Tag: Princesses

Wedding Week: ‘Shrek’: Happily Ever After Gets a Green Makeover

Princess Fiona

This is a guest post by Megan Wright.

When I first watched Shrek, I can’t really remember how I felt about Fiona, aside from the fact that I thought it was fantastic that she was fighting Robin Hood and his Merry Men. As the years passed, I bought the movie, and it was also broadcasted on several channels. It was almost impossible to go a year without seeing it. So, as I watched it more and more, I could figure out the underlying themes in Shrek: appearances don’t matter, the locking away of those perceived as different is wrong, and that talking donkeys are awesome. But the most important theme of the movie is how a strong woman almost gets tricked into a loveless marriage because of her low self worth, all due to the standards of beauty society imposes on her.

I’m talking, of course, about Princess Fiona. Fiona is meant to be a deliberate contrast to the stereotypical princess. Her elaborate way of talking is forgotten in favor of insulting Shrek. When Robin Hood tries to rescue/abduct her, she promptly beats the crap out of him. She sings, but when she does, she accidentally blows up a bird. During her years in a tower, Fiona hasn’t simply gazed out a window, but instead taught herself first aid and martial arts. She doesn’t take Shrek’s plan to get her back to Farquaad happily. When Shrek complains that it’s his job, she replies “Well, I’m sorry, but your job is not my problem.” She knows the way she wants this rescue to go, damn it, and she’s not going to go along with Shrek’s plans simply to make it easier on him.

Princess Fiona, not in Ogre form

So why does she get bullied into marrying Farquaad?

The problem is that Fiona lives in a world that tries to separate anyone who doesn’t fit the ideal representation of perfection. Lord Farquaad first talks about it, saying that the fairytale creatures are ruining his “perfect kingdom.” Shrek shows a world that really isn’t too different from our own. Sure, the segregated group includes talking pigs, wolves that enjoy dressing like grandmothers, witches riding on broomsticks, but their problems are still similar. The fairytale creatures are kicked off their land and moved into an inhospitable area (Shrek’s swamp) simply because they don’t fit the norms of Farquaad’s perfect kingdom. It’s not that far off from real world situations.

Here’s an example of how much beauty means in this world–in the beginning of the movie Farquaad uses a magic mirror and is given a list of several princesses to choose from to make into a queen. One of those princesses is Snow White, who later shows up in Shrek’s swamp, exiled with the dwarfs. This sends the message that if magic can help him obtain a beautiful wife, then he’s fine with it. It’s only the “undesirable” fairytale creatures that we see Farquaad hates. Throughout the movie we think that Farquaad hates fairytale creatures, but he doesn’t. He hates the fairytale creatures that don’t match up to his obsessive standards of beauty.

It’s almost no wonder that in this world, Fiona would be desperate to become someone who wasn’t ostracized, or excluded. Fiona’s sole reason for getting married is that she wants to fit into society.

Fiona’s been raised on traditional fairytales, on handsome princes rescuing fair maidens from curses. Her parents stuck her in a tower for almost all of her life, keeping her from realizing that, just maybe, being an ogre isn’t the worst thing in the world. Fiona’s strong and capable, but she’s also been extremely sheltered. She’s constantly been taught that being anything other than the princess in the traditional fairytales is wrong, and she’s never seen examples to prove otherwise.

That’s why when Shrek walks into her life, she starts to come out of her shell. Here is someone different from society, someone like her, and he’s kind and warm (to her, at least). He’s not even lacking in companionship–he’s got Donkey for a friend. With Shrek, Fiona slowly begins to realize that it’s okay to be an ogre.

Princess Fiona and Shrek

Still, Fiona’s self-loathing over her ogre self goes extremely deep. When she confesses that she’s an ogre to Donkey, she says that no one would want to marry a beast like her. Shrek overhears this, and believes she’s talking about him. When he confronts her about it, and throws her words back in her face, she immediately assumes he’s talking about her. Fiona has overheard Shrek make comments about his identity as an ogre and the issues that come with it, so it wouldn’t be a huge leap for her to consider the possibility that Shrek overheard her and thought she was talking about him. But Fiona’s self loathing runs so deep that she doesn’t even consider the possibility.

