12/07/2012

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

Today's post will investigate the general role of the fairy tale, from evaluating its structure and purpose, to examining who the tellers and listeners are.  It will go on to take a closer look at the tales of Beauty and the Beast and The Little Mermaid, and will discuss the themes and values of their past versions; exploring a post-feminist perspective in order to ascertain the differing portrayal of women.  This will provide a basis for a comparison between Disney's adaptations, and their literary predecessors.

I couldn't begin to state exactly when and where the fairy tale originated; I'm not sure anyone could for definite.  What is possible is to trace its influence, and its common conventions, as it passes from one generation to the next.

Before the arrival of the printing press in 1440, stories could only be shared by word-of-mouth, and it was up to the teller to ensure that these tales, and the messages that they contained, survived.  The purpose of the oral tale is similarly difficult to pinpoint, as there are many reasons for telling a story; to caution, instruct, advise, worship, and so on and, as the tales were spoken, they were liable to change depending on the narrator, and their motives. 

Kready discusses the function of early storytelling, noting that fairy tales were the leftover scraps of ancient myths, and were adapted to include people and places that the audience would be familiar with; the protagonists being replaced by local heroes.  In this way, it is likely that such stories could have been used as morale boosters, providing the poorer members of the community with the necessary motivations to carry on despite adversity, like their heroes.  Indeed, Kready maintains that the content of the myths were altered slightly, with the 'monstrous element modified' (2008:108), while the fantasy, and extraordinary feats of the heroes, were left in. 

Though these adaptations may have made the tales more appealing to the listener, as the relative ease with which the protagonist succeeds would convey hopes and aspirations within themselves, they are simultaneously suggestive of the origins of the 'happy ending' formula regularly found in fairy tales.

Stories evolved to fit their environment, and the differing values and attitudes of those who adopted them.  All the while, the identity of the teller was clear, as these tales had to be passed on directly; they could not be written down.  This changed with the 15th century innovation of the printing press, leading to an increase in literacy throughout the population; with this the oral tale began to go through significant alterations.

In the beginning, the subject matter of the fairy tale was condemned, as a result of its allegorical nature that could be interpreted in a number of ways, depending on the reader.  While fairy tales have always existed for the purpose of commenting on the behaviour of society, and alluding to the correct attitude to take, as well as the aforesaid objectives of trade, reverence, and support, once they were converted to literature, these ideas were regarded as too prescriptive.  It was believed that the morals of the tales would be taken literally, and that their hidden meanings were dangerous, almost sinister.  Hence, it was thought best that children not be permitted to read or hear fairy tales, in case the underlying principles affected their innocence. 

It was not until the 1820s, according to Zipes (1999:18), that children were allowed access to fairy tales, yet these were watered down versions, with the bulk of the intended significance removed.  Even so, fairy tales were still regarded as unsuitable for young readers, partly for the reason that, because of their derivation from the oral tradition, they were considered beneath the needs of the literate, and because the fantastical elements could lead to inappropriate behaviour, such as masturbation (1999:18).  If children were given permission to read fairy tales, these would probably be modified adaptations that contained safe, non-subversive connotations that could not be misinterpreted or, to use Zipes' words, the aim of these stories was 'the domestication of the imagination' (1995:25).

In opposition to the above mode of thinking, that fairy tales are harmful to children, Bettelheim's seminal work of the 1970s maintained that, in reality, such stories prove beneficial to the development of their young readers' psyches.  Akin to the Freudian style of psychoanalysis, where individuals are encouraged to make sense of their lives by overcoming seemingly impossible and daunting experiences, Bettelheim's theory instructs that the fairy tale teaches children that life is complex and, rather than trying to escape the inevitable, they must face each challenge head-on to achieve success:

Freud's prescription is that only by struggling courageously against what seem like overwhelming odds can man succeed in wringing meaning out of his existence.  This is exactly the message that fairy tales get across to the child in manifold form: that a struggle against severe difficulties in life is unavoidable, is an intrinsic part of human existence – and that if one does not shy away, but steadfastly meets unexpected and often unjust hardships, one masters all obstacles and at the end emerges victorious. (1991:8)

Fairy tales allow young readers to work through problems, and expand the capacity of, their conscious minds or, in Freudian terms, their egos, which alleviates stresses that may exist within the pre-conscious super-ego, or the unconscious id.  The general progression of a fairy tale's narrative; the hero's victory after overcoming adversities, gives physical form to the intangible id, and provides the child with coping strategies that correspond to those related to the needs of the ego and super-ego. 

Bettelheim believes that, rather than the whimsical, unreal qualities of a fairy tale causing harm to young readers, the fantasy operates as a safe location for understanding reality.  Without undergoing this practice, a child's ego may become so inhibited that underlying unconscious issues may never be dealt with, and could lead to permanently damaging their personality. 

Thus, the imaginative process is encouraged, as is the often concealed idea of the existence of evil, which is commonly addressed by fairy tales in their depiction of good and bad characters.  Malevolent individuals motivated by compulsions of greed, jealousy and lack, demonstrate to a child the real-life existence of like-minded, unsavoury people.  The strong delineation of moral and immoral behaviours, with little between the two, coincides with the polarised workings of a child's mind, as children are more inclined to recognise distinctive behavioural qualities, and favour or discriminate one over another, if they are clearly defined.  This juxtaposition of good and evil creates an ethical dilemma within the reader's conscious mind; they are provoked into doubting and then rejecting the incentives of the villain, while sympathising with the hardships of the hero, learning the basic principles of human virtue, or as Bettelheim puts it:

'The child makes such identifications all on his own, and the inner and outer struggles of the hero imprint morality on him.' (1991:9)

This conflict of right versus wrong is presented to the child from within the safe confines of a magical realm, and kept separate from reality by the simple act of closing a book after the story has been read.  Even if a tale is recited verbally, in the fashion of the oral tradition, without the symbolic closure of a book, the customary happy ending that has previously been discussed as engendering wish-fulfilment and hope, signifies further security, as the life of the hero is assumed to stretch before them indefinitely, which Bettelheim believes helps to decrease anxieties surrounding death. 

