Lessons in Adolescence

This is the last from my Renaissance guest bloggers. Here's my friend Drew's thoughts on one of his faves, Hercules. Yes, it's out of order, as I covered Hercules two weeks ago. You can blame Drew for turning it in late.

If you’re a Disney animated movie, chances are you belong to a club. The $100 million club.

It’s not particularly exclusive. There’s no velvet rope, no bouncer, no list you have to be on. All you have to do to join is gross $100 million in ticket sales during your theatrical run. Pretty simple, really.

If you do that, you can mingle with your fellow members anytime. You can drop by and talk about books with Belle, watch soccer with the Beast and Aladdin, maybe even have a steak dinner with Simba and Tarzan. In fact, in this club, you can rub shoulders with every Renaissance Disney movie—except one.

Hercules.

Hercules grossed only $99 million dollars domestically. Not 100. 99. Missed it by a measly million dollars.

It’s a fascinating bit of symmetry that Hercules, a movie about a clumsy misfit who just wants to belong, is itself a bit of a misfit in the Disney catalogue, left on the outside of the $100 million club while everyone else parties inside. That symmetry is why, I think, it retains as much charm as it does, even while—objectively speaking—it’s not the classic that its predecessors were.

With few exceptions, Disney heroes and heroines are young adults working through the most readily accessible dimensions of growing up. Think Aladdin learning to be true to himself, Ariel craving new adventure, or Mulan struggling with her identity formation.

Hercules departs from those movies in the specificity with which it approaches young-adulthood. It is, by a marathon length, Disney’s most particularly adolescent movie.

Previous heroes were essentially glorified adults—theoretically 18, but practically adult in their vocabulary, movement and attitude. But Hercules, in his teenaged incarnation, is as gawky, overgrown, uncontrollable and accident-prone as any teenage boy ever was. He decimates an entire market square with his wild strength. Other kids call him ‘Jerk-ules’ and exclude him from their games. If there is a quintessential teenage feeling, it is that sense of “not belonging,” of having nowhere to fit in.

Those are universal feelings. To this day I can summon up, with remarkable clarity, the power of those teenage memories—of being misunderstood, not fitting in, feeling a little bit alone. I suspect you probably can, too. It's not very much fun. 

And it's this, I think, that accounts for some of why Hercules stumbled at the box office in the first place. Other Disney movies draw us back to rose-colored, exclamation-pointed memories of our teenage years: Growing up! Learning to love! Dreaming big! But Hercules firmly grounds us in adolescence’s hard, question-marked reality: Why am I so awkward? What’s my body doing? Do I fit in anywhere?

Hercules doesn't resolve those questions. Yes, it ends with true love winning and Hercules attaining immortality. But he also chooses to stay and live on earth with Meg, not ascend to Mt. Olympus. His choice means that he will always have to live in the in-between, never quite at home among humans and away from the place where his god-hood actually fits.

Sound familiar? The same adolescent tension vibrates through our own lives: not quite at home in a world that doesn't respect our Image-Of-God-ness, yet separated from the fullness of the Living God in whose context we make sense.

Hercules will never get into the $100 million club. It will spend eternity with its nose pressed to the glass, wondering why everyone else gets to go to the party. As Christians, we're lucky—like our physical adolescence, our time outside the party is temporary. And as for life here on earth, we take our cues from Herc—knowing that the tension is real, with no option but to live in it.

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Drew Larson is the Editorial/Development Intern at InterVarsity. In the past, he maintained the world's only sports/comedy/theology essay blog, the Casual Footballer. He knows the words to more Disney songs than he will freely admit in mixed company, unless we are talking about A Goofy Movie, in which case, game on.

My Reflection

I'm excited to share a guest post written by my older sister Lynnette, whom I call "Achs" (pronounced 'Utz'.) Mulan is special to both of us but in very different ways, which I find both fascinating and awesome.

