Just Help

I know this blog is technically in retired mode, but I just saw the latest Disney movie last night (actually, it was last Tuesday) and I felt a blog post coming on, so I'm giving it a shot. If I end up not liking it, well, then you won't be reading this. 

You may be wondering, where are the reviews for Wreck-It Ralph and Frozen? Well, they're in my book, which I published a couple of months ago. (Look to the left of this post). You'll have to buy it to read those reviews. :) Today's focus is on the newest addition to the animated Disney collection, Big Hero 6.

First of all, can I just get an AMEN that Disney is featuring an Asian American male as the film's main character? This really warms my heart. As you all know Mulan was one of my favorites, and it's exciting to have another Asian hero (sorry, the pun was too easy not to use) in the ranks. This is additionally awesome because this is Disney's first official mash-up with Marvel after acquiring them in 2009. So we've not only got Asian Americans, but Asian American superheroes!

*POTENTIAL SPOILERS* Do not read further if you don't want to know some key plot lines!

The central relationship we see in this film is between Hiro, a brilliant yet aimless orphan, and a marshmallow-like robot named Baymax. (Now, if you've ever seen Wall-E you know that robots don't mean stiff and heartless. I would recommend bringing some tissue with you to see this film, in fact.) As Hiro develops a bond with the helpful, huggable robot, he learns both of his need for friendship as well as his own true potential as an innovator. Soon the pair finds themselves investigating a mystery, and the truth they uncover is much darker than expected.

Hiro's discovery blinds him with grief and rage. Suddenly, he no longer sees Baymax as his friend and helper, but as his means for revenge. Hiro's story up to this point parallels that of the film's villain, whose own grief and rage leads him to violence and hatred. He resolves that the only way to make up for what he has lost is to make someone else feel that same loss.

As I write this, my heart is heavy for those who have felt deep loss this week. Seeing something terrible take place that you felt powerless to change would undoubtedly infuriate me, and would lead me to seek justice by any means necessary.

And yet, watching Big Hero 6 during this week of tragedy and lament, I find myself learning a different way to be an agent of change in the midst of pain. For Hiro, it is only through the steady love of his friends that his pain is redirected to something more positive. They help him realize that revenge cannot bring true justice. It is only by seeking to help, protect and restore that Hiro finds peace and purpose. And ultimately, he learns from the truest helper, Baymax, that sometimes this means sacrifice.

I know that I need to be a part of a community that does not seek revenge but reconciliation. I know that this will be difficult, costly, maybe even dangerous. But I also know that our Helper, through his own costly sacrifice, gives us the only true power available to bring about His justice.

Today, and in the days to come, I'm praying that we will all look to the Hero, the Helper, the Healer for the justice and peace we long for.

Happily Ever After

When I began this blog 14 months ago, my goal was to create a fun, yet structured outlet to write. I had no idea it would become so much more. It's been an Adventure, to say the least.

Finding Truth
The writing itself turned out to be a process of discovery. Every week I would sit down at my computer and have no idea what I would end up with. But as I wrote I would stumble upon some precious truth found in the film's story, and that process became something I looked forward to every week. I will always treasure those many hours I spent alone finding clever ways to communicate my discoveries.

There were weeks where I wasn't feeling so clever. And some weeks I was feeling plain snarky (though, inexplicably, those posts seemed to receive the most views. This just goes to show everyone must agree with me about Tinkerbell's pantslessness.)

But then there were other weeks when I realized something new or different about a familiar movie. My review of Aladdin is one such example. Though I've seen that movie probably more than any other Disney movie aside from The Lion King, its theme of clinging to that which defines us was a brand new revelation this time around. In my own life this year I have especially wrestled with my identity as a (1) single (2) Asian American (3) woman (4) in ministry. Each of these aspects of my life have weighed as heavily on me as Genie's shackles and often felt as frustrating as Aladdin's fleas (perhaps less itchy, though.) But as I wrote in that review and many others, I have continued to experience the freedom found in Jesus.

In some ways, this blog has provided an unexpected form of discipleship, leading me to dwell on the Gospel every week, and ponder the ways it has taken root in the world and in my life. The True Story of redemption and hope could not stop ringing in my ears. Even despite all the loud belting of "A Whole New World." And it wasn't just me doing the belting. Though probably 95% of it was me. Sorry about that.

Finding Disnerds
This project has served as a great on ramp to community and new friendships. Hosting a weekly movie night for over a year has been tiring but also a wonderful way to practice hospitality. Apparently I am not the only Disnerd out there. Over the 51 weeks I have hosted over 60 different people at my movie nights! Five of those people, Vicki, Kylene, Mimi, Tiana and Christopher, attended over half of the movie nights, and have even started calling themselves Disnerds. I've enjoyed having these friends and others along for my mostly crazy experience. It made me feel less crazy seeing their enthusiasm for what I was doing. Or maybe I just realized that I am surrounded by weirdos. Either way, I've had a blast! I've also learned that Disney is one of those universal topics that everyone can talk about. The perfect icebreaker, and so helpful for an introvert like me!

The Disnerds recently went to Disney in Concert at the Overture Center, dressed in Disney fashion of course. Can you guess which characters inspired each of us?

a few more details pictures of our outfits! :)

Finding Creative Outlets
Possibly what I have loved most is the wide variety of opportunities to channel my creativity. I never realized how energized I could be making Mickey Mouse mummy cupcakes for Halloween or Mickey shaped Christmas ornaments. I found so much joy in gathering data and designing the self-coined phrase "Disnographics." (Maybe a little too much joy.) I think I hit an all-time low, or high, when I actually created Disnerd t-shirts. And my birthday party. Well, we all know how that went down. ;) The passion I have always had to be resourcefully creative has been thoroughly reignited this year.

celebrating nearly every holiday, Disnerd style

The Renaissance, which took me from about March to June this year, was an especially fun season. Who knew getting dressed could be Disnerdified? I'm pretty sure this is a part of my project I will carry into the future. I've already got my outfit planned for Halloween. I'll give you a hint, I will dress as a villain.