Another key aspect of Bettelheim's critique is his thoughts on the typical fairy tale device of the hero's quest for true love that, he claims, connotes the longing for unity and attachment that is shared by all.  The fact that the hero almost always succeeds in acquiring the object of his search helps to assure the reader that they too will find their heart's desire, which further allays fears of mortality, and of dying alone, as well as the dread of separation, in this case from the mother. 

To this end, the fairy tale works as a form of preparation for the realities of life, particularly for children, whose minds are especially susceptible to the content and framework of this genre.  The tendency of fairy tales to allude to certain morals and themes via ciphers and coded meanings instantly targets children, and corresponds to the way they rationalise problems.  It is this, and the knowledge that a story will end happily, that makes children trust and believe in fairy tales as sites of self-understanding, reassurance and, in the end, pleasure.  Alternative forms of teaching, that offer a more realistic perspective, do not benefit children to the same degree because, as Bettelheim notes, young minds are not capable of grasping non-figurative ideas; those that can not be broken down into a series of cohesive images:

'[…] realistic explanations are usually incomprehensible to children, because they lack the abstract understand required to make sense of them.' (1991:47-48)

Undoubtedly, the underlying principles behind the fairy tale's resonance with children are the same as those that make Disney films popular with this audience.  The colourful and cartoonish mise-en-scène of a Disney feature removes it from reality enough to make its motifs conceivable and within reach of a child's literal imagination, yet retains sufficient verisimilitude for its teachings to be applied to the real world.  As a result of their prior knowledge of the Disney canon, spectators are confident that the film they are watching will end happily; the hero will win out, and the evil will be banished.  Whatever its subject, a Disney film becomes like a fairy tale in itself, and its intentions to convey a particular polemic echoes the main objectives of fairy stories. 

When Disney becomes the teller of a fairy tale, as in the case of its adaptations of The Little Mermaid and Beauty and the Beast, and combines its mode of address with that of its literary counterpart, it effectively becomes twice as powerful.  Young viewers accept what they see as truth because this is what they have always known; that Disney equals innocence and integrity, while the fairy tale denotes an understanding of reality, and the combined influence of the two institutions would be difficult for children to challenge.

Before Disney could take on the role of teller, the tales first had to be written, and then absorbed into public knowledge, which, in the case of Beauty and the Beast, was a long and complex process.  A number of critics and scholars are of the view that the story of Beauty and the Beast can be traced as far back as 150 A. D., (Warner, 1994 & Griswold, 2004) with the Roman fable of Metamorphoses, which featured the characters of Cupid, the first 'Beast', and Psyche as Beauty.  However, Griswold suggests that this was probably based on Greek oral folk tales, where Cupid's predecessor would have been Eros, and whose own ancestor would likely have been the transformed gods of Egyptian myth.  As it is impossible to determine the exact moment that Beauty and the Beast was created, this dissertation will use the fairly well-known and influential legend of Cupid and Psyche as a starting point for an analysis of the tale's progression.

In the Roman edition, Cupid is instructed by his jealous mother, Venus, to make the beautiful Psyche fall in love with a hideous creature but, upon seeing her, Cupid pricks himself with the enchanted arrow, and falls deeply in love.  Although attractive, and the daughter of a wealthy king, Psyche was never proposed to, and her parents were told to abandon her.  Eventually she finds her way to a magical castle, inhabited by invisible occupants, and is visited at night by the owner, who forbids her from seeing his true self.  Later, Psyche is persuaded by her visiting sisters that the reason for her husband's secrecy is that he is a monster, and that her only option is to kill him.  Psyche inadvertently wakes her husband, Cupid, and on seeing her disloyalty, and a knife in her hand, Cupid leaves.  Desperate to find him, Psyche asks Venus for help, and is set a number of tasks, of which she is successful.  Finally, Cupid discovers what is happening, and rescues Psyche from his mother's torment, before marrying her and turning her into an immortal goddess.

Warner writes that this early rendition inverts the characters of Beauty and Beast as, while Cupid's hidden identity sets him up as dangerous, he is in fact beautiful and kind.  On the other hand, Psyche is established as perfection in terms of her looks, but her personality is flawed, as she is easily led by her sisters to disregard Cupid's one rule, in order to satisfy her curiosity.  When it is put to her that her husband could be a monster, Psyche is prepared to protect herself, and her later search, and the completion of tasks, demonstrates the development of her character from selfish to selfless.  Accordingly, this story is one of change, particularly in the case of Psyche, a privileged woman who is asked to sacrifice her shallow beliefs as a means of benefiting herself; as it can not be forgotten that she becomes a goddess at the end of this tale, and the feelings of those around her.

Psyche, or Beauty, is the protagonist of this story, as the narrative concentrates on the modification of her personality, and her journey to find herself and her lover.  In contrast, Cupid as Beast is depicted as menacing and omnipotent, with the secrecy of his identity posing as a danger to Psyche's innocence and naïveté, which Warner suggests is the common take on this story when the narrator is female:

The Beauty and the Beast story is a classic fairy tale of transformation, which, when told by a woman, places the male lover, the Beast, in the position of the mysterious, threatening, possibly fatal unknown, and Beauty, the heroine, as the questor who discovers his true nature. (1994:275)

It is presumed by Warner that, as writers became aware of Beauty and the Beast, and the number of adaptations increased, its target audience became predominantly women.  Owing to the themes of female virtue and purity, and the fear of powerful, intimidating and, perhaps, aggressive men, the tale tended to connect with the fears of women, and it was largely this that resulted in the majority of the story's adapters being female.  Even though a version of the tale was published by Perrault in 1697, as part of his Mother Goose collection, it was not until the end of the 18th century, with the French writers Madames de Villeneuve and Le Prince de Beaumont, that Beauty and the Beast became the recognisable story that it is today. 

