Mary Poppins

In 1964, a mere two years before the death of Walt Disney, his movie studio produced what may well be its crowning achievement - a film that quickly came to embody all of the traits that the world at large associated with “classic Disney entertainment.” While a number of films Disney produced before (and plenty after) can claim to be more ambitious, more interesting or more slickly-produced, none can seemingly come close to showcasing everything that Disney did well quite as memorably as Mary Poppins.

I'm Mary Poppins y'all!

Loosely based on the book series (8 stories in total, published between 1934 and 1988) by author and actress P.L. Travers, Mary Poppins is, no doubt, a very familiar film to everyone reading - and likely to most who aren’t reading, as well. Of all Disney’s live action (or hybrid) movies, this is the one that has been consistently watched and adored by both fans and non-fans ever since it’s original release. Even to those unaware of the bulk of Disney’s non-animated output ("What the hell is a Candleshoe!?"), Mary Poppins is a movie that everyone knows and continues to closely associate with Walt Disney - both the man and the company. That company, of course, is more than willing to continually hype what may be their most popular film, as successive generations introduce their offspring to the film via newly purchased or rented videos, DVDs, Blu-Rays and digital downloads, or even by taking them to see the perennial revival-house favorite on the big screen. Heck, Disney even felt the very creation of it’s own film worthy of a fanciful period drama (2013’s Saving Mr. Banks - an entertaining but bizarre display of company self-referentiality.)

Andrews, Disney and Travers at the film's premiere

And why not? Most consider Mary Poppins to be the “crown jewel” of Disney’s motion picture output, live action or otherwise - and it’s a hard opinion to argue against. Every trick that Disney’s filmmakers had learned up to that point was utilized in the creation of Mary Poppins, and the resulting film was the only one the studio produced during Walt’s lifetime that was nominated for the Best Picture Oscar (the first of only four such nods the company has garnered so far.) Even watching today, it’s clear that everyone involved in the film’s production was bringing their “A-game,” and most every aspect of the finished product holds up to repeated scrutiny. From the production design to the music and acting, all the best that each department had to offer was utilized and put on-screen (the only possible weak spot being the animation, which was fine for the time but couldn’t hold a candle to the quality of their late ‘30s/early ‘40s works.)

Dance, dance - we're falling apart to half time...

I know I’ve been a bit harsh on the Sherman brothers in previous reviews, and I stand by my assertion that much of their post-Poppins output was hit-or-miss; that’s only because an overabundance of their creativity seemed to be spent on this lone film. For better or worse, Richard and Robert’s work was never, ever better than it is here. Every single song - from the grandest show-stoppers (such as “Jolly Holiday” or “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious,”) to the smallest melodies (the lullaby “Stay Awake” or “The Life I Lead” and it’s reprises) are excellently composed and full of flawless lyrics. While the film is brimming with wonderful song-and-dance numbers, the Shermans and director Robert Stevenson should also be commended on what was left out, since as many as 21 additional or alternate songs were in various stages of completion during the film’s lengthy pre-production. Such restraint should’ve been held as an example to follow for such later musically over-saturated efforts as The Happiest Millionaire, Pete’s Dragon, and my personal albatross, The One And Only, Genuine, Original Family Band.

My name is Aurora. I'm with Gaston. The good Mary is in the Mirror and she can't leave. Write it in your diary.

Moreover, to my ears no one has ever sang the Sherman’s particular brand of whimsical lyric better than Julie Andrews. Beyond her obviously striking vocal strengths, there’s something beyond description about the special kind of alchemy achieved between actress and character; about the almost predestined way her voice and those particular words come together, as if they had always existed in some unseen realm. Andrews’ Oscar win for Best Actress was indeed well earned, and came as something of a victorious middle-finger to the producers of the same year’s My Fair Lady. On Broadway, Andrews had originated the role of Eliza Doolittle in Alan Jay Lerner and Frederick Loewe’s 1956 musical adaptation of George Bernard Shaw’s Pygmalion, to great acclaim. However, when casting the George Cukor-directed big-screen adaptation, head of Warner Bros. Jack L. Warner opted for reliable box-office draw Audrey Hepburn over Andrews - despite the fact that Hepburn’s singing voice was deemed inadequate (and therefore dubbed by American soprano Marni Nixon.) While My Fair Lady nabbed the Best Picture statuette that year, Andrews won out for her practically perfect performance as the mysteriously telekinetic nanny.

This is the big one! Elizabeth - I'm comin' to join you!!

