Disney's gaze has long been frozen in time: for several decades, it has been looking backward to the values of mid-century America with a longing and wistfulness that is unbecoming in a progressive world. But that frozen gaze-- fixated on love-at-first-sight romances and outdated gender stereotypes-- seems to be thawing. And there is no greater testament to that than Disney's latest fairy tale, Frozen.
On the surface, Frozen is really nothing all that new for Disney Animation Studios. Like The Little Mermaid-- the film that kick-started the so-called "Disney Renaissance" of the late 1980s and 1990s, which produced modern classics like Beauty and the Beast, Aladdin, and The Lion King-- Frozen is based on a Hans Christian Andersen tale. Like countless other Disney films, it focuses on the .00001%-- that is, princesses, the commodity that built the Disney Empire. And, like some of Disney's best films, Frozen feels like a Broadway musical with its plethora of songs. Yet, Frozen is unlike all of these films. Why? One simple reason: it's not about being saved; it's about saving yourself.
Allow me to orient you. In the snowy land of Arendelle, we meet two royal sisters. Anna is bubbly and earnest; Elsa, the older sister, is serious and, seemingly, more gifted-- she has magical powers that allow her to create snow and ice. One day, a simple game goes wrong, and Elsa accidentally injures her younger sister. She is crushed and spends the remainder of her childhood in isolation-- literally, she's locked in a room-- until she learns how to control her powers. Her mantra becomes, "Conceal; don't feel." Due to Elsa's isolation (quarantine??), the sisters who were once inseparable drift apart. Years later, Elsa ascends the throne, and on her coronation day she struggles to control her powers and keep them secret-- she fears her subjects will turn on her if they knew the depth of her abilities. Unsurprisingly, trouble ensues, and Elsa's secret explodes out. Humiliated and frightened for her life, she spectacularly flees the palace, her subjects, and her future as queen. Anna goes after her sister, sure that she will be able to bring her back and set things right, for her sake and the kingdom's.
As the film progresses, it becomes apparent that this isn't about true love's kiss, dashing princes who will save you, or curses that victimize and debilitate you. This is actually a film about sisterly love, about bonds that remain inexplicably strong, despite years of separation. This isn't about being saved by the handsome prince; it's about finding the inner strength to save a loved one. Disney even undermines the hero-prince archetype that has long defined its films. Frozen utterly subverts this in the character of Hans, the everyday villain whose tactic is to woo and charm. (Ironically, Hans is voiced by the reigning Prince Charming of Broadway's Cinderella, the very lovable Santino Fontana.) People, like this reviewer and that reviewer, have been warring over Hans. I, for one, loved the twist-- after all, in the real world, people who are seemingly perfect and good betray one another all the time. It's important that little kids learn this lesson early. The end of the film almost drove me to tears-- Anna must save Elsa by sacrificing herself for her sister. A simple gesture, but also powerful. Frozen shifts the love story from romantic love to familial love. The real love story here is between sisters. Disney has never done this before.
And then, there's Elsa herself. A painfully troubled young woman who has felt imprisoned by the burdens of her powers, she decides that the only way she can feel free and in control of her life is by constructing her own ice palace-prison-- a striking metaphor. Elsa's tragedy is heartbreaking: that which makes her dangerous also makes her gifted and special. As some reviewers have pointed out, Elsa's struggles parallel the struggles of men and women in the LGBT community. But, Elsa's struggles are broader than this: she is everyone, because there is something special and different about every single person on this planet. Elsa is anyone who has ever fiercely protected a part of themselves that they felt no one else would understand: the kid who was afraid to read a book at school, for fear of being called a nerd; the girl who loved to sing, but was self-conscious of her voice; the athlete who loved ballet lessons; the storyteller who wrote in private, afraid to let anyone into the safe world of her imagination. Elsa is all of us: girls and boys everywhere who feel misunderstood and alone. In many ways, she is the female version of the Beast; yet, it is not her actions that imprison her, but her own greatness. The other love story in this film is what Carrie Bradshaw in Sex and the City calls the most important relationship of your life: the relationship with yourself. Frozen teaches young people everywhere to love themselves; whatever makes you different also makes you extraordinary beyond measure, and that is worth loving.
I now refer you to this scene. This song is Disney's answer to "Defying Gravity," and it happens to be the best song in the film-- one that, if there is any justice in the world, will win the Oscar for Best Song. (The film's other songs, penned by husband and wife team Robert Lopez and Kristen Anderson-Lopez, are relatively forgettable, though Broadway greats like Santino and Jonathan Groff make the most of them.) Elsa, voiced with power and passion by the incomparable Idina Menzel of Wicked fame, has run away from her coronation ball and realizes there is no going back. (I dare you to watch this without getting goosebumps.)
This is one of Disney's best scenes of all time. It is empowering, moving, and rich in meaning and subtext. My favorite part of the song comes in at around the three-minute mark: "that perfect girl is gone," Elsa belts. Elsa's story is the story of every little girl. The story of struggling with the "good girl" mold that has contributed to identity crises for generations of women who try so hard to be perfect-- to be pretty, perfectly-formed, accomplished, demure, maternal, etc., etc., etc. Of course, this is an unrealistic expectation since we, as humans, are only perfect at being hopelessly imperfect. Elsa is not the perfect girl, and neither are the millions of young girls, mothers, grandmothers, and aunts who watch the film. And that's okay. In the context of Disney movies-- movies from a company that has done much, in its history, to perpetuate this mold of perfect womanhood-- this is an astonishing point.
Is Frozen the best Disney movie I've seen? Well, no. (For the record, I like Tangled a lot more. I don't think I'll ever get over the sky lantern scene.) But Frozen is important because it shows how Disney as a producer of stories for young people is moving forward-- it's willing to refocus its stories to celebrate the inner strength that empowers young girls and women. The film accomplishes so much in such a simple story. There is beauty buried beneath the icy layers of slapstick comedy, uneven script-writing, and mediocre music-- for, beneath the surface, deep in the soul of the film, there lies a flesh-and-blood princess of a picture reminding us that there is magic inside all of us.
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