The Women of Disney's Renaissance: Not Such a Fairy Tale? Part V.

The aim of this discussion was to assess the representation of women during Disney's renaissance in the late 80s and early 90s, utilising the findings to ascertain the studio's philosophy, and whether this accords with post-feminist debate, or less positive patriarchally defined gender stereotypes.

It became clear from the outset that the corporation's founder, Walt Disney, prided himself on his ability to tell stories via the means of animation, and favoured the fairy tale genre because it stood for the motifs of fun, nostalgia and wish-fulfilment that he wanted to purvey.  It subsequently seemed a logical choice to use the fairy tale as the basis for this project; examining its core themes from an analysis of its origins as an oral tradition, through to its adoption into popular culture, and using the conclusions to advance an understanding of the values of Disney's versions of the same stories.

The reasons for selecting this period as the historical site of interest were twofold; firstly, since the term 'Renaissance' has literal connotations of revival and renewal, evaluating the status of gender in this period allows investigation of whether the studio revitalised their system of beliefs to correspond to a modern outlook.  Secondly, as this renaissance occurred shortly after a shift in feminist debate, it appeared doubly significant to study Disney films from this time, in order to comprehend whether the post-feminist mode that emerged in the 1970s influenced the depictions of Disney heroines.

The Little Mermaid and Beauty and the Beast were chosen as the central texts, owing to their long-standing heritage as well-known fairy tales, and the fact that the films appear to posit girls as the main protagonists.

In Part II, the role of the fairy tale was discussed, with the summation being that it has performed many objectives over its lifespan; from offering a sense of community and motivation, to acting as a form of trade and worship, to becoming today's recognisable symbol of hope and escapism.

While Zipes maintains that the genre was considered harmful to children, due to its covert suggestions of good versus wickedness, and the terrifying consequences of unacceptable behaviour, others including Bettelheim, argue that fairy tales help to progress the minds of young readers, allowing them to overcome anxieties by experiencing them through the safe format of a story.  It was noted that this beneficial aspect of the fairy tale, along with its ability to develop imaginative skills, is what makes Disney animations appealing to young audiences.  By setting a narrative within the colourful Disney realm, it poses no threat to a child's innocence, while retaining enough of a relationship with the real world to allow the corporation to subtly persuade the spectator into applying its values to wider society.  It was proposed that, once Disney takes ownership of a fairy tale, it uses the genre's devices of subtlety and allegory to disguise its own agendas; concealing them within an exterior that viewers have learnt to trust as genuine, and doubling their authority.

This post then detailed the evolution of Beauty and the Beast and the Little Mermaid via their multiple adaptations, from their respective derivations as Greek and Swiss folk tales, to their famous appropriations by de Beaumont and Andersen.  De Beaumont's rendering of the story is of female loyalty and devotion; Beauty does her utmost to obey and care for her father, whose needs she places well before her own.  She encounters Beast in consequence of one of her few wishes, and her relationship with him is one of acceptance; she gradually learns to love him.

De Beaumont's tale acted as a form of instruction for its female readers, telling them to not only respect their fathers, but to abide by all regulations defined by men, in order to be regarded as ideal housewife material.  Beauty's tolerance of Beast connotes that women forced into marrying threatening men needed to remain patient and understanding, so as to reveal their husband's potential for good.

Beauty, as the focal point of the story, typified expectations of young women's domestic destiny during the 18th century, and her submission to the codes of patriarchy proves advantageous to her, for with her marriage came wealth and aristocracy.

The Little Mermaid is more autobiographical, with parallels between the mermaid's life, and that of Andersen.  Both the author and his creation are fascinated by the telling of stories by their elders, and long for access to the world beyond their limited existence.  The pain that the mermaid experiences when changing into a human symbolises the mental suffering that Andersen undoubtedly went through on account of his underlying homosexual emotions, whereas her loss of voice is a metaphor for the writer being forced to repress his feelings.

Andersen's mermaid was read as being in a similarly oppressed situation to Beauty, as both girls conform to the rules of a male-dominated environment; although the mermaid has a grandmother, it is her father that dictates her regime.  The mermaid appears more autonomous than Beauty, as she takes it upon herself to find a way out of this oppression, by sacrificing her voice for liberation.  Yet, the fact she has to give up her ability to communicate means that she still can not find an equal place within society and, like Beauty, her desires cause her suffering.

Part III looked at the process of adaptation, and employed the relevant theories to a comparative investigation between Andersen and de Beaumont's texts, and Disney's films.

From engagement with the work of Hutcheon on adaptation, these posts have concluded that Disney's The Little Mermaid and Beauty and the Beast should not be expected to retain complete fidelity to their descendants, because of the nature of adaptation to evolve to fit with the needs of its culture, and reflect the differing ideologies of its interpreters. 

In accordance with Zipes' writings, it was noted that film, as a collaborative method, will denote the general stance of those involved in its creation. This means that a series of possibly conflicting opinions would have to be combined to form one message, which would be founded on the ideologies of that time.  To this end, and as Warner concurs, when a fairy tale is cinematically adapted, the end product can be used to instruct the audience on how to respond to social issues, with the metaphorical disposition of fairy tales allowing film-makers to interweave socially-driven connotations into the seemingly safe and honest realm of film.

With this in mind, Disney's ethos becomes less innocent than it maintains, for it appears that the studio decided to take on the fairy tale genre because, as an already popular medium, it would guarantee a spectatorship that was willing and eager to absorb the underlying implications of these films.  Additionally, both Disney and the fairy tale assure comfort and wish-fulfilment and, due to the corporation's commercial influence on children in particular, through their dissemination of products, and franchised 'experiences' like the theme parks, young viewers might find it difficult to avoid Disney's version of a 'utopian kingdom', and are made to forget the morals of the adapted texts, in favour of the studio's agenda.

Propp's concept of the function of fairy tales was then utilised to conduct a close examination of the literary and cinematic renditions of The Little Mermaid and Beauty and the Beast, and returned the following findings.

Firstly, Disney's mermaid is motivated by selfish and materialistic desires, in comparison to Andersen's character, who is portrayed as a victim of her curiosity, fuelled by the stories of those around her.  Andersen's mermaid wants to belong to the human world because it offers hope of living and dying as an individual that will be loved, whereas Ariel is looking to escape her oppressive father.  Ordinarily, Disney's figure appears the more positively illustrated character, as she is responsible for her decisions, and inclined to see the world with her own eyes, rather than relying on the tales of others. 

