“He’s a very nice prince” follows close on the heels of another statement about “nice,” but you might not think of that the first time you hear it.
“Wanting a ball isn’t wanting a prince.”
“You may know what you need, but to get what you want, better see that you keep what you have!”
People change in the woods; the changes might not always be good.
“You will never love someone else’s child the way you love your own,” says Cinderella’s stepmother, who will later take a knife to her own daughters.
“How do you know who you are if you don’t know what you want?”
“Children can only grow from something you love to something you lose.”
“No one is alone”—but in reality, to have others on your side takes a choice, from them.
Be careful the tale you tell: the effects of your parenting can last longer than you realize, whether you’ve told your daughter to be nice and good, abandoned your son, cursed your daughter if she breaks a rule, or made your son feel he’s not good enough.
•
At the start of Into the Woods we’re introduced to a group of wishes: Jack wishes Milky White would give milk, Jack’s mother wishes her son were not a fool and for food and money to live, the baker and his wife wish to have a child, the witch wants to be young and beautiful again, and Cinderella wishes . . . to go to the festival.
Cinderella’s wish is trivial in the context of her life: she’s trapped in misery, an object of exploitation and of physical, mental, and emotional abuse (as a result of her father’s bad decisions, as it happens). She visits the grave of her mother, who sings, “Do you know what you wish? Are you certain what you wish is what you want?”
Despite that question, when given the choice for a wish, still Cinderella chooses to go to the festival.
There’s no sign she has thought of the festival as anything more than a brief diversion from her misery (and either way, she could’ve just asked for the new life directly). Why isn’t she asking to be taken away from her awful environment or wishing for some sort of lasting relief? Can she not imagine herself as anything more than other people’s tool? Has she been made to believe this is all she’s worth? Tragically, she seems to have no dream beyond looking in on someone else’s privileged life.
Later she asks how you know who you are if you don’t know what you want.
She doesn’t know what she wants, or can’t articulate it, and so she makes a stupid, small wish when she could’ve had much more.
•
In Into the Woods, Jack is a central character, and we’re likely to think about his wishes, his desires, but in the prologue song his mother also voices wishes, and the first one is “I wish my son were not a fool.” This is the wish that gets granted, but at a very high price.
•
The consequences of one person’s actions ripple out and out—and combine with ripples from other people’s actions in ways no one expected.
How are you to know what will come of what you do? How much responsibility do you bear for what you didn’t foresee, and will you accept it?
“You move just a finger / Say the slightest word / Something’s bound to linger / Be heard. / No one acts alone. / Careful! / No one is alone.”
No matter what you do, children won’t listen; be careful what you do, children will listen; be careful what you wish, wishes are children.
Every time I see this cover I start to whistle “Under the Sea.”
It’s mentioned a lot in DVD extras and the like, but casual post–Gen X viewers may not realize how revolutionary The Little Mermaid was in U.S. animation when it came out.* In the 1980s animated movies were still being made—Secret of NIMH, Last Unicorn, American Tail, Disney’s own Oliver and Company—but they weren’t huge, and Disney was more engaged with making live-action films and rereleasing past glories than with creating new animation.
The idea of “the Disney princess” did not exist. Snow White, Cinderella, and Sleeping Beauty were around, but they weren’t viewed as a collective franchise or thought of as a group beyond the general fact that all three were in Disney movies. Now, after a long spell of modest efforts, Disney went back to the formula of fairy tale + songs, and The Little Mermaid became an enormous success, effectively launching all the princess films that followed, from Beauty and the Beast to Pocahontas on through Moana. Animation from other studios came hurrying after in the wake.
Disney animated movies had always had songs, but this time the songs took on a new dimension. Howard Ashman and Alan Menken brought in more of the sensibility of musical theatre, and transformed what the animated musical looked like. Oliver and Company—its production overlapped with that of Little Mermaid—was also a musical, but something about it didn’t catch. Little Mermaid got into the country’s heart.
This is a wonderful, moving film, combining dynamic animation, beautiful music, and characters with depth and complexity, a film that went light years beyond the things that had come before it in this country. It soared off the screen in a way we weren’t prepared for.
* I specify U.S. animation, because despite Battle of the Planets, Star Blazers, and Robotech, general U.S. culture wasn’t paying attention to the animation coming out of Japan.