Not that the cast’s work was always as pitch-perfect as Andrews’ tuneful singing voice. Let’s address the big cockney elephant in the room: Dick Van Dyke’s accent. Oh me Gawd, what an ‘orrendous vocal-i-zayshun ‘e ‘as! Growing up watching the film (here in the good ol’ US of A, anyhow,) one tends not to notice such a bastardization of enunciation. It’s only when one views the film as an adult (and tries their best to disassociate themselves from nostalgia - nigh on impossible, really) that you realize what gobbledy-gook pours from the lanky funny-man’s mouth for most of the film, his inflections veering from Londoner, to Australian, to American, to whatever-the-hell else you’d call it. Legendary in acting circles as an example of how not to put on an accent, Van Dyke’s vocal was voted as the second-worst film accent by Empire magazine in 2003 (right behind Sean Connery’s Scots-Russian performance in 1990’s The Hunt For Red October.) Apparently (and astoundingly,) Van Dyke’s vocal coach on the film was prolific character-actor J. Pat O’Malley (who supplied a number of voices in the film’s animated sequence,) an Irishman who, according to Van Dyke, couldn’t do cockney to save his life. More’s the pity, too, as otherwise Van Dyke gives his all in a warm and funny performance as jack-of-all-trades Bert, and shows off his impressive dancing skills in the exuberant “Step In Time” number near the film’s end.

Caged Heat: The Early Years

Meanwhile, the dynamic duo of Karen Dotrice and Matthew Garber are back again, this time with considerable more screentime than in The Three Lives of Thomasina. The chemistry between the two continues to be their greatest strength, as does Garver’s penchant for screwing his face up and looking like a Norman Rockwell character come to life. Dotrice carries some impressive emotional heft in many of the film’s later scenes, sensitively portraying that moment in life when one comes to grips with the fact that their father is not the infallible figure from childhood. While not tasked with as much overtly dramatic (or rather melodramatic) material as she was in Thomasina, Dotrice creates a more understated sadness in her characterization of little Jane Banks, and the results come off all the more impressive.

Come at me bro...

Elsewhere in the cast, due respect must be paid to Disney’s secret weapon, David Tomlinson. The role of George Banks is, on paper, a rather unforgiving one, and could easily have come across as an entirely unsympathetic patriarch. Tomlinson has that very valuable gift of being able to emote through expression, and the ever-present distress that shows in his sad eyes speaks to Banks’ desperate need to cling to the rigid structures of Edwardian society more than his dialogue. One of the most unassumingly telling moments that defines the character comes right in his first few minutes on screen: following “The Life I Lead” (a celebration of conformity,) Banks is informed that his children are “not here, dear” by his wife (an underused Glynis Johns.) His expression rapidly turns to abject terror. This sudden horror is not concern for the well-being of his missing kids, however, but over the fact that something is off in the fixed routine of his world. “Not here!? Well of course they’re here! Where else would they be!?” he stammers as the tenuous peace of his very existence is threatened.

How can you have any pudding if you don't eat your meat!?

In the aforementioned Saving Mr. Banks, much credence was given to the notion that Mary Poppins is, above all else, the story of the father’s salvation. This is not really evident in the film itself, and frankly is utter malarkey. Despite the fact that much of the climax centers around George Banks’ realization that his unyielding fidelity to the English rat race has caused him to marginalize his children (the totality of his parenting apparently restricted to “pat(ting) them on the head and send(ing) them off to bed”,) this is just one of several plots running through the film. If there’s anything that can be faulted with Mary Poppins, on a fundamental level (rather than details like Van Dyke’s shit accent,) it’s that all the wonderful music, art and spectacle on display is in support of an episodic, somewhat fragmented script. This isn’t necessarily a fatal flaw, when all’s said and done, since the particular story being told (about a magic nanny and her effect upon a family in crisis) is actually well suited to this less-focused approach.

Oh what a feeling, when you're dancing on the ceiling...

However, much of what works best (and what most audiences walk away with) is not the story of George Banks and his eventual redemption, but the phantasmagorical wonder of Mary Poppins herself - the woman who drops from the sky and threatens to tear down the unyielding structure of English society from within. To suggest otherwise is paying a large disservice to Mary Poppins the film and Mary Poppins the character. What, in Edwardian England (itself really an extension of Victorian ideals slapped onto a modernist world of industry,) is more necessary than complete trust and faith in a well-chosen nanny to take care of the distracting business of nurturing the inheritors of society? Jane and Michael, already rebelling in their own small way just by acting like children, are thus shown by this mysterious stranger that there is a wider world than the one their father (and the culture he allies himself with) wishes them to see; one filled with color and magic, and, conversely, suffering for those (like the bird-woman outside of St. Paul’s cathedral) who fall out of society’s uninviting embrace. For Disney, even 49 years after the fact, to insinuate that everything happening in this story is in support of George Banks and the problem of his conformity merely serves to unfairly (and ironically) cram the untidy wonder of the 1964 original into the confines of their historically questionable “lady-author with daddy issues” biopic, resulting in little more than a corporate circle-jerk.