Never have I worn so many solid primary colors in one season!

Finding the End
I could probably go on and on about how this blog has changed my life. It sounds ridiculous but it's true. Not only am I proud of myself for accomplishing what I set out to do, I'm also in awe of all that God has poured onto my overflowing cup. I have learned so much about myself and God, and have made so many memories along the way. While I need a bit of a break from blogging for a while, I know I'll be itching to get back to another blog project eventually. This has been way too much fun.

So here we are. This leads me to my final goodbye, and my last words to you from me, the Disnerd:

Never go anywhere without your pants.

The End!

#51: In Conclusion

Winnie the Pooh, 2011
watched September 15, 2012

I'm still in shock that I made it here. My final review.

Last August when I began this crazy journey, I don't think I could have ever expected what this project would become. It's been amazing, enlightening, surprising, and a whole lot of fun.

But I still have this last review to get to before I talk about all of that. It does seem a bit anticlimactic to end on Winnie the Pooh. Had I done this a year earlier I could have ended with Tangled, which I love even more now after having watched it no less than five times since its 2010 release. Winnie the Pooh, in contrast, feels somewhat trite and insignificant. The Many Adventures collection of episodes produced in the 70s far outshines this newer film.

However, there's a good reason why Pooh endures. (Hah! I just realized what I did there. No pun or irony intended.) The endearing Hundred Acre Wood serves as the perfect venue in which to tell simple stories accessible to all ages. Though, to be honest, I felt less charmed by Pooh's selfish search for honey this time around. And I got pretty annoyed at Owl's verbose conceit. I found myself relating best to poor Rabbit, clearly the 'get it done' character of the bunch. I know how it feels, dude. (Is anyone else weirded out that Rabbit is male? I don't know why that always surprises me. Piglet, too.)

In this adventure, Christopher Robin's friends find a note at his home which is grossly misspelled. (What do you expect from a seven year old? Or however old he's supposed to be.) Jumping to the wrong conclusion, they set out to find this "Bakson" monster they believe has captured their friend. The gang finds themselves in all sorts of predicaments as they follow, well, rabbit trails and winding forest paths. It's both bemusing and slightly maddening. Maybe I've lost a little patience for these toddler-targeted Disney characters.

But the story still contains a valuable lesson: Read carefully. Make good observations. Understand the context. Only then should you draw conclusions about what's true, and what your plan of action might be. For Winnie the Pooh and friends the results were harmless, but in reality the consequences could be quite grave.

So perhaps this short and sweet film does serve as an appropriate end to this project. In my aim to tell the stories of these fifty-one movies truthfully, I've had to apply this principle to my writing. Yes, I came in with an agenda. I knew I wanted to find echoes of the Gospel narrative in these films. But my process of discovery was certainly one that involved careful observation and interpretation. Each week as I sat down to write, I never had any expectations of what would come out at the end. In that way, I've delighted in the surprises I've found in these films: messages of hope, freedom, sacrifice and redemption.

Winnie the Pooh will not become a classic, but as I wrap up this yearlong project I can't help but reflect on its commentary on how we approach all narratives. Whether it's a note written by a child, or a timeless film that endures through the ages, how you draw your conclusion matters.

----

Wow...this is the end!

But not quite! Stay tuned for updates coming on my EPIC Disnerd birthday party, results from a year's worth of polls, and more concluding thoughts on this entire Disnerd Adventure.

#50: Disentangled

i find this image both hilarious and creepy...

Tangled, 2010
watched September 9, 2012

As much as it is tempting to write this as an ode to my current celebrity crush and the voice of this film's hero Flynn Rider, I've decided maybe that's not the best way to use my second to last (I know, right?) review. Plus, I can always do that in another post later this week. hehe. ;)

After several years of wandering, Disney animation has finally arrived back at their sweet spot. Though Princess and the Frog was successful in its own right, it's Rapunzel and her flowing locks of hair that has won our hearts over. Flynn Rider too, of course. And his flowing locks of hair. And his smoulder... And... oh! Ahem. Excuse me.

Moving on.

It's a similar story to the last one, actually: a girl with a dream who meets a guy with a perhaps less admirable dream. They take a journey and in the process not only fall in love but discover that they have a new dream. Been there, done that.

But this film features another element missing from the past several films: a captivating villain. Rapunzel's relationship with Mother Gothel is deliciously complex and fascinating. Never have we seen this kind of villain, undoubtedly evil but with the capacity to feign kindness and care in a disturbingly manipulative manner. Though the audience is aware of her schemes, Rapunzel remains in the dark until the last few scenes. It's heartbreaking to see our heroine repeatedly fall prey to Gothel's deception.

And yet, this relationship strikes a familiar chord. The villain in our Story does not wear black robes and saunter around casting spells in broad daylight. (coughJafarcough!) Instead, like Mother Gothel, he pretends to be our friend, our confidant, the only one who truly knows what's best for us. He makes us value comfort and safety, as if that's how we were meant to live. When things don't go the way we think they will, he drives us back to him, promising he has answers. He hides us from the reality of a world where we bear the image of our Parent, where we are not only loved but given a place of honor. But all along, these are complete lies.

Even when Rapunzel at last sees Mother Gothel for who she is, she cannot break free from her grasp alone. That's where the hero comes in. His sacrifice enables her to finally be released from Gothel's bondage. He destroys the enemy even in his own death.

Like Rapunzel we live entangled in deception, in a tower of falsehood. But we also yearn for truth. Deep inside stirs a longing for more. Just as Rapunzel knew that the light of floating lanterns would somehow show her the truth, we also need to be exposed to the light. When we see that light--in the one who gave his life for us--the villain's power over us is lost. We're finally free.

I guess this still ended up being an ode to the hero. The Hero.