Villeneuve's version principally comments on society's attitudes towards marriage, and the patriarchal oppression of women.  As Warner proposes, it was customary for girls from this period to be forced into loveless marriage by their fathers, often to husbands that posed a physical or mental risk.  So Villeneuve's tale, which contains similar connotations to its Roman predecessor, addresses cultural issues that correspond to the current anxieties of its female consumers.

Madame de Beaumont's shorter tale, published 16 years after Villeneuve's, retains a similar narrative to the previous version, and instructs the reader to respect their family, and abide by the laws set to them by men.  In this story, Beauty is one of six children, though her brothers barely feature, and her relationship with her sisters is tenuous.  Being incredibly vain, Beauty's sisters are jealous of her looks, her kind persona and the male attention that she receives, yet she never retaliates towards their attitude, and appears to modify her behaviour to satisfy them.  When the girls' father leaves to try and reclaim his lost fortune, he tells his daughters that he will bring them each back a gift of their choice.  Naturally, the sisters choose expensive items, such as clothing and jewellery, but selflessly, Beauty desires nothing, as she knows that the money her father is due will barely cover the cost of her siblings' wishes.  Rather than admitting these concerns and making her sisters look selfish, Beauty merely asks for a rose:

"Since you are so kind as to think of me, (answered she,) be so kind as to bring me a rose, for as none grow hereabouts, they are a kind of rarity." Not that Beauty cared for a rose, but she asked for something, lest she should seem by her example to condemn her sisters' conduct, who would have said she did it only to look particular. (2008:3)
Here, de Beaumont insinuates that Beauty, as the youngest child, must sacrifice her beliefs and morals in order to appease the feelings and well-being of her family.  The story is focused on Beauty's appearance, which is referred to numerous times, and her placid, 'affable, obliging' (2008:2) and patient nature, and it seems that she is the personification of the ideal woman.  Moreover, Beauty epitomises the perfect daughter, remaining loyal to her father, and meekly following him to their new home in the countryside, where she takes on the role of the domesticated woman; cooking and cleaning for her family which, according to de Beaumont, even results in added health benefits for her:

'In the beginning she found it very difficult, for she had not been used to work as a servant; but in less than two months she grew stronger and healthier than ever.' (2008:2)

Ultimately, Beauty is figured as undergoing training to be the perfect housewife, with her subservience and desire to place the needs of others before her own proving useful later on in the narrative, when she meets Beast. 

Beauty's first meeting with Beast is a result of her father's punishment for taking a rose from the creature's garden; so what was an innocent request becomes the catalyst for the potential downfall of her and her family.  In payment for his crime, Beast demands that Beauty's father brings him one of his daughters, and sends the man home.  Upon hearing what has happened, and learning that it was her desire that caused this, Beauty accompanies her father to the Beast's castle, where she becomes his prisoner.  Initially, Beauty's life with Beast is full of fear, as she believes she will be eaten but, as time goes on, Beauty learns to tolerate this creature, who shows her nothing but kindness, and comes to realise that he is actually a gentleman. 

After three months of living with Beast, and refusing numerous marriage proposals, Beauty is allowed to go and tend to her ill father, as long as she promises to return to Beast in one week.  All the while she is with her father, Beauty worries about Beast being alone, and dreams that he is dying.  It is here that she decides that she does want to marry him, and reproaches herself for judging his looks over his compassion.  On arriving back at the castle, Beauty finds that Beast really is dying; his misery at losing her caused him to starve himself, and she agrees to marriage.  Beauty's acceptance results in the Beast's transformation into a handsome prince, and the pair wed; becoming king and queen. 

It is posited in this story's climax that Beauty's eventual marriage benefits her greatly, as she receives aristocratic status, and with it the expected advantages of wealth and status.  In reality, this partnership is a consequence of Beauty's submission and compliance to the oppressive rules of patriarchy.  Throughout the tale, Beauty has repressed her inner desires and wants to abide by the rules of the male-dominated society and, on the few occasions that she has asked for something she, or someone that she loves, is punished; even though any minute demands that she does make are always to help others. 


As a well-educated and happily married teacher, de Beaumont's tale educates her female students in the art of becoming textbook wives, which not only involves answering to men, but tolerating them and their potential faults, as this acceptance may lead to the unveiling of a good man.  As Warner observes:

[Madame de Beaumont is a] teacher raising her pupils to face their future obediently and decorously, to hear her pious wish that [they] should obey their fathers and that inside the brute of a husband who might be their appointed lot, the heart of a good man might beat, given a bit of encouragement [...]. (1994:293)
Warner maintains that de Beaumont's Beauty and the Beast sets the scene for the typical women of the Victorian era, whose purpose was to keep house, raise and tutor their daughters to be good and patient wives, and put the needs of their husbands first; at whatever cost.  Viewed from this angle, Beauty and the Beast's pre-cinematic versions strongly oppose the later, post-feminist stance on the portrayal of women, who are encouraged to adopt a more self-serving attitude, and liberate themselves from the constraints of male dominance in the home, workplace and wider society.  In accordance, female consumers of a contemporary adaptation of Beauty and the Beast may expect Beauty to be independent and self-motivated; a woman that would ensure that she alone was responsible for the meeting of her desires, and would choose to be with Beast because she loves him, and that this is the right decision for her.  

In 1837, the young Danish writer Hans Christian Andersen wrote The Little Mermaid which, though adapted numerous times for stage and screen, remains the only literary version of the tale.  Furthermore it is believed that, in contrast to Beauty and the Beast, The Little Mermaid is not a direct descendant of oral tales but, like the majority of Andersen's stories, was based on his personal experiences, and influenced by literary works.  In this case, Altmann and De Vos cite Foqué's Undine (1811); a romantic tale from Germany about a young sea-dwelling sprite who acquires a soul by marrying Huldebrand, the knight, is cited as The Little Mermaid's forefather.  Undine derives from the writings of the Swiss astrologer and alchemist Paracelsus, who told stories of the spirits of nature, one of them being Undine, who sacrifice their immortality in exchange for an eternal soul, as a result of their marriages to humans.