Yet Ariel comes across as a rebellious teenager, intent on the acquisition of beauty and success, and the fact that she does not die at the end of Disney's tale means that her egotistical longings are rewarded.  This indicates the importance that the corporation places on capitalism and fetishisation; where Ariel, as the ideal consumer, makes a small sacrifice to gain her innermost yearnings.

Beauty and the Beast was subjected to the same study, which found that, in opposition to the majority of literary versions of this tale, it is Beast that is positioned as the film's protagonist, not Beauty/Belle. 

The film begins with the Prince, whose violation of an interdiction causes his transformation, and it is this that the narrative focuses on throughout.  Belle is simply the answer to Beast's problems; the donor, whose own needs are inferior.  Belle and Beauty are similar in their loyalty and care towards their fathers, and it is this obedience that leads them to meet Beast.  However, whereas de Beaumont's tale follows Beauty, and her acceptance of Beast; which stands as an allegory for her as the perfect housewife in training, Disney places Beast at the centre of its narrative, casting him as the victim of female intolerance and cruelty.

Part III deduced that the changes Disney made to Andersen and de Beaumont's stories had a largely negative attitude toward the portrayal of femininity, with Beauty and the Beast in particular citing women as the perpetrators of society's errors.  Belle and Ariel are not free to make their own decisions, as initially presumed in consequence of the post-feminist culture in which the films were produced; rather, they depend on those around them to achieve mobility, and are constructs of patriarchal and consumerist belief systems.

Part IV was concerned with how questions of female identity, representation and consumerism could be found in the Disney adaptations.  It was acknowledged by Warner that folk tales have traditionally depicted women as submissive childbearers and that, once they have passed the age of reproduction, they are seen as deviant; hence the emergence of the evil, older villainess. 

Ursula, and to a lesser extent Beauty and the Beast's beggar/sorcerers, epitomise this idea via physical horror and manipulative mannerisms, while their younger counterparts retain their beauty, but have little control over their lives, and none whatsoever over the lives of others.

The sea witch proved especially intriguing, and was inferred as adopting the characteristics of a drag queen to comment on society's constructed notion of the ideal woman; performer, consumer, sex object.  She also took on the role of substitute mother to Ariel, a relationship that is not normally found in Disney films, for it contains many complexities and contradictions.  Far from being a positive change, Ursula's matriarchy is criticised by Worthington as being detrimental to the film's young viewers, since it may cause them to see their own mothers as threatening to their happiness and independence.  To this end, patriarchy's disturbing influence is pushed aside to allow for a harmful view of women as bitter, jealous rivals, prepared to go to any lengths to achieve prosperity. 

Ariel's loss of voice is deemed of little significance by Disney, who insinuates that as she has her looks, she will retain her attractiveness to the opposite sex, which will result in her achieving access to the male-dominated, capitalist realm.  It is suggested that a woman's silence is key to her appeal and contentment, and this coincided with McRobbie's argument that modern women are unlikely to complain about inequalities that may arise during their lifetime, since society has taught them to be appreciative of the liberations they have been awarded.

The subject of consumerism was then discussed, with Belle and Ariel displaying connotations of young women that want more from their lives.  Belle sings of wanting to see the world outside of her small provincial town, and her love of books suggests her desire to escape, whilst implying that she is trying to improve her education as a means of propelling herself to emancipation.  Indeed, McRobbie writes that women see qualifications as a way of attaining an independent role within society's economy, which leads to them being recompensed by their positions as powerful consumers.

Conversely, it was noted that Belle only seems to read fairy tales, suggesting her unrealistic worldviews and, with such stories as Sleeping Beauty providing the foundations for her knowledge, it was likely she would end up in the same position as her fictitious heroines; sacrificing her freedom to marry the man of her dreams.  Of course, this is how the film ends, with Belle's aspirations of seeing the world instantly forgotten, or sacrificed, when she chooses to live as a princess within the confines of Beast/Prince's castle.

Ariel too wants more from life, and her role as a consumer is illustrated by her vast collection of human artefacts.  Most notably is the mermaid's desire for legs, which is understood as representing sexuality, independence, and an appropriation of the beauty and fashion industry.  Ariel's transformation is like a metaphorical makeover, which Tasker claims is a consequence of the pressure on women to make the most of their appearance so as to appeal to the patriarchal modes of ideal femininity, and ensure a high-ranking social status.  The mermaid's painless conversion naturalises this process, while the fact that she retains this form and retrieves her voice at the film's conclusion suggests that women can have everything they desire, as long as they work hard, and comply with the rules of patriarchy.

Finally, Disney's marketing of the 'Princess' brand was considered, stemming from Ariel's remarkable resemblance of a fashion doll.  It was argued that, by making such characters as Belle and Ariel beautiful and, apparently, fortunate, they promote a certain lifestyle to young girls that, in order to achieve the same 'happy endings' as their heroines, they must model themselves on their physicality. 

By playing with plastic representations of these women, children are encouraged to create their own stories, based on what they have seen on screen.  Disney's fairy tales become the originals in the minds of these spectators, and their imaginations are enhanced by playing with the film-inspired dolls.  In reality, from a young age, audiences are coached by Disney to be the perfect consumers, and ideal images of female sexuality; with the dolls' beauty and infinite number of accessories denoting the liberating and enjoyable effect of consumption, and its promise of satisfaction and access.

Overall, the past few posts have established that, contrary to the connotations of the term 'Renaissance', Disney has not provided a completely positive representation of women within the two films that have been analysed.  Belle and Ariel are marketed as feisty, brave, strong heroines; fighting male dominance to achieve happiness.  Yet, on closer inspection, these girls are submissive, objectified constructs of patriarchal hegemony and, rather than standing as symbols of female emancipation, they are marked as indicators of compliance, commodification and fetishisation.

While Disney maintains a male bias, which is most clearly visible in Beast's apparently unfair curse, it should not be claimed that this is an unrealistic or atypical perspective.  Undeniably, post-feminist critique directly remarks on such viewpoints, which provide the very foundations of this theory.  Women, according to post-feminism, are encouraged to consume, oblige, improve, learn, and so on in order to gain what they can from a society dominated by male ideals.  Post-feminists recognise that inequalities remain, but point out the positive changes that have occurred, and concentrate on supporting women to make further improvements, by being independent, and effectively bowing to male authority.