#49: You Must Be Dreaming

Favorite line of the movie: "Just...ONE kiss?" "Unless you beg for more!" Never fails to crack me up.

The Princess & the Frog, 2009
watched September 2, 2012

This film brings us back to familiar territory in the best way possible. We've gone a full 16 weeks since our last princess story, undeniably Disney's most popular genre. The Princess and the Frog also marks a return to traditional hand drawn animation. I can safely say this film redeemed the last one! Thank. The. Lord. Also, we haven't had a full-on musical (where characters actually sing) since Mulan. I am thrilled we're back in a place reminiscent of the Renaissance.

Now that Disney is a decade removed from that wonderful era, have they made any alterations to the formula?

Tiana stands alone amidst the princesses as someone who knows exactly what she wants at the start of the film, pursuing it with complete abandon. Her parents (both of them!) instill in her not only to dream big but to also work hard. Whether or not she actually achieves her dream as she had imagined it, well, that's where the story unfolds.

The story's prince stands out as well. Rich, spoiled Naveen, who spends most of his time in this movie as a frog, appears not to possess a heroic bone, or frog leg, in his body. Additionally, Naveen and Tiana begin their relationship at odds. She's practical, he's a romantic. He loves music and dancing, she'd rather be working. They see each other as obstacles in the way of what they want. Their witty banter and embodiment of "opposites attract" make them refreshing and engaging characters.

One thing Disney hasn't changed, however, is their emphasis on dreaming. "Dreams Come True" is unabashedly thrown all over glittery bedazzled tshirts for girls (and okay, women too. Not that I own one or anything). There's some truth here. Dreamers are compelling because they are driven by something beyond themselves. Their resilience and hope inspire us because we're built to live and hope for something beyond ourselves too.

But while dreams produce passion, if too small, they can also make us single-minded. They can become a reason to act selfishly in disregard of others. What I love about this story is how both Naveen and Tiana learn that their dreams are too narrow. Tiana spends so much time working and saving money to open her restaurant that she doesn't have time to enjoy life. Naveen, conversely, squanders his time and wealth, only to realize it leaves him empty and restless. As the two spend more time together (never mind that it's only two days), they learn the possibility of a bigger view of the world, a bigger dream, leading them to give up their own for something better.

I've had specific moments in my life where I've come to realize that my dream is too small. My idea of what happiness or success is can't be defined by myself. I need others to show me that there's much more than my own view of the world.

There's one Person specifically who can expand our dream. He helps us to stop wandering aimlessly like Naveen and pursue our calling. He helps us to not take life too seriously like Tiana and see beauty and joy in the world. Most of all, as we willingly give up our own dreams, he gives us one that's even better.

#48: Power Pedigree

Bolt, 2008
watched August 26, 2012

Okay, even though this movie may never become a classic, Bolt definitely makes the list of top 10 cutest Disney animals. Right up there with Dumbo and Baby Simba. I think it has something to do with the head to body ratio. And you thought Disney's human characters were disproportionate.

Bolt is a dog who has been led to believe he has super powers, allowing him to give a genuine performance as the star of a hit television show alongside his "person," a teenaged girl named Penny. Trouble is, when he's not on set, he remains locked in his trailer, never able to experience real life.

The cute canine never thinks twice about this way of life, that is, until he accidentally gets shipped to New York. Suddenly Bolt is thrust into an environment where he is most definitely not super. Slow to realize this, attempts to jump onto a moving train and other such feats leave him physically and emotionally bent out of shape. He's so overwrought that he believes the Styrofoam packing peanuts have some kind of weakening effect on him.

Clearly this dog needs a dose of reality.

Fortunately, Bolt befriends Mittens, an alley cat who unwillingly gets brought along for the trek back to Hollywood. Over time Mittens shows him what real life is like. She teaches him how to use puppy dog eyes to beg for food, how to stick his head out of car windows, and the joy of running through the sprinklers. For the first time, he feels truly alive, and truly himself.

Sometimes when we get too comfortable, we begin to think we're invincible. After all, with God on our side, what can happen to us? While belonging to God does give us access to great power, it's also true that we are not the source of that power. We are not superhuman; we're susceptible to pain, difficulty, and failure. Refusal to admit this, like Bolt, makes us not only frustrated but also completely deluded. Bolt's delusions seem inconsequential and even amusing within the comfort of his Hollywood home. But out in the world, his inability to grasp reality makes him a danger to himself and others.

Without a proper view of our own fragility, pride and spiritual delusion seep into our hearts, leading to sin and destruction. Not only that, but we're prevented from living the way we were meant to live. We can never be completely ourselves when we don't understand that we're prone to sin.

Once Bolt sees himself as a normal dog, he understands his relationship to Penny, his "person," more fully, knowing he is forever bound to her. This gives him a sense of belonging and direction beyond his television role. As we understand who we are, we see that we are not only fragile and weak, but also deeply connected to our Person, through whom we have power and purpose.

#BONUS: Enchanted

Enchanted, 2007
watched August 19, 2012

Thus far I've been pretty strict about keeping to the official Disney animated canon. But I could not resist including Enchanted! Even though it's only partially animated, it probably has more in common with the animated films than Disney's live action stuff. Enchanted has the perfect blend of amusing self-mockery and the classic "Disney magic" that makes Disney movies what they are. I love that the film can make fun of its makers while still being thoroughly enjoyable and fun.

Since this isn't an official review, I'm sharing seven reasons why you should watch Enchanted, preferably multiple times:

7. Amy Adam's spot-on performance - You can't deny that Amy Adams has pretty much mastered the whole Disney princess thing. Though technically not a princess, her over-the-top, optimistic romantic idealism exudes exactly what is needed to play Giselle. My goal in life is to figure out how to use her ridiculously awesome hand gestures in public without freaking people out. I haven't been successful yet.

6. James Marsden's singing voice - Did anyone else know he could sing? Man can that man sing. I have a weakness for guys who can sing. SIGH.