Ironically, Fiona doesn’t even seem to focus on the fact that if Shrek is rejecting her, he’s also rejecting himself. After all, he’s an ogre just like her. But, again, she loathes herself so much that she doesn’t even think of that.

Fiona’s marriage to Farquaad is, even from the beginning, one of desperation, not love. She wants to love him because she wants to believe that his kiss will break her spell. When she later realizes that he’s a jerk, she still goes along with the marriage because she wants to have the curse removed. It’s been so ground into her that being different is horrible, that she believes, even though she doesn’t love Farquaad, the kiss of someone “normal” will make her better.

In the short amount of time that we see Fiona engaged to Farquaad, we see that she loses a lot of the character traits that she shows throughout the movie. She reverts back to the eloquent talk that she had in the beginning; she passively sits around waiting for the wedding to start; and she doesn’t speak up for herself, even though she’s clearly miserable. By reverting to the expectations society has for her, she’s “normal” but unhappy.

That’s why the climax of the story, where Fiona reveals that she’s an ogre, is so powerful. By revealing herself to Shrek as an ogre she’s saying that she can’t let him love her, if he can’t love all of her.

Shrek and Princess Fiona

It’s symbolic that Fiona’s ogre self, the self that has been rejected by society, is Love’s True Form. It doesn’t match up to society’s standards (which makes sense, because society’s standards told her to marry the heartless Farquaad), but it’s the best version of Fiona.

Fiona’s rejection of Farquaad’s marriage proposal is a rejection of the conventional life she’s been taught to want. When Fiona accepts Shrek’s love, she also accepts herself. By Fiona embracing Love’s True Form, she embraces the life that she secretly wants–a life as the best, truest version of herself, no longer in hiding.

Megan Wright is a TV reviewer and co-editor for Watch It Rae! She can be found glued to her computer blogging about her favorite TV shows, movies and books.

No, ‘Oz the Great and Powerful,’ We Don’t Need More Male-Centric Fairy Tales

Written by Megan Kearns.

After seeing Oz the Great and Powerful, I was annoyed. And angry.

Everything in the film revolves around one dude: James Franco as Oscar Diggs aka Oz. Bleh. It’s a patriarchal dream come true.

Women in the film fawn over Oz, swoon over him, make googly eyes at him, get enraged by him and arguably wreck their lives because of him. Glinda (Michelle Williams), Evanora (Rachel Weisz) and Theodora (Mila Kunis) all repeat throughout the film that Oz is there to save them. Even after Glinda who’s wise to his shenanigans, knows he’s not really a wizard, she still perpetuates the façade that he’s a savior, the one person who will bring the land salvation. Oz literally puts a female character, the broken China Girl, back together. Oz catalyzes Theodora’s destructive transformation from naïve and sweet, albeit with a quick temper, to heartless and wicked. Oh and of course we get women pitted against each other. Just for funsies.

The film is boring and vapid. The tissue-thin characters lack depth, wasting the tremendous talents of Rachel Weisz, Michelle Williams and Mila Kunis. Hideous gender stereotypes get tossed around. In her fantastic review, Natalie Wilson points out the film’s many weaknesses, including reinforcing the trope that women are wicked and erasing the feminism of the books.

One of the reasons that made Wicked and The Wizard of Ozso special — they focus on the women for a change. As Bitch Flicks writer Myrna Waldron astutely points out, the Oz series boasts powerful women in leadership roles. The women aren’t princesses (aside from Princess Ozma in the books of course). The women are either “ordinary” or witches, dismantling the “all witches are evil” trope. The women in Oz lead, give advice, scheme, make decisions on their own, go on journeys, forge friendships. They may work cooperatively with men but they don’t sit around and wait for men to save them.

So how did this happen? How did a female-centric, feminist series devolve into male pandering? It comes down to an aspect of the film’s production that to the best of my knowledge I haven’t seen anyone else raise: the need for “a fairy tale with a good strong male protagonist.”

Producer Joe Roth — who didn’t realize The Wizard of Oz was just the first in a series of 14 books, — shares what drew him to develop Oz the Great and Powerful:

“When [screenwriter] Mitchell [Kapner] starts talking about that man behind the curtain and how he got there, this storyline immediately strikes me as a great idea for a movie for a couple of reasons. One was because I love The Wizard of Oz. But this character is only in the last few minutes of that film and we have no idea who he is.