In Undine, the water spirit, or mermaid, does win the heart of Huldebrand, but he can not help feeling threatened, because she retains the magical abilities that she was born with.  Huldebrand is persuaded by his ex-lover to leave Undine and marry her instead, breaking Undine's heart, and her plea for him to remain forever loyal to her.  Unable to live without Huldebrand's love, Undine resorts to killing him, releasing her from his hold, and allowing her to return to the water without the burden of the soul that she had once deeply desired.
According to Altmann and De Vos, Undine's conclusion did not sit well with Andersen, who disliked the mermaid's reliance on the love and acceptance of others in order to gain her soul.  Instead, he judged that the future of the mermaid should rely on fate and chance, possibly stemming from his religious upbringing, and the hardships that he faced growing up:

I have not [...] allow[ed] the mermaid's acquiring of an immortal soul to depend on an alien creature, upon the love of a human being.  I'm sure that's wrong!  It would depend rather a lot on chance, wouldn't it?  I won't accept that sort of thing in this world.  I have permitted my mermaid to follow a more natural, a more divine path. (Andersen, 1837, in Altmann & Vos, 2001:178)
It is known that Andersen experienced a difficult childhood; his parents were very poor, and it is intimated by some critics that he struggled his entire life with the repression of homosexual feelings (Sells, 1995; Zipes, 1999).  He sought escapism by accompanying his grandmother to an old people's home, where he would listen to the telling of stories.  This proved to be Andersen's inspiration for becoming a writer and, after leaving home at 14 to earn money as a performer, he was sent to school at the age of 17 by a supporter.  Due to his family's poverty, and the fact that he was the oldest in his class, Andersen found fitting in at school similarly trying, but succeeded in his exams, and became a published author in 1829.

Set against this brief biography of Andersen, The Little Mermaid can be seen to carry undertones that concur with the reflections and incidents of his life.  To begin with, Andersen's mermaid dreams of seeing the world above the sea, but is forbidden by her father to do so until her 15th birthday.  In the meantime, she satisfies her curiosities by hearing her grandmother's stories of the humans, and passes the time by tending to a garden in which stands a marble figure of a man.  Already, similarities can be drawn between the character of the mermaid and Andersen, as both depend on the fascinating tales of their elders as forms of escapism.  In addition, the fact that the statue at the centre of the mermaid's garden is clearly marked as a 'handsome' and 'beautiful' (1994:40) man, symbolises Andersen's hidden love for the male form.

The mermaid's longing for access to the land, and of its associated wonder, excitement and freedoms, can be read as the writer's longing for upward mobility.  The mermaid's kingdom appears simple and rustic, perhaps referring to Andersen's poverty-stricken upbringing, while outside is described vividly as being full of colour, lights and people.  Hence, the contrast between Andersen's home life, and the existence that he wishes for; one of popularity, fortune and recognition, is demonstrated in the juxtaposition between the mer-world, and that of the humans. 

When the little mermaid first experiences life above the surface, she instantly falls in love with the landscape that she views, and a prince that she rescues from a shipwreck.  After this, she vows to spend the rest of her life with the prince, insisting that she would rather be mortal, and give up her preordained future of living for 300 years before becoming sea foam.  To this end, the mermaid makes a deal with the sea witch, and trades her voice for life as a human, with the proviso that, if she does not win the prince's love, she will be turned into foam on the waves. 

The loss of the mermaid's voice, and the physical pain that she endures when changing into human form, which feels 'as if a two-edged sword were going through her delicate body' (1994:54), denotes the mental torment that Andersen no doubt experienced as a result of his suppressed feelings.  The mermaid's lack of speech is particularly poignant, as it could suggest Andersen's inability to speak openly about his innate desires, and it may be this factor that led to his career as a writer, for he could at least feel the cathartic unburdening of these emotions through the experiences of his characters.  Whereas, the pain of the mermaid's transformation implies the difficulties that Andersen faced when moving from one realm to another; from the privacy and security of his home to the insecurity and scrutiny of the public domain, and the sacrifices that he indisputably would have made. 

The story of The Little Mermaid is one of oppression and repression, and of the failure to conform to society's norms.  The mermaid is oppressed by the rules of her father, and seeks liberation in the land above the sea, which appears to offer freedom and wish-fulfilment.  Yet, because of her inability to communicate in this patriarchal kingdom, and a lack of understanding of the 'real' world, the mermaid fails to make the prince fall in love with her, and her sacrifices effectively lead to nothing.

Andersen too was oppressed, by the conventions of the culture in which he existed, and the move into popularity and notoriety did nothing to alleviate the repression of his inner beliefs, in fact, it would have made it more difficult for him to be himself; causing him to give up his true self for his love of writing.

Like Beauty, the little mermaid is unable to fulfil her wishes without the assistance of others and, although she does escape the dominance of her father, she has to lose the markers of her identity; her voice and tail, to do so.  When she does achieve her goal of living among the humans, she is treated as an outcast, an Other that literally can not speak the language and, in a similar vein to Beauty, ends up becoming a victim of her needs.  Therefore, while the mermaid may initially be regarded as taking a proactive stance in changing her life, this process is turned into a punishable act, and her selfish pursuit of freedom from the security and sanctity of the sea is met with pain and, finally, death.

Whether these depictions of Beauty and the mermaid change with Disney's contemporary re-workings of the tales will be examined in the next post where, among other critiques, Propp's theory on the functions of the fairy tale will be used to ascertain exactly what changes have been made in the transition from literary to cinematic narrative, and for what purpose.

Bibliography:



05/07/2012

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

Right, so I've been meaning to get this ball rolling for ages, and here it [finally] is.  The following five posts will cover my research on Disney's representatio of women, which I hope will at least proves interesting to those of you who love Disney, fairy tales, reading and feminism – if you can actually love feminism – and maybe even useful to those of you researching these subjects.  I'm more than happy for people to use my findings in their own writing, as long as it's properly referenced – only fair – and I'll endeavour to clearly show the references that I used.  Any questions though, please do comment.  Enjoy.