It could be claimed that Disney is only revealing society’s contemporary philosophy on gender and that, rather than being deciphered as negative, these films are indicators of current cultural norms.  Certainly, issues of gender stereotyping and the effect that the media has on children are predominant in today's culture, and so Disney's The Little Mermaid and Beauty and the Beast could be seen as attempts to comment on such debates, and bring them to the fore in an effort to produce change.

The basis of this examination was to assess Disney's depiction of femininity in relation to its traditionally patriarchal attitude, and it appears to have successfully demonstrated that, while not completely unrealistic, Disney is neither favourable nor hopeful in its portrayal of women, and their role within society.  

The Women of Disney's Renaissance: Not Such a Fairy Tale? Part III.

Following on from the last post, which looked at the role and function of the fairy tale, and the progression of The Little Mermaid (Clements & Musker, 1989) and Beauty and the Beast (Trousdale & Wise, 1991), this post will take an analytical approach to the Disney films; using the information regarding any alterations to identify whether they are significant in terms of what they suggest about changing attitudes towards feminism.

In 1989 The Little Mermaid was adapted by Disney to become the first feature of the studio's renaissance, and was followed two years later by a revision of the Beauty and the Beast story.  They proved popular amongst cinema-goers, with The Little Mermaid being the 13th highest grossing film in its year of release, and Beauty and the Beast ranking third in 1991 (Box Office Mojo, 2011), but were generally panned by scholars, owing to the alterations that had been made to the tales.

In her writings on adaptation, Hutcheon notes that it is common for filmic versions to be perceived negatively, as they will always be secondary to their literary precursors, and can never match the expectations of every spectator.  On a basic level Hutcheon surmises that, because literature has existed far longer than cinema, it will be regarded as the greater medium, with film never being more than second-best.

The term adaptation literally implies the practice of alteration and adjustment of an item, in order for it to correspond with its changing surroundings, and the variable needs of its consumers.  Hutcheon equates this process with Darwin's theory of evolution, stating that a story's journey from place to place, carried from one teller to another, means that it will be influenced by such elements as the culture, society and religion in which it finds itself.  In this respect, Hutcheon sees the life of a tale as going on indefinitely, fuelled by the input of multiple narrators; yet its meaning can never be fixed, as each relator will use their own perspective to make the story understandable and significant to their current values.

To think of narrative adaptation in terms of a story's fit and its process of mutation of adjustment, through adaptation, to a particular cultural environment is something I find suggestive.  Stories also evolve by adaptation and are not immutable over time.  Sometimes, like biological adaptation, cultural adaptation involves migration to favorable conditions: stories travel to different cultures and different media.  In short, stories adapt just as they are adapted. (2006:31)

Despite the fact that adaptation naturally denotes change, some believe that all derivations must remain completely faithful to their source, so as to avoid disappointing the viewer, and violating their expectations of what may be the latest rendition of their favourite story.  The appeal of watching a cinematic adaptation may be that it creates feelings of nostalgia and familiarity for the audience, who might have grown up with that particular tale, or have fond memories associated with it.  These feelings would surely be heightened in the case of a Disney version of a fairy tale, as both of these institutions signify tender recollections of childhood innocence, security and comfort, and their adaptation echoes the repeated re-reading of these stories during a child's lifetime.

On the other hand, those that appreciate the true implication of the term adaptation should understand the inevitable differences that will occur between versions that may lead to anticipation and suspense for the audience, enhancing the excitement surrounding which elements will be included, and how the director will interpret them, which is summarised by Hutcheon in the following statement:

'[…] perhaps the real comfort lies in the simple act of almost but not quite repeating, in the revisiting of a theme with variations.' (2006:115)

Those seeking fidelity appear to forget one of the most fundamental principles of film-making; its creativity, and that if a director did produce a carbon copy of pre-existing material, they would be criticised for plagiarism, and for lacking in artistry, individuality, and talent.

Unlike writing, film-making is a collaborative process, and Hutcheon considers it difficult to cite the director as the chief adapter, as there are other participants involved, including the scriptwriter, who is one of the first to modify a text to make it suitable for the screen, and the editor, who must ensure that the finished piece is cohesive, and that the themes it contains are easily recognised throughout.  The emergence of auteur theory in 1940s France positioned the director as being solely accountable for a film's look, yet today, while there are still subscribers to this polemic, it is widely believed that a film is a product of a team, and that not only does each member have their own duty, but they all bring their opinions and beliefs to the set. 

Zipes agrees with the complexities of who exactly can be considered the adapter, arguing that because a story is liable to change over time, an adaptation can not be based on one fixed version, as it is likely that those involved with producing the film will have conflicting memories of a tale, and will infer different meanings from it.

It could be said then, that any film made will reflect the general consensus of its collaborators, and that the requirement of adaptations to be first interpreted in order to be re-interpreted means that the deduced meaning is one based on multiple perspectives that are combined to create a singular ideology; often differing greatly to that of the sole author.  In this respect, a thorough analysis of Disney's The Little Mermaid and Beauty and the Beast should reveal the company's philosophy at the time that these films were made, and the methods employed to convey the relevant motifs.

Warner suggests that, due to film's re-interpretive nature; the fact that it can reflect current cultural values and themes, and can reshape an existing story to fit with these ideologies means that, when it takes the form of a fairy tale that already has denotations of transformation and alteration, it can be utilised as the packaging for commenting on contemporary issues, and how best to solve them, which can be interwoven into a familiar narrative.  As such, the fairy tale film can convert real life concerns into the trials and tribulations of the on-screen protagonists in their make-believe worlds; forming a newly manufactured perspective on reality as held by its creators, and asking the audience to re-evaluate their attitudes, behaviours, and roles within society:

The fairy tale […] becomes a tool for thought, a multicoloured skein of images with which to think about the real, both reiterating and shaping the real in restructured narratives, reassembled images. (1993:17)

The revision of prior material guarantees a willing audience, i.e. those that can be regarded as 'fans' (Laurel, 2005, in Hutcheon, 2006:116), so an adaptation is a safe bet for studios, as it comes complete with a ready-made spectatorship.  Disney, which pulls mass audiences for reasons discussed in Chapter One, is able to widen this appeal with the release of its adapted fairy tales that are enjoyed by viewers of all ages. 