5. Patrick Dempsey's overabundant tufts of hair - I have a theory that within his ridiculously thick locks of hair this guy has secret invisible womanizing lasers that target unsuspecting females. You could hide a forest in that hair.

4. James Marsden's piercing blue eyes - I think I could stare into his eyes forever. At least until I cried from the beauty of his voice, because obviously if I'm in his presence he is singing to me. There's pretty much no question there.

3. Lots and lots of Easter Eggs - Disney movies are full of clever references, and Enchanted probably has the most, including cameos by Jodi Benson (voice of Ariel) as Robert's secretary and Paige O'Hara (voice of Belle) as a soap opera star. I'm sure I have yet to discover all of the movie's secret references, but one of my favorites is Pumbaa, who appears in one of the very last scenes lining up to get Pip's new book.

2. One of the most epic musical numbers I've ever seen - "That's How You Know." Last time I was in Central Park I was really hoping to see an extremely limber and diverse crowd of people break into song and dance. It didn't happen. But I made up for it by breaking into song all on my own. I think Giselle would have been proud.



1. James Marsden's jaws - that man's jaws could slice through steel. Or at least a really delicious homemade apple pie. Yummy.

There you have it, Disnerds. Some really legitimate, thoughtful reasons why you should watch Enchanted. Clearly I had no choice but to include this film in my blog project.

#47: Failing Family

Meet the Robinsons, 2007
watched August 12, 2012

While the futuristic Jetsons-esque setting of this film may be unique in the Disney animated canon, the story still centers on a winsome orphan who longs to find where he belongs. Blah blah blah.

Sorry. It's been 47 weeks; you can't blame me for being a little weary of the repetition.

But okay. While the film's humor is a bit more Emperor's New Groove and less Timon and Pumbaa, it's still one of the better 'modern' Disney films. (I suppose anything is a step up after Home on the Range, though. I'm still having nightmares about hypnotized cows.)  

Lewis is a clever orphan whose wacky inventions often interfere with his desire to become adopted. Again, we see optimism outweighing difficulties, as he makes it his goal to invent a machine that will help him remember his birth mother, believing she is the only parent who will ever love him.

But in a surprising (or maybe just amusing, let's be honest here) turn of events, Lewis finds himself blasted into the future, where he meets Wilbur Robinson, a spunky teenager, and his large family of crazy characters. Unless Lewis can fix the time machine that brought him there, he may have to stay in the future forever. Gradually, however, Lewis starts to think staying may not be such a bad thing, as he spends time with this unconventional family that not only welcomes him with open arms, but also holds startlingly different values.

The Robinsons love failure. In fact, they erupt with joy and excitement when Lewis tries to fix the peanut butter and jelly dispenser and doesn't succeed. Though Lewis has never had a family, he knows that this is not normal. When our own culture is so unabashedly performance-based, the audience, too, finds the family's extreme positivity towards failure quite alarming.


Lewis realizes that the Robinson home is not only really weird and fun, but it's also a place where love is unconditional. Mistakes are seen as opportunities to learn and grow, to "keep moving forward." He can't help but long to become a part of this family; in fact it seems he's always belonged there.

Like Lewis, we seek love and acceptance in many places. A lot of times we try to prove we're worthy through moral behavior, financial success, or the ability to "fit in." We work tirelessly in effort to show that we deserve to be included, invited, loved. But we will never achieve perfection this way, and thus we will always feel the sting of rejection.

There is one family, however, where success means nothing. And that's because it's the family where success is achieved through one family member. Through the Son all of our failures and faults become opportunities to receive grace, to learn and grow. In this family we can be just who we are, whether we wear our pants backwards, teach frogs to sing jazz, or shoot meatballs out of canons. We can create, invent, work hard. And fail.

When we're adopted into this family, we quickly realize that we will always belong, now and moving forward.

#46: Let's cluck

(c) Disney

Chicken Little, 2005
watched August 5, 2012

Chicken Little is one of those familiar tales that has a variety of names and outcomes, with a single element that threads them all together, the famous adage: "The sky is falling!"

But Disney's 2005 version (there was a 1943 Disney short of the same title) veers rather far from the original folk tale, taking a sci-fi spin (yup, more aliens) and adding pop culture-y humor. While the alleged falling sky plays a key role in the plot, Chicken Little is less of a warning not to believe everything you hear, and more about the power of believing in the people you love.

Chicken Little is the ultimate underdog. He's small and unpopular, and always seems to get the short end of the stick. While he struggles to be accepted by his peers, the film's central relationship is between Chicken Little and his father, who happens to be [GASP!] a widower. Similar to Tarzan, Chicken Little does not focus on redemption from his embarrassing "acorn incident," but on making his father proud once and for all.

Though he is encouraged to communicate his issues to his father, instead he joins the baseball team. You know, communication, baseball. Same thing. When Chicken Little finally hits a home run against their biggest rival, their family problems appear to be resolved. Then the aliens arrive, and it all goes haywire.

Dude. Aliens ruin everything.

Ultimately, Chicken Little realizes he needs to talk to his father about how he feels. Amidst invading aliens wreaking havoc through their town, father and son have a heartfelt conversation for the first time. At last, Chicken Little hears the words he has longed to hear: "I love you, son."

Although our Father is not at all embarrassed or unsupportive like Mr. Little, we often perceive him this way. We believe the lies that he's a father from whom we must earn love and approval. That our dreams and hopes are foolish in his eyes. That he is ashamed when we make mistakes. These ideas about our Father's character come from a lack of communication. The more we distance ourselves from him, the longer we perpetuate these false beliefs.

Sometimes it takes catastrophic situations in our lives, like an alien invasion, to serve as a catalyst to push us towards him, leading us to cry out and express our despair. When this happens, we see that he's nothing like the cold, disapproving parent we thought he was. Close conversations with him reveal the truth: our Father's love is unconditional. All along he has been waiting to tell us, "I love you, son." "I love you, daughter."

