert Wood

It’s guaranteed to be far from the worthiest choice on the list, but in terms of the immediate good a gender-swap would do, I honestly think Ant-Man deserves a mention. The 2015 movie about Paul Rudd’s shrinking superhero was good enough in terms of a modern movie, but was a great, missed opportunity for Marvel’s first female-led film.

I should probably start my case by snuffing out the ever-present fanboy protest – I know and love as much about Marvel superheroes as the next three people combined, and there’s no reason there can’t be an Ant-Woman. Hank Pym has gone by many pseudonyms, ‘Ant-Man’ included, and has shared them with men, women, people of color, alien imposters, and robots. There are even female characters with the same abilities – Stature/Cassie Lang, who was in the movie (without her powers), and The Wasp/Janet van Dyne, who was in the movie (kind of, in flashback, in CGI). The latter is a founding member of the Avengers who has done everything Ant-Man has done “but backwards and in heels” (he also took her name when she was dead for a bit – precedent!)

That’s why Ant-Man could have a female lead, but why should it get one? First of all, because that choice would add something new and interesting to the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Paul Rudd’s “charming fuck-up” portrayal of Scott Lang is fine, but doesn’t bring anything that Chris Pratt, Robert Downey Jr., and Tom Holland don’t have covered. Let a woman add something different to the role – in fact, let a Marvel woman be a fuck-up!

It was announced that Brie Larson will play Captain Marvel, and of course Scarlett Johansson is already a badass Black Widow. Hell, even Ant-Man hinted that Evangeline Lilly will at some point sprout wings as a tough-as-nails Wasp. At least one (probably two) of them will get their own movie soon and enter the Marvel ensemble cast, but there’s not a fuck-up in the bunch. By “fuck-up,” I don’t mean the klutzy-yet-professional woman from a crap rom-com; I mean someone who isn’t immediately good at this, who has made bad decisions they want to atone for, and who can at least deliver their quip allotment in a way that a) we don’t already have and b) includes far more of the audience in the vicarious feeling of agency and ability.

Currently, Marvel superheroes show men (and boys) that you can go from slob/jerk/weakling to hero – that perhaps that’s even how you get to being a hero. That’s a nice message, contextualizing moral behavior as a struggle rather than a quality you automatically possess. Women (and girls), on the other hand, get pre-made badasses who may, in an unguarded moment, reference the appalling tragedy that made them the way they are. Large-scale social change begins with mainstream pop culture and especially with children’s entertainment. If you want more women professionals in business, sports, and STEM in 2036, make more girls in 2016 feel like they could be superheroes.

Who should get the lead role? My first choice would be Fresh Off the Boat’s Constance Wu, a comedic actress who I think could easily pull off the “Oh, God, this now?” that makes Ant-Man fun. Rashida Jones would knock if out of the park as well.

4. The Pursuit of Happyness

Written by Hannah Shoesmith

Will Smith’s portrayal of Christopher Gardener, a Black single father who tackles poverty and homelessness to become a broker, is an honest depiction of the hard struggle it is to be successful. It is a refreshing side of Hollywood where true stories are not whitewashed, where the plight of the Black man trying to succeed in America isn’t devalued or glossed over.

But what if The Pursuit of Happyness had a female lead? What if it were the story of a Black single mother trying to make it as a broker? It is not a new concept that roles written for men have ended up being played on our screens by women. Think Angelina Jolie’s hard-edged character in Salt or Jodie Foster in Flight Plan. The success of this film is down to the honesty of the story. Unlike other biopics, very little was changed from the lived experience of Chris Gardener. Changing the lead from male to female however would expose a deeper, more brutal struggle.

The eventual success of Smith’s character was a hard graft, but what if that character had to also overcome sexism? The dangers a person faces while homeless are tough, but as a woman issues of rape and prostitution are an added danger. There are very little blockbusters that address the stories of Black women within the workplace, or in poverty. It can be perceived by movie big-wigs that there isn’t an audience for these types of films but a single mother’s struggle is probably one of the most relatable stories.

But who would be the perfect leading lady? Even amongst actors of color, there is still hegemony within Hollywood about who gets the roles. Just look at the controversy surrounding Zoe Saldana being cast as Nina Simone. Films such as these are the perfect opportunity to showcase the acting skills of some rising Black female stars. Orange Is The New Black’s Uzo Aduba would be an exceptional lead actress, and we already know she has the ability to captivate an audience and channel emotions.

5. Her(cules)

Written by Alyssa Skinner

Growing up watching Disney film after Disney film where the girl was a beautiful princess (whether from the beginning or not) was so …YAWN. She was always beautiful and soft and sweet and feminine and rescued by Prince Charming. Ugh.

And then there was Mulan. Now, that was my shiz.

Mulan allowed me to see that I did not have to beautiful; I did not have to wait for Prince Charming; I did not have to follow traditional rules; I did not have to be soft, feminine and sweet to be liked or to be successful. I could save the entire country, all on my fucking own. Nowadays, there are a few more strong female leads in Disney productions with recent films like Brave and Frozen, but back in the 1990s, Mulan was the only tale able to set this precedent for me. Perhaps this explains my intense love for the epic. While the current and future female-featured Disney stories (Moana <3) should absolutely continue, how about we remake an oldie but a goodie?

Her(cules): half god, half mortal, full female lead character. Voiced by the sweet and badass, Zendaya, Her(cules) is young and naive but fiercely strong and she doesn’t know her true potential, yet. As an outcast teenage girl, Her(cules) has all the struggles of trying to find her identity and her place in the world. When she finds out she is adopted and goes looking for answers, she learns that she is a descendant from the gods and must become a “true hero” to regain her godliness. To become this hero, she sets out to find a trainer. This prickly motivator and sidekick, Phil(omena), played by the hilarious Amy Schumer, will teach her and guide her.

Through her journeying, Her(cules) stumbles upon and ends up saving Mega from a Centaur. Mega, voiced by Jesse Williams, has the smart-aleck, sarcastic, hair-flipping appeal of a true bad boy. A romance is sparked. Hades, played by Chelsea Peretti, uses this love affair to manipulate Her(cules) out of her powers for 24 hours and in tandem, reveals that Mega actually works for her. In the end, Her(cules) saves her God parents, AND saves Mega’s soul from the undead river of souls by sacrificing herself for him. Her selfless sacrifice restores her godliness which she ultimately chooses to give up to stay with Mega as mortals and live happily ever after and all that jazz.

How often does the female lead character get to save the male love interest via a physical feat? BOOM. A female role model that every little girl can look up to and see that are not waiting for a boy or a crown and a glass slipper. They can dress up as with a Grecian cape and sword for Halloween and know that should they choose, they too can be a true god-like hero.

6. Harriet Potter

Written by Maeve Kelly

Now if there’s one thing that’s hitting the headlines recently, it’s Harry Potter and the ‘Alternative Universe’ Concepts. That is thanks entirely to The Cursed Child, the latest Harry Potter book/film/play/controversy, which presents (amongst other things) multiple alternate realities to the Harry Potter world. Some have pointed out that the play barely passes the Bechdel Test– leaving me (consummate Harry Potter obsessive) to wonder about the level of female interaction in all of these books-come-films.