Spoiler

The following posts examine the role of women in Disney's Renaissance period, specifically The Little Mermaid (Clements & Musker, 1989) and Beauty and the Beast (Trousdale & Wise, 1991), and will compare them to previous literary versions to achieve an understanding of the studio's principle agenda.  These posts will feature a close textual analysis of the Disney films, and Propp's theory on the functions of fairy tales will be used to compare the morals and values of these versions with their most famous literary predecessors; those written by Andersen and de Beaumont.  It is then posited that the filmic adaptations have been manipulated in such a way as to reflect the corporation's patriarchal and capitalist ideologies, by suggesting that girls like Belle and Ariel are merely submissive constructs of a male dominated society.  The supposed autonomy of these characters is explained as signifying the post-feminist tendency of women to seek liberation by gaining access to the workplace, and becoming independent earners.  However, Belle and Ariel both long for more; desiring to belong to the 'outside' world, which promises beauty, admiration and freedom.  The fact that neither girl is satisfied with life indicates the media's pressure on women to appear a certain way; to change themselves in order to correspond to a set of prescribed norms; and to ultimately become happy and successful.  Thus, the outcome is that Disney's young women stand as metonyms for the anxieties of many female viewers, who feel they should work hard to fit into society, and then appear grateful to their male colleagues, for allowing them these freedoms to succeed. 

So far so good?  On to the intro then.

The Intro

1989 witnessed the beginning of Disney's 'Renaissance era' (Byrne & McQuillan, 1999, et al); lasting roughly until 1999, where the studio once again became a popular, and much-loved, household name –  after nearly going down the pan in the late 70s/early 80s.  Giroux writes that Disney's increasing economic power, as shown through the buying up of numerous television and film networks during the 1980s and 90s, demonstrated not only domination of the media industry, but of cultural and political hegemony.  In other words, Disney acquired authority and influence due to its vastness and, because it is practically impossible to avoid this conglomerate, it is similarly impossible to avoid its beliefs and values.  Furthermore, the phenomenon of marketing; the selling of 'tie-in' products such as toys, clothes and even specially packaged food items to coincide with a film's release, plays right into the hands of consumerism which, in effect, is one of the ways an individual feels a sense of belonging to the wider society or, as Giroux states:

If we imagine the Disney Company as a teaching machine whose power and influence can, in part, be measured by the number of people who come in contact with its goods, messages, values, and ideas, it becomes clear that Disney wields enormous influence on the cultural life of the nation, especially with regard to the cultural life of children. (2001:19)

In reference to Disney being positioned as a teaching aid, Giroux claims that the studio's long-standing commitment to the portrayal of innocence, happiness and imagination in contrast to the realities of contemporary American life, became like a system of educational tools.  By standing as the chief signifier for family entertainment and escapism, and with the promise that Disney will fulfil its consumers' hopes and dreams, as encapsulated in its 'When You Wish upon a Star' theme tune, the corporation sought to re-educate audiences, particularly children, in the spheres of consumerism, self-identity, and even nationalism.  Shrouded in its cloak of innocence, Disney's dominance of culture, economy, politics and the media means that its underlying strategies of control, consumption and commodification can be filtered into the minds of its billions of users.  In addition, as Giroux notes, the magical world of Disney acts as a site of fantasy and distraction for children from the hectic and stressful lives of adults, creating the illusion of a kinship between its young spectators, who are made to feel secure enough to readily receive the teachings of this substitute guardian:

Stripped of the historical and social constructions that give it meaning, innocence in the Disney universe becomes an atemporal, ahistorical, apolitical, and atheoretical space where children share a common bond free of the problems and conflicts of adult society.  Disney markets this ideal, presenting itself as a corporate parent who safeguards this protective space for children by supplying the fantasies that nourish it. (2001:31)

Thus, from a young age, audiences are taught to believe in Disney's magic, as it provides a world of safety and unity, far removed from that of its real-life alternative.  The innocence that the company endorses effectively becomes truth, largely because it is what individuals want to believe, but also because it is what they are provoked into believing via the processes of marketing, merchandising and advertising, as well as Disney's omnipotent involvement within the wider realms of society and culture.

The fact that two of the first three films of Disney's Renaissance are based on fairy tales is interesting to note in relation to Giroux's comments, and it is these two films; The Little Mermaid (Clements & Musker, 1989) and Beauty and the Beast (Trousdale & Wise, 1991), that provide the foundations for this discussion.  For now, a brief initial observation would surmise that Disney's recreation of these 'classic' tales at the beginning of its own reinvention demonstrates the desire to situate itself as the purveyor of fantasy and escapism, and that these particular stories, in their familiarity and resurgence of childhood nostalgia, enhance the connotations of storytelling and, consequently, of the educative passing on of wisdom, advice and valuable life lessons by an elder to a child. 
Leading Ladies
The protagonists of both The Little Mermaid and Beauty and the Beast are girls, though as will be discussed later, Disney's filmic adaptation of the latter has made Beauty, or Belle's, role much less significant in comparison to her literary predecessors.  Hence, due to Disney's fascination with the heroine, and its repeated portrayal of seemingly strong, charismatic and determined young woman, it is from a feminist perspective that the films will be considered. 

At the time that the Renaissance era began, feminism was experiencing great changes in its political and cultural hegemonies, as well as in its perception within society.  Whereas the feminist movement of the 1970s was primarily concerned with issues of equality and sexual liberation, later polemics of the 1980s and 90s were more interested in the attitudes of society as a whole towards women and, while still focusing on equality in the home and workplace, shifted attention to the ways that women were publicly presented; specifically by such institutions as politics and the media. 

