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19/5/14 06:56![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
owlectomyAfter finally seeing Frozen, I was lukewarm on it -- some of the emotional arc stuff was very appealing in concept, but it felt like the ending came too easily?
(I think this is because it's really Anna's movie in terms of screen time and character development, so when the ending rests on Elsa's change of heart it feels like it hasn't been sufficiently developed.)
It did get me thinking, though.
Cockeyed Caravan writes about two kinds of emotional arcs. One is about a protagonist who is basically going at things the right way, who needs self-confidence and a chance to prove themselves. That's Luke Skywalker. One is about a protagonist who's basically going at things the wrong way, who needs to set themselves right. That's Han Solo. If you're Luke Skywalker, you need to stay true to who you are. If you're Han Solo, you need to change -- but it's usually framed as a change that's all about getting in touch with a better, truer part of your self.
I wrote a paper for grad school on werewolves. And my conclusion was that werewolves work so well for a YA audience because at best, they have a different emotional arc: it's the person who has something inside themselves that is inherently dangerous, inherently prone to going out of control (or is perceived that way). Denying it and suppressing it don't work. But not denying it and suppressing it seems even more frightening and destructive. (Things this can be a metaphor for: Sex. Anger. Sexuality. There are probably more but those are the big three.) It's an emotional arc where being true to yourself is risky, and fraught, and also essential:
If you do not bring out what is inside of you, it will destroy you. If you bring out what is inside of you, it can save you.
(A lot of superhero stories and person-with-magic-powers stories also have this kind of arc. It's not just a power fantasy; it's working through the fear that who you are is inherently dangerous and isolating. The Hulk, for sure. Although, frequently men get to have this kind of story and women get to have the story where their power IS inherently dangerous and their power has to be tamed or destroyed.)
I think that Frozen is powerful where it points towards that kind of story, but then it doesn't succeed in really working through the implications. Because it is a movie for children, and because they wanted it to have an unambiguously happy ending.
But I think all the discussion about whether Frozen is or is not a feminist movie is focused more than it should be on the question of how it deals with romantic love, and whether the characters want and get romantic love, and while it's true that past Disney movies have often been too focused on the princess marrying the prince, I think the question of what happens to women who have power, and what women do with that power, is a much bigger question and a much more important one from a feminist perspective. And it's not one with an easy answer.
(I think this is because it's really Anna's movie in terms of screen time and character development, so when the ending rests on Elsa's change of heart it feels like it hasn't been sufficiently developed.)
It did get me thinking, though.
Cockeyed Caravan writes about two kinds of emotional arcs. One is about a protagonist who is basically going at things the right way, who needs self-confidence and a chance to prove themselves. That's Luke Skywalker. One is about a protagonist who's basically going at things the wrong way, who needs to set themselves right. That's Han Solo. If you're Luke Skywalker, you need to stay true to who you are. If you're Han Solo, you need to change -- but it's usually framed as a change that's all about getting in touch with a better, truer part of your self.
I wrote a paper for grad school on werewolves. And my conclusion was that werewolves work so well for a YA audience because at best, they have a different emotional arc: it's the person who has something inside themselves that is inherently dangerous, inherently prone to going out of control (or is perceived that way). Denying it and suppressing it don't work. But not denying it and suppressing it seems even more frightening and destructive. (Things this can be a metaphor for: Sex. Anger. Sexuality. There are probably more but those are the big three.) It's an emotional arc where being true to yourself is risky, and fraught, and also essential:
If you do not bring out what is inside of you, it will destroy you. If you bring out what is inside of you, it can save you.
(A lot of superhero stories and person-with-magic-powers stories also have this kind of arc. It's not just a power fantasy; it's working through the fear that who you are is inherently dangerous and isolating. The Hulk, for sure. Although, frequently men get to have this kind of story and women get to have the story where their power IS inherently dangerous and their power has to be tamed or destroyed.)
I think that Frozen is powerful where it points towards that kind of story, but then it doesn't succeed in really working through the implications. Because it is a movie for children, and because they wanted it to have an unambiguously happy ending.
But I think all the discussion about whether Frozen is or is not a feminist movie is focused more than it should be on the question of how it deals with romantic love, and whether the characters want and get romantic love, and while it's true that past Disney movies have often been too focused on the princess marrying the prince, I think the question of what happens to women who have power, and what women do with that power, is a much bigger question and a much more important one from a feminist perspective. And it's not one with an easy answer.