<Grabs pearls> Good heavens! Outrageous!!

While the Poppins character serves as a means to disrupt and bring change into the lives of those she touches, much of the sly holding up of mirrors to iron-clad social norms (represented by the number of emphases on mirrors) is unfortunately undone by yet another too-tidy conclusion. Yes, at the film’s climax George Banks rejects his place within the socioeconomic framework that keeps him from being a better father, instead choosing to “go fly a kite” (in other words, to “get lost”.) However, in the closing minutes of the film, this nose-thumbing to "adulthood" is rendered moot, as Banks is inexplicably re-hired the very next morning - as a full partner, no less. Thus the metaphorical gesture of mending his children's kite (representing their broken relationship, of course,) is rendered as just that: a gesture, an indicator of a momentary respite of family togetherness that will likely evaporate not long after Mr. Banks returns to work the next business day. All's well, we're meant to assume, since at least Mr. Banks will be paid a better wage for his family's troubles. This doesn’t even bring up that Winifred Banks’ “votes for women” protesting is treated, much like George’s career, as an obstacle that must be overcome in order to bring the family unit closer together. The fact that the film pays so little attention to the matriarch following the rousing “Sister Suffragette” number, instead portraying her activism as a silly distraction, is troubling to say the least. As Mary Poppins flies away, self-assured of her practical perfection, we realize that the enigmatic governess wasn’t so much a wrench in the gears of the early-20th century British status quo, but a means of enforcing the mid-20th century North American status quo of the patriarchal nuclear family, essentially replacing one form of “normalcy” with another.

Everything...Everything...Everything...In it's right place...In it's right place...In it's right place...

This unfortunate smug presentism doesn’t detract from the fact that Mary Poppins is one of the great films of the 20th century - just that it takes all of it’s own crafty dissidence and blows it out of Admiral Boom’s cannon. And unfortunately, being the pinnacle of Walt Disney Productions’ filmmaking apparatus, it meant that many attempts were made afterwards to try and recapture lightning again, with such overwrought period-musicals as the aforementioned Happiest Millionaire in 1967 and ...Family Band the following year. But, there are bright spots to Mary Poppins’ legacy, in that one of those attempted grabs for glory actually got hold of a brass ring; the resulting film positing itself as something of an “anti-Poppins,” celebrating society’s outcasts rather than the middle-class, showing an England on the brink of annihilation rather than in perfect Edwardian order, and it’s female lead not an enigmatic “practically perfect” magician, but a piss-poor would-be witch. And, disappointingly (if unsurprisingly,) this twisted mirror could never have seen the light of day in it's final form until after Walt Disney’s death.

As much as I’d love to jump right into that particular film, I’ve already gone and promised to finish up the trio of movies featuring Karen Dotrice and Matthew Garber first - and so next time we’ll be looking at a silly little movie about a bunch of gnomes.

Take this job and shove it.

The Three Lives of Thomasina

Today we’ll start off a trilogy of reviews covering the films featuring Disney’s most memorable adolescent acting duo: Karen Dotrice and Matthew Garver. First up is a mildly popular film from 1964, The Three Lives of Thomasina - which, for a movie named after a Cat, doesn’t really feature the namesake feline all that much.

Based on the interestingly-titled Thomasina, The Cat Who Thought She Was God (written by Paul Gallico, who would co-author the screenplay along with Robert Westerby,) the film takes place in the fictional Scottish village of Inveranoch in the year 1912. Through the point-of-view of Thomasina herself (provided by slinky narration from English actress Elspeth March) we are introduced to the town’s recently widowed veterinarian and staunch “man of science,” Andrew MacDhui (played by The Prisoner’s Patrick McGoohan) and his young daughter, Mary (Dotrice.) The traditional-minded townspeople are wary of their new animal doctor, thanks to his chilly demeanor and willingness to put the well-being of “useful” farm animals above those of domesticated pets. One day, after being chased by Dogs through a marketplace, Thomasina suffers a near-fatal injury, and is not brought to the vet until she’s found under a box the next day. MacDhui, unfortunately, is busy operating on the injured Dog of a beloved blind man (with most of the town watching,) and cannot devote time to help his daughter’s Cat. He therefore instructs his assistant (Wilfrid Brambell) to euthanize Thomasina. After a trippy sequence following said feline through “Cat heaven,” Thomasina returns to life, where she is nursed back to health by a local recluse, Lori MacGregor (played by Susan Hampshire) - herself labelled a “witch” by the town’s children due to her unique ability to cure wounded animals.