The Harry Potter series has been applauded in the past for it’s depiction of strong female characters — key of which is, of course, Hermione Granger. Considered the “smartest witch of her age,” Hermione is one of the array of women characters (Ginny, Luna, Molly, Bellatrix, Tonks, Fleur, McGonagall) who prove themselves to have agency, complexities, and flaws throughout the series. J.K. Rowling herself has spoken about the importance of not “marginalizing” women characters, especially within action sequences. So why, then, did Rowling simply not go the whole hog and make Harry a girl?

Quora have previously discussed the concept of a female Harry Potter (suggesting the name ‘Holly Potter’ due to the number of floral names amongst the women in his family), focusing mainly on her relationships with the other characters. Would a romance blossom between her and Ron? Would she be rivals with or friends with Hermione, an equally powerful but arguably less important witch? What would the media pressure that Harry suffers throughout the series do to a young woman? From my perspective, it would be fascinating to see the golden trio re-written with two or even three woman characters at it’s center. This would be instead of Hermione attempting to act as a one-woman-inclusion-machine, representing women, muggleborns, and (more recently) Black people.

The concept of target audiences only buying into what is familiar to them is probably a key reason that Harry was not originally written as a girl. Rowling published under the initials J.K. instead of her first name, Joanne, amongst fears that young boys would not read a book written by a woman. Nevertheless, now that the Harry Potter brand has gained universal fame, it has already proved possible to retrospectively increase diversity in the series (gay Dumbledore and Black Hermione being key examples). Therefore, I think the time is ripe to see Harriet/Holly take to our screens, alongside her platonic best friends, Ron and Hermione. I’d love the next generation to see an angry, neglected, scarred young girl journey through grief, friendship, and loss to become the powerful symbol of the ultimate triumph of good which Harry was for my generation.

Casting young children would be difficult as they are spotted at a young age and grow with the filming, but we could start off by casting Quvenzhané Wallis as either Harriet or Hermione, and work from there.

See also at Bitch Flicks:

A Fragile Masculinity: Gender-Swapping Male Characters
Top 10 Supheroes Who are Better as Superheroines
Top 10 Superheroines Who Deserve Their Own Movies
Top 10 Superheroine Movies that Need a Reboot
Top 10 Villainesses Who Deserve Their Own Movies

Fanny Pack was created to raise awareness surrounding gender inequality and the simple fact that it still exists today. Fanny Pack consists of a team of writers that deliver valuable content to the wider discussion, whilst inspiring more people to read and write.

How Feminist Is ‘Beauty and the Beast’?

Belle saves the Beast – not just physically by breaking the spell, but emotionally and psychologically by changing his behavior and smoothing his sharp edges. … Both of them begin as loners and societal misfits, but they end as the perfect fit in each other’s lives. However, this nice, mushy message comes at a cost: Belle’s agency as a character. …When we are introduced to Belle she has no more growing left to do in this film other than learn to be less judgmental and find a suitable husband.

This guest post written by Hannah Collins is an edited version that originally appeared at Fanny Pack. It is cross-posted with permission.

Based on the classic French fairy tale and the 1946 French film, Le Belle at la Bete, Disney’s Beauty and the Beast (1991) is one of the most critically acclaimed and universally loved in the Princess catalogue. The story revolves around the titular ‘Beast’ – a vain and selfish Prince who is transformed into a monstrous animal by an enchantress as punishment for his flaws – and Belle (the ‘Beauty’), a kind and intelligent girl whom he imprisons in the hope that she might help break the spell put on him. Despite his poor anger-management skills (and inability to use cutlery) Belle slowly begins to tame the Beast’s temperament and work her way into his heart. But, before she can return his feelings and make him human again, an angry mob from her village led by the villainous Gaston – desperate for Belle’s hand in marriage – threaten to destroy everything.

As usual, I’ll be using six key questions to filter the film’s feminist/anti-feminist messages through and ultimately give it a ‘Positive,’ ‘Neutral,’ or ‘Negative’ stamp on it at the end. So without further ado, let’s see how Disney’s sixth official Princess movie holds up.

Belle
Mrs. Potts
The old beggar woman/enchantress
The feather duster maid (called ‘Babette’)
The Wardrobe (called ‘Madame de la Grand Bouche’, which translates to ‘Madame Big Mouth’. Nice.)
The Triplets (called the ‘Bimbettes’… Hmm.)

Total: 8 principle female characters (with speaking parts) compared to 11 principle male characters (with speaking parts).

In a word, no. And this is a good break with tradition, as nearly every Princess movie so far from Snow White, to Cinderella, to Sleeping Beauty, to The Little Mermaid have had female villains motivated solely by vacuous jealousy.

Although the Prince/Beast is the perceived villain to begin with in Beauty and the Beast, the real villain is Belle’s relentless pursuer, Gaston – clearly the more beastly of the two, personality-wise.

Apart from Mrs. Potts, who acts as a surrogate matriarchal figure to just about everyone, Belle disappointingly has very little interactions with any other female character. All of her close allies – her father, the Beast, Cogsworth, and Lumiere – are male, through a combination of circumstance and choice.

This serves subliminally to reinforce Belle’s ‘otherness’ as she seems unable and/or unwilling to maintain relationships with others of her gender. Unfortunately, this is also reflected across the rest of the film’s female characters, with the tightest bonds of friendship being between men: Gaston and LeFou; and Lumiere and Cogsworth.

For the final two-thirds of the film the answer to this is Belle, with her father, Maurice, keeping things barreling along through the first act. Yet, even when Belle does become the driving force of the plot, she doesn’t actually attract the majority of the viewer’s emotional investment. That’s because most of this investment is funneled into the Beast’s quest to regain his humanity instead.

At the start of the film, Belle flitters around a field belting out a song about “wanting so much more than this provincial life,” yet her unfalteringly charismatic character doesn’t develop one bit throughout the story. Geographically-speaking, she also only ends up living what can’t be more than a few miles away from the home she dreamed of travelling far away from. Meanwhile, the Beast’s character enjoys a dramatically shifting arc that also bears the weight of the entire story’s moral as an added bonus. In this respect, Belle – the eponymous princess of this supposed Princess-oriented movie – is effectively side-lined in her own film.

If toxic masculinity took cartoon form, it would look like Gaston. While Belle is a flawed but emphatically feminist heroine, Gaston is a perfect send-up of laddish, brutish, and gross chauvinism. His interactions with her are all deliberately sexist, offensive, vile, and stupid – i.e. the perfect counter-balance to Belle’s pragmatism, wit, and intelligence. Gaston’s attraction to Belle is based firstly on her obvious good looks, and secondly because her constant rejection of him turns his failing courtship of her into a game, and as a proud hunter who “uses antlers in all of his decorating,” you know that Gaston basically just sees her as little more than another deer to chase, shoot, sling over his back, and carry home to become another trophy over his fireplace.

[youtube_sc url=”https://youtu.be/wNlpuD42_BM”]

During his solo song (sung in that flawless baritone), we’re given a handy checklist of things to have and achieve before any self-respecting ‘man’s man’ can be counted as worthy:

Body hair. A lot of it.
Spitting. Be good at it.
Hunting. Do it often.
Using animals as decoration. Everywhere.
Eating 4 dozen raw eggs to become the “size of a barge.”
Drinking. All the time.
Chess (although because being smart is basically useless, the only way to win is by slapping the board away from your oppenent.)
Stomping around in boots. No, really – go out and buy some, now.