“And the second reason was — during the years that I spent running Walt Disney Studios — I learned about how hard it was to find a fairy tale with a good strong male protagonist. You’ve got your Sleeping Beauties, your Cinderellas and your Alices. But a fairy tale with a male protagonist is very hard to come by. But with the origin story of the Wizard of Oz, here was a fairy tale story with a natural male protagonist. Which is why I knew that this was an idea for a movie that was genuinely worth pursuing.”



So only films with a “natural male protagonist” are worth pursuing? Roth has also produced Alice in Wonderland, Snow White and the Huntsman and the upcoming Angelina Jolie film Maleficent – all female-centric fairy-tale films. So maybe he’s tired of all the ladies. And of course he can personally pursue any story he wants. But to take such an iconic series with a plucky female protagonist, full of complex female characters and a female ruler (Ozma) and then strip it of its female empowerment and nuance all to focus on a dude?? Stop. Just stop.

What’s great about Dorothy is she’s not a princess. She’s a “regular” girl on a quest and an emotional journey, something we too often see men and boys embark on. Now I understand if they didn’t want to rival the Judy Garland classic. But why not film one of the other books in the series? Or why not film the musical Wicked, a story revolving around the bonds of female friendship?

So what about Roth’s assertion, that it’s difficult to find male leads in fairy tale films? Nope, it’s really not that hard. Jack the Giant Slayer, Shrek, Aladdin, Mickey and the Beanstalk, Pinocchio, Peter Pan, The Sword in the Stone, Hercules, hell even Beauty and the Beast all feature male leads in fairy tale films.

As I’ve written before when I wrote about my excitement for Brave, too many children’s films, particularly animated films, don’t feature girls and women in leading roles. “Originally titled Rapunzel, Disney’s Tangled, the most recent animated film featuring a girl, was renamed a gender-neutral title to be less girl-centric. Its marketing didn’t just focus on Rapunzel but featured “bad-boy” thief Flynn Ryder in order to lure a male audience. Male characters dominate animated films.” Wreck-It Ralph, Ice Age, Rango, Kung Fu Panda and aside from Bravethe entire pantheon of Pixar’s films (Toy Story, Up, Wall-E, etc.), put male roles front and center.

As of 2010, “family films exhibited a gender disparity as only 29% of speaking roles belonged to female characters in the top grossing films within the past few years.” Superhero films (Spiderman, Iron Man, Batman, The Avengers aside from Black Widow), and swashbuckling adventures (Pirates of the Caribbean, Star Wars) — all with huge audiences of children — also feature male protagonists. Most movies for kids are just sexism in training.

In fairy tale films, the female characters we do see are princesses (Brave, Snow White and the Huntsman, The Little Mermaid, The Princess and the Frog, Cinderella, Beauty and the Beast, Sleeping Beauty). While there’s nothing wrong with having characters as princesses — and with Brave we got a huge step for female empowerment — as a collective they contribute to princess culture. Princess culture typically celebrates female objectification, reifying the stereotype that women’s and girls’ worth should be tied to their beauty. It also perpetuates the pressure of perfection — women and girls must be everything to everyone. And princess culture follows girls into womanhood with wedding obsessions and the fairy tale myth of finding Prince Charming.

In too many films for both children and adults, female characters’ fall into tropes of damsels in distress, femme fatales, and manic pixie dream girls. Their stories often revolve around men, just like in Oz. The women talk about men. They wax about finding love. They yearn to be rescued, looking to men to fix their lives. 

With the pervasive lack of female protagonists, media implies that girls and women don’t matter. It teaches girls they should serve as supporting roles in real life, rather than lead themselves. In a film with three powerful sorceresses, the message shouldn’t be that a “good man” can save us all.

So no, we don’t need any more films, fairy-tale or otherwise, revolving around men.