Before I get to the good stuff, let me get this off my chest: the title song that accompanies the opening credits of the film is gawd-awful. Well, the first portion of the song is, anyway. Written by frequent Disney songwriter Terry Gilkyson, the song's opening (sung in a halting, Oompa-Loompa-like rhythm) contains some of the most groan-inducing lyrics that have ever passed through my ears. A sample: "...do we need to ask more than that? You must know now - it's a cat - but a very important cat - at that." and the choir (which sounds a lot like Disney mainstays The Mellomen, of "The Ballad of Davy Crockett" fame,) comes as close to "phoning in" a melody as I've ever heard. No wonder I've never seen this song pop up on a compilation album! Thankfully, the main body of the song is performed with an appropriately feline-like vocal by Robie Lester, and prevented me from smashing my finger down on the "Mute" button.


I am not a number - I am a person! Och!

The acting in the film is uniformly superb. McGoohan plays a believably conflicted man whose faith and compassion have been drained away by the loss of his wife and inability to emotionally connect with his daughter. For a while I thought it strange that a veterinarian should be so bereft of compassion for animals, though a late-film confession reveals that he was pushed into the practice by his father, himself a vet. Noteworthy for me was another appearance by Laurence Naismith, last seen in 1961’s Greyfriars Bobby, as Reverend Angus Peddie. I had been impressed by the actor’s cautiously sensitive performance in that other Scotland-set film concerning a headstrong pet, and his warm acting here (as the keeper of the village’s faith, and ironically the only resident who fully supports MacDhui’s practice) has only cemented my opinion of him as a fine character actor.

Father, may I take some haggis with my tea? Och?

Little Karen Dotrice, in her first role for Disney, delivers one of the finer performances from a child actress I’ve seen - at 8-years old, no less! The stricken look that crosses her face when her father lets her know he didn’t save Thomasina is heartbreaking, and the character's slow descent into depression (and eventual sickness, after she contracts pneumonia following a harrowing flight through a rainstorm) is a miniature tour-de-force of understated acting. Her emotionless exchange with family maid Mrs. MacKenzie (Jean Anderson) following Thomasina’s death is a doozy, as well: “You’ve made your father angry.” “No I haven’t. My father’s dead.” Damn! Dotrice’s one-day acting partner, Matthew Garber, is fun to watch as village youngster Geordie McNab. In one of the film’s more memorable sequences, Geordie and his brother Jamie (Denis Gilmore) and playmate Hugie (Vincent Winter) throw the presumably deceased feline a traditional funeral, leading a procession of black-clothed children past bewildered adults as they attempt to play “Loch Lomond” on the bagpipes. Already displaying a talent for puckish little boy charisma, Garber’s handful of scenes with Dotrice reveal an easy chemistry that would serve both of them well in their next two roles for Disney.

Thomasina is tripping balls!

Following Thomasina’s passing, we are treated to a Cat’s-eye-view of her passage through a Kitty-Cat afterlife, fronted by scenes of the feline “falling through eternity” which, amusingly, are simply shots of a flailing Cat being tossed in front of a black backdrop. The remainder of the sequence is a marvel of kooky effects work, showcasing a cavernous temple full of Siamese Cats lounging around a monolithic statue of Egyptian Cat-goddess Bastet, all surrounded by shimmering gold light. For a moment I felt like I was watching a lost scene from Powell & Pressburger’s The Tales of Hoffman. Interestingly, the special effects are credited to Jim Fetherolf (a prolific matte artist) and Ub Iwerks. Iwerks was originally Walt Disney’s filmmaking partner when they first started out in animation, and the man who personally animated the first Mickey Mouse cartoon produced, Plane Crazy, in 1928. After a professional falling-out in 1930, Iwerks eventually returned to the studio ten years later and became an innovator in technical effects for the remainder of his professional career, creating extraordinary work in films such as The Three Caballeros, 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea, and Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds.

Och! Nobody understand this pussy like I do.