With his square jaw, bulging muscles, and operatically-deep voice, Gaston is kind of like a Disney prince gone wrong. And Belle, with all her well-developed intellect, seems to be the only person to call this out. Even her father says that he “seems handsome” and suggests Belle should give him a chance in the romance department. The rest of the town – especially his loyal lackey, LeFou, and the horny triplets – treat Gaston like the village hero, never questioning his judgment, and happy to attend an impromptu wedding for he and Belle (before she’s even agreed to it) or sing an ode to his chest hair in the tavern, or later on be led blindly on a witch hunt to kill the Beast he showed them in a “magic mirror.”

The Beast on the other hand, with his anger problems, selfishness, and emotional unavailability is someone who starts off in a similar place to Gaston – albeit minus the gushing self-confidence. He doesn’t even call Belle by her name to begin with, just “the girl.” The difference between he and Gaston is that rather than forcing himself upon her, the Beast allows himself to be changed for the better by Belle, thus turning himself into a man worthy of her love. As Gaston becomes more and more incensed and frenzied to the point of trying to blackmail Belle into marrying him, the Beast learns to control his anger and becomes more docile and open to the needs of others until he earns rather than wins her affections.

The ultimate proof of his transformation comes when he allows Belle to leave the castle to attend to her sick father at the expense of him being able to break the spell. (Although, seeing how close the town and castle seem to be, there’s no reason he should have assumed Belle couldn’t have popped back to the castle later on…)

Most of Belle’s characteristics fit the usual wish list for Disney Princesses we’ve encountered so far: beauty, charm, kindness, a good set of pipes, and a touch of wistful longing for “something more” than the life they’re trapped in. But Belle has another trick up her puffy dress sleeves: intellectualism. Like our previous heroine, Ariel, Belle is curious about the world around her. The difference here is that Belle has been able to satiate her curiosity with books, turning her into an imaginative, ambitious, sharp-witted, and worldly heroine.

As I mentioned previously, the downside to all this glowing perfection is that Belle seems to have done all her character development off-screen, but she also has another severe weakness: Her heightened intelligence has given her one hell of a superiority complex.

At the start she sings about her “little town, full of little people” and is bored by the routine of everyone else’s lives. She laments that no one reads and imagines more like she does. Similarly, the rest of the town look down on her for being intellectual and “weird.”

During this opening number we see a woman struggling with a comical amount of children – literally juggling babies in her arms – while desperately trying to buy some eggs. Meanwhile, Belle sails past on the back of a cart, smiling and singing about the joy of reading – unburdened by the troubles of being a working-class mother. This is the best insight we get into Belle’s P.O.V: All sweetness and pleasantries on the outside, but internally judging the other women around her who have slavishly “given up” on any hope of independence or self-empowerment.

Belle’s quest for self-betterment is both her greatest strength and weakness. She is presented to young girls watching the film as a woman ahead of her time – a model early feminist, before the term was even invented, who dreams of living life beyond her designated place in society. Yet, by doing so, she can’t help but dole out pity to the other women around her who were not able to choose to live their lives in the way that she has so luckily been able to. In some ways, Belle is the epitome of some of the feminist movement’s problems: white, elitist, and judgmental. And also kind of a hypocrite – after all, let’s not forget that the only two books we see Belle actually engaged with are romance stories – one (pictured below) she reads a passage from referencing “Prince Charming” and the other is Romeo and Juliet. Maybe her desires aren’t quite as wildly different from everyone else’s as she might wish.

Yes, I know. How can one of Disney’s foremost feminist heroines be merely a ‘Neutral’ in terms of gender representation? Hear me out.

The core philosophy of Beauty and the Beast is to love what’s inside of someone rather than just what’s on the outside. This makes it the first time a Disney Princess film has broken the nonsensical ‘love at first sight’ BS that has been at the heart of every previous story – and this is where most of its plus points come from. Belle saves the Beast – not just physically by breaking the spell, but emotionally and psychologically by changing his behavior and smoothing his sharp edges. He begins as a self-loathing, literal monster, and ends up as a well-rounded man who literally and figuratively reclaims his humanity thanks to Belle. Belle, meanwhile, is rewarded with the one thing she (secretly) always longed for: someone who truly understands her. Both of them begin as loners and societal misfits, but they end as the perfect fit in each other’s lives.

However, this nice, mushy message comes at a cost: Belle’s agency as a character. As I’ve established, when we are introduced to Belle she has no more growing left to do in this film other than learn to be less judgmental and find a suitable husband. In fact, I was left feeling a little cheated by the end. The opening, uplifting number makes us anticipate the journey of a modern woman ready to go globe-trotting… only to lead down the same well-trodden path of her finding the nearest castle and Prince to hook up with and stay put in his library for the rest of her life.

In the end, Belle is actually demoted to the usual passive ‘Prince’ role – a one-note hero who swoops in to save the day in the nick of time, leaving the Beast fulfilling the lead, active ‘Princess’ role. This, ultimately, is why what should have been a ‘Positive’ film for gender representation, has sadly balanced out into a ‘Neutral’ one instead.

Hannah Collins is a London-born writer and illustrator fascinated by the intersection between pop/visual culture and feminism. On the blogging scene, Hannah has attracted over 1 million readers to her blog on gender representation in pop culture. By day, she is currently a freelance illustrator for children’s books and comics, and by night (and any other available hour) she contributes to the Cosmic Anvil and Fanny Pack blogs, as well as her own.

Disney’s ‘The Lion King’: Why We Are the Hyenas

By softening hyena matriarchy, however, Disney accurately represents the aspirations of human feminists: Shenzi, Banzai, and Ed joke around and work together in casual solidarity. Shenzi is confident in her opinions and never belittled for this, nor is her acceptance conditional on romantic availability.

Written by Brigit McCone.

“I’ve always been a person who asks questions, who demands an explanation, which is partly why I was getting into trouble, because I guess as a woman I was supposed to be seen and not heard” – Dr. Wangari Maathai

Though Bitch Flicks has published an interesting analysis of gender in The Lion King by Feminist Disney, it neglects one important point: we are clearly the hyenas. Specifically, we’re Disney hyenas. Actual hyenas, according to Professor Kay Holekamp (who sounds like a real-life version of hyena-studying, dinosaur-fighting badass Dr. Sarah Harding, from Michael Crichton’s The Lost World) hilariously resemble an antifeminist’s nightmare – the females having evolved “pseudopenises” (peniform clitorises) that make mating without consent impossible, and enable the flushing out of unwanted sperm after recreational sex, the weaker males are reduced to whimpering, head-bobbing appeasement of the hierarchic hyena matriarchy. Disney may be aware of this, depicting Whoopi Goldberg’s Shenzi as the most vocal and assertive hyena. By softening hyena matriarchy, however, Disney accurately represents the aspirations of human feminists: Shenzi, Banzai, and Ed joke around and work together in casual solidarity. Shenzi is confident in her opinions and never belittled for this, nor is her acceptance conditional on romantic availability. Disney gave us the feminist ideal, but coded her as evil (*cough* Ursula).