When Mulan opened in movie theatres in 1998, I believed that the film had been created just for me, for all, but not only, the following reasons:

• It featured the first Chinese heroine - finally a “princess” I could be for Halloween!
• It utilized the singing talents of Lea Salonga - you may know her simply as the voice of Jasmine from Aladdin, but ask any Asian kid growing up in the 80s and 90s with Broadway dreams, and her eyes will gloss over dreamily at the mention of Salonga’s name
• It was about a girl hanging with the boys - as a “tomboy who likes wearing makeup” (that’s what my sister called me once), I aspired to the precise blend of guts, wit, and grace that Mulan embodied
• It premiered the summer I graduated from high school - an obvious sign (to my 18-year-old’s ego) that this film was not only made for me, but also about me!  It came at a time when, like many kids, I was preparing to go off to college, to become the “me” I was supposed to be.  If you think that I didn’t spend hours standing in front of a mirror singing, “When will my reflection show who I am insiiiiiide?” and bursting into tears, then you are sorely mistaken!

At the heart of it, this film resonated so strongly with me because it focuses on two core values of great importance to me: love for my family and authenticity to self. Two values that often felt like they were at odds with one another. When Mulan sings, “now I see that if I were truly to be myself, I would break my family’s heart,” she voices a fear that until then I had not been able to put into words. But despite this fear, she knows that sacrificing her authenticity will not bring her happiness, nor her family honor. One might think Mulan’s greatest display of bravery lies in her fearlessness in fighting off an army of abnormally large, gray-colored villains, but I think it lies in her taking that big scary step toward being “true to her heart.”

I’m not sure that my family has always felt that I have brought “honor to them all.” I know there are “true to my heart” decisions I’ve made in my life: where to live, what to study, and what I believe in – that have instead brought them worry and concern. But whether my parents did it consciously or not, they raised “a girl who’s got a brain, who always speaks her mind.” And in the end, I hope that this brings them pride.

Now in my 30s, I think my ego has calmed down, and while I now recognize that this film was not created as a personal allegory for my life, its story reminds me that there is honor in being authentic.  And these days when I gaze at my reflection in a watery surface, as I often do, I’m no longer brought to tears, because I like the girl I see.

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Lynnette is a writer/actor/singer living in L.A. with her husband John, and her cats, Zelda and Billy. She's also Laura's older sister. On a family trip to Disney World, a 19-year-old Lynnette sat at the back of a room full of young children during a character sketching demonstration. When the artist asked, "Does anyone have a favorite character they'd like me draw?" Lynnette yelled "Mulan!" without hesitation. Those kids never had a chance!

Blessing the Outcasts

I'm excited to host another guest blogger, Christopher Maslanka. The first time we met, I discovered that he and his wife were Disnerds and, naturally, we became instant friends. He shares his thoughts here on his favorite Renaissance film.
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(c)Disney

When I watch a Disney film, I am particularly drawn in by the animation artistry, something The Hunchback of Notre Dame has in spades: the quality of light throughout, enough beautiful fire animation to fill three movies, the background work, detailed shadow movement, etc. Heck, the entire pre-title sequence is a perfect short film in its own right. And, of course, the movie has a gorgeous centerpiece: the Notre Dame Cathedral of Paris. But that beauty is set against one of the most intense and adult dramas Disney has done. And I say that despite the presence of dancing gargoyles.

Hunchback features a stock figure that occasionally bothers me: the Evil Christian. You’ve probably seen an example somewhere in pop-culture: a hypocritical villain spouting off Bible verses fighting the more enlightened, virtuous heroes. Disney mitigates the situation by making Frollo a judge instead of a priest. (Frollo is the Archdeacon of Notre Dame in Victor Hugo’s book. For the record, I have no problem with adaptation. If Disney hadn’t adapted Pinocchio, children would have been traumatized.) Despite the change, Frollo is clearly a believer, seeking what he sees as God’s will. Of course he is terribly, tragically wrong about what exactly God wills. His Christianity is an excuse to hide from his own desires and fears. Those desires and fears creep out along with an intense sense of guilt, making him a complex and very frightening villain. We can recognize that he espouses is not what Christ teaches. However, there are many outside the faith who look at Frollo and think they are seeing an example of Christianity.