•
I had a problem the first time I saw Little Mermaid, though: I knew how the story was supposed to end, and I felt betrayed because they changed the beauty of the original story’s conclusion. After all, it’s only logical that if you’re to choose a tragedy, you must be okay with a heartbreaking ending. Keeping the unhappy ending seems unthinkable now, but at the time it actually felt possible to me—naive perhaps, but also a sign that the movie existed at a truly transitional moment, with the old Disney fairy-tales long past, and the modern stream not yet imagined. I knew this film was a new thing, although it wasn’t quite as groundbreaking as that would have been.
•
Ariel is an active princess who goes out and pursues her desires. She has choices, and she makes them herself, good and bad. The entire plot moves because she is chasing her dreams and fantasies, and if she had been a passive, obedient daughter, the story would consist of a successful debut concert and Eric’s ship sinking, which she would not care about even if she knew of it, because it would be just another shipwreck she had no connection to.
I think one of the main reasons this film had such an impact is that as an audience we care deeply about Ariel, something that might be traced largely to a single song. “Part of Your World” brings together lyrics, instruments, vocal performance, and animation into a sequence of almost tangible longing. From the careful, steady pacing to the breathiness of certain lines to the size of her eyes and the way she literally reaches upward to the world she can’t have, it all brings you into her yearning so you can feel what she feels (and oh-so-naturally slips in a phrase you might not notice at the time or think about even after you know what happens later: “What would I give—?”).
Ariel’s father Triton does harsh things that hurt her but immediately regrets losing his temper and second-guesses his impulsive actions. He doesn’t rage over nothing, but he overreacts, then sees that he overreacted and blames himself. He acts like he has all the answers, but when he has time to think, he realizes he doesn’t. His negative actions drive Ariel forward in the plot, but he isn’t a villain. And when the moment comes to save Ariel, he takes her place just as impulsively and without concern for anything but her.
Ursula the sea witch is intelligent, devious, and crafty. More than that, she’s formidable. She thinks several steps ahead and has an old feud with Triton that the storyline only skims but must have been festering for years. You might suspect that all the merfolk she’s cheated over this time have in some way been jabs to get back at Triton, taking his people away from him whenever she can. The movie’s main character is only a pawn in Ursula’s own tale; she uses Ariel as a tool to achieve something else and near the end directly tells her, “It’s not you I’m after.” Ursula’s grievance and resentment has made her keen and meticulous instead of impulsive and reckless; in temperament she is the exact opposite of Triton. Which is probably why she finally gets the better of him. (Note that Triton has no hand in defeating her.)
•
We should not overlook the sheer daring of deciding to make a musical, establishing within the story that the main character has a beautiful singing voice, and then making that character voiceless for half the movie.
The first time I saw a picture of what actual flounders look like, I was first disgusted and second confused, because there was no way Flounder was a flounder, no matter how much you prettify an ugly fish for animation. But of course, he isn’t a flounder, it’s just his name, inexplicably. This is a lot like naming your horse Moose, or calling your dog Hyena. But did Ariel name him or did his mother or did he name himself? I think we should know that.
I wonder, was this the last Disney fairy-tale where the villain was deliberately killed by one of the good guys? Usually they fall by accident or some natural disaster overtakes them.
•
Comics Scene magazine, issue 11 (Feb. 1990)
I recently read an article from an issue of Comics Scene—which, as you can see, covered animation as well as comics—about The Little Mermaid. The cover date is Feb 1990, but it would’ve been published a little earlier; this would’ve been on sale while the movie was in theaters, and the article written before that. The people being interviewed couldn’t be sure how successful the movie would be, and it’s funny to see the co-director feeling a need to clarify that Ariel is the name of the main character.
I think my favorite part of the article is this little gem about Ursula:
“Inky, slinky Ursula is voiced by Pat Carroll, who envisions the character as part Shakespearean actress, with all the requisite theatricality, and part used car saleswoman.”
It is so strange to see Kiki in more colorful clothes at the start of the movie. I completely forgot this was in the film.
Kiki meets another witch who seems like a snob but nevertheless takes time to answer her questions; she might be showing off and acting fancy, but she isn’t mean or rude. Jiji says the cat is stuck-up, but later he says the same thing about a different cat and learns otherwise.