The characterization of Lori MacGregor, while suitably sensitive and serene, comes off as somewhat bland when all’s said and done. Rather than being a fault with Susan Hampshire’s performance, though, I feel this is due to too little focus being placed on developing the character. "The witch" MacGregor isn’t really given much depth in the script, her natural compassion for animals of all types presented “as is” with no explanation or background. The village children believe she is a witch, due to her relative isolation in a woodland cottage and her ability to heal sick and injured animals (her home acting as a sort of hospital for creatures with minor injuries); the film almost affirms this notion, since no alternative reason or motivation is presented (but, the narrative insists, she’s a good witch! Look how purdy she is!)

Once this bonnet's on, I'm gonna claw someone's face off...

The slight writing of the MacGregor character is a good indication of my main issue with the film: uninspired, boilerplate writing. While all others aspects of the production are firing on all cylinders (the acting, production design, music and effects are all exemplary,) they are supporting a weak and sadly predictable script. I had a heck of a time sitting down to even write this review, my lack of interest summed up by a brief conversation between me and the HiddenQueen: “So how was Thomasina?” “It was ... fine. It was exactly like most of the other Disney movies I’ve watched.” Beyond the trippy (but brief) “Cat heaven” sequence, much of this movie seems to blend into a lot of other movies I’ve seen over the years. In a 1964 New York Times review, critic Howard Thompson noted that the film felt “mighty, mighty cozy,” and was a “genteel little movie ... best suited for small girls.” While I wouldn’t put it quite as condescendingly as that, it’s a conclusion that’s not far off the mark.

To be fair, the film does seem fairly popular amongst fans (like The Parent Trap, this one seems to hold a place of nostalgia for a number of viewers,) and it’s certainly enjoyable enough on it’s own. Perhaps after sitting through a number of gentle Disney films, one craves something a little more out-of-the ordinary to differentiate a new film from its brethren?

Frozen

Sometimes, a piece of popular art hits a certain chord that resonates with a generation of fans, and a phenomenon is born. As much as companies try to plan and manipulate consumers into spending their hard earned time and money on their products - be they movies, cars, TV shows or whatever - pinpointing what will be a success is never certain. And while a film does not necessarily have to be a well-made product in order to be successful (four Transformers sequels have been shat out, after all,) it helps when the production goes beyond the necessities of it’s intended audience in the marketplace. A popular film becomes a classic when it rewards attentive audiences with deeper themes, making them think and discover new ideas with repeated viewings. In this spirit, let’s take a look at Disney’s runaway success from 2013, Frozen.

Sisters are doin' it for themselves

Hans Christian Andersen’s 1844 fairy tale The Snow Queen had been a long-time thorn in the side of Disney. In the months before Snow White And The Seven Dwarfs was released in 1937, the studio had been in talks with MGM to partner together on a hybrid live-action/animated film about the Danish author, with Walt’s boys providing animated segments dramatizing such stories as The Little Match Girl, The Steadfast Tin Soldier, The Little Mermaid, Thumbelina and The Snow Queen. The animators, however, had great difficulty adapting The Snow Queen for a modern audience. Once WWII hit, and the studio was forced to tighten it’s belt (noted in prior reviews,) causing the deal with MGM to fall apart and the abandonment of the project. MGM would go on to produce an entirely live-action biopic starring Danny Kaye in 1952, which was met with great critical and financial success (I’m personally not a fan of that film - but we’ll be seeing Kaye around these parts in October.) Disney would hold on to the concept art prepared for these stories, many of which would eventually see the light of day as animated adaptations many decades later.

Imagineering briefly toyed with the idea of a Snow Queen attraction at Disneyland.
"Enchanted Snow Palace" concept art by Marc Davis, c. mid-1970s

Further attempts were made in the late 1990s and early 2000s to adapt Andersen’s story, including a pitch by actor Harvey Fierstein(!), a pass by animator Glen Keane (who would give up and move on to an adaptation of Rapunzel instead,) and a push by Michael Eisner to get a Taming of the Shrew-like romantic comedy version out before 2007. Despite these aborted attempts, the cinematic potential of the tale of a queen who could control winter was just too great to pass up. Work began again in 2010, with director Chris Buck determined to make the concept work. It wasn’t until the following year (and after the successful release of Glen Keane’s Rapunzel adaptation, Tangled) that the project finally began to gel, following chief creative officer (and Pixar king) John Lasseter’s suggestion that the film’s main characters, Anna (based on the original tale’s character, Gerda) and Elsa (the titular Snow Queen) could be sisters. From there, despite numerous further difficulties and re-writes up to and throughout the film’s production (screenwriter and eventual co-director Jennifer Lee, for instance, wasn't brought in to write the screenplay until she'd completed the previous years' Wreck-It-Ralph,) the creative juices were flowing, and all the pieces truly began falling into place.

