Not Part of Her World

Once upon a time, my co-workers and I, all English teachers and all pretty progressive, were discussing animated movies of the past and present. I grumped that I didn't like CGI that much because it felt impersonal, and also that I had a difficult time connecting emotionally with pandas in board shorts or robots who wanted fat people to stop littering. For me, as a kid growing up in the late '80s and '90s, the golden age of animation would always run from roughly Disney's "The Little Mermaid" (1989) to "The Emperor's New Groove" (2000). "I love Ariel!" I proclaimed.

I received ribbing for this. Far from lofty go-green initiatives, "The Little Mermaid" perpetuated several unhealthy and outdated social mores. At sixteen, Ariel marries a man she literally hasn't even had a conversation with, and, if the straight-to-DVD sequels are to be taken seriously, pops out a kid with him probably just about a year later. Sure, it's her choice and she disobeys her father (representative of our inherently patriarchal society, complete with trident/phallic symbol) to make it, but her ultimate ideal being a husband whom she doesn't even have/get to talk to rings hollow as a pro-female battle cry. Ariel doesn't save the world or even seem to care much about anything besides combing her hair with a fork. She's neither hero nor feminist icon. Also, like all young women drawn up in the "Disney Princess" era, she looks like an anorexic, underage sex-pot.

By all accounts, everything that Ariel represents is offensive. In essence, I should 'know better' than to idolize her. I accepted my co-workers' teasing and left the conversation at its natural conclusion, but it begged for deeper analysis. Was Ariel's story simply comfortable to me because it was a piece of childhood nostalgia? Did I just like her spunk?

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a victim/consumer of the "Disney Princess" phenomenon. Though the official branding came a few years after I would have had play dates with neighborhood Cinderellas and Jasmines and Belles, I still begged for mermaid Barbie dolls and Halloween costumes and other "TLM" tie-ins. At six, I knew what I liked. I also knew what bored me; namely, each princess' romantic subplot. Prince Charming was dull and lifeless; Prince Eric was a soulless automaton. "Beauty & the Beast" showed a natural progression of friendship-cum-love between Belle and the Beast, which I always enjoyed, but never as much as "The Little Mermaid." And though I loved Ariel's struggle to overcome Ursula and the whispered, "I love you, Daddy" at the end of the movie, I didn't much care about Ariel's relationship with Eric. For me, it was all about the world that she got to join as a result of that relationship.

Herein lies the crux of my stubborn loyalty to "The Little Mermaid," I believe: Escapism. Ariel dislikes the status quo. She's well-provided-for in her father's kingdom under the sea, but there are restrictions, and they get more and more obvious as she becomes more and more (naturally, I believe) independent. In the prequel movie (and the second sequel to the original film), Triton even forbids music for a time because he misses his wife and hates for anyone else to have a good time when he's got seven mouths to feed and no undersea nookie. This particularly grates up against Ariel, whose claim to fame is her melodic singing voice. Back in the original canon, Triton forbids Ariel from exploring her burgeoning love of the human world, making Ariel feel as though she has no choice but to run away.

I don't think I had these exact thoughts at six years of age, but as I grew into who I believe was a spunky teenager whom Ariel would have liked, and then a somewhat-idealistic young adult, autonomy became increasingly important to me. As barriers to my freedom and independence were presented and pushed increasingly closer to me, I was compelled to knock them down. The more I was boxed in, the more I fought to be loosed. To me, Ariel IS a hero(ine) because she manages to escape her own box. Not only that, but she demands rights alongside her new-found freedom, and she gets them.

The one cost seems to be that her family relations are strained. In "The Little Mermaid 2: Return to the Sea," Ariel demands that a giant wall be built along the shores of Eric's kingdom so no sea predators (like Ursula's long-lost sister - I did say it was a direct-to-DVD sequel) can pose a threat to her daughter, Melody (yes, really). Naturally, Melody steals under the wall as often as Ariel used to head to the surface to spy on sailors, sloppily bringing the family legacy full-circle. Interestingly, Melody's wish is to bridge the two worlds, tearing down the wall using Triton's magic wand and making eyes at a buff-looking merman (mermale-teenager?). One doesn't get the sense that Ariel minded the separation so much; it saved money on Christmas presents and collect calls into international waters, at least.

It's cold, perhaps, but Ariel doesn't ever compromise herself. She lives exactly the life she wants to live, and if people don't respect that, they don't have to be part of her world. I doubt it's the message that Disney wanted to send out to its pre-adolescent audience, but it's the one that sticks with me, nearly two decades later.