Consequently, Disney can use such tales as The Little Mermaid as a vehicle for its own beliefs and objectives; for instance, Byrne and McQuillan target the mermaid's name in the film, Ariel, as a site of consumerist connotations.  They argue that the name 'Ariel' holds associations with the device used to send and receive television signals.  As she simultaneously shares her name with a well-known variety of washing powder, Ariel becomes a symbol of commodification and marketing; as advertisements for such products are sent across the globe innumerable times via satellite.  In other words, Byrne and McQuillan posit Ariel as a reflection of capitalism, branding and necessity, which Disney further illustrates via her extensive hoard of shipwreck finds:

[…] 'Ariel' is [...] a popular brand of soap powder in Western Europe.  An 'aerial' is also the receptive apparatus on a television, the part which absorbs and mediates signals from outside.  In terms of the Eastern bloc this means picking up channels of communication from the West, in particular advertisements for consumer goods.  She is then the very embodiment of consumer-fetishism and demonstrates this by collecting 'human stuff' [...].  (1999:23)

As mentioned previously, Disney positions itself as a communicator of knowledge and wisdom to its viewers, and guarantees to provide feelings of community and comfort in the form of its beautiful scenery, engaging characters, and its apparently innocent principles.  It is clear that Disney implemented the fairy tale genre as a means to conceal its own agenda, distracting the audience with fantasy and promises of wish-fulfilment, while subliminally delivering ideas of consumerism and mass-production.  In addition, Zipes (2011) claims that one of the key reasons for Walt Disney's employment of the fairy tale was to place himself as not only the best storyteller, but the teller of the best stories. 

According to Zipes, Disney's aim to be a site of enchantment and pleasure was perpetuated by its underlying aspirations for the status of utopia, which could be achieved by replacing the memories of classic tales with those of their animated adaptation.  By applying Disney's famous signature to each film, the studio inscribes ownership over the stories and, rather than commemorating the fairy tale's longevity, the viewer is made to forget, and believe that this version is the original and, subsequently, the superior. 

Conversely, Disney neither encourages freedom of imagination, nor stands as the provider of desire; rather, it pushes its own opinions and views on to the spectator, who is effectively powerless to resist, as they have long been persuaded into believing everything this institution tells them.  Disney's pledge to satisfy the needs and wants of its audience means its ethos will be accepted willingly, with little challenge, because of the trust the studio has engendered.  Zipes explains that:

The telos of all Disney's fairy-tale films is to shape the vision of the spectators so that they are convinced and believe that they share in the values and accomplishments of the narrative, thus obviating any or all contradictions.  The imagination of the spectators is thus curbed by the calculations of fantasy imposed by the film, and individual wishes are denied or caught in the snare of the fantasy. (2011:25)

Disney was not the first film-maker to adapt fairy tales, as the tradition began with Méliès at the end of the 19th century, who used his famous creativity to recreate the stories of Perrault.  Warner writes that the long-standing fascination that directors have with this genre is a result of its ability to reproduce the subconscious thoughts that exist within every viewer.  Like the teachings of Bettelheim, Warner explains that film can tap into, and visually recreate, the anxieties that are shared by spectators, bringing these fears into consciousness, and allowing them to be addressed and overcome.  Hence, the escapist enchantment and fantasy of a fairy tale film allows for the covert tackling of individual and societal dilemmas, and works to resolve these by instructing the audience to conform to a prescribed set of rules and regulations that, in reality, benefit the desired polemic of those behind the camera.

To most effectively trace the alterations that Disney has made to the literary versions of The Little Mermaid and Beauty and the Beast, and understand their motivations, this dissertation will use Propp's model as a basis for a comparative analysis between de Beaumont's; as the most familiar rendition, and Andersen's tales, and their cinematic equivalents.  The findings of this investigation will be discussed throughout the remainder of this chapter, while the third section of this dissertation will respond to any discoveries that are related to questions of female representation from a post-feminist viewpoint.

Propp's Morphology of the Folktale, first published in 1928, describes how all fairy tales are constructed from a selection of 31 basic functions and that, while every function may not be found in every tale, they will always appear in the same order.  This goes some way to explaining the repetitive nature of the fairy tale, whose familiarity is produced not only by its re-reading and re-telling, but by the recycling of its essential framework.  Principally, a function is the specific behaviours of the story's protagonists; how they react to events, and how these reactions impact on others, and on the narrative's progression or, to use Propp's definition:

'Function is understood as an act of a character, defined from the point of view of its significance for the course of the action.' (1968:21)

By studying which functions occur, and to whom they have been attributed; the 'dramatis persona' (1968:20), the meanings and purpose of a tale can be established. 

In the majority of cases, a fairy tale will begin with an 'initial situation' (1968:25) that could be one of a number of seemingly insignificant facts, which, will form the catalyst for the following chain of events, or functions.   In the literary versions of The Little Mermaid and Beauty and the Beast, the initial situation is the introduction of the respective families, with Beauty and the mermaid being positioned as the youngest of six children.  Bettelheim suggests that, when a protagonist is the youngest sibling, it reflects the fragile condition of a child's ego, and their fears surrounding adulthood, serving to provide them with future aspirations, and feelings of support and comfort. 

While Ariel does have sisters in Disney's interpretation, they play a smaller role than in Andersen's book; where their first experiences above the surface are described; they visit the mermaid after her human transformation; and sell their hair to the sea witch in exchange for the knife that the youngster must use to kill the prince.  Instead, the scenes in which Ariel's sisters appear are towards the beginning of the film, when they are seen singing and dancing as part of a concert, and later, following Ariel's first meeting with Prince Eric, where they are admiring their reflections in a mirror.  It could be argued that the lack of focus on Ariel's siblings increases her importance and independence as the film's lead, making her more responsible for the decisions that she will make as the story progresses.  Yet, a likewise effect could have been achieved from the complete absence of sisters, as their role in the narrative is minimal; they are merely there to perform, cajole Ariel into taking care of her appearance, and inform their oblivious father that his youngest is in love. 

Though it initially seems that Disney has provided Ariel with sisters as a mode of emotional support and female solidarity, and to alleviate the concerns of their young viewers, they instead connote values of beauty, vanity, and bodily appearance.