Bitch Flicks’ Weekly Picks

Stephanie‘s Picks:
Study: We Benefit from Seeing Strong Women on TV by Lindsay Abrams via The Atlantic
Hollywood Actresses Fed Up with Fluffy Interview Questions by Feargus O’Sullivan via The National
The Brainy Message of ParaNorman by Natalie Wilson via Ms. Magazine
Megan‘s Picks:
Female Saudi Filmmaker Makes History in Venice by Brian Brooks via Movie|Line
TIFF Preview: The Female Directing Masters Playing at the 2012 Toronto Film Festival by Melissa Silverstein and Kerensa Cadenas via Women and Hollywood
At the Risk of Sounding Angry: On Melissa Harris-Perry’s Eloquent Rage by Crunktastic via The Crunk Feminist Collective
Women Directors Are Way More Successful in the Indie World by Melissa Silverstein via Women and Hollywood 
What have you been reading this week? 

Women in Science Fiction Week: Princess Leia: Feminist Icon or Sexist Trope?

Princess Leia Organa (Carrie Fisher) in Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope

 
When I was a young girl, Star Wars was my favorite movie. I’ve watched it more times than any other film. Premiering in 1977, the same year I was born, the epic sci-fi space opera irrevocably changed the movie industry. Beyond battle scenes, or the twist of Vader being Luke’s father, it impacted my childhood. Because Princess Leia was my idol.

In the Star WarsTrilogy, Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan (Carrie Fisher) was a member of the Imperial Senate, a diplomat and a spy for the Rebel Alliance. Courageous and determined, she boasted a defiant will. Leia boldly spoke her mind. And it’s what resonated the most with me.  
When I was 7, my mom sewed a Princess Leia costume for me for Halloween. A white dress with a hood cinched by a sparkly belt and accompanied by a plastic light saber. Yes, I realize Leia didn’t wield a light saber in the movies but she did have a laser gun. I continued to wear that costume long after Halloween. Every week (sometimes multiple times in a week), I would pop in our VHS of Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope, don my white dress and act out Princess Leia’s scenes. I probably would have worn that costume to school if my mother had let me.
Looking back, why did Leia have to be a princess? Why did she have to bear a title that too often symbolizes hyperfemininity, passivity and sexualization? Why couldn’t she have been the President’s daughter or a merely a Senator? So yes, Leia is a princess. But she’s a badass warrior princess — a precursor to the rise of the warrior princesses we’re currently seeing today.
Princess Leia captured by Stormtroopers in Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope
In the very first scenes of Star Wars, we see Leia shoot a laser gun. Yeah, she gets captured. But she didn’t go down without a fight. When she’s taken hostage, Leia unflinchingly stands up to Darth Vader, who intimidates everyone. But not her. She remains defiant. She stands up to Governor Tarkin, the Death Star’s Commander too as we witness in this compelling exchange:
Princess Leia:Governor Tarkin, I should have expected to find you holding Vader’s leash. I recognized your foul stench when I was brought on board.
Governor Tarkin:Charming to the last. You don’t know how hard I found it, signing the order to terminate your life.
Princess Leia: I’m surprised that you had the courage to take the responsibility yourself.
Governor Tarkin:Princess Leia, before your execution, I’d like you to join me for a ceremony that will make this battle station operational. No star system will dare oppose the Emperor now.
Princess Leia: The more you tighten your grip, Tarkin, the more star systems will slip through your fingers.
Even after she’s tortured by Vader, she refuses to reveal the location of the Rebel Base. When Grand Moff Tarkin, the Death Star’s Commander, threatens Leia to reveal the location of the Rebel Base or they’ll destroy her home planet of Alderaan, she lies disclosing a false location.
When Luke Skywalker, Han Solo and Chewbacca stage a rescue, Leia isn’t automatically obsequious. She immediately questions Luke when he’s disguised as a Stormtrooper with her infamous line, “Aren’t you a little short for a Stormtrooper?” When they’re all trapped, Leia takes matters into her own hands and shoots their way into a garbage chute, telling them, “Well somebody has to save our skins.” Leia continues to retain her grip of control when she tells Han: “I don’t know who you are or where you came from, but from now on you’ll do as I tell you, okay?”
Of course he horrifyingly says to Luke, “If we can just avoid any more female advice, we ought to be able to get out of here.” Nice. So men shouldn’t listen to a fucking diplomatic senator. Oh no. Why? Clearly, because they have vaginas.

