Disney's animated heroines have come a long way from their domesticated, I-need-a-man roots, as new Rapunzel film Tangled demonstrates. But why does the bloke get all the best lines? TARA BRADYfinds out
ONCE UPON a time, you knew where you stood with a Disney princess. Pale, passive and rarely the brightest little pixie in the forest, a Disney princess could be relied on to sit tight, surrounded by woodland critters, and sing cheerily whatever capricious fate might hurl from a nearby toadstool.
If, like Snow White, she found herself playing skivvy and den mother to seven freakishly tiny and unmarriageable gentlemen then la-di-dah, just whistle while you work. If, like Cinderella, she found herself stripped and brutalised by her stepsisters, then stay calm and don't panic: magical assistance and financial stability are on the way.
Life for a post-war Disney princess was simple. The twin virtues of patience and housework would never go unrewarded, and the universe revolved around a single harmonious refrain: get prince, get ring on finger, live happily ever after.
By 1990, the House of Mouse,though never minded to go Angela Carter on its source material, called time on the somnambulant damsels of the studio's golden age. The second wave of Disney princesses didn't snore through the picture like Sleeping Beauty. They were feisty like Belle, cunning like Jasmine, transvestite like Mulanor ginger like Ariel. The New Model Princess Army – bolstered by recent ethnic recruits Pocahontas, Mulan, and Tiana – was multicultural, multiracial and almost always pretty in pink.
They didn’t mope around waiting for their prince to come – they actively engineered their own happily-every-afters.
Nobody was going to mistake these spunky new Disney heroines for Valerie Solanas – there is, after all, only so much you can do with lady role models from feudal times – but the window dressing was appreciated. The public adored the new breed of lippy-if- unreconstructed-meringue-wearing princess. Disney’s animation wing, after decades in the doldrums, sprang back in to life with a brace of box-office smashes.
Fairy stories were once again synonymous with their rosy Disney interpretations; in the late 1990s Warner Bros had a crack at the princess market with Anastasia and The King and I, to little avail. Nobody could touch the company with the pink Bavarian castle logo for old-fashioned musical numbers and cartoon royalty.
There was more. In 1999 Disney’s new chairman of consumer products, Andy Mooney, stopped off at a Disney on Ice show to find that all the little ticketholders were dressed as Disney princesses. Crucially, they were wearing generic costumes. The Disney Princess franchise was launched at Disneyland boutiques within the year. Some $5 billion later, it remains the corporation’s fastest-growing brand, selling vitamins, magic wands, stationery, pyjamas, wallpaper, DVDs, dolls, bandages, video games and, for the older princesszilla, wedding dresses.
No wonder the studio is always on the lookout for a stray fable and a princess in need of a bibbidi-bobbidi-boo makeover: “We’ve wanted to do Rapunzel forever,” says veteran Disney animator Glen Keane. “I’ve seen it on the drawing board plenty of times over the years. There are only so many fairy stories with a princess name in the title. This was the one that got away. Walt Disney himself wanted to do it, and made sketches.”
How odd that the same organisation would, in the end, squander the opportunity to capitalise on another brand name from the Brothers Grimm back catalogue. This week, Disney's Rapunzelis released on these shores as Tangled, an unexpected marketing decision the film-makers are keen to defend.
“The title is a better fit,” says producer Roy Conli. “The film isn’t just about the heroine. It has a dual-protagonist structure.”
It is, admittedly, hard to argue with the results. The project may have been kicked about through successive corporate regime changes and the studio’s ill-fated, all-or- nothing venture into computer-generated animation, but the cleverly constructed final product channels the knowing (but never snarky) wit of The Princess Bride and Enchanted into classic, doe-eyed Disney animation.
Characteristically for the contemporary Disney heroine, the princess has not left her high tower since early childhood but has used her time in solitude to master astronomy, music and all the lively arts. She is, however, rather overshadowed by the "dual protagonist" arrangement. Her romantic interest, a hip retooling of Errol Flynn's Robin Hood, monopolises most of the good lines and a huge chunk of the action.
In the late 1990s, as the new Disney princess took hold, the studio felt the need to manufacture Princess Jasmine to go joyriding on rugs with Aladdin; nowadays, they need a fast-talking male lead to beef up the picture.