And, to tell the truth, the stock Christian villain occasionally reflects real life. I was once a bit like Frollo. I had a taste of the truth of Christ, but I used that truth to support and defend attitudes and a sense of self-righteousness that were not Christian. In high school, I felt so confident in my faith that I put myself above those who did not share it. Thankfully, I moved out and went to college. I saw the world as far more complex, beautiful and frightening than I had ever realized. When I looked more deeply at the truth of Christ I learned that I was not in a position to look down on anyone but was called to love.

Which brings us back to Hunchback. Esmeralda sings “God Bless the Outcasts” in Notre Dame after the Archdeacon tells her someone in the Cathedral can help her (He ain’t talkin’ about the Hunchback, kid!) She sings about being alone, about being abandoned, but also recognizes that God’s love is universal. It is the most overtly Christian song in the Disney canon that I can think of off the top of my head. Further, its message rings true.



In a world torn apart by selfishness, self-righteousness, and self-hatred, we are called, like Quasimodo, to step beyond our safe homes, our self-imposed limits, and actively love those around us, especially those condemned and abandoned. Like Quasimodo, we have a unique perspective on the world, one that renders everyone beautiful and worthy of love: we can see everyone as a child of God. Quasimodo looks down on Paris from his bell tower and sees everyone bathed in heaven’s light and wishes to be a part of that. Frollo, in his own palace of justice, looks down and sees a reflection of his own twisted corruption. Now, I think it’s fairly clear which perspective we are supposed to buy into by the end of the movie, and I think it’s a perspective our King would approve.

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Currently completing his PhD in Medieval English Literature, Christopher has long considered himself a Disney Apologist in that he attempts to defend the artistry of Disney animation against those who would dismiss the work as juvenile or overly commercial. He was very excited to hear of Laura’s project and feels it an honor to be writing a guest blog.  He also likes the term Disnerd much better than Apologist and is sticking with it instead. 

Rescuing Love

Beauty and the Beast is explored further in this great post from guest blogger, Abi Christian. This is her second post for Disnerd Adventures. Note: The embedded TED talk is about 20 minutes long, but well worth the time!

Not surprisingly, Belle’s nose-in-the-book, head-in-the-clouds daydreaming made her my favorite Disney character growing up. To shy, middle-of-the-family, plain-looking little girls everywhere (ok, I was adorable until the second grade), Belle was quality proof that unconventional and quietly quirky were indeed beloved traits (way before the wave of Zooey Deschanel indie films).

A heroine so intelligent and independent is reason enough to love the tale of Beauty and the Beast. Seeing it again, though, I was equally drawn to the Beast. Don’t we all—in our more honest moments—examine the beastly tendencies within ourselves and ache to know that a parent, a friend, a lover, even a chipped-tooth tea cup could see “something there” that’s worth knowing, even loving?

As I paid more attention to the Beast, the requirements of the spell in particular stood out. Not only did the Beast have to get past his own self-centeredness, someone had to love him back.

Think about that for a moment.

How in the world—enchanted or not—do you get anyone to love you?

If we knew the answer, there would be far less heartbreak and separation and disunity. Families would be whole, friends would keep in touch, lovers would stay, and romantic comedies would finally reflect reality. This rose-wielding enchantress is absurd. Change yourself? Difficult and challenging but put the pedal to the metal and you can probably do it by your 21st birthday.

Get someone to love you? It’s too much to ask, lady.

To love anyone is to be placed in a terrifying position of vulnerability. As Laura pointed out, the Beast’s actual transformation happens a few scenes before his physical transformation, when he releases Belle from captivity. The Beast has done his part. He has loved. And as far as he knows, he’s going to stay a Beast. A Beast that knows love, but a Beast nonetheless.