My Frozen commemorative plates are here!

The long and difficult journey was, for the Walt Disney Corporation, most assuredly worth it. Within months of the film’s release, planet Earth rapidly became over-over-saturated with Frozen. Hell, as the father of a 2-year-old this is something that I know first-hand: I’ve played the soundtrack in the car so many times that I could regale you with a full song-and-dance re-enactment right now, complete with grandiose vocal inflections and sassy hand gestures (go on - dare me!) In a very short time the film’s overwhelming financial success and subsequent cultural saturation forced a typically under-prepared Disney to scramble and push their Elsa-gowned cash-cow as quickly as possible. Little girls demanding Elsa dolls? Fast-track them into Target stores and add on spring-loaded “icy magic” action (yes, this is a thing; Elsa chucks plastic ninja-star-like snowflakes at your unsuspecting cat!) Kids want to see Anna and Elsa at Disney World? Let’s rip Maelstrom out of EPCOT’s culture-centric Norway Pavilion and replace it with a ride based on a fairy tale! A quick trip around your local supermarket will surely leave you marking several Frozen-themed items off your grocery list: Frozen frosted cereal, Frozen-themed Campbell’s soup, Cheez-It’s with Sven the reindeer on the box, Ziploc sandwich bags with Olaf plastered on each one. Frozen the t-shirt! Frozen the coloring book! Frozen the lunchbox! Frozen the towel! Frozen the flamethrower! With so much Frozen being crammed down our throats, it can be so very easy to resent the film that spawned it all.

And yet ... I can’t. It’s too damn good.

I’ll admit, when I first saw the film (at the theater, no less,) I walked away less than impressed. I mean, it was okay; the animation was very good, that Adele Dazeem (or Idina Menzel, or whatever her name was) could certainly sing, and the talking snowman was slightly less annoying than I’d feared. A lot of my initial issues, I later realized, may have stemmed from the fact that - having just turned 30 - I was apparently already lapsing into old-fart fuddy duddyness. Why, I wondered, did half the characters talk so … modern? Back in my day you wouldn’t have had Belle singing “don’t know if I’m elated or gassy, but I’m somewhere in that zone,” or have Aladdin referring to Jasmine as “feisty-pants” (despite the fact that her pants were actually pretty fierce.) Damn kids and their jive talk! I came to wonder, though, if it was just as likely that some older fans felt the same way about the films I grew up enjoying at their time of release; imagine growing up with Pinocchio and then wandering into the manic humor found in something like The Lion King (or - heaven forbid - Hercules.) Besides, the occasional slang thrown out by characters in these movies is merely window-dressing, a shorthand to get younger viewers on-board more quickly and follow along with the story. Like all entertainment, these productions reflect the time of their release more than anything else; if Disney’s characters were portrayed strictly in accordance with the periods in which their films are set, not only would Gaston have been boasting in French, but Sleeping Beauty would’ve resembled Game of Thrones more than a flashy ‘50s musical. But I digress …

Hey girl...

While not as rewarding upon first viewing as, say, 2010’s Tangled, Frozen is one of those very rare family films that improves with repeated viewings. It’s first impression may leave some viewers feeling somewhat let down, just as I was - it is a fast-paced (though never manic) movie, and despite packing a lot of incident into the narrative, it tells a deceptively straightforward story. However, I eventually came to see that Frozen has a lot of emotional and psychological depth hiding beneath its’ fairy tale veneer, presenting much food for thought without providing easy answers. This is why I feel it’s connected with so many filmgoers, beyond the multitude of children who enjoy the film for it’s fun sense of humor and exciting adventure. For the first time in forever a long time (since at least Beauty And The Beast,) a Disney movie had some real subtext.

Automatic, systematic - full of color self contained...