Unlike her literary counterpart, Belle is an only child, relieved from the intolerance and spitefulness of Beauty's sisters.  Again, this could signify Belle's autonomy, and the freedom to make her own choices, rather than succumbing to the pressures of her siblings' attitudes, as in the case of Beauty.  However, as this dissertation will go on to argue, Belle is not the liberated and empowered figure that Disney alludes to; in fact, she is not even the film's protagonist.

As well as the presentation of the family, the initial situation could include the introduction of the protagonist, either by name, or via a description of their personality and familial role.  This occurs in de Beaumont's tale, and mutually in Andersen's, where the merits of Beauty and the little mermaid are laid out in contrast to the pair's siblings:

His daughters were extremely handsome, especially the youngest; when she was little, every body admired her, and called her The little Beauty, so that, as she grew up, she still went by the name of Beauty, which made her sisters very jealous.  The youngest, as she was handsome, was also better than her sisters. (De Beaumont, 2008:1)

'They were six lovely children, but the youngest was the fairest of them all.  Her skin was as clear and opalescent as a rose petal.  Her eyes were as blue as the deepest sea.' (Andersen, 1994:40)

Andersen and de Beaumont continue to portray their protagonists in this vein for a time, detailing Beauty's love of reading, and devotion to her father, and the mermaid's quietness, and longing to see above the surface.  Hence, the audience is immediately made aware of the qualities and backgrounds of the heroes, which can help to offer understanding and justification of their actions.

Neither Ariel nor Belle are the first characters to be seen; as it is Prince Eric, on board his ship, and Beast, before his transformation, that begin the two narratives.  Though Ariel is not visible on screen, her presence is felt, as Eric and his crew discuss the legendary 'merpeople', and King Triton's powers over the water.  Although not mentioned specifically by name, the existence of Ariel and her family is obvious, as is their status as sea dwellers.  The effect that Ariel will have on Eric's future is also alluded to, with the idea that the state of the sea on which his ship sails is a result of Triton's moods perhaps posing as an allegory for the prince's life potentially being turned upside down by the influence of the merpeople.

In comparison, Disney's Beauty and the Beast opens with the story of the Prince's transformation into the Beast, which will be examined further, and is dictated to the audience by a narrator, with images whose mise-en-scène reflects that of a more traditional style of storytelling, as you can see here:

The fact that this sequence is narrated, and presented in a different way is interesting to note for a number of reasons.  Firstly, as Warner maintains, the teller of a fairy tale usually remains distanced from the story's content; even the narrators of oral tales were not obliged to make subjective observations on the unfolding events.  Similarly in film-making, attention is not drawn to the presence of the camera, i.e. the director's gaze, as this conveys a more realistic effect.  Here, the use of a narrator denotes a sense of nostalgia and comfort, and aims to tap into the viewer's childhood memories of listening to this story.  The mise-en-scène's echoing of the illustrations and engravings commonly found within the pages of storybooks enhances these recollections, and both elements coincide to imply Disney's authoritative role as storyteller, as well as its supposed fidelity to the written version.

To adhere to Propp's predetermined set of functions, an evaluation of the content of the above scene must be temporarily postponed in favour of its predecessor; the lack of a parent.  This is the first of the 31 functions, following the initial situation, and is a common device of the fairy tale.  In the literary editions, Beauty and the mermaid's mothers are deceased, and the girls are raised by their fathers.  Bettelheim claims that the lack of mother typically results in a stronger oedipal attachment between father and daughter (1991:112), and when the father is not as dutiful as he should be, the young woman is still able to cope, as she is safe in the knowledge that she will be rescued by a prince.  In psycho-analytical terms, these relationships comfort the reader, allaying any feelings of guilt they may have over perceiving their father as dominant and overbearing, or as an 'evil giant' (1991:114).  Bettelheim observes that the authority and control these fathers have over their daughters makes up for their consistent incompetency, and allows children to forgive them of failings in the real world because they have been led to believe that they too will find true love:

The little girl can love her real father all the better because her resentment over his failure to prefer her to her mother is explained by his ineffectuality [...], for which nobody can blame him since it is due to superior powers; besides, it will not prevent her from getting her prince. (1991:114-115)

On the other hand, Andersen's mermaid does have her paternal grandmother, who is responsible for telling her stories of the humans, and of her destiny to float as foam on the sea.  This could be for autobiographical reasons, with Andersen paying tribute to his own grandmother, and the tales that she used to tell him.  Bettelheim makes the case that this inclusion of a caring woman is ordinarily depicted in the form of a memory from the protagonist's past, which becomes ineffective over time, but provides a sense of maternal support.  The mermaid's grandmother, while not a memory, occupies this role, as it is she who offers advice and wisdom, while the father remains a powerful yet distant presence. 

Subsequently, the mermaid receives the majority of her information on the outside world from her grandmother, perhaps signifying the notion that the tradition of passing on stories is inherently a female one.  It is the grandmother that tells the reader a story too, as she explains the rules of the mermaids' first visits to the surface, and this, coupled with the strong bond with her youngest granddaughter, denotes feelings of solidarity and familial respect. 

The actions of the mermaid and Beauty are set into motion by these relationships with their caregivers; the mermaid's grandmother fills her head with enticing tales of the land above the sea, while Beauty's actions are driven by her love for her father, as debated in the last post.

There are no birth mothers in Disney's renditions, with Triton and Maurice, Belle's father, solely responsible for the upbringing of their daughters.  In her criticism of the 'Disney Princess' brand, Worthington argues that Disney's typical lack of the matriarch means that it is easier to avoid the complexities and negative associations surrounding this figure.  For now, it can be said that, from Worthington's perspective, the absence of Belle and Ariel's mothers, and the unsuccessful attempts of their fathers to guide and protect them could be deemed as demonstrating the girls' autonomy, and their self-led motivations for liberation.  They are not encouraged to seek the wider world, indeed Ariel is forbidden, and Belle's father naively believes that she has everything she needs right where she is.  Nonetheless, both characters escape the confines of their minimal lives without any help from a mother figure, yet the achievement of their aspirations is a result of Eric and Beast's respective love, so they remain answerable to others, even if it is not their parents.

Propp's next function is the 'interdiction' (1968:27), where the hero is given information consisting of a warning, an order, or simply friendly advice.  If an interdiction is offered then, according to Propp, it will be defied, resulting in the introduction of the villain, whose job it is to disrupt the protagonist's peaceful existence, and to bring about their downfall. 