L-R: Luke Skywalker (Mark Hamill), Leia (Carrie Fisher) and Han Solo (Harrison Ford) in Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope
Even though Leia has romantic feelings for Han Solo in The Empire Strikes Back, she continues to call out his arrogant bullshit. She quips snappy retorts such as, “I’d just as soon kiss a Wookie” and “I don’t know where you get your delusions, laser brain.” She’s never at a loss for words and never afraid to express herself.
She also has burgeoning psychic powers as she picks up on Luke’s cries for help at the end of the film. Obi-Wan tells Yoda when Luke Skywalker leaves Dagobah, “That boy is our last hope.” But Yoda wisely tells him, “No, there is another,” cryptically referring to Luke’s twin sister Leia.
In Return of the Jedi, Leia puts herself in harm’s way posing as a bounty hunter to save Han. Sadly, after she’s captured by Jabba the Hut, she’s notoriously objectified and reduced to a sex object in the iconic metal bikini, essentially glamorizing and eroticizing slavery. And of course she needs to be rescued. Again. 
Leia gets rescued. A lot. And that’s incredibly frustrating and annoying. But Leia often subverts the sexist Damsel in Distress trope. She takes matters into her own hands to free herself and others, whether it’s shooting their way into the garbage chute in Star Wars, shooting Stormtroopers, rescuing Han (Return of the Jedi), rescuing Luke (Empire Strikes Back), or killing Jabba the Hutt. Even when she’s being rescued, Leia always spouts her acerbic opinions, refuses to back down, and asserts her identity.

Princess Leia advising Rebel pilots in Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back
Throughout the trilogy, we see Leia lead and dispense tactical information to Rebel fighters. But ultimately, her underlying role appears to be to motivate Luke on his hero’s quest and Han on his personal transformation. Although George Lucas’ original ending with Leia coronated as Queen of the survivors of Alderaan sounds pretty amazing. It also would have been great to see her begin training as a Jedi, something the books explore. But even when you have a strong female protagonist, like Leia, her story must take a back seat to the dudes.
Now, I love Star Wars. But if you stop and think about the Star Wars Trilogy, it’s pretty shitty to women.
We only ever see 3 women — Princess Leia, Mon Mothma, Aunt Beru (Luke’s aunt) — who aren’t slave girls or dancers. Men make decisions, lead battles, pilot planes, smuggle goods and train as Jedis. It’s men, men, men as far as the eye can see. Hell, even the robots are dudes.

Wicket the Ewok and Princess Leia in Episode VI: Return of the Jedi
The entire Star Wars Trilogy suffers from the Smurfette Principle. The fact that there are no other women for Leia to talk to or interact with perpetuates the notion that women’s lives ultimately revolve around men. With a marketing campaign — if you look at the poster for each film — turned Leia into nothing more than a sex object (and of course aided by the metal bikini) reifying the idea that women’s bodies belong solely to tantalize the male gaze.
Boys and men see numerous male characters to emulate. But for girls and women? We get one. Leia. Well, unless you count Aunt Beru or Mon Mothma, both of whom only get like 60 seconds of screen-time. Leia exists as the sole token female.
“In Star Wars, a boy can grow up to be a knight, or a wizard. But if you’re a girl, you have one good role model…But you better be born a princess or good at space hooking cause those are your options.”
As the above video from Crackedastutely points out, all the women in the Star Wars Trilogy are space strippers, aside from Leia, Aunt Beru and Mon Mothma (a Republic senator and co-founder of the Rebellion, aka the red-haired woman in Return of the Jediwho gives tactical orders to the rebels). The Cracked writers also assert that Leia is actually a terrible female role model because she ditches her duties with the Rebellion to save her man (although so do the dudes) and then blows up Jabba’s barge which was filled with other slave women. Okay, that’s pretty douchey, Leia.
Sure, you could blame it on the fact that Star Wars is 35 years old. But even in the Prequel Trilogy, we haven’t come much further. While we definitely see more women — Queen Padme Amidala, Shmi Skywalker (Anakin’s mother), Naboo queens Queen Apailana and Queen Jamillia, Jedi Knights Staas Allie and Aayla Secura, Jedi Master Depa Billaba, Queen Breha Organa (Leia’s adoptive mother), Zam Wessell (bounty hunter who attempts to kill Padme) — only Padme and Shmi receive any focus. And of course their lives revolve around men. Actually, their lives around one man: Anakin. Yes, Padme is a political leader. But her role as birth mother to Leia and Luke and her death fueling Anakin’s anger trump any individuality she possesses. Both Padme and Shmi die tragically; both women’s purpose in the films serves to explain why Anakin turned to the Dark Side. 
Clearly, sexism and racism plague the Star Wars Trilogy. Really, only 3 women speak, only 3 women aren’t strippers and only 1 black person…in the whole fucking galaxy?! Gee thanks, George Lucas.