For example, for a long time I believed that Anna (voiced by Kristen Bell) was a one-note character, defined by her clumsy immaturity. Her entire character arc (not a phrase I'm really a fan of, by the way) sees her going from a naive youth to a more mature young woman who's eventually able to help her sister come to terms with their strained relationship. The fact that Elsa (and, by extension, the screenwriters) tells her how ridiculous it would be to marry someone you just met (the deceptive Prince Hans, voiced by Crazy Ex-Girlfriend’s Santino Fontana) didn’t seem as big a deal (or as “meta”) to me as it did to many viewers. Her eventual love story with Kristoff (voiced Jonathan Groff) seemed to indicate that the movie wasn’t quite as progressive as some claimed. With further viewings, I realized that what Anna learned over the course of the film wasn’t necessarily (or simply) that “true love” was not something that happens on first sight, but that love itself is something one must be an active participant in. “True love” is real, but it doesn’t just happen to you. Anna always loved her sister, but showed it through her actions throughout the story - by the fact that she went after Elsa immediately following her flight from Arendelle, without hesitation. Her sacrifice during the climax was merely the noble cherry atop her already piled-high sundae of love (good lord, that’s an awful metaphor.)


You mad bro?

On a side-note: the love story between Anna and Kristoff, while clearly meant to contrast with the “falling for a handsome Prince” cliché earlier in the film, is spoiled for me by interference from the trolls. Already frustrating insomuch as their leader, Grand Pabbie (voiced by Ciarán Hinds) only speaks in riddles regarding Elsa’s powers (would it be so hard to say “a healthy emotional lifestyle will control your powers," or is he just pulling advice out of his mossy ass?), the goofy “Fixer-Upper” musical number ruins any subtle momentum the love subplot had been building up to that point. It’s as if the filmmakers didn’t trust the audience to see that Anna and Kristoff were developing a relationship over the course of their adventure, and had to shout out “Hey kids! The Princess and the big blonde lug are falling in love! Wouldn’t it be great if they got married later!?” - more or less cancelling out the whole point of the comparison to Hans’ proposal. Plus, since their love story is really of secondary importance to Anna and Elsa’s relationship, dedicating a whole musical number to it seems like an unnecessary waste of time.

Elsa's experiments with cake frosting go horribly awry...

The big issue that the film seems to present without comment, but is fairly obvious to anyone who views it more than once, is how awfully Anna and Elsa’s parents screwed them up. From the first few scenes - in which little Elsa’s cryokinetic magic (thanks Wikipedia!) accidentally strikes her sister, prompting her father to exclaim “Elsa! What have you done!? This is getting out of hand!” as he runs in the room - it’s clear that the King and Queen of Arendelle have no clear idea of how to properly reconcile their first daughter’s mental well-being with her unique gifts (though perhaps I should just accuse the King, as their mother doesn’t say more than two words; an indicator, perhaps, that the best answers don’t lie with the patriarchy?) Seeking advice from the trolls, not only do they agree to let Anna’s memories be altered (an honestly terrifying prospect, even when there's some inscrutable form of magic behind it,) but they take the warnings of Grand Pabbie - that Elsa’s growing powers have “great beauty … but also great danger,” and that she “must learn to control it” - in the worst possible way. Rather than working to help Elsa actually control her powers, they instead force her to suppress them, and keep them from manifesting by pushing Elsa to stifle her emotions completely. Not only that, but they essentially quarantine the already terrified child within the castle, and isolate themselves and both children from the rest of the world. Seems like massive overkill to me, and indicates that the parents are actually more frightened of their daughter’s power than she is. You can see on their faces, in a scene featuring a 12-year-old Elsa desperately crying out for help and comfort (“I’m scared! It’s getting stronger!”), that they may realize just how badly they’ve fucked up when she recoils in terror as they try to soothe her, spluttering “No! Don’t touch me! Please ... I don’t want to hurt you.”


O Lord, bless this thy hand grenade, that with it
thou mayst blow thine enemies to tiny bits, in thy mercy.

Elsa’s life, from an early age, is one of terrified isolation. Not only have her parents treated her like some fearsome monster, but they’ve also ensured that she shares a codependent relationship with them, as they’re presumably the only human contact she has (outside of some limited house staff, one assumes.) Contrast she and Anna’s farewells as the King and Queen leave on what would be their fatal sea voyage - Anna giving them warm hugs, chirping “See you in two weeks!”, Elsa bowing politely and asking “Do you have to go?”, her eyes and voice pleading. When news comes that the King and Queen are dead, Anna (who is seen at the commemorative service alone) is naturally sorrowful over the loss of her parents, pleading through Elsa’s door that “it’s just you and me - what are we gonna’ do?” Elsa, on the other hand, is utterly devastated, silently weeping alone, her unchecked (and unsupported) emotions causing a subzero blizzard within her bedroom. One wonders how she managed to get by at all in the three years separating her parents’ death and her coronation ceremony. The inevitable revelation of her powers and subsequent self-exile naturally leads to the show-stopping “Let It Go” number (still a fantastic song and powerful character piece, even after it’s been played and performed over 9,000 times,) in which Elsa’s sudden freedom brings unexpected joy. Her emotional emancipation therefore allows her powers to become focused and less chaotic than they were under her parent's forced restraint.