There’s more. Disney’s hyenas constantly consult each other in decision-making. Their instinctive anti-authoritarianism is displayed when Scar proposes the assassination of Mufasa. Instead of scheming to crown Shenzi as Hyena Queen, the hyenas gleefully chant, “No king! No king! Lalalalalaaala!” understanding hierarchy as inherently oppressive. Shenzi has a clear concept of the need for solidarity to achieve progress, preventing Banzai and Ed from fighting each other, since internal divisions leave them “dangling at the bottom of the food chain.” Ed is non-verbal and has a visible intellectual disability. We can criticize this representation, but consider what it says about the hyenas: Ed’s buddies patiently decode his non-verbal communications and consult his opinion regularly, empowering him to develop to his full potential. Like Shenzi’s gender, Ed’s disability is never mentioned by the hyenas, as irrelevant to his personhood (hyenahood?). The creepily eugenic conformity of the lions, by contrast, is broken only by Scar’s darker-furred outsider, mockingly named after his facial disfigurement. Shenzi and Banzai have a point: man, are they ugly.

The hyenas adopt the spurned Scar as “one of us, our pal,” illustrating their openness to interspecies alliance. Simba heroically uses his closest interspecies friends, Timon and Pumbaa, as “live bait” without blinking. While the issue of Nala feeding on lovable supporting characters is raised by Timon’s “she wants to eat him, and everybody’s OK with this?!” it gets no reply but “relax, Timon.” Yet, the hyenas’ willingness to eat other species is the sole marker of their villainy, apart from sarcastic humor and bad puns, while the lions’ heroism is confirmed only by auspicious weather. All things considered, Disney is teaching your children that there is no greater threat to natural justice than an egalitarian democratic collective with inclusive gender and disability policies.

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JvKIWjnEPNY”]

“You can’t expect to wield supreme executive power, just because some babbling baboon rubbed juice on your head!”

“A poor person will cut their last tree to cook what may be their last meal. They’re not worried about tomorrow, they’re worried about today.” – Dr. Wangari Maathai

Scar deeply resents the lion culture of glorified strength and justified hierarchy that marginalizes him, but he is unable to think outside of it, only to imagine himself empowered by becoming its leader. Secure in his cultural supremacy, Scar interprets the Hyena Clan’s incomprehension of hierarchy as symptomatic of weakness and idiocy – “it’s clear from your vacant expressions, the lights are not all on upstairs, but we’re talking kings and successions, even you can’t be caught unawares!” – recalling patronizing settler interpretations of Native American democracy as “original innocence” rather than cultural sophistication. The tragedy of The Lion King is that the hyenas’ egalitarian clan is driven by hunger to abandon its principles, modeling itself on the very social order that is oppressing it. Villainous showstopper “Be Prepared” depicts a crowd of animals pledging loyalty to a lion on a rock pedestal, just like the heroic “Circle of Life” opening anthem. Disney downplays this blatant similarity by casting Scar’s ceremony as a Nazi (feminazi?) rally. Classic Godwin’s Law: if you can’t prove your heroes are better than your villains without putting Nazi iconography in your kids’ cartoon, you lose this argument. But the greater question is, are we Scar or are we Shenzi? Do feminist critics want to see Nala and Sarabi running the Pride, as role models for young girls, or do we want to promote egalitarian democracy?

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XkU23m6yX04″]

Scar’s not bossy, he’s the boss

“It amazes me now, in retrospect, to see how people can hide your history and can give you a complete blackout on who you are and what your people have gone through” – Dr. Wangari Maathai

In 1688, Aphra Behn published Oroonoko, having visited Surinam’s plantations as a young woman. A staunch Royalist, Behn’s novella portrays the enslavement of an African prince, whose “honor”, “rising and Roman” nose, “great soul,” and “noble” features code him as “naturally” aristocratic. It is therefore a terrible injustice for Prince Oroonoko, who oversees the traffic of slaves in his native land, to be himself enslaved. It makes surreal reading: Aphra Behn is colorblind, not because she is so progressive, but because she is so extremely conservative that she does not require race to justify systematic economic exploitation. The anti-aristocratic American Dream created the need for systemic racism, as the only alternative to dismantling exploitation. Nowadays, 20th century globalization has moved the marker of hierarchy again, from “civilized race” to “developed nation.”

The Lion King is, therefore, a thoroughly modern myth, because its anxieties are all geographical, centered on defending borders against starving masses. Sure, the magnificently posh James Earl Jones can voice Mufasa, King of the Beasts, but the Hyena Clan is ghetto. The Hyena Clan is third world. Hyenas are huddled masses, yearning to breathe free. Hyenas look like this, caricatures of “natural” Irish barbarity created in response to waves of desperate immigrants fleeing the catastrophic aftermath of the largely manmade Irish Famine (“clan” is Gaelic for “family,” fact fans). Hyenas, when they breach the borders of the Pride Lands, automatically become “slobbering, mangy, stupid poachers.” Illegal aliens, in other words. Cheech Marin’s Banzai is the threatening flipside to his patronized Tito in Oliver & Company. You will observe, too, that Simba and Nala’s assumed entitlement to visit hyena territory does not lead them to reconsider the hyenas’ right to enter the Pride Lands.

"I bet they sell postcards!" — “I bet they sell postcards!”

“‘Human beings’ is a strange species because sometimes it turns on itself, and destroys itself” – Dr. Wangari Maathai

The key to the film’s worldview comes after Scar and the hyenas take power. The entire Pride Lands are revealed to have descended into a version of the hyenas’ bleak and blighted elephant graveyard. Having associated hyenas with ghettoes and developing nations, by narrative role as much as voice coding, The Lion King reassures viewers that the hyenas’ hunger is not, after all, the result of their exclusion and segregation by lions. Oh no. Hunger is a natural, permanent feature of hyenas, which would infect the Pride Lands if they weren’t segregated. As Banzai grumbles “I thought things were bad under Mufasa,” the comforting vindication of the lions’ status quo is complete: even hyenas feel worse off when hyenas are given equal opportunities. Hyenas should be segregated because they’re too hungry; they’re too hungry because they’re segregated. It’s the Circular Reasoning of Life, and it moves us all. Contrast Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s assessment of ghettoes: “The slums are the handiwork of a vicious system of the white society; Negroes live in them, but they do not make them, any more than a prisoner makes a prison.” Contrast activist Dot Keet’s assessment of the African food crisis: “the programmes of the IMF and the World Bank undermined agriculture in many African countries, because they forbid African governments to give subsidies, and support, and marketing facilities to small producers, and they also undermined local production through forcing open these local economies.”

There’s a lot to be said for Adam Smith’s theory of free trade; one thing to be said is that free movement of labor is a fundamental market force. Employers move in search of lower wages, workers move in search of higher wages; supply and demand achieve equilibrium. A free trade agreement with any country cannot be justified without open borders with that country. Yet, as the Euro-American stranglehold on leadership of the IMF and World Bank shows, we support democracy within nations, but enforce plutocracy internationally. A quick look at Hollywood’s disproportionate underrepresentation of African and Asian stories indicates that global culture is shaped by the economic imperative to erase and dehumanize the developing world, just as it was once by the economic imperative to erase and dehumanize enslaved races, colonized “savages” (“Shenzi” is Swahili for “savage,” fact fans) or peasant “commoners.” At its heart, The Lion King is a fuzzy animal allegory justifying global inequality. Aside from weeping children in charity ads, which discourage foreign direct investment, The Lion King is one of the few African images that American and European children are exposed to, with American-voiced Mufasa justifying his dominance over “everything the light touches” because his fattened corpse may eventually fertilize grass for antelopes. A few of them.