Princess Leia in Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back
If it seems like I vacillate between hailing Leia a feminist icon and condemning her a sexist trope, it’s because I’m torn. Leia is a spirited, fearless and fierce female protagonist. She kicks ass. Yet she exists in a fictitious galaxy mired by sexism where women barely exist that continually puts men — their stories, their perspectives, their struggles — front and center.
Despite its massive gender and race problems, Princess Leia aided me through my childhood. For a mouthy, opinionated little girl who was always getting in trouble for voicing their thoughts, Leia emulated a confident and rebellious woman. She had crucial duties and responsibilities as a leader and revolutionary. But she didn’t give a shit what anyone thought. Unafraid to let her temper flare, she spoke her mind regardless of the consequences.
In a world that so often silences women’s and girls’ voices, Leia shone as a beacon of hope. Not only did she teach me women could be political leaders and fight for freedom. But she affirmed that women can and should fearlessly speak their minds and take charge of their lives.

Guest Writer Wednesday: The Princess Archetype In The Movies

The Hunger Games poster, Brave poster, Snow White and the Huntsman poster

Guest post written by Laura A. Shamas. Originally published at Women and Hollywood, cross-posted with permission.

What kind of “princess” is better off in the woods than at home? A princess who is more like the archetype of Artemis than of Aphrodite. In three recent films, we’ve seen a shift in the “princess” archetype in popular culture. In the past, the princess, a key character in fairy tales and myths, was depicted in films as a love interest, or even as a prize to be won, such as in Tangled, Enchanted, Shrek, and The Princess Bride, to name a few. The main focus of the princess’ sphere and her agency was in regards to love, relationships and marriage. But in The Hunger Games, Snow White and the Huntsman, and Brave, the heroine-protagonists are not interested in courtship; they have much more pressing problems to solve, and they all involve an exile or escape through an “enchanted” wilderness. 
Katniss Everdeen (Jennifer Lawrence), in The Hunger Games, sacrifices her own safe position to replace her sister Primrose (Willow Shields) in The Hunger Games televised competition, and in doing so, she must represent District 12– and fight to save her own life. Although not technically a “princess,” Katniss does represent her region and is “crowned” in a formal ceremony by the end of the film. Her prowess in the woods, especially as an archer, is quickly established in Act One. Her skills in the forest are featured throughout the film, and she owes her eventual success in the Panem contest in large part to her athletic talents which serve her well in the woods.
In Snow White and the Huntsman, Princess Snow White (Kristen Stewart) suffers the death of her mother. Her father, the king, finds a second wife: the malevolent, beauty-seeking succubus Ravenna. After being detained for years in a tower by Ravenna’s brother, the princess escapes into the Dark Forest, followed by the eventual mentorship of the Huntsman (Chris Hemsworth). While in the woods, the Huntsman teaches her a crucial defensive move to use in hand-to-hand combat. Snow White soon realizes that she must avenge her father’s death, and become Queen in order to save the land from Ravenna’s destruction. In Act Three, armored on horseback and leading an attack, we see that Snow White did indeed learn lessons in the forest, especially in her final climactic battle with Ravenna.
In Brave, Princess Merida (Kelly Macdonald), loves to ride, hike and scale sheer, tall cliffs by herself in tenth century Scotland. Her mother Elinor (Emma Thompson) wants her teenaged-daughter to wed, as is traditional. In the Highland Games, Merida bests all of her suitors as an archer; in effect, she wins her own hand in wedlock. When this feat does not end the competition for marriage, Merida revolts; she runs away into the nearby shadowy timberland. She comes across a witch in the woods, and acquires a spell from her to be used on her mother; all Merida knows is that the spell will change her mother somehow. When the Queen is transformed into a bear, Merida must undo this grave error, and spends the rest of the movie trying to do so.
Much as been written already about these three protagonists as “action” or “warrior” princesses. But these “princesses” share something much deeper than that: all three share a tie to the archetype of the goddess Artemis.