Without doubt, de Beaumont's Beauty and Andersen's mermaid are the receivers of the interdiction, with the former being instructed that she must accompany her father and sisters to earn a living in the country, whereas the latter is told by her grandmother that she will be allowed to visit the surface once she has reached her 15th birthday.  While not commands, they are rules nonetheless, and compliance with their conditions benefits the heroes by keeping them safe and with their families.  Of course, Beauty obeys, and agrees to help her father in any way she can; in this case by taking on the domestic duties.  The mermaid too is acquiescent, waiting for the day that she can view the world above the sea and, even though her excitement increases with every story she hears from her sisters, she is never tempted to disobey direction.

To coincide with Propp's thesis, Beauty and the mermaid are clearly defined as the tales' heroes; they are the first characters to be fully introduced, and are the recipients of instructions intended to protect them.  Ordinarily, the breaking of such protocols would lead to the progression of the narrative, as the protagonist's disobedience results in danger for themselves and their families that would need to be overcome to regain harmony and control.  This is not the case here; rather, it is the women's obedience that furthers the development of the stories, as Beauty's meeting with Beast is the consequence of her loyalty to her father; she frees him from captivity by offering herself as a replacement.  The only reason the mermaid sees and falls in love with the prince, and then rescues him from drowning, is because his ship happens to be sailing by on the day that she is permitted to swim to the surface.  Subsequently, the remainder of Andersen's The Little Mermaid is the outcome of the girl's abiding by the laws of her people, fuelled by the tales that she is told. 

In this way, de Beaumont and Andersen's tales signify the correct mode of behaviour that was expected of women at this time; to respect the boundaries that have been set to them, even if they lead to threat or unhappiness. 

Contrastingly, Ariel does not obey the interdiction given to her by her father, who forbids her from swimming above the water, and she is not told stories of this other world, as she can see it first hand.  It is her flouting of the rules that drives the narrative forward, as her violation of the interdiction causes her to meet Eric, and to seek out Ursula, the villain, to request help in achieving her aim; the prince's love.

Ariel symbolises a modern teenager, who tests her parent's boundaries, and risks her safety, to satisfy her selfish desires.  Although Ariel relies on the assistance of those around her to achieve her goals, and ends up with no more freedom than when she began, she at least demonstrates a longing for autonomy, and bases her desires on her own experiences of the outside world, rather than on second-hand tales.  Essentially, Ariel is a spoilt, self-centred child who demands that everything should revolve around her and, while Disney does not give this character an easy time, she does not suffer the same physical traumas as Andersen's mermaid.

Disney's tale does not end with Ariel's death; as she apparently lives happily ever after with her prince, nor does her transformation into a human cause her any pain.  It seems that Disney is rewarding Ariel's attitude, providing her with exactly what she wanted, and even giving her the blessing of her father, who grants her permanent legs, and witnesses her wedding.  The corporation advocates Ariel's greed, as in the end she literally has everything; voice, legs, prince, and proud parent.  As Nadel states, this coincides with the contemporary 'voodoo economy ' (1997:90), where trade; Ariel's substitution of her voice for legs, results in gain for the consumer.  To Nadel, this is how Disney, as a site of commodification and fetishisation, depicts their notion of a happy ending; by having it all:

'This […] constitutes the only possible means by which Ariel, the princess of mermaids under the sea, can become princess of the world to which she aspires, up there on land.' (1997:90)

Millar agrees, and quotes the curator of the Hans Christian Andersen Museum as saying the following:

'Andersen was saying in this story […] that you cannot always expect to shape your own destiny, but must try to have a good life and trust in God's mercy.' (Eskildsen in Millar, 1997:8)

The observation that Andersen's mermaid has little independence or initiative in comparison to Ariel is attributable to the writer's religious beliefs, and the notion that no one has the ability to make their own decisions, as a prescribed fate is dealt no matter what.  While Disney's ideology seems more contemporary and positive, as it places responsibility with the individual, it remains concerned with the values of necessity and acquisition, with the idea that Ariel deserves this good fortune because she is such a headstrong and purposeful example of a modern woman.

To return to Beauty and the Beast, and an examination of Propp's functions, though de Beaumont plainly situates Beauty as the hero of the tale, with the narrative events revolving around the actions of her character, Disney does not follow suit.  On the contrary, the first character that the audience is introduced to is Beast, not Belle, and it is he that receives the interdiction.

The film's narrated prologue, as detailed above, tells of a handsome prince who lacks nothing in terms of material possessions, but whose personality is considerably flawed.  He is approached one day by an old woman, begging for refuge in exchange for a rose; an offer that he immediately refuses, because of his disgust of her haggard appearance.  The beggar responds by issuing the man with a warning, or interdiction, to not be deceived by appearances as 'beauty comes from within' (Trousdale & Wise, 1991), but he still rejects her, causing her to revert to her true form of a beautiful sorceress.   In accordance with Propp's order of functions, this woman is the film's villain, emerging as a result of the hero's denial of the terms of the interdiction, and bringing him harm by transforming him into a beast.

The viewer is told that the curse can only be lifted once the prince has found love, and has these feelings reciprocated, and the sequence ends with the narrator telling of the Beast's anguish, finally posing the question of who could learn to love this creature. 

Disney's tale is centred on the character of Beast, with his desire for freedom and love being the narrative's driving force.  Belle, on the other hand, is positioned as the answer to his dilemma; indeed, following the narrator's above query, the very next frame is of her, as if the camera is figuratively pointing to her as the key to Beast's salvation.  To this end, and to use Propp's vocabulary, Belle is the donor of the tale who, like Beauty, first meets Beast when bargaining for her father's release.  Unlike Beauty, whose acceptance of Beast and change in attitude towards him is the focus of de Beaumont's story, Belle stands as merely the means to an end. 

It is Beast, and his behaviour that is at the heart of the Disney version, whereas Belle provides the foundations for his reactions; her eventual tolerance and care incites his love for her, which is returned, leading to his transformation back into the prince.  In the book, Beast's curse is not mentioned until the finale, as his physical transformation is not as important as Beauty's love for him, for she represents the concept of the tolerant woman, who must learn to overlook the faults of her husband-to-be.