"And that's called trickle-down economics, young Simba" — “And that’s called trickle-down economics, young Simba”

“Instead of trickling down, go to them and say, ‘maybe there should be a trickle up'” – Dr. Wangari Maathai

In 1977, following reports by rural Kenyan women that their streams were drying up, their food supply becoming less secure and firewood growing scarce, Professor Wangari Maathai founded the Green Belt Movement on behalf of the National Council of Women of Kenya. Through programs of tree-planting, open seminars in civic and environmental development, support for locally owned businesses and promotion of “reduce, reuse and recycle,” significant progress was made in transitioning to a model of sustainable development, food security and environmental protection. In 2004, Dr. Wangari Maathai was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for her tireless work to empower local leadership, female leadership and environmental stewardship. So, the actual devastation of Kenya was tackled, not by a lion’s roar, but by grassroots activism, community solidarity and the empowerment of women and other marginalized groups; by viewing poverty and environmental degradation as linked, rather than competing concerns. Does that sound more like the philosophy of Disney’s lions, or their hyenas?

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=koMunNH1J3Y”]

“Changing the top if you don’t have the grassroots is almost impossible” – Dr. Wangari Maathai

Now, I’m not advocating ripping our leaders apart, unless that’s an African predator metaphor for dismantling their institutions and redistributing their power. But would Shenzi, mascot of sarcastic intersectional feminists everywhere, abandon her Hyena Clan to be an honorary lion? No, no, and a thousand times no, my fellow hyena bitches. That is not how real hyenas roll. So, go ahead. Rewatch The Lion King. Revel in its lush, hand-drawn animation, epic sweep and stirring music. Celebrate Julie Taymor’s Tony awards, and her bringing much-needed normalization (a.k.a. “diversity”) to Broadway with the triumphant stage adaptation’s Black cast. But don’t you ever, for one second, forget that we’re the hyenas. Until hyenas have their own historians, tales of the hunt shall always glorify the lions. No king! No king! Lalalalalaaala!!

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DFtBjc1dz7w”]

See also at Bitch Flicks: “Ten Documentaries About Political Women”

Brigit McCone cries when Mufasa dies. Every bloody time. She writes and directs short films, radio dramas and The Erotic Adventures of Vivica (as Voluptua von Temptitillatrix). Her hobbies include doodling and clicking this link.

Pixar’s ‘Inside Out’ Provides Long-Term Joy

As for ‘Inside Out,’ it gives us not one female protagonist, but three – Riley, Joy, and Sadness – and NONE of them are princesses! And, minor criticisms aside, the film is a true joy to watch – and, like deeply felt joy – it has its moments of hilarity, of reflection, of nostalgia, and, yes, of sadness too.

This guest post by Natalie Wilson previously appeared at Skirt Collective and is cross-posted with permission.

Inside Out is an excellent addition to the Pixar canon, one that, like the equally amazing Brave, has female characters front and center. A coming-of-age story about Riley, a young tween forced to leave her beloved Minnesota, the film departs from the typical stories about girlhood – stories that often focus, in soppy-romantic-teen-angsty fashion on L-O-V-E at the expense of character development and female friendship. Some of these films are good (yes, I admit to liking The Notebook), some are rather great (I sobbed my face off at The Fault in Our Stars), and some make me feel like spewing vomit Exorcist-style (Breaking Dawn). Inside Out is in a league of its own, however – hardly surprising given the unstoppable Amy Poehler is the lead voice.

Focusing mainly on the inner-workings of Riley’s brain, the film is a coming-to-emotional-maturity story featuring Riley’s main emotions – Joy (Amy Poehler), Fear (Bill Hader), Anger (Lewis Black), Disgust (Mindy Kaling) and Sadness (Phyllis Smith). These emotions run “Headquarters” – the part of Riley’s brain that creates the “core memories” making up her identity. The unflappable and infectious Joy believes herself to be Riley’s most important emotion, but when the usually happy Riley goes into a tailspin after the family’s move to San Francisco, havoc erupts at “Emotion Headquarters”causing Joy and Sadness to embark on a journey through Riley’s brain in hopes of salvaging her once happy, confident personality.

The movie is brimming with clever nods to how we think about thinking (Riley’s brain includes a “Train of Thought”), pop-psychology (trouble-making memories and thoughts get taken to the prison-like subconscious), and imaginary friends (in the form of Bing-Bong). It is perhaps Pixar’s deepest film, a laugh- and tear-fueled lesson about the key role emotions and our thoughts about them play in our lives. Nope, this is not the id-filled fun of Toy Story, or the ego-pumping race of Cars, but a super-ego tinged exploration of how our emotions will control us if we don’t get control of them.

Most of the movie takes place within the landscape of Riley’s mind, allowing for witty forays into the dream production center (replete with its “reality distortion filter”), inventive exploration of abstract thought (characterized as a “danger zone”), and adroit usage of those commercial ear-worms that take-over one’s brain. The scenes set in real-world San Francisco are similarly delightful, mocking the ire Riley feels when broccoli pizza is the only choice on the menu, evoking the horrors of being the new kid at school, and capturing the frustrations of trying to fit one’s old life into a new house.

The film’s use of emotion and memory is inventive and ingenious, ultimately offering a lesson about the importance of emotional diversity (hint: Joy, as it turns out, is not quite as important as she thinks). Adding to the poignancy of the emotional rollercoaster ride (my daughter named it “the saddest kids movie ever”), is the incredible cast of voice actors. Joy is reminiscent of Poehler’s ever-positive Parks and Rec character, while Phyllis Smith (from The Office) stands out ingeniously as Sadness, playing her blue-bodied character with the palpable dreary, depressive ennui that all of us (except Leslie Knope perhaps) experience at some point or another.

If I have a quibble with the film, it would be with its gendering of emotions. While it is hard to portray genderless characters to an audience still embroiled in the gender binary, some slight changes could have nudged the film towards a more gender-fluid narrative. Riley’s emotions are presented as a mixture of female (Joy, Sadness, Disgust) and male (Anger and Fear). This gendering of her emotions nods to the “unfixedness” of gender pre-puberty, especially as all the adults (most notably, her mom and dad) are presented as having emotions that match their sex/gender (and the dad’s are not only male, but think in sports terms!).

