Disney’s adaptations of classic fairy tale and folk stories like Cinderella have charmed girls across generations, but as the decades pass they’ve been subject to increasing criticism that the early princesses were passive sillyhearts lying around waiting to be rescued. Disney’s efforts to create more active princesses have been met with approval on release — see The Little Mermaid and Aladdin — only to be attacked in subsequent years. Well, stuff and nonsense, says Faith Moore: the early princesses were not passive or weak, and Disney’s recent attempts at making more empowered princesses have only succeeded in missing what makes princesses special: the inner beauty of character, not the ability to pole-vault. This is an interesting study of Disney’s attempts at creating modern stories from fairytales over the years, which I enjoyed despite not being the ideal audience for.

This probably goes without saying, but I’m not a Disney princess kind of guy. I enjoyed the movies as a kid, but despite my love of musicals, the only films I’ve rewatched over the years are The Lion King and Aladdin. I’ve seen none of the newer films, except for the live-action remakes of those same classics. Recently, though, I discovered a podcast called Storytime for Grownups, where the author of this book delves into classic literature. She’s currently doing a series comparing Jane Eyre to the classic story of “Beauty and the Beast”. I’ve enjoyed it enormously, so I was eager to give this book a shot.

Saving Cinderella covers every princess-ish movie from Snow White to Frozen, The author analyzes the characters, their growth, and the storytelling style. We start with Snow White, which is pure fairytale, with its characters functioning more as symbols than fully developed persons — especially the nameless Prince.The author argues that critics often misunderstand the early Disney movies’ essential nature, particularly the importance of symbols. Consider the dress in Cinderella: it isn’t merely a dress. Cinderella could have gone to the ball in one of her stepsisters’ dresses and looked perfectly pretty. However, the magical dress serves to bring her inner beauty—her kindness, resilience, etc.—to the surface, making it visible. There’s always enchantment in these stories, and symbols like The Woods as a place of transformation play into that. Ultimately, Disney’s princess stories are fundamentally about growing up and accepting one’s status and responsibilities as an adult — and specifically, Moore argues, accepting one’s development as a woman capable of entering into a mature, loving relationship and beginning a family. This isn’t the case for some of the princesses here, but (she argues) the story is so much the worse for that. Presumably some readers will harrumph and scream at the idea that the ideal end for every woman and man is to pair up, but there is a reason there are eight billion humans and a very healthy romance-book market despite the west’s modern cynicism about love. In addition to examining how each movie handles the fundamental “growing up” theme — its version of the hero’s journey — Moore also addresses each princess directly, defending and critiquing — sometimes both, in the case of Sleeping Beauty. Some examples: she points out that Arial gave her voice up to be human, not for a man, and that Belle did not try to “fix the Beast”, but rather inspired him to want to overcome his own beastliness (like Melvin in As Good as it Gets), etc. With many of the stories I’m not able to comment, having not read them, but I always appreciate someone going to bat for maligned and abused stories.

Highlights:

The song is not because of the chores, it’s in spite of them