This new wave of feminism, often termed Third Wave or post-feminism, tends to be more celebratory of women's roles in society; their achievements, in terms of academic, employment and politics; and their freedom to express themselves via their appearance, mannerisms and body postures.  Women are encouraged to openly display their personalities, even if they do not correspond to society's traditional views on what is considered customary and expected.  This allows for a 'modern' breed of on and off screen female character with which to identify and aspire, as Walter argues:

Young women can now explore a range of different ways to behave; aggressive and articulate behaviour is rewarded as well as passive or quiet behaviour.  Women now have countless naughty, large and noisy heroines to emulate as well as the good, small and quiet heroines of the last century. (1998:58)

Tasker develops the notion of female emancipation further, claiming that a woman's ability to choose what she wears has the effect of turning her into a powerful consumer.  By this, Tasker means that women gain power from wearing clothes that they have chosen and paid for, not only because these items say a lot about their owner's character, but because shopping for them carries with it a sense of autonomy, satisfaction and enjoyment.  Additionally, the importance that has been placed on consumerism and physical appearance as sites of pleasure has resulted in women being revered as articles of beauty and perfection which, instead of constituting objectification, enhances female liberation and authority, according to Tasker:

In line with this peculiarly silent visibility, postfeminism also perpetuates woman as pinup, the enduring linchpin of commercial beauty culture.  In fact, it has offered new rationales for guilt-free consumerism, substantially reenergizing beauty culture [...]. (2007:3)

In this way, consumerism can be seen as beneficial to women; acting as a form of [retail] therapy, as it provides a means of expressing identity that is, seemingly, related to internal desires and wishes, as opposed to the external viewpoints of society.  This concept can then be applied to feminism in a wider context, as contemporary attitudes towards women can, at first glance, appear to have the effect of allowing them to make their own choices, which are generated by individual needs and wants, not by those of society. 

However Walter has revisited the key ideas in cultures of feminism, proposing that this alleged trend towards freedom through consumption is falsely justified.  While women are now able to buy, wear and [within reason] do what they want, the privileges set out by the beauty industry specifically mean that sexual objectification can be equated to female empowerment.  The necessity for women to look beautiful connotes a certain amount of vulnerability and lack; in that perhaps they wish to fulfil this aspect of their lives in order to gain success in other areas, such as business and education, and coincides with the recent acceptability of the sex industry into mainstream culture.  As Walter notes, children's dolls, which are often modelled on such cinematic heroines as those featured in Disney films, have become highly sexualised over the past decade, as have their on-screen counterparts; who regularly appear in skimpy clothes, have big hair, and faces covered in make-up, no matter their age.  Far from denoting emancipation and equality, the sexualisation of girls, and the suggestion that attractiveness leads to happiness and achievement, actually suggests the opposite.

It appears that, contrary to cultural belief, little has changed in regards to society's attitude towards women since the feminist movement of the 1970s, and that while it may seem women have been granted greater freedom in terms of their private and public spheres, this 'freedom' is in fact a disguise or 'masquerade' (McRobbie, 2009:79), working to conceal the truth; that women are not free to be themselves, because it is still society that sets out the, somewhat antiquated, terms and conditions or, in the words of Walter:

The rise of a hypersexual culture is not proof that we have reached full equality; rather, it has reflected and exaggerated the deeper imbalances of power in our society.  Without thoroughgoing economic and political change, what we see when we look around us is not the equality we once sought; it is a stalled revolution. (2010:8-9)

In order to relate this post-feminist critique to the women of Disney's The Little Mermaid and Beauty and the Beast, the issues of equality, consumerism, sexualisation and objectification will be looked at in detail.  The following three posts will address a specific theme: fairy tales, adaptation and representation, with post-feminism providing a theoretical framework and analytical approach for all three.  There will then be a conclusion, to sum it all up nice and concisely.  Don't go skipping to that part first though, cheats!

The aim of this disscussion is to evaluate how women are presented in Disney's versions of The Little Mermaid and Beauty and the Beast; and whether this is positive, as 'Renaissance' denotes, whether the studio's adaptation of these tales signifies negative attitudes, or whether indeed these aspects co-exist in tension.  By looking closely at the fairy tale and theories of adaptation, and relating the findings to a comparison of the literary texts with Disney's renditions, a greater understanding of the films' subtexts will be reached, and the corporation's position on the depiction of women will become clearer, as any alterations made in the move from page to screen should carry significant implications. 

Keep 'em peeled for Part II: the one about fairy tales.

KT xxx

Bibliography:

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









23/06/2012

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

31/05/2012

Snow White and the Huntsman: Review

I promised I would reveal the subject of my [hopefully] future PhD in this post, but went to see Snow White and the Huntsman (Sanders, 2012) yesterday, and thought I oughtta write a wee review, for my sake as much as anyone reading this.  SWATH – which is apparently how the cool kids refer to this film – will very likely feature in my PhD thesis, so it made sense to write down my initial thoughts anyway, and package them as a review, for the greater good. 

*SPOILERS*

I won't go too heavily into the plot; a) cos that makes for a really boring read, b) I'm starting to forget bits of it already, so probably wouldn't be able to give a very reliable synopsis and c), I kinda missed the first 10 minutes, because I was late, and because Vue obviously started the film bang on time.  My bad though; I shouldn't have stopped at Tesco on the way to stock up on contraband.  Anyway, from what I can remember, I will say this; It Was Brilliant.  I've skimmed through a few reviews since yesterday; the majority of which are pretty negative.  The gist being that the film is too big, and too beautiful, and not focused enough on plot, or the relationships between the characters.  Now, I don't get to the cinema very often at all, so when I do go, I wonder if I get a bit carried away and overawed by the whole spectacle of it.  Going to the cinema is something that I, generally, have to plan well in advance, and is reliant on fitting in with times that my enabler and my car – which also happens to be the 'family' car – are free.  Thus, I look forward to going and, sad but true; I get excited.  So maybe that excitement somewhat overshadows any film that I go to see, and I'm less critical than I should be; less able to see the flaws.