The end of the film, which includes a look inside the brains of various characters, accords with this view – that once someone moves beyond puberty into the realm of adulthood, one’s emotions “match” the sex/gender of the person. While this is a minor criticism of an otherwise great film, it could have been easily remedied by not stereotypically displaying the inner minds of post-puberty characters. I get it, stereotypes are a quick and fast route to comedy, but they also lead us to dead-end either/or thinking. One other beef is that Riley’s mom (voiced by Diane Lane) doesn’t seem to have a job. No, not ALL women have to have jobs/careers, and NOOOOOOOOOOOOO I am not saying that being a mother is not a more-than-full-time, important job — what I am questioning is a world in which dads are still depicted as the major breadwinners and also often get to be “good dads” to boot, while moms are more often “just moms.” Perhaps these gender-conforming aspects of the film can be partially put down to what one reviewer calls “the Mouse’s boot” on Pixar’s neck – or, in other words, the fact that Disney now owns Pixar. Yet, while Pixar admittedly gave us a marvelous run of inventive movies that put the tried-and-true princess narratives to shame, they were not without their gender problems, with Brave standing out as the most feminist in its exploration of gender confines that bind.

As for Inside Out, it gives us not one female protagonist, but three – Riley, Joy, and Sadness – and NONE of them are princesses! And, minor criticisms aside, the film is a true joy to watch – and, like deeply felt joy – it has its moments of hilarity, of reflection, of nostalgia, and, yes, of sadness too. I agree with this review, that “One viewing is nowhere near enough to appreciate the extraordinary level of detail lavished on this world.”

So see it and see it again, my many-emotioned friends, and take all your emotions with you, even the non-gender conforming ones!

Natalie Wilson teaches women’s studies and literature at California State University, San Marcos. She is the author of Seduced by Twilight and blogs for Ms., Girl with Pen and Bitch Flicks.

Call For Writers: Bad Mothers

Few human beings are quite so stigmatized as bad mothers. Despite the fact that motherhood is demanded of women as an intrinsic part of the female experience, women who struggle with motherhood are seen and depicted as the worst kind of scum. No failure, it seems, is as great as that of a woman who is bad at being a mom…or, worse yet, who decides after having children that she no longer wants to be a mother.

Our theme week for May 2015 will be Bad Mothers.

Despite the fact that it’s commonplace and borderline acceptable for a father to abandon his children, all manner of blame and shame are heaped at the feet of the smothering, neglectful, or the abandoning mother. The cultural narrative would have us believe that she is the cause of serial killers (Dexter, Psycho), all forms of misogyny, wars, and even the collapse of the heteronormative nuclear family. While woman are defined by motherhood and shoulder intense, unrealistic burdens, there is little appreciation or acknowledgement for the role itself and the women who inhabit it.

Not only that, but the trope of the “wicked stepmother” is one of the worst kinds of stereotypes for motherhood. The stepmother is villainized as an unnatural simulation of a mother who can’t be trusted because she isn’t the real thing. Disney has proliferated this damaging trope, insisting that giving birth to a person is the only way to truly claim motherhood.

Though few and far between, there are some nuanced and even sympathetic representations of women who struggle with the ceaseless demands of motherhood. The Babadook is a fantastic example, and The Hours…tries.

Help us illuminate the stories of women who are bad mothers. Let’s dissect this cultural narrative that scoffs at and punishes women for their transgressions against the seemingly sacred institution of motherhood.

Feel free to use the examples below to inspire your writing on this subject, or choose your own source material.

We’d like to avoid as much overlap as possible for this theme, so get your proposals in early if you know which film you’d like to write about. We accept both original pieces and cross-posts, and we respond to queries within a week.

Most of our pieces are between 1,000 and 2,000 words, and include links and images. Please send your piece as a Microsoft Word document to btchflcks[at]gmail[dot]com, including links to all images, and include a 2- to 3-sentence bio.

If you have written for us before, please indicate that in your proposal, and if not, send a writing sample if possible.

Please be familiar with our publication and look over recent and popular posts to get an idea of Bitch Flicks’ style and purpose. We encourage writers to use our search function to see if your topic has been written about before, and link when appropriate (hyperlinks to sources are welcome, as well).

The final due date for these submissions is Friday, May 22 by midnight.

The Killing

The Babadook

Precious

Carrie

American Horror Story

Beloved

Dexter

Psycho

The Grifters

Bates Motel

The Graduate

Cinderella

Ever After

Game of Thrones

The Shipping News

Once

Throw Mama From the Train

Revenge

The Darjeeling Express

The Hours

Snow White

Grey’s Anatomy

Esmeralda in Disney’s ‘The Hunchback of Notre Dame’

Esmeralda is a multi-faceted female character who deserves more attention, especially as she has been denied Disney Princess status. There has been little news about it since 2013, and like the stage musical, it seems to have been shelved, or at least is still being worked, and reworked, upon. Certainly, before they can premiere or re-premiere, these pieces need work in regard to racial sensitivity. As someone who has followed the progress of Disney’s stage musical, I know that small steps have been taken, such as the inclusion of the word “Roma,” in the stage musical, though the word “Gypsy” is still offensively used much more frequently.

Written by Jackson Adler.

As announced yesterday, April 6, Paper Mill Playhouse’s production of Disney’s stage musical The Hunchback of Notre Dame will not be transferred to Broadway. This news has come only two days before the International Day of the Roma on April 8. “Roma” describes many different groups of people of similar ethnic and cultural origin, specifically who immigrated under persecution from Northern India into Europe, and who have pejoratively been called “Gypsies,” due to the inaccurate belief that they originated in Egypt. Roma play a large part in Victor Hugo’s novel and in Disney’s film and stage musical.

The stage musical is a loose adaptation of Disney’s animated movie musical, which in turn is a very loose adaptation of Victor Hugo’s novel, Notre Dame De Paris. The stage musical was workshopped in New York, made into a full production in Germany, recently re-imagined and put up at La Jolla Playhouse in California, and then transferred to and altered at Paper Mill Playhouse. The animated film “The Hunchback of Notre Dame” is more explicit in adult themes than many of Disney’s other films. Among its adult themes, it addresses race, racial discrimination, and even the subject of genocide, all in regard to Roma. As Roma and their history often face erasure, especially in the regard to the genocide of Roma both during and prior to World War II and The Holocaust, it is important that Roma be positively, respectfully, and more often depicted in the media, and for racism against them to be thoroughly and accurately addressed.

Esmeralda in Disney's animated film The Hunchback of Notre Dame — Esmeralda in Disney’s animated film *The Hunchback of Notre Dame*

Unlike Hugo’s novel, which villainizes Roma, Disney attempts to dispel some of the negative stereotypes surrounding Roma, and is definitely against physical violence in regard to them. However, Disney’s attempts at an anti-racist message are undermined by various aspects of its own film, including, but certainly not limited to, its use of the racial slur “Gypsy” throughout the film by both villains and protagonists, and by the overt sexualization of Esmeralda, the musical’s leading lady. Unlike in Hugo’s novel, Disney’s Esmeralda was not just raised by but is ethnically Roma, and is also an independent and multi-faceted female character. Though vocal about the rights of her people and the rights of others, Esmeralda does not, nor does any other character, point out to the villains and the audience that “Gypsy” is a racial slur, and nor, have I found in the film, are the words “Roma” or “Romani” ever used. Though a woman having sexual autonomy is a positive message, Disney has historically sexualized Women of Color, especially in the 1990s, and in ways that it has not sexualized its White female characters. This reinforces rape culture with the harmful message that White women need to remain “pure” and Women of Color can be lusted after and pursued sexually, specifically by White men, without constraint.