I notice this other witch’s dress isn’t actually black.
With all the other times characters act like snobs, is Kiki guilty of this too, in her early treatment of Tombo?
Osono: the warmth and comfort of being welcomed by a stranger into her kitchen to share a hot drink—not as a daughter but also not quite as a friend, seen as still a child but able to make your own decisions, given extra kindness and understanding but not indulgence. Later Ursula the painter does much the same, though as less of a stranger by then.
A silent baker shamelessly showing off—for the cat.
An artist in the woods, independent and following her own path; and, we learn, she has previously had to break from her old practice of copying other painters.
This aged dog is an artistic ancestor of Heen in Howl’s Moving Castle.
Kiki, you need to say thank you to that dog.
Kiki tells Osono she can’t make deliveries now, and seems genuinely afraid she’ll be asked to leave the bakery attic. She ought to know Osono wouldn’t throw her out, but she is still thirteen years old, not as grown-up internally as she often seems.
Someone you care for is in mortal danger, and there is no hope for him but you, and yet the one special thing that makes you able to help is the thing that isn’t working at that moment.
A dirigible captain who knows his priorities: speak to the boy to give him instructions and reassurance, not to the crew, who know their jobs and signed on for this task knowing the risks.
“There are still times I feel sad . . .”
By the end of the movie, Kiki still doesn’t have a special skill or focus. She flies . . . which is the basic thing that all witches do. This always leaves me dissatisfied; but perhaps the point is her acceptance that right now, being able to fly on a broom (and talk to a cat) is enough.
Miyazaki elements: of course the flying machines, and flight in general; the need to find a balance between the old ways and the new ways; expressive faces as always; and a girl with grim determination as invisible power courses around her, making her hair rise up.
•
There is no single trigger for Kiki’s crisis of confidence. We see her repeatedly regret the way she must dress while other girls get to look nice. She encounters the other witch who has a speciality, while she does not. She’s learned that the town has rules and habits that don’t make allowances for witches. Staring in boredom out a window, she looks up with interest at the sight of a young man, only to watch him leave with a cheerful young woman in a light-colored dress. We can imagine, though it’s never hinted at in anything she says, that Kiki second-guesses her decision to leave home before preparing herself better and maybe learning some of those potions her mother wanted to teach her. Possibly she asks herself if she gets along better with adults than people her own age because she’s old-fashioned and behind the times. She admits that she doesn’t find flying fun. She ends up wet and bedraggled face-to-face with a well-to-do birthday girl in her party dress, who treats Kiki like an unimportant laborer—treatment in keeping with being a deliveryperson. Then she gets upset that Tombo is friends with this girl.
It isn’t as simple as Kiki wanting to be like the birthday girl, though, because it seems clear Kiki considers her rude and ungrateful, someone who speaks dismissively of a good and thoughtful grandmother. Kiki may want what the richer girl has, but she wouldn’t want to be her. Is it possible to have it both ways, being fashionable and glamorous but at the same time pure in heart and respectful and kind? Does being the second mean she’ll never be the first?
•
I imagine this conversation as Kiki returns the broom at the end of the movie:
Kiki (bowing): Thank you so much for letting me borrow this!
Street sweeper: Oh, not at all! I’m glad it was useful!
Kiki: It’s a good broom. Please continue to take good care of it.
Street sweeper: Oh! Well, if you like it so much—you could have it!
Kiki: Oh, no! I couldn’t! It belongs with you. It wouldn’t like to be given away.
Street sweeper (looking with puzzlement at broom-head): Is that so . . . ?
In Miyazaki’s original version of the story, there was only one girl, not a pair of sisters.
Totoro in a few words and phrases: joyful, playful, beaming with wonder, rich in emotion.
Miyazaki trademarks offered here: nature coexisting with humans and vice versa, touches of a not-hostile supernatural, flying in strong wind, active girls looking out for their family or community, facial expressions that communicate so much.
Both girls, but especially Mei, show absolute delight and eagerness when they encounter creatures and situations that would be scary if allowed to be. The girls boldly leap at things that are strange and new.
You can be good, kind, and respectful but still behave like a kid.
Satsuki is working so hard to fill the place her mother would: preparing bento boxes, tending the kitchen fire, fixing her little sister’s hair, reminding her father of things.