In summary, Disney's Beauty and the Beast situates the male hero as an innocent victim of his surroundings; his failed upbringing leads to his negative encounter with the female villain, who casts a spell that can only be broken by the love of a patient woman.  Like the mermaid, Belle, Beauty and Ariel, Beast requires the assistance of others in order to change, but as Part IV will demonstrate, this does not mean that the power automatically resides with Belle.  On the contrary, it is Belle's submissiveness and obedience as the donor that leads to Beast's ascension to power, not her own. 

Bibliography:

Andersen, H. C. (1994) 'The Little Mermaid' in: Fairy Tales: Hans Andersen, Penguin Popular Classics: Berkshire, p.39-65.

Bettelheim, B. (1991) The Uses of Enchantment, Penguin: London.

Byrne, E. & McQuillan, M. (1999) Deconstructing Disney, Pluto Press: London

Hutcheon, L. (2006) A Theory of Adaptation, Routledge: New York.

Le Prince de Beaumont, J. M. (2008) Beauty and the Beast, Forgotten Books.

Millar, P. (1997) 'Plunder - Disney Tears up Our Heritage' in: The European Issue, August 28-September 3, p.8-12.

Nadel, A. (1997) 'The Pretty Woman, The Little Mermaid, and the Working Girl Become "Part of That World", in: Flatlining on the Field of Dreams: Cultural Narratives in the Films of President Reagan's America, Rutgers University Press: New Brunswick, New Jersey and London, p.86-113.

Propp, V.  Morphology of the Folktale (1968) Indiana University Press: USA.

Warner, M. (1994) From The Beast To The Blonde: On Fairy Tales and Their Tellers, Random House: London.

Worthington, M. (2009) 'The Motherless "Disney Princess": Marketing Mothers out of the Picture' in: Hall, A. C. & Bishop, M. J. (eds.) Mommy Angst: Motherhood in American Popular Culture, ABC-Clio, LLC: California, p.29-46.

Zipes, J. D. (1999) When Dreams Came True: Classical Fairy Tales and Their Tradition, Routledge: London.

Zipes, J. (2011) The Enchanted Screen: The Unknown History of Fairy-Tale Films, Routledge: New York.

Spoonie Blues - and PhD muse[ings]

Majorly shitty month thus far, hence why I haven't posted; it would only be full of rage and misery, which while cathartic, would prove a very boring and depressing read.

I have other plans for today's post but, to cut a long story short, I've been stuck at home for pretty much the whole of the past three weeks, with no access to my own car, while mother has been driving back and forth to my sister's – who's recovering from a very small, totally non-life-threatening operation.  Damn, how bitter do I sound?  In normal circumstances, of course I wouldn't begrudge anyone receiving help from their mother, particularly when she already does so much for me, as my main carer.  However, nothing about my family is 'normal', or simple – whose is, I hear you scream – good point, but when you take into consideration that we moved away from living with my sister because she's a manipulative, immature, abusive and violent bitch, you can kinda see why it might grate on me.  I haven't said a lot about this in previous posts, maybe the odd hint, cos it's so difficult to discuss, and I almost feel embarrassed when I do have to talk about my family sitch.  Stupid, huh?  Anyway, the whole point of this blog was to be honest with my readers, so there you go; [some] honesty.  So, because mother's had exclusive use of the car – my car, paid for by me, via Motability – I haven't been able to get out with my enabler, SB.  And no, I couldn't have just gone for a 'walk' to town, or round the park with SB, as that would've involved mother getting me into my wheelchair before she left early in the morning, and me staying sat up all day, which I can't physically do (see The Spoon Theory to really make sense of this).

I have, consequently, really struggled to get through this month, and have had some epic rows with mother; brought on by a combination of cabin fever, boredom, frustration, exhaustion – from days of early starts – and a general feeling of loneliness and isolation.  If it wasn't for daily heart to hearts with The Wife, visits from VW and @FranBMan23, and getting out to work on two of the days, I don't know how I'd have coped.  Still not feeling great at the moment; having some pretty emotional, angry, and stressful bouts, and I have scared myself at times into thinking I'll end up like I was last year/end of 2010.  I'm hoping I've come through the worst though; mother isn't up at my sister's quite so much now, and from next week I should have a bit more use of my car.  Here's hoping, cos I'm not sure I can handle this way of 'life' for much longer.  I'm banking on the testing of a new, specially made sling on Friday that, if successful, would mean – once installed – I could be lifted and moved by my carers, rather than solely mother.  As much as I'm worried about it – the thought of anyone, or anything, new lifting me is pretty terrifying, on account of the slightest movement potentially causing a broken bone – I desperately want, no, need, for this to work.  Maybe then I'll achieve the independence that so many spoonies, quite rightly, seem to acquire so easily.

Right, on to the actual topic of this post; my PhD.  I wanted to put into words what I'm intending to research, as it's all jumbled up in my head at the moment, so it needs some organisation anyway, and what better way to do that than in public.  These are all initial, very rough ideas that I've had, based on the findings of my MA dissertation, and before I'd done any proper research.  I'm sure the plans will change, but I'm living in the moment, so here goes.

For my MA dissertation in Film, I wrote about issues of girlhood, and the representation of young women in the Disney film; specifically The Little Mermaid (Clements & Musker, 1989) and Beauty and the Beast (Trousdale & Wise, 1991).  I am going to share this work over the next few posts, so bear with me; I don't wanna give away any spoilers at the moment.  What I can say is that, as both of the above films were based on fairy tales and folklore, I followed the progression of these two stories, charting the differences between the representations of the little mermaid (Ariel, to those of the Disney generation), and Beauty (Belle).  These characters naturally became the main focus, but during my research, and throughout the course of writing up, Ursula (a.k.a. the Sea Witch) kept rearing her [very ugly] head, and proved difficult to ignore. 

Ursula brought up some very interesting issues of femininity; of being cast aside once you reach the age of infertility and unattractiveness – according to society, not my belief, honestly.  Yet, cos Ariel and Belle took the lead roles, Ursula kind of faded into the background, and didn't get as much recognition as she'd have liked.  Indeed, The Legend, who second marked my dissertation, and whose advice I will always follow to the letter, said that she would have been interested to read a lot more about Ursula, and her 'issues'.  Hint for a future PhD topic?  Methinks so.  Thus, the seed was planted, and I'm intending to follow up this idea further, by means of a PhD.