In Greek mythology, Artemis is known as the “nature girl” archetype; her name is Diana in the Roman pantheon. Artemis/Diana loves to roam the woods, mountains, or meadows—anywhere in the outdoors. The bear is one of her sacred symbols. She’s a killer archer as well; one of the most famous classical statues of this goddess shows her with her full quiver on her back. Artemis is a renowned huntress; she excels at it.
Katniss is introduced to us as an Artemisian presence early in The Hunger Games, when we see her hunting for food among trees before the tributes are even picked. For most of the film, the focus is on Katniss’ strengths as a fit survivalist, and she’s forced to face some technological woodland “trickery,” manipulated by the contest officials—thus making her woods “enchanted.” Snow White, in the Dark Forest sequences with the Huntsman and in the Act Three battle, becomes more Artemisian as the film progresses. Her mentor is a huntsman; she is training for the Hunt. Merida exhibits characteristics of Artemis from the start; her story also becomes about a mothering bear. The competition for Merida’s hand in the Highland Games is reminiscent of the story of Atalanta, thought by many scholars to be linked to the worship of Artemis. As an infant, Atalanta was raised as a bear in the woods. As an adult princess, Atalanta competed with any suitor in a race, and killed those who failed to best her. Since she was the fastest runner in the land, all the men who tried to marry her died—except for one.
Looking at this further from a mythic perspective, these film princesses are a move away from an “Aphrodite” love goddess archetype, previously valued in a royal maiden who is beautiful and winsome: a love trophy. These new protagonists embrace Artemis, the athletic huntress, instead.
The role of the princess in myth and fairy tales, traditionally, is related to her ability to heal and “reproduce” for the kingdom, either through marriage or action. Through their adventurous arcs, Katniss, Snow White, and Merida do “heal” their respective lands/regions. But they do so thanks to the time they spend in thewilderness, learning lessons to be found in the mysterious shadows there. They emerge from the “Dark Forest” victorious, as only Artemis can.
In mythology, we see stories about patterns of behavior that help us to understand what it means to be human. That all three of these hit films were released within a three-month period could be seen as an indication that Artemis, as an archetype, has emerged from the collective unconscious, poised for a fight with a sword or bow, held by a female hand. These films seem to signal a “call to action” for women to fight for identity issues, status, and rights. It is an interesting to note that at a time when we discuss the “War on Women” in the socio-political arena, iterations of Artemis are on the rise in films—and making money.
Laura Shamas, Ph.D., is a writer and mythologist, who works in theater, film, and pop culture analysis. Her new book, POP MYTHOLOGY: COLLECTED ESSAYS is available on Amazon.

Animated Children’s Films: The Tale of Despereaux

This is a guest review by Robert Poteete.

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

But…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Considering ‘The Tale of Despereaux’ with the lens of how it presents sex/gender stereotypes to kids, it is pretty awful. The women are passive victims: male Roscuro tricks female Miggory into evil, she kidnaps the princess only through Roscuro’s direction, and then herself gets captured through trickery. (Miggory later gets saved… by her father. I see a pattern!). The princess’s virtue constantly conflates with her beauty, just as Miggory’s wickedness correlates with her ugliness. The male characters, on the other hand, act and are capable of heroism, and the movie defines them by their deeds.
On reflection, the movie could have easily avoided a large chunk of its offensive usage of sex/gender stereotypes. The titular hero Despereaux could have been female. A female character insisting on herself as a knight would have been more meaningful, as would her bucking a repressive society insisting on her meekness and cowardice. A female Despereaux would have worked better and been more convincing as an allegory for courage.

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

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