Maybe aliens aren't so bad after all.

#45: Rock Bottom

(c) Disney

Home on the Range, 2004
watched July 29, 2012

Well friends. We've arrived. This is what it feels like. Rock bottom is pretty painful. I pray that you never have to feel this pain.

(Helpful Tip: Never watch Home on the Range. Ever.)

Want to know how to create the worst Disney movie of all time? Here are five tips from those who successfully achieved this feat:

1) Feature a really annoying main character.
Disney's first mistake was to cast Roseanne as Maggie, the cow. I wonder if they sat around thinking, "Hey, whose voice would be most annoying to listen to for 74 minutes? Oh, I know, the woman infamous for singing the national anthem in that crass, nasally voice of hers. Perfect. Let's get her."

2) Surround said main character with even more annoying supporting characters. 
Nearly all of the other characters are equally as whiny, stupid, and un-funny, possibly with the exception of Grace, one of the two sidekick cows. I about died when the villain, Alameda Slim, begins yodeling, and there's a sort of "Pink Elephants On Parade" thing going on, except with cows. And not died in the "I'm so excited I can't contain myself" kind of way. The other kind of dying. I want those five minutes of my life back, Disney!!

3) Tell a ridiculously stupid, boring story that no one cares about.
Okay, so confession time: the DVD was slightly warped and we had to skip through about the first 20 minutes of the movie. Given my obvious feelings about this movie, I was not too upset about this. But even without the beginning, one should still be able to engage with the remainder of the film. There was absolutely nothing that pulled me into the story. I kind of just cringed whenever anyone said something and someone else said something back. So, basically the whole time.

4) Don't spend any time making it look good. Just get it done.
Without knowing much about the film's production history, it's pretty clear that Disney spent significantly less time working on Range. It looks like a five year old could have drawn it. (Sorry to the five year olds that I know! I am pretty sure you all could do way better than this, actually.) At least with other dislikable movies such as Pocahontas, there is still some artistry worth observing and appreciating. Nothing to see here folks. Just a bunch of cows and a fat red-headed cowboy villain.

5) Include as many crappy songs as you can. 
Seriously. At the moment the first song begins, I was pretty much ready to throw in the towel. But unfortunately I still had another hour to watch. It's incredible that the same man who is responsible for A Whole New World, I See the Light, and dozens of other classics also has (You Ain't) Home on the Range and Yodel-Adle-Eedle-Idle-Oo on his resume. Hopefully they're way down at the bottom where no one will ever remember to check.

There you have it folks! A recipe for instant success. At failure.

I'm kind of ashamed that this movie is counted in Disney's animated canon. How can this be included in the same list as The Lion King, Cinderella and Tangled? It makes absolutely no sense.

Perhaps you're asking: But Laura, you always manage to find something good in every Disney movie! What about this one?

Here's the good news about Home on the Range: I will never have to watch it again.

#44: Taking Our Place

Brother Bear, 2003
watched July 22, 2012

I've decided to set aside my issues with Phil Collins' ridiculous soundtrack so I can focus on the story. Couldn't resist those cheesy lyrics, huh Phil? Sigh.

After several weeks in outer space, we've returned to the wild outdoors and anthropomorphic animals. Brother Bear, one of the few Disney films set in North America, is also unique due to its nearly all-male cast. This is undoubtedly a "bro" movie.

But even though I'm not a bro, the sibling interactions featured in this film still resonate with me. Here we see Disney showcase a more complex, deeper kind of love, the love between family, like in Lilo & Stitch. As a middle child, I especially connect to the torment of the middle brother, Denahi, who unwittingly becomes the story's villain.

Beyond the three brothers, however, another relationship comes into focus as the story progresses. Kenai, the overconfident youngest brother, is turned into a bear after he unnecessarily kills one. He meets a bear cub named Koda, and as they travel together, Kenai's disdain for Koda's joie de vivre reveals his deep prejudice against their kind. In Kenai's mind, bears are merely savage monsters, and he is keenly intent on getting transformed back into a human as soon as possible.

But, as most Disney characters eventually do, Kenai realizes that he was completely wrong about everything. As he literally steps into the life of a bear, he learns that his ignorance and unwarranted hatred has cost something, and the one who pays most dearly is Koda, whom he has grown to deeply care for.

Kenai's inner and outer transformations are quite significant. While he begins the film as a selfish, impulsive guy, we find at the conclusion someone who makes a life-altering sacrifice for the sake of another. But what causes Kenai to change? It is the experience of walking in another's shoes (or paws?). It is through his relationship with a community different from his own. It is in the discovery that misconceptions come at a high cost.

Change takes place when we take the place of someone else. We experience situations as well as relationships that stretch us and give us new perspectives. Only as we encounter differences do we realize that our own worldview is filled with stereotypes and prejudice. When our world expands like this, we have the opportunity to become people, or bears, who love more fully and freely.

Of course, true transformation is only possible through the one who became a man, so he could walk in our shoes (or sandals?) and give us a completely new perspective. His life-altering sacrifice shows us the perfect example of what it looks like to take the place of another. And through him we are forever altered, taking our place as people guided by love.

#43: Drawing Lines

(c) Disney

Treasure Planet, 2002
watched July 15, 2012

"Is that even a real movie?" Yup, it is. You may recognize the novel from which it was adapted: Treasure Island, by Robert Louis Stevenson. Turns out we get most of our pirate stereotypes from Mr. Stevenson (e.g.: wooden legs, parrot on the shoulder, X marks the spot, etc.). Treasure Planet takes the pirate theme in Island and puts it in outer space. Think steam punk meets Star Trek. Brilliant, eh? Well, sorta.

As a troubled teen who has never quite recovered from his dad's abandonment, Jim Hawkins longs for adventure in outer space. And so, we follow him on his journey to find meaning in life. In addition to this feeling really familiar, I am bewildered at how a ship travels through space where there is no atmosphere. It's worse than Pocahontas' language "miracle." Almost.