Though the villain Frollo’s sexual harassment of Esmeralda is depicted as wrong, White Captain of the Guard Phoebus also lusts after her. In their first scene together, Phoebus walks a fine line between sexual harassment and flirtation in his comments to Esmeralda. In the scene, she feels threatened by him, afraid he will arrest or hurt her. When it becomes clear that Phoebus came to talk to Esmeralda due to romantic and sexual interest, she oddly sees this as nonthreatening and becomes less defensive, despite her people’s history of being sexually assaulted, enslaved, fetishized, and marginalized by White men. Eventually, Esmeralda and Phoebus become a romantic couple. In the original novel, Phoebus uses Esmeralda as a sexual conquest and later oversees her unjust execution, with the “real” tragedy being that she turns out to not be ethnically Roma after all, and not that such violence and racism is inherently wrong. The Disney film and the stage musical end Phoebus’ character arc with him standing up for Esmeralda and her people in the face of violence, persecution, and genocide. For being anti-genocide, Phoebus is problematically rewarded with a relationship with Esmeralda. The fact that Disney’s stance of being anti-rape and anti-genocide of People of Color was considered progressive in the 1990s, and even considered progressive today, is incredibly sad. Erasure, micro-aggressions, and fetishization are also acts of violence, and set the stage for more overt forms of violence to be carried out and tolerated in the first place.

Esmeralda and Phoebus at the end of the film.

Though leading man Quasimodo is also Roma, he is problematically drawn as White-passing, looking little like his parents, who are depicted at the beginning of the film. Quasimodo has a hunched back and other rare physical features, and through his character the film emphasizes that a person’s character is more important than their physical appearance. In light of this message, there are continued arguments in Disney fandom about how Quasimodo “deserved” Esmeralda more than Phoebus, which often unintentionally objectifies Esmeralda even further as a “reward.” It is also problematic that the “looks don’t matter” message is written beside a message of racial tolerance, as this encourages the audience to “not see race” or “look past race,” as if non-White ethnicities are flaws to be “looked past,” or ignored and left unseen. If a White person adopts the label of being “colorblind,” it often silences any argument in opposition to when they say or do something racist, such as sexualizing and fetishizing People of Color, as Disney and its character Phoebus do in regard to Esmeralda.

It was announced in 2013 that Disney was in “talks” to make a TV show/miniseries of the story of The Hunchback of Notre Dame from Esmeralda’s point of view. More media from the perspective of Women of Color certainly need to be made, and positive representation of Roma is definitely lacking. Esmeralda is a multi-faceted female character who deserves more attention, especially as she has been denied Disney Princess status. There has been little news about it since 2013, and like the stage musical, it seems to have been shelved, or at least is still being worked, and reworked, upon. Certainly, before they can premiere or re-premiere, these pieces need work in regard to racial sensitivity. As someone who has followed the progress of Disney’s stage musical, I know that small steps have been taken, such as the inclusion of the word “Roma,” in the stage musical, though the word “Gypsy” is still offensively used much more frequently.

Ciara Renée as Esmeralda in Disney's stage musical The Hunchback of Notre Dame — Ciara Renée as Esmeralda in Disney’s stage musical *The Hunchback of Notre Dame*

After casting notices stating that Disney was looking for someone “exotic” (fetishization much?) to play Esmeralda were released, talented mixed-race Black actress Ciara Renée was cast as Esmeralda, and played her both at La Jolla Playhouse and Paper Mill Playhouse. Seeing a Black woman sing “God Help The Outcasts” and “Someday” during the #blacklivesmatter movement certainly makes the subject of race more tangible to a contemporary American audience, and yet racial minorities and marginalized groups, dubbed “outcasts” by the White male team behind Disney’s musical, are not interchangeable, nor does each group face the same kind of struggles and discrimination as another. Disney Theatrical Productions has a history of seeing non-White races as interchangeable, as seen in its ethnically diverse casting of Aladdin, which problematically was completely devoid of Arab and Arab-American performers. Though the argument can be made that casting a Person of Color of a different ethnicity than the Character of Color they are to portray, whether in the case of Esmeralda or Aladdin and Jasmine, is arguably better than White-washing the character, especially as there are so few theatrical roles written for People of Color, especially Women of Color, Disney certainly needs to learn the specific histories and challenges faced by the ethnic groups it attempts to depict if it is going to thoroughly, accurately, and respectfully address race and racism.

The music of Disney’s The Hunchback of Notre Dame is beautiful, and the actors who have been cast in its various incarnations have all been extremely talented. The subjects the story addresses need to be addressed, both for child and adult audience members. It is for these reasons that it is sad that Disney’s stage musical is being denied a chance on Broadway yet again, and that the Esmeralda-centric TV series has apparently been shelved. However, Disney still has a lot to learn in regard to how to address matters of race, and a lot of alterations still left to make in its adaptations and its approach to storytelling.

Disney’s ‘Oliver & Company’: Rita’s Voice in Dodger’s Song

Though the villain of ‘Oliver & Company’ is a loan shark, the film mainly portrays poverty as something that just happens through strokes of bad luck, and which doesn’t have institutionalized causes via intersectional oppression from a capitalist society.

Written by Jackson Adler.

Disney’s Oliver & Company (1988), which is very loosely based on Charles Dickens’s novel Oliver Twist, is about an anthropomorphic ginger male kitten named Oliver, voiced by Joey Lawrence, navigating New York City and trying to find a sense of belonging. In his day-to-day-survival, Oliver in confronted with issues of class, race, and gender. The title of the film is both indicative of a stage musical “company,” as the animated film is a musical, that of a business company, due to its economic and capitalist themes and its taking place in bustling metropolis New York City, and even to companionship itself, highlighted by most of the characters being companion animals. Oliver eventually finds a friend and what Bitch Flick’s Brigit McCone refers to as an “unruly mentor[s]” in Dodger, a mutt Terrier voiced by Billy Joel, who introduces himself with the song “Why Should I Worry?”

While Oliver may seemingly be the protagonist of the film, the audience in encouraged to see Dodger as the hero that Oliver learns to see him as, and the story is largely from Dodger’s White cismale heterosexual perspective. While Dodger is a flawed character, he is also shown as the ideal urban dog/man, who is going to “cross that line” into success despite his impoverished past. He states that he belongs anywhere, and that he is “love[d]” in every part of town and by all kinds of people/dogs. In the same scene, if not sentence, he switches between slang, Spanish, and a use of language showing “higher” learning. As Natshee Blu Barnd states in her essay “White Man’s Best Friend: Race and Privilege in Oliver and Company,” Dodger is representative of a mixed European heritage, a sort of White “mutt,” and is representative of a blue-collar worker who feels he can “own” the town and is capable of “wear[ing] the crown” of fame and monetary success.

Dodger is able to feel comfortable wherever he goes and with whomever in the city, but Dodger’s friend, Tito, a Chihuahua voiced by Chicano comedian Cheech Marin and whose character is written to exhibit some harmful stereotypes of Latino men, does not have this same privilege. Both Tito’s speaking patterns and behaviors are frequently criticized by other characters, including Dodger. In order for Tito to be even slightly included by mainstream or upper class White society, or even in Dodger’s company (in every sense of the word), he is pressured to change himself, such as when the wealthy White Georgette attempts to make him wear clothing she finds more acceptable of a romantic partner. While Dodger’s appropriation of various cultures is considered “cool,” Tito’s very identity is considered comic relief, at best, despite both him and Dodger being poor, both stealing, both wearing bandanas, and both being able to switch back and forth between English and Spanish. The fact that Dodger is voiced by Billy Joel, a musician capitalizing on a working class background and appropriation of the musical styles and culture of People of Color, is not coincidental.