The corporation's apparent about-turn may fly in the face of their $5 billion boutique brand, but there are other numbers to consider. Last year, Disney released The Princess and the Frogto rave notices but lacklustre box office. The film earned a respectable $267,045,756 worldwide, but that was almost $50 million less than Disney's previous picture, Bolt, and well shy of the $731,342,744 pocketed by Pixar's Up, released the previous quarter.
The studio responded by quickly shelving their long-gestating adaptation of Hans Christian Andersen's The Snow Queen. The comparatively low showing for The Princess and the Frogwas attributed to the limitations of the princess brand: boys don't want to see a movie with the word "princess" in the title, claimed Ed Catmull, president of Pixar and Disney animation studios. They might, however, be coaxed along by the gender- neutral Tangled.
As it happens, these executive instincts have proved correct. Halfway through the film's global roll-out, Tangledhas raked in $418,340,029 and continues to thrive on good word-of-mouth and positive notices.
There are other, less obvious advantages to shifting away from the full-blown Disney princess extravaganza. The same parents who were once prepared to fund and laugh off the “princess stage” are suddenly questioning the wisdom of having endless aisles of pink merchandise in toy barns. Like Disney, they are increasingly cautious about gender stereotyping. They know that pink was a boy’s colour until the 1930s, that pink is learned not hard-wired. They know the importance of fantasy play and social identity. They also know that if persistently indulged, the little princesszilla who loves dress-up and pumpkin-shaped carriages might grow up to be Katie Price.
Peggy Orenstein, author of the current US publishing sensation Cinderella Ate My Daughter, remains unconvinced by Disney's new direction. "I am waiting for the release of the Snow White coffin," she says. "They might be backing away from the movies but that doesn't mean they're backing away from the brand. I wouldn't have a problem with them backing off of princess movies – I'd be thrilled, in fact – if they were substituting movies about interesting, complex female characters, but they're not. I fear that the choices are princesses or no girls at all."
Still, in a strange ironically-ever-after twist, Rapunzel,the last Disney princess on the books, is, accordingly, just a little less princessy than her predecessors. These days, a Disney princess must be robust enough to please legions of boys, not just the one.
The man who knows the score at Disney
THE PERSONNEL changes and corporate scraps at Disney have, over the past decade, made headlines and inspired a raft of industry critiques. These scuffles have not, however, diminished the animation studio’s need of a master craftsman. Alan Menken, the celebrated Broadway composer, presided over the musical scores of the late-1990s Disney revival and has soldiered on at the studio ever since.
"In Hollywood we have this expression," smiles the 61 year-old. "Who is Alan Menken? Get me Alan Menken. Get me someone like Alan Menken. Who is Alan Menken? That process can happen very quickly. I'm something old, but it's important for me to bring something new as well. When I look back at The Little Mermaid,only two of the people involved – myself and the animator Glen Keane – are still with Disney. So changes are good. They force you to adapt."
This week, Menken's score for Tangledearned him a 19th Oscar nomination. He has eight Academy Awards in the china cabinet back in Upstate New York, gongs received for work on The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast, Aladdinand Pocahontas. Tangled, however, brought its own peculiar complications and challenges.
"When I came on board there were a few agendas and provisos in place. First we had to make Rapunzel – as it was then called – work as a break-into-song musical. We wanted to find a contemporary sound, but also keep the music of a traditional Disney fairy tale. Then, later on, they decided they wanted something more boyish and less traditional. We talked about Bulgarian folk music. We talked about Enya and the Lord of the Ringssoundtrack. There were a lot of notes passed around on this movie."
Undaunted, the proud owner of the 2,422nd star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame soon found inspiration in his heroine’s endlessly cascading locks.
"It's a girl locked up in a tower with a lot of hair. Folk rock was a gut instinct for me. I thought about her hair and her desire for freedom, and immediately thought of Joni Mitchell's Chelsea Morning.That was the key to a fresh musical palette for me and the movie."
Though disappointed by the studio's decision to put The Snow Queenon hiatus – he had already worked through most of the ill-starred film's score – Menken shrugs it off as another day at the office.
"At Disney there's always a constant re-examination process at work. When fairy tales do well, they make them; when they underperform, like The Princess and the Frogdid, they say 'Let's not do fairy tales any more'. You have to respond by ripping things up and starting again. You fight your corner when you have to, but it keeps you on your toes creatively."