At the start you see the truck packed with belongings, and Miyazaki doesn’t forget to include, without drawing any special attention to them, a pair of umbrellas sticking out the top.
I wonder if Totoro’s breath smells like leaves and fresh grass. It must not smell bad, and is likely even pleasant, because Mei and Satsuki aren’t the least bit fazed when he exhales a gale on either of them.
I will always and forever love the catbus.
When your dog seems to be barking at nothing at all, it might not be a ghost—it might be a catbus.
Neither broadcast order nor production order really makes sense of all that happens in the first season of the original Thundercats series. (You can find my series overview here.)
The likely explanation is that the episodes were written by multiple storytellers whose efforts were not fully coordinated, with oversight probably provided by people who felt the series was episodic children’s television and if one story conflicted a bit with another or failed to follow a cohesive timeline, that was acceptable.
This problem is most evident when you look at the five episodes of Lion-O’s Anointment Trials, which not only first aired on different weeks (one every Friday) but were actually made at separate times, with other episodes produced in between, even though it is quite plain that the trials all take place on consecutive days, with no other stories intervening. This resulted in continuity headaches. For instance, a place/entity called the Vortex is introduced in the first Anointment Trial episode, clearly the first time the Thundercats have encountered it; the Vortex is seen again in “Divide and Conquer,” which was both produced and aired after Day 1 but before Day 5 of the Anointment Trials. The final Anointment Trial day also included a wide shot of a vast number of characters encountered by the Thundercats, which indicates that the Trials take place after those characters have been introduced, even though some of their episodes were made and aired after the first Anointment episode. So you can’t move all the Trials to where the first day stands or to where the last day stands. Some of the episodes in between need to come before the Trials and some of them need to come after the Trials.
Watching the episodes through this last time, I crafted my own chronology, repositioning a great many first-season episodes for one reason or another. I started with the broadcast order and consulted, sometimes, the production order, but I relied most of all on the content of the stories themselves, assuming that broadcast and production orders were unreliable.
Not all of these changes are strictly necessary, and I probably went overboard trying to prolong Vultureman’s petulant rejection of the other Mutants. But some of the repositioning can help untangle confused continuity and make better sense of characters’ behavior. If I ever add more episode commentaries I’ll explain my reasoning for the individual shifts.
A proviso: I have not gone back and rewatched everything using this updated sequence. There might be places where the new arrangement creates issues of continuity I didn’t think about.
Season 1
Exodus
Unholy Alliance
Berbils
The Slaves of Castle Plun-Darr
Trouble With Time
Pumm-Ra
The Terror of Hammerhand
Tower of Traps
Garden of Delights
Mandora the Evil-Chaser
The Ghost Warrior
The Doom Gaze
Lord of the Snows
All That Glitters
Spaceship Beneath the Sands
The Time Capsule
Fireballs of Plun-Darr
Return to Thundera
Spitting Image
Safari Joe
Mongor
Dr. Dometone
Astral Prison
Crystal Queen
Snarf Takes Up the Challenge
Return of the Driller
Turmagar the Tuska
Sixth Sense
Rock Giant
Thundercutter
Mechanical Plague
Demolisher
Wolfrat
Mandora and the Pirates
Feliner pts. 1-2
Dimension Doom
Queen of Eight Legs
Eye of the Beholder
Excalibur
Secret of the Ice King
Sword in a Hole
Good and Ugly
Trapped
Anointment Trials 1-5
Divide and Conquer
Micrits
Out of Sight
Shifter
Superpower Potion
Transfer
Jackalman’s Rebellion
Tight Squeeze
Monkian’s Bargain
Evil Harp of Charr-Nin
Mountain
Mumm-Ra Berbil
Trouble With Thunderkittens
Mumm-Rana
Dream Master
Fond Memories
Later Episodes
In the later part of the series, broadcast and production order seem to align, and the episode writing was apparently more tightly controlled to keep writers on track. There were only three episodes I saw a need to rearrange:
move “Ravage Island” back and place it between “Psyche Out” and “Mask of Gorgon”;
reverse “Hachiman’s Honor” and “Runaways” so that “Runaways” comes first;
reverse “Thunderscope” and “Jade Dragon” so that “Jade Dragon” comes first.