I’ve been reflecting lately on vulnerability in my life, somewhat inspired by a fabulous TED talk by Brené Brown (this is my second blog post raving about her; she’s that good). I want to be brave enough to offer love, even if I’m the first to do so and there are no guarantees, even if I remain beastly.



But the spell makes me wonder about the other side of relationships, of returning love offered to you. Unlike the majority of Disney films where the heroine is saved by the prince, Belle’s love rescues the Beast, not just from physical deformity, but from the uncertainty and fear that vulnerability brings.

Vulnerability, says Brené Brown, is the birthplace of joy. This joy flows out of relationship, of people being honest with each other. Belle’s returned love is affirming and encouraging to the Beast. It’s a beautiful gift.

I wonder where love has been offered to me and I have not reciprocated in the fullest way that I could, where I didn’t realize that my holding back kept another trapped in deformity. I wonder where my beastliness has resulted in someone’s story remaining unfinished, still waiting for the spell to break.

It’s as much for others' sake as our own that we love.

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Abi is a dreamer, a writer, and a sucker for fairy tales and sassy heroines. She blogs on art and good people at www.offthefrontporch.wordpress.com.

#14: I dreamt, I flewed.

I'm excited to introduce my very first guest blogger, Abi Christian. I feel very honored that she voluntarily submitted this piece for my blog. Enjoy!

(c) Disney

Peter Pan, 1953
watched November 20, 2011

In my living room, there's an old steamer trunk-turned-coffee table, of which I have many memories. As a child, it served as a doctor's table when I - the patient – was sick and my sister used her toy stethoscopes and thermometers to heal me. And it served as the ice rink on which we figure skated during every Winter Olympics.

But most frequently, it served as the launching pad for my first attempts at flight. Encouraged by Peter Pan's advice to “think happy thoughts” and the catchy song, “You Can Fly,” my little sister and I jumped off the edge countless times in reach of the sky, the second star to the right, and Never Never Land.

There was something in that moment of jumping. It's a common trope for animated movies to prolong the instance when the character - hanging in mid-air – suddenly realizes they are no longer standing on solid ground. This realization happens much faster in reality. But it still happens. For a brief space in time, you truly believe you are hung. Suspended. Flying. 

And then the fall.

(c) Disney, thanks disneyscreencaps.com

But that's the power of stories, isn't it? To gift you with possibility. The whole point of Peter Pan is that your dreams can be real. The choice is clear: you grow up and become practical like the bumbling father or stay a child and story-believer. The movie definitely implies the latter as more appealing.

But I think we're mistaken in assuming that practicality and dreaming are mutually exclusive. The dreamers aren't always admirable characters. Peter is self-absorbed and lacks focus. Wendy is needy; she can't go anywhere by herself (though I admit, flying is hard. I've tried).

So what makes me love these characters is not their dreaming; it's their moments of growing up - the actions they take when just dreaming isn't enough: Wendy's decision to walk the plank rather than join the scalawag band of pirates, even when it means the end. Peter's choice to fight Captain Hook “man to man” on solid ground. His refusal to fly away when left weaponless and at swordpoint because he gave his honorable word. These are heart-wrenching and thrilling scenes in the movie. They moved me as a child as I realized that loss was a possibility even when you dream, and they move me now as I still need the courage to keep dreaming.

The gift of stories is not that dreams come true; it’s that there is something worth dreaming about. That in the midst of difficult circumstances, you still hope. For something Greater. For something Beautiful. That’s growing up as a dreamer. Having the courage to dream when it’s stupid to and the actions to follow through when it gets tough. Even when the next second brings the hard crashing against earth, for a brief moment, you fly.

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Abi is a dreamer, a writer, and a sucker for good fairy tales and sassy heroines. She blogs on art and good people at www.offthefrontporch.wordpress.com. Her favorite movie, not surprisingly, is Finding Neverland. Tissue, anyone?