Now appearing at the Ice Palace - the fabulous Eileen Dover!

Much about Elsa is left open to interpretation, which actually helps make her the most memorable character in the film. We are never told exactly where Elsa’s powers originate from (her father tells the trolls that she was born with them, not cursed - which brings up a whole other set of interesting questions - like where, or whom, do such curses come from?), nor the extent of her abilities. We see that severe emotional outbursts can cause winter in the middle of summer across the kingdom - but how far this extends is a mystery. Could Elsa threaten a new ice age? Incredibly, Elsa powers also allow her to instantaneously create life, first in the snowman Olaf (voiced by Josh Gad,) and then in her hulking bodyguard, the ridiculously-nicknamed Marshmallow. The formation of these two beings is another window into Elsa’s psyche, as she creates the loveable Olaf (an imaginary playmate from happy childhood memories) during a moment of joyful exuberance, and the much larger and fearsome Marshmallow during a moment of anger and fear. It’s also interesting to note that the gentle Olaf was created unknowingly, the fact of his sentience coming as a surprise to Elsa (who looks at her own hands with muted awe after he’s revealed); Marshmallow, on the other hand, was spawned purposefully, fashioned to eject unwanted guests from Elsa’s fortress of solitude (Elsa backing away with her hands up after he appears, “washing her hands” of whatever the monster does to her sister and company.)

Don't talk to daddy before coffee...

Frozen’s refreshing ambiguity leads to a number of intriguing questions - and the unavoidable fan theories that follow. Much worthless internet space has been dedicated to the question of whether Anna has powers as well, specifically super strength. This can actually be borne out from the film itself, as Anna is seen to effortlessly fling a large bronze bust across a ballroom during the “For the First Time in Forever” sequence, and later when she sends a number of large Timberwolves flying after El-Kabonging them with Kristoff’s lute. Lastly, when Anna punches Hans in the face following the film’s climax, the strapping young Prince is literally sent flying through the air, off a ship and into the fjord below. Also never revealed in the film is whether or not Kristoff was an orphan, as surely some bother would’ve been raised in Arendelle after a local youth was kidnapped and raised by a well-meaning troll. My personal favorite theory is that the deceptive Prince Hans possesses icy-magic powers himself. It’s intrigued me from my first viewing that, like Elsa, Hans is seen to always wear a pair of snug-fitting gloves, making a point to take them off only once in the film when he's seen to snuff out a candle with his bare fingers, and then put out a large, roaring fire with a half-full pitcher of water. It’s a silly notion, I know, but why make it a point to show the whole glove thing at all? Especially since a point was made early in the film that Elsa depended on her gloves to keep her powers in check (more like a security blanket than an actual deterrent, I’m sure,) and to show her dramatically flinging them away as she accepts her powers during “Let It Go.” If Hans truly possesses such powers (which, again, I’m sure he’s not really meant to,) why keep them hidden? What nefarious plans did he have once he’d claimed the Arendelle throne? Oh well - maybe all will be revealed in the sequel?

Never, under any circumstances, pause a Disney movie...

Beyond the deeper undercurrents running below Frozen’s cinematic ice sheet (both intended and otherwise,) the film is a solidly entertaining adventure that’s obviously found a special place with a generation of moviegoers. The animation takes the technical advances made for Tangled and pushes them even further, the music serves the visuals well and (nearly) all the songs are memorable, and the vocal performances are all top notch (including a humorous turn by Alan Tudyk as the scheming Duke of Weselton - Tudyk quickly becoming the John Ratzenberger of Disney Animation.) Some have said that the runaway success of Frozen with girls and young women is akin to the sudden popularity of Star Wars back in 1977 - and the non-cynical side of me can certainly believe it when witnessing the faces of children (both boys and girls, I should point out) betraying their delight at spotting the films' characters at Disney’s theme parks.

Besides the filmmakers’ own commendable achievements and the movie’s undeniable worldwide popularity, I’ll always remember Frozen for as long as I live because it was the first movie my own little girl was a fan of. Her bright little eyes still light up at the sight of “Anna Elsa!” (as she calls the film’s royal sisters,) and she snuggles into the arms of either myself or my wife as we sit to all enjoy a great animated movie together.

That, dear readers, is real magic.