Jim develops a friendship with the ship's cook, John Silver, a cyborg to whom he has been assigned to work as a cabin boy. Over time, Jim begins to see him as something of a father figure. However, complications arise when the audience discovers Silver is planning a mutiny with the rest of the crew, who are actually pirates.

In Disney films, we like to draw a solid line between the good guys and bad guys. It helps us order our emotions about the characters. We like to root for heroes and root against the villains. You're a misunderstood teenager whose dad left you? I'm on your side, buddy. Oh, you're a one-legged cyborg? You must be bad.

But Silver, the so-called villain, experiences the most significant transformation of any character in this story--something that usually happens to the hero. As he grows more fond of Jim, he realizes that his pursuit of Captain Flint's lost treasure is no longer his sole priority. When faced with the choice of saving Jim's life or collecting the treasure, Silver acts in a way that surprises even himself. Not your typical villain's story arc.

In real life, we, too, have people pegged (no pun intended) as one thing or another. What? You're gay? You're straight? You're an atheist? You're a Christian? That must mean you're _____. We have all sorts of ideas about what people should be like based on some category, the way they look, who they associate with.

It's significant that the audience remains undecided about Silver throughout the film, even up until the last moment. I found myself wanting to just put him in a category. Are you a villain? Are you a father figure? Should I care about you or not?

Animated characters are portrayed by simple, defined strokes, just like the lines we draw around each other. But in reality, the edges are much blurrier. People are designed for good but have potential for evil as well. Like Silver, no one fits into just one category.

Perhaps instead of drawing lines between people, what we should do is see them for their capacity for change. When we do that, we see them the way that Jesus did, enabling us to love and care indiscriminately. The results are always quite surprising, no matter what side of the line you're on.

#42: Reaching Ohana

Lilo & Stitch, 2002
watched July 8, 2012

Despite the intergalactic setting, Lilo & Stitch is actually the first animated film set in modern day whose main characters are human. (Previous modern day films in our series feature mostly anthropomorphic animals--101 Dalmatians, both Rescuers films, and Oliver & Company).

The humanness of Lilo & Stitch made it one of the first films in this blog project that I related to. I'm pretty sure I'll never ride on a magic carpet, or be raised by wild apes in the jungles of Africa. I'll never become a princess, or get taken away to an enchanted castle. But I do have a sister, and an imperfect family. I've experienced both joy and pain, love and loathing. 

The loss of Lilo and Nani's parents puts them in an unwanted situation: Nani is suddenly forced to be not just sister but also mother and father, grappling with young romance, trying to hold a steady job, and dealing with an intimidating social worker. Lonely and misunderstood, Lilo needs not only guidance but someone to love and accept her. Though they need each other desperately, both the older and younger sister act out in frustration with their circumstances.

But as Stitch enters their world, his destructive, chaotic presence shows that this native Hawaiian family is "small, but still good." The strength of their bond, however messy and flawed somehow transforms Stitch. His instinct to destroy leaves him feeling empty and alone. He realizes that this family who has let him in has something that he does not. And that changes him.

We, too, belong to a broken Family. Sometimes we feel obligation and duty rather than love and commitment. We say things that are hurtful. We mess up each others' plans and dreams. We neglect each other. It kind of sucks.

But just like Lilo and Stitch, we belong to each other. I think we would rather stay and fight than be separated and miss each other terribly. That's the irony of family. Because even though we are a family that screws up, we're also a family where "nobody gets left behind. Or forgotten." There's nothing quite like us.

While Stitch does so much to hurt Lilo, she is ever forgiving and compassionate towards him. Ultimately, this is what changes Stitch. And this is what transforms anyone who comes into contact with our Family, no matter how much they have destroyed and terrorized us. When we have ohana, everyone is included, accepted and loved. It's something we all need, whether we're Lilo, Nani or Stitch.

It's an interesting set up we have, this flawed but beautiful Family. There are days when my faith in the Family falters, but my faith in the One who holds this Family together does not change. And that's ultimately what keeps me striving for ohana.

#41: Passion Over Glory

Atlantis: the Lost Empire, 2001
watched July 1, 2012

Atlantis, like Emperor's New Groove, stands apart from Disney's typical fare, delving into new genres: action and science fiction. It's probably also the darkest film we've seen since The Black Cauldron. Within the first half hour, the majority of a 200-person crew aboard the ship are killed en route, leaving only a handful of them to brave the rest of the journey.

Also, there are a lot of caves. Dark ones.

While the numerous action sequences are quite a contrast from the colorful musical numbers of past films, the story still retains some familiar "Disney-esque" elements, such as the quirky main character who doesn't fit in. Add the orphan factor and aspirations to discover "a whole new world" (aka lost civilization), and Milo Thatch comfortably takes his seat at the Disney hero table. (There were times during the movie that I wanted to burst out singing "Go the Distance" or "Reflection". But I guess that's kind of all the time.)

And it's the nerdy linguist's path to self discovery that carries an otherwise convoluted story along. There's a reason why Disney keeps coming back to these characters who search for meaning in life. It's undoubtedly the main question at large among all of humankind.

In Milo's case, he isn't so much seeking his calling; he already knows what he's passionate about. Perhaps this comes from already being an adult (an anomaly among a mostly teenaged hero list.) But he still has yet to reach the ultimate goal of finding the mysterious island of Atlantis.

Milo experiences both ridicule and loneliness as he pursues his passion. Spending his days in a hot, dusty boiler room, he lives a fairly unglamorous life in order to research, study and (unsuccessfully) persuade others to support his mission. Even when a crew is assembled and they begin the journey under the sea, the others on the team mostly laugh at his enthusiasm. Some even have impure motives and are only in it for financial gain.

When all of his work pays off and they reach Atlantis, it is the moment we think Milo will at last be recompensed. The naysayers will finally be proven wrong. He will become famous for discovering the ancient thought-to-be-myth civilization. Glory and prestige will be guaranteed.