Current working title is 'The Other Woman; Monstrous Femininity and Ageing in the Disney Fairy Tale', and I'm intending to broaden my horizons – and word count – by looking at a much wider range of Disney films, and comparing them to their 'live-action' counterparts.  Fairy tales are totally in vogue at the moment, what with Sky's current ad campaign, Channel 5's Once Upon a Time, and the recent release of Snow White and the Huntsman (Sanders, 2012), to name but a few.  Moreover, according to HH – who was my very brilliant dissertation supervisor – there's loads of research being carried out on ageing, and it just so happens that the Arts and Humanities Research Council (AHRC) – who I'm banking on for funding – are looking for people to research 'New Dynamics of Ageing'.  Um, yay.  If I ever get to writing a proposal, I will play on this muchly. 

By 'Other', I mean the process of 'us' versus 'them'; primarily associated with Said's 1978 book, Orientalism, where the creation of a society:

'[...] whether Orient or Occident, France or Britain… involves establishing opposites and otherness whose actuality is always subject to the continuous interpretation and reinterpretation of their differences from us‘. (1995:332)

My PhD thesis will [hopefully] be on a much smaller scale than continental politics, and the idea of the 'Other' will instead be used twofold.  First, as a kind of play on words; not the heroin, the other one, and also Other with a capital O; the women that offer something different, oppose the 'norm', aren't seen as 'us'.  This may be cos they aren't beautiful, aren't married, are childless or infertile, etc.  Basically, anything that differentiates these women, such as Ursula, Maleficant, The Wicked Stepmother, from what we – us – deem socially acceptable, or traditionally conventional. 

By 'Monstrous Femininity', I'm of course referring to the brilliant Barbara Creed's The Monstrous-Feminine: Film, Feminism, Psychoanalysis, which I haven't actually read yet, but I'm sure it's amazing.  According to the blurb, The Monstrous Feminine addresses the way that female monstrosity nearly always shares a bed with issues of fertility and mothering – ooo, rhymes with Othering – think the alien in Alien (Scott, 1979).  So, like, all the baddies mentioned above don't have biological children, and seem to exist purely to make the younger, hotter, more fertile protagonists' lives a misery. Wait, this is sounding all too close to home... Anyways, I haven't even begun to address the question of why these women are portrayed in this way; though I have touched on it very briefly in my review of Snow White and the Huntsman.  Maybe it's jealousy, or bitterness, over all the privileges Third Wavers have over the Firsties, or maybe society – us, again – deem older women as useless, due to their inability to reproduce and, cos they're so unattractive, they must be cast aside, to go live in caves.  Again, not my views.  Who knows; it's probably a combo of all those factors, plus a bunch more.  Only time, and a whole lotta work, will tell.  Although, if anyone does have an answer, please share!  I'm not so attached to the idea of giving up my life [and sanity] to research this baby, that I wouldn't welcome any input. 

Next, cue a big load of post-feminist argument – which I actually love picking apart – about the body beautiful, women doing it for themselves, Third Wave gals versus First Wave old cronies, and I have myself a very basic, yet not bad – even if I do say so myself – idea for a thesis.

That's where I'm at right now.  I've done no reading, since researching my MA, and have watched maybe a tenth of the films that I need to.  But I'm starting to think about it; progress.

KT xxx

Identity Crisis

Having a bit of a crisis of conscience at the moment, after some really weird - and pretty darn creepy - comments.  Basically, I've been thinking about how a lot of people use the Internet to hide behind, like these so called 'trolls' that abuse others on twitter, because they feel they have the right to say anything, and it won't get traced back to them.  The whole point of my blog was to be as honest with my readers as possible, yet, I don't use my real name… And therein lies the problem.

When I first started writing, I figured it would be much easier to be myself if I wasn't myself; i.e. I used a false name. That way, I felt I could be honest about my life, without worrying about having any fallback, or offending anyone I know – not that I would deliberately. It's like, when you have counselling; it's much easier to talk to someone who's not part of your life, who won't judge you, because they don't know you. That's what this blog is to me, kinda like my therapy. I've already explained at great length why I chose the pseudonym of 'Bad Wolf', and I still stand by what I said back then. I like the anonymity, and I like being able to keep this identity separate from the persona I portray in the real world. Otherwise, I am 100% honest in what I write here, and my twitter account – also under 'The Bad Wolf' - is an extension of that.

Yesterday, I got it into my head to screw what anyone else thinks of me, and connect all my accounts. So I went about connecting my twitter back to my Facebook, and allowing NetworkedBlogs to post on my Wall/Timeline. But then I thought about it a bit more, and talked to The Wife, and today I've gone back and reversed all those decisions; except one, which I'll reveal in a minute. Maybe I'm a coward, and shouldn't be bothered about what anyone thinks of what I write, but I am – bothered, I mean. It's like I said in 'I'm Fine'; there are certain people I can be honest with, and tell how I'm really feeling, but for the other 99%, I give the default 'I'm fine', and it's those that I don't feel comfortable in letting read my blog. Stupid, right? My blog is public, for the whole world to read, yet I don't want [certain] people I know reading it. I think, if I always had that worry at the back of my mind, that friends and family may be reading this, then it would hinder my honesty, and ruin the whole point.

It also helps that, after a lot of thought, I've kind of pinned down what I want out of this blog, which maybe I hadn't really thought about before. I want it to be a platform for me to express how I'm feeling, how I'm coping with my day-to-day life as a spoonie, and any worries or changes that may occur, and I hope that, in turn, I'm providing a bit of support or insight to those of you reading this. I find it really difficult to talk to people, apart from a select handful, so this blog has proved useful to me, on a selfish level, for understanding myself, and working a few things out. I welcome comments, and criticism, and would love to hear from other spoonies, or friends/family of spoonies, just to know someone is on the same wavelength would be brilliant. On that note, in future posts I'm going to try even harder to talk about my life as a spoonie, and how my condition - Brittle Bone Disease - affects me, in the hope that anyone else with a similar condition, or spoonies in general, will at least feel that they're not alone. I'm also going to make sure to write more about film too; it's not all about me, and I need to make the effort to write something a bit academic, after four years of studying the subject.

But, while I want to remain anonymous, I feel that I should give you all a bit of myself, a smidgen of my true identity, in order to keep that balance between the completely honest 'Bad Wolf,' yet be an identifiable and empathetic personality. So, from now on, call me Katie.

KT xxx