Personally, I believe SWATH was well acted, particularly by Charleze Theron (Ravenna, aka 'The Queen'), who gave an incredibly dark, and powerful performance, but also by Kristin Stewart – who'da thunk it? – as Snow White herself.  You may have noticed the slight surprised tone there; I was pretty sceptical of Stewart playing the lead, as I was really unimpressed with her, frankly, cold and passionless performance in the Twilight films.  Admittedly, I haven't read the books yet – they are on my Kindle – and, according to VW, Stewart plays Bella completely right.  If that's the case, then I will hold my hands up and admit to my epic mistake, but really, I don't see that happening... In SWATH though, Stewart is much better; much more of an actor. Hoorah.  I mean, I still don't think Stewart's a particularly brilliant actor, and she was completely overshadowed by Theron; both in terms of aesthetics and performance; at one point Ravenna is told by 'Mirror' that her powers are failing because one exists that is 'fairer' than she.  Really though?  Has the director not seen Theron?  With his eyes??!  She's stunning and, with the exception of the odd scene where she's 'ug-ed up', she is no less hot as this evil biatch.  Maybe too hot.  But then, this is only in comparison to previous adaptations of this tale, where The Queen was often portrayed as grotesque; becoming monstrous at times, and who's to say that she shouldn't be drop dead?  Course, the mirror coul be alluding to Snow's inner beauty, which would make more sense, and her goodness is indeed referred to in several moments in the film.  Snow White does seem to possess a certain 'magical' quality, and I'm pretty sure she's called a 'healer' by a dwarf at one point, but this is one of the ideas that is not really explained, or developed any further, leading to the viewer – or maybe it's just me – assuming that the mirror is talking about Snow's looks, versus Ravenna's.

Indeed, Ravenna's beauty is cited as one of her 'powers'; specifically over the male species who, apparently, have screwed her over in the past, so why the hell shouldn't she use her body to get her revenge.  Personally, I think this film gives an interesting perspective on femininity, especially when looked at from a post/Third Wave feminist angle, where women are seen to 'do it for themselves'; liberated to achieve power and respect by sheer determination, but equally not afraid or ashamed to use their looks as sites of pleasure and admiration.  SWATH also says some interesting things about aging; as Ravenna is prepared to go to any lengths to maintain her youthful looks, even sucking the life force out of pretty young girls – including, ironically, model Lily Cole – who then become withered up, grey and wrinkly shadows of their former selves.  Is Ravenna a feminist of the first wave; pissed at all the attention and privileges that this new, younger, hotter breed now have, when it was her lot that did all the hard work in the first place?  Quite possibly, thus I think Robinson's notion that Ravenna is a 'generic baddie', who becomes an 'impersonal wall of CGI special effects' is completely unfounded; the woman has depth, demonstrated further by Theron's emotionally unhinged performance.  Impersonal my arse.

Stewart displays a decent range of emotions too and, like I say, while I don't think she's the most talented actor going – by far – I did care what happened to Snow, which is a lot more than can be said about how I felt towards Bella.  I even shed a tear during the poisoned apple scene, and again in the death chamber.  Though, I can't really give Stewart any credit, as she was either dead or dying.  Maybe it was down to Sam Clafin (William) and Chris Hemsworth's ('The Huntsman') performances; both crying over Snow White's cold 'dead' body.  Maybe.  Like I said, SWATH has been criticised for a lack of connection between the characters, and I agree that there is little chemistry between Huntsman and Snow; considering he openly admits to loving her – I failed to spot the development of this 'love'; Huntsman just seems to decide it one day – and nothing whatsoever from William.  So, although I was initially disappointed when the film concluded without Snow ending up with either bloke, it was probably quite right; she could do better, and I would've been more annoyed if Sanders had gone with a 'happily ever after'.  Traditional yes, and more loyal to the tale's origins, but really people, this is the 21st century; no one lives happily ever after.

In terms of the other characters, no one else gave a particularly memorable performance, except Sam Spruell as Finn, Ravenna's pervy brother.  Spruell's character was fairly unnecessary; only functioning as Ravenna's dogsbody, but he didn't really bring much to the film, other than a very bad haircut and a sexually threatening undertone that didn't develop.  Nor did his obviously psychical/physical connection to Ravenna; at one point he is seen to 'die', yet reappears not 10 minutes later, perfectly all right.  Only later, when Finn actually dies, do we see its effect on his sister, who is miles away from him, and who he begs to save him.  Ravenna, selfishly, chooses not to use up the last of her powers to help her bro, yet is visibly gutted that she can't; hence Robinson's 'impersonal' is even more baffling.

The dwarves too, seemed rather pointless, and kinda included for the sake of it.  OK, so their presence would have been missed had they not featured, and I'm sure Sanders would've been slated too but, other than providing some [limited] light-hearted respite, they didn't actually do much.  I expected more, considering they were played by such talents as Bob Hoskins, Nick Frost, Ray Winstone, and Toby Jones, but a lot of the time they were just annoying.  For instance, Bob Hoskin's dwarf is obviously blind in one eye, yet can 'see'; telling everyone that Snow White is 'the one', but nothing is made of this.  Perhaps the director is trying to give the audience some credit; not spelling everything out for them, and letting them come to their own conclusions.  However, the more likely explanation is that SWATH has a lot of ideas – not all of them good – but doesn't develop them into anything meaningful, which is where this film fails.

KT xxx

24/05/2012

PhD; Pretty huge Deal

For the past few weeks, I've been desperately – and I mean desperately – researching possible sources of funding for my future PhD, to no avail.  Yup, I've come up with a big fat zilch.  Now, I don't wanna mislead anyone, or put anyone off wanting to study further; I'm just going from my, admittedly limited, research.

There's the Arts and Humanities Research Council (AHRC), and the Economic and Social Research Council (ESRC), which are the big guys in terms of funding.  I was already very aware of the former, as the AHRC offers the University's Humanities department the very generous total of two or three PhD bursaries per year.  Fine.  Great.  It's only just recently hit me though, that there's a very good chance I won't get the AHRC; then what?  I mean, I'm using this year to research my thesis topic, and do all the legwork, before writing a [hopefully] well-planned, and well-constructed proposal, which is what the AHRC money rests on.  But there's the competition; people from across the country will be applying for places too, many of them a lot brighter than me, I'm sure.  So it's definitely not a done deal.

I do have some advantages; I've already been a student at this campus, so know the staff well, and have their support.  HH and The Legend have provided me with loads of guidance in terms of research, and how to organise myself, and have given a very strong impression that they'll help me through the proposal-writing process.  They've been brilliant actually, and have totally made me believe that I can do this thang.  Providing I get funding. 