Here we expect the moral of the story: Don't give up on your dreams, one day you will be a star! And that's certainly the resounding message we hear elsewhere in culture.

But Milo demonstrates another alternative. He realizes that his dream to find Atlantis also includes a deep commitment to the Atlanteans themselves. So he chooses to give up the glory, fame and success that would certainly be his upon return to the world above water. Instead, he stays in Atlantis, in order to help preserve their dying civilization. (I suppose the beautiful Kida may have also motivated that decision. But still.)

Passion requires sacrifice. It leads to loneliness, ridicule, and leaving behind your desire for comfort, respect, or glory. It means giving up everything in order to save a dying people. When we choose passion over glory, we follow the One made the ultimate sacrifice, and whose passion saved us all.

#40: A Spitting (Llama) Image

(c) Disney

The Emperor's New Groove, 2000
watched June 23, 2012

You may be surprised to learn that I don't really care for this movie.

Most people I've talked to who are not Disney fans like I am, tell me that they actually enjoy Emperor's New Groove, that it's one of their favorites. It makes sense. Both self-referential and satirical, the film has a sort of breaking-down-the-fourth-wall tone, not often seen in Disney's work. Thus, those who don't typically like Disney movies will probably enjoy Groove.

One of the primary reasons I'm not a huge fan of the film is its main character, Emperor Kuzco. He's unlike the brave, honest and selfless heroes and heroines typically featured in Disney films. In fact, he's pretty much the opposite. He's so unlikable that it's funny. Well, it's supposed to be.

And I know--that's the point of the whole movie. And for the most part, I do laugh and enjoy myself when I watch it. But I have a really hard time getting behind a main character who thinks the universe revolves around him, that he can do whatever he wants at the expense of other people, that whenever something bad happens it's obviously someone else's fault.

But I also get annoyed with Pacha, the good-natured peasant who goes out of his way to help Kuzco after he's been turned into a llama. I don't understand why he's so determined to find some good in Kuzco, even after he's manipulated and lied to Pacha. There's no good reason why he should do anything for him, especially when returning him to the palace means that Kuzco will move forward with plans to destroy his home.

But here's where I realize the truth about this film. Kuzco is so unlikable because he reminds me of someone I know a little too well.

Me.

Looking at that ugly, whiny, annoying llama is like looking into a mirror. I see a self-centered, uncaring, heartless person who thinks their own problems are the biggest deal ever. I see someone who promises to be better, to help others, to use their power for good, and yet never actually does it. While I may not go around flaunting my fabulousness as Kuzco does, I can be just as prideful.

That's when the film isn't so funny anymore.

When I look at Pacha, whose unrelenting goodness I still can't comprehend, I see someone who is foolishly loyal to one who totally doesn't deserve it. It makes no sense whatsoever.

And then I realize. That's the Gospel. When I see it through this llama-shaped mirror, the ridiculousness of it all becomes apparent. Why would anyone risk their life to save such a pathetic, unlikable, annoying character?

But Someone did do that for me. When I, the unlovable empress of my own world, was lost, alone, and at the edge of the cliff, Someone rescued me and brought me home. Even when I lied to him and gave him empty promises, He loved me. And ultimately, He transformed me back to the person I was created to be. 

Perhaps the Gospel is foolish, ridiculous, and unbelievable. But I'm so thankful it's true.

Otherwise, I'd still be stuck as a llama.

#39: How to become extinct

(c) Disney

Dinosaur, 2000
watched June 17, 2012

Visually and technologically, Dinosaur is pretty impressive: it's the first (and only, I believe) in the Disney animated canon to combine live action background footage with fully computer animated characters. Even viewing it in 2012, the scenes are quite detailed and realistic (as realistic as dinosaurs can be, since no one on earth has seen one in real life. Unless you count Jurassic Park. 'Cause that was totally real life).

But that doesn't quite make up for the film's obvious lack of "Disney magic." The story--centering around the migration of a herd of dinosaurs after an asteroid destroys their homes--feels a bit tortured and Land Before Time-ish. The characters are, ironically, two dimensional, with names hard to pronounce and remember. The dinosaurs' realistic looks (brown, scaly, and huge) communicate an unfortunately limited range of emotions. Additionally, the overly epic orchestral score mismatches the unmoving plot. It was just hard to be invested in the story.

Despite its significant flaws, I think Dinosaur still contains truth we can learn from. Aladar, the main character, is a good-natured iguanadon whose belief in helping older, weaker dinosaurs gets him in trouble with Kron, the herd's self-appointed leader. Kron's survival-of-the-fittest philosophy makes him tough, mean and unforgiving. He has no sympathy for those who struggle and would rather leave them behind.

In contrast, Aladar, raised by a family of lemurs (yep, another adopted orphan story), holds a strong value for thinking of others' needs before his own. Without hesitation, Aladar advocates for the older dinosaurs, but Kron refuses to listen and responds with extreme anger and even threats of violence.

In this conflict I see familiar experiences in church and work communities I've been a part of--leaders more concerned with being in control than actually making space for change. It's true, there are some things that should never change: the Gospel, the Bible, God. But sometimes when leaders lead for a long time, they get into habits or traditions that don't necessarily serve the community or advance its purpose. They're blinded by politics and sin, inevitable in organizational life. They're unable to listen and learn from younger folks who, though also imperfect, can bring fresh ideas about increased effectiveness. Sometimes they can even call out the flaws and sin that weigh down the community. The clash between generations of leaders can result in mass exodus of younger people. This has certainly been evident in the Western church.

In the film, the changing climate results in a dried up watering hole that the herd had previously relied on during their journey. Kron insists that the herd move on and go without water. But Aladar looks at the situation from a different perspective and discovers that there's plenty of water underneath the surface.

What dried up watering holes exist in our communities? What new perspective might show us opportunities that are waiting to burst open and produce new life?