Tito, representative of a Man of Color, gets more screen time than Rita, a character coded to be a Woman of Color, most likely Afro-Puerto Rican. Both Rita’s speaking and singing voice actresses are Black (Sheryl Lee Ralph and Ruth Pointer), while she is drawn as an Afghan hound (a dog breed often incorrectly referred to as an “African hound”), but having a light brown coloring (though there are black Afghan hounds), and has a name often associated with Latinas. Rita is Dodger’s second in command of Fagin’s “gang,” Fagin being a White semi-homeless man who occasionally but often unsuccessfully steals and cons in order to survive, and who is voiced by Dom DeLuise. Rita and Dodger are good friends and possible love interests, and while they both show sexual interest in other dogs, Rita and Dodger are close and flirtatious with one another. However, Rita, the only female in Fagin’s “gang” of dogs, is always second to Dodger, and even though she questions him and makes fun of him, they do not have an equal partnership.

Rita is the closest character in the film to Dickens’s character Nancy, the sex worker with a heart of gold who protects Oliver. Oliver Twist was serialized from 1837-1839, and yet, sadly, Nancy has a more active role in the original story than Rita does in Disney’s 1988 film. Nancy goes against the wishes of her abusive boyfriend, Bill Sikes, to return Oliver to his grandfather and a wealthy lifestyle. She defies the men in her life, Bill and the successful criminal Fagin, for Oliver’s sake, and risks her own life to do what she thinks is right. Fagin manipulates Bill into murdering Nancy for this attempted act, since he fears it could compromise his safety and his pickpocketing business, but it is the murder of Nancy that brings down not only Bill, but also Fagin and his entire enterprise. Without the threat of these men, Oliver is able to live in safety and comfort with his wealthy grandfather. Though hardly a feminist character, Nancy is crucial to the story of Oliver Twist. Rita’s character in Oliver & Company has much less of a role, is no longer the leading lady, and is much less defiant to the male characters.

Rita briefly “mammies” the young White Oliver in her song “Streets of Gold,” encouraging him to see New York City as less threatening and to see survival via crime as fun, before Dodger and the others push Oliver into being their “lookout.” Dodger talks before the song, makes room for Rita’s song, then abruptly ends the song, showing his dominance over Rita and controlling her contribution to the story. When it comes to physically protecting Oliver, the closest Rita comes to it is when she sees Oliver blissfully sleeping in Penny’s mansion, and says to Dodger “Honey, let’s just forget the whole thing” about taking Oliver back with them and into poverty once more. Dodger instead chooses to listen to Georgette, a rich White dog show champion, over Rita. The gang then successfully kidnaps Oliver, though it is later shown that Rita was correct in that Oliver is happier living with a rich young White girl than he is with them. Though Dodger declines a romantic or sexual entanglement with Georgette, he still prioritizes the opinion of a rich White poodle/woman over that of a poor Woman of Color’s, even despite having just met Georgette and having worked and lived closely with Rita for what appears to have been a very long time. It’s also sad that while Rita is based on a lower class character from the film’s source material, the film added in a new female character who is wealthy and who takes up more screen time, contributes more to the story, and has more of a character arc than Rita. Wealth and Whiteness are clearly privileged over poorness and Blackness, despite the supposed but badly executed moral of the film being acceptance of one another.

Dickens’s novel addresses poverty and crime in 19^th century Britain, specifically London, though Dickens largely blames these issues on Jewish people, specifically “the old Jew” Fagin, though Dickens also in part blames unjust laws and political corruption. Though the villain of Oliver & Company is a loan shark, the film mainly portrays poverty as something that just happens through strokes of bad luck, and which doesn’t have institutionalized causes via intersectional oppression from a capitalist society. In fact, the film largely blames poor people for being poor, tells them not to “worry” about the challenges and the kinds of stigma they face, glamourizes acts of survival, and overall tells oppressed peoples to pull themselves up by their own bootstraps, as it were. Rita shows how this oppression has been internalized when she tells Oliver she will teach him how “the best survive,” implying that poor and oppressed peoples who have difficulty surviving just aren’t “the best,” or at least need to trying harder at their survival. She “others” people who are like her, and teaches Oliver this “othering.” These “others” are implied to be unwilling to learn the “best” ways of surviving, and to be lazy. The story harmfully moralizes that if poor and oppressed people cannot get by without government programs such as SNAP, then they are just lazy, or at best just need to learn the correct way to “survive.” Instead of addressing the underlying causes of poverty and oppression, Oliver & Company gives the conflicting messages of “Why should [you] worry [about your own poverty]” and the message that if you can’t get by in life, it’s largely your own fault. Yet, even characters who find economic success are criticized.

Roscoe and Desoto are Dobermans coded as Black, and having shiny black fur; they work for the loan shark Sikes. Sikes demands strict obedience from Roscoe and Desoto, while the hierarchy in Fagin’s gang is more relaxed. Roscoe and Desoto are drawn very similarly to one another, differentiated only by their voices and their red and blue collars. Roscoe criticizes Rita, saying, “You know Rita, I can’t figure out why you’d rather hang around a dump like this when you could be living uptown with a class act, like myself.” Though the male dogs in Fagin’s “gang” are the ones to respond to Roscoe’s statement, criticizing his intellect and ego, Rita makes her reason in choosing to stay in Fagin’s “gang” clear. When Sikes summons Roscoe, Rita says, “Run along, Roscoe. Your master’s calling,” her speaking voice actress Sheryl Lee Ralph emphasizes the word “master” and Roscoe’s fierce loyalty obedience to a rich White man. While Rita is loyal to Fagin, a White semi-homeless man, and to Dodger, she is not under contract to heed their every call, unlike Roscoe is to Sikes. At the end of the film, Rita interrupts Dodger’s reprise of “Why Should I Worry,” changing it to “Why Should We Worry,” and pulls him away from ogling other female dogs, though this hardly upsets their status quo, and Dodger’s position of dominance is not undermined by the inclusion of her voice in his song.

Rita joins in Dodger's song. — Rita joins in Dodger’s song.

Sikes and his henchmen/dogs are shown to be the villains of the story due to their physical violence, but Dodger’s violence in interrupting or censoring Tito’s and Rita’s words and actions are harmfully shown as good leadership. Rita is permitted a short song of her own so as to benefit Oliver and Dodger. Tito, and other characters representative of People of Color never have their own songs, while White characters Dodger, Georgette, and Jenny do, with Dodger’s song being not only reprised, but being the film’s main theme. Inclusion in an oppressive system/Dodger’s privilege does not result in equality or equity for People of Color. As Audre Lorde famously said, “The master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house.” Dodger allowing Rita to change his “I” to her and Tito’s “We” does not negate that Dodger constructed the song, and it is his words, his tune, and his message that he is permitting them to support. America is run by a White capitalist patriarchy, and like Dodger’s song, its occasional and token inclusion of People of Color does not make a post-racial and post-feminist world.