I'm working in a Film museum, cataloguing the Disney archive.  Considering my thesis topic is going to be set in the world of Disney – more on that in my next post – I couldn't really be in a better place, as I'm surrounded by magazines containing film reviews, interviews with animators, promotional material and so on.  Boss has basically given me free rein, saying that if there is anything I want to look at while I'm there, all I need do is ask.  A vast collection of archived secondary research at my fingertips; check.

I have a year to prepare – well, eight months now – but it's a lot longer, and more relaxed, than coming straight out of a Masters, which is the case for a lot of students.  In a way, I kind of wish I had gone straight on, without taking this year out, just to get it over and done with; I'd be nearly at the end of my first year by now.  Then I remember what a mess I was in the last year, how stressful I found studying the MA and writing a dissertation, without the added pressure of writing a 3000-word proposal.  I did need this break, to clear my head; I know it sounds totally lame, and lazy, but it's been great not having to think about anything remotely academic for a few months.  It's what I needed.  Though, it's amazing how quickly you can forget how to write properly, and this blog, along with proof-reading my niece's undergraduate essays, has really helped to keep my slightly furry brain ticking over.

So, yes, in theory, I'm in a really good position, and am lucky to have a lot of extra support, resources and advice on tap.  I'm just concerned that I'm going through all this effort, doing all this work – not that I've done much yet, but I will – and getting myself worked up – yup, it has begun – only to be disappointed next year if I don't get funding.  I'm not one of these overly optimistic types that gets their hopes up, only to be constantly disappointed; I'm a spoonie after all, I'm used to being let down. 

I do really wanna do this, and sooner is obviously much better than later; if I get on the course next year, I won't graduate till I'm 30, and that's if I go full-time.  Both HH and The Legend have, quite strongly, suggested I go part time, at least to start with, as I guess they can [vividly] remember what a nightmare I was last year.  They're probably right, and I can't describe how amazing it feels to hear how much they care, but that means I won't graduate until I'm at least 33… Looking at it written down like that, it doesn't seem like much difference, but it is really and, apart from anything else, my parents – both in their 70s – aren't getting any younger, and three years might make quite a big difference to them.  I want them to see me graduate, after all.

On the other hand, I'm doing a PhD for me, not for anyone else, thus I should only be running to my timeline of needs.  Even then, getting it finished in three years has its advantages too; I'll be much more employable by the age of 30, and might end up with a career lecturing or researching for the next 20 or 30 years. 

I'm less likely to be affected by a change in support staff, whether that be supervisors, note-takers, or personal carers at home, in three years than I am in six.  Course, people may leave due to illness, babies, new jobs etc during my three years of studying, but it's likely I'll experience less upheaval in a shorter space of time, which is something I need to think about.   I do get too attached to people, I know that, and I gotta stop doing it.  The Wife's called me on it before, and she is right; she's always right but, in my defence, when you need to trust someone to look after your most basic needs, and have to share your [sometimes quite personal] history with that person, you can't help but become attached.  Well, I can't, and I've really gotta stop it.  It's not really just the attachment issue, though that's a big part of it, it's having to explain my needs to someone new, over and over again.  To be honest, I'm getting used to it, now I have carers in at home, so maybe this isn't such a big deal.  I would be disappointed though if, for instance, I got halfway through a PhD and my supervisor – most likely to be HH or The Legend, due to my topic – left, because they know me and my 'issues', I trust them, and I can talk to them.

Anyway, the whole part-time/full-time debate is something that's going to be ongoing for a while, and may not be resolved till I start the course, if then.  That is the least of my worries, really – so why the hell am I fretting about it now??! – and my main problem is funding.

As I said, there's the AHRC, which covers PhDs and research projects in humanities, which Film falls into.  The ESRC covers economic, business and social projects, so I wouldn't qualify for one of their grants, but a lot of their areas of research coincide with those of the AHRC, thus it's good to at least be aware of them.  Failing these guys, there really is very little else in terms of funding opportunities for PhD, and nothing out there specifically for spoonies wanting to go down this path.  I'm sure there are thousands of institutions and organisations that would offer bursaries for particular research projects, but these are usually offered to one person at a time and, in my experience, are largely in the fields of medicine, science, business and sociology. 

I have looked up so many charities over the past two years – I tried to get funding for my MA – that I've lost count of how many 'no's' I've received.  I'm not saying that because I'm disabled I should automatically get funding, but it all just seems to stop at PhD level, for everyone, not just spoonies.  The Prince's Trust, for example, which is all for helping young people get into education, won't fund university course fees, at any level, which, to me, seems a tad fucked.  I even wrote to Disney, to ask whether they had any funding schemes or initiatives, only to be directed to a page on their site that stated that they are not "able to support personal appeals on behalf of individual people, including scholarships, challenges or overseas volunteering".  So that was that.

I know that no charity is going to give me the whole £14.400 – it's gone up, great – to cover the course fees, but no one seems to be interested in offering me anything, which is pretty depressing really.  I mean, as a spoonie, I have no delusions of grandeur, and completely understand that I'm much less employable than an able-bodied person, and undoubtedly more expensive, due to sick pay, extra equipment, and the need for a personal assistant.  I also know that I could probably only work part-time, and may find it difficult to travel on occasions, because of ill-health, or issues with care.  I get all that.  But what I don't understand is that I, along with many other spoonies out there, am trying to make myself more employable, and more valuable "to society", by furthering my education to this level, while in turn researching something that may prove useful to others, yet there doesn't seem to be any financial support or imperative to do so.  Considering one of the main issues at the moment is unemployability, you'd think the government, or someone, would say:

'Hey, well done for wanting to achieve and better yourself, when life is pretty tough for you, and ultimately give back to a society that hasn't done a whole lot for you, here's £500'

Is it me?  Am I wrong; is there anything out there that I don't know about?  If so, please, please let me know, because anything would be a bonus.

KT xxx