If we aren't wise to ask these questions and empower new leaders to lead the way...well, we know what happened to the dinosaurs don't we?

Brave: Redefining Princess

(c) Disney Pixar

I won't be posting a new Disnerd review here until later this week, because I spent my weekend writing about the new Pixar film Brave for InterVarsity's blog!

Here's an excerpt:

"Brave certainly brings a refreshing “Pixar-ness” to the princess genre by presenting a flawed, messy heroine, whose journey runs entirely without a hint of romance and whose mother is neither dead nor evil. But the film is not merely a 100-minute long two-dimensional feminist mantra either.

Merida isn’t so much an “atypical” princess as she is a woman redefining what it means to be a true princess."

>> Check it out here <<

#38: Wordless Stories: Beyond the Ashes

Fantasia 2000, 1999
watched June 10, 2012

Disney, I expected better from you.

Because anything with a "2000" at the end of it is doomed to sound a bit ridiculous. I mean... edgy and cool and futuristic! Like Nimbus 2000, Pokemon 2000, Lever 2000... (Really? Soap?)

But, okay. Artistically, this film does mark a transition in the series. The prevalence of computer animation is much more obvious here, and we will see in the next film that Disney moves in a whole new direction, perhaps because of pressure from Pixar's success with Toy Story at the time. Also, this version was much more palatable than the 1940 Fantasia, due to a much shorter running time (75 minutes compared to 125).

Since there's no single story that weaves the whole film together, this review will focus on the last piece, "The Firebird Suite" composed by Igor Stravinsky.




It's fairly evident that there are themes of creation, death and rebirth, a classic story arc that didn't just come from nowhere. In fact, it is the main narrative of the Big Story, the one within which all other stories exist.

A beautiful sprite is awoken by what looks strikingly like Bambi's dad (I think it's an elk, actually). She spreads her magical spring-ness to a wintery forest, soaring through the skies over hills and trees, bringing beauty wherever she goes. But then she discovers a fearsome and violent firebird at the center of the mountain. Suddenly provoked, the firebird comes alive. Its wings of volcanic flames explode out of the mountain and down into the valley that the sprite has so lovingly brought to life. Soon the firebird has destroyed everything, even the sprite herself.

When I observe ongoing suffering, in the world as well as in my own personal slice of it, it's hard for me to see beyond the ashes. For miles and miles, it's only gray, dust, smoke. Like the sprite, no matter how hard I run, it seems there's no escape.

But the story isn't finished. Interestingly, Bambi's dad has not been destroyed. As he breathes into the ashes, the sprite reemerges. Just like a good ol' Disney film, it's her tears that hold the magic. As she sees her tears grow into budding flowers, the sprite's energy to create revives, and the world returns to its original state of beauty, peace and joy.

Destruction can often be the source of renewal. This was true at the Cross, the darkest hour of history. And in the Resurrection, we are reminded that there will come a time when the firebird has used up all its flames. Destruction is pervasive and devastating, but it is not permanent. There is life beyond the ashes.

In my own journey, the most painful times have often led to my most intimate and significant moments with God. It's true, we have not reached the other side of the flames yet. The pain has not vanished completely. But these small triumphs remind me of what is to come. I can look forward to a fully restored valley, complete with tall-as-the-eye-can-see trees, blooming flowers, and green pastures. That day is coming, and I can't wait.

#37: Like Father Like Mother

Tarzan, 1999
watched June 3, 2012

Well, we've come to the end of the Renaissance Era. It's been a wonderful ten weeks of (mostly) great movies and a lot of fun! But more on that later. Must get on with the task at hand.

Some people dispute the inclusion of Tarzan in the Renaissance, but I think thematically the film fits in just fine. In fact, I fear sounding like a broken record by now. For nearly 10 weeks straight we've been dealing with characters searching for deeper fulfillment, meaning, belonging, and love. Tarzan is no exception.

So what sets Tarzan apart from the others, I find, is the tenuous relationship between Tarzan and Kerchak, the clan's leader and the closest thing Tarzan has to a father. While extremely protective of his family, Kerchak is cold and distant, and refuses to recognize Tarzan as one of them. And though he has a loving mother and good friends, Tarzan is discontent without Kerchak's acceptance. In Tarzan's eyes, Kerchak's disapproval only highlights all the ways he doesn't fit in.

Speaking of not fitting in, I wonder if Tarzan ever got upset that he was the only one who had to wear a loincloth. I can just imagine a belligerent 6-year-old Tarzan during a temper tantrum, refusing to put on his loincloth: "But Mom, it's itchy!"

Anyway.

Tarzan hones the more significant differences--his agility, creativity, and intelligence, to prove that he belongs in the only family he has ever known. But his remarkable skills in tree-surfing, fruit-spearing and vine-swinging impress everyone except Kerchak.

This strained relationship between son and pseudo-father hits a nerve with any of us who have felt the rejection, criticism, or just plain ambivalence from our father (or mother, perhaps). And too often, we believe that our Heavenly Father is also like Kerchak: stern, unforgiving, judgmental. As we are prone to do with our own fathers, we try everything to earn the Father's acceptance and love. But of course, when the Father's character is distorted as such, nothing ever seems good enough, and our failure leads to a lonely and unsatisfying life.

Believe it or not, the film does give us a glimpse of the true Father. But it's not through Kerchak. In fact, the clearest picture of the Father is found in a mother.

Kala is the parent who seeks Tarzan out and saves him from sure death. Without hesitation she adopts him as her own. And in the most sacrificial mother's way, Kala allows him to choose a life in the human world, even though it means that she will never see him again. Her unwavering love reminds Tarzan that no matter where life takes him, he will always belong. And ultimately, it's this love that draws Tarzan back to his true family.

When we are lost and left for dead, we have a Father who rescues us and brings us into his family. When we are feeling dejected and rejected, we have a Father whose heart beats with ours. And here is the best news: When we think we've failed, we have a Father whose acceptance and love can never be earned, because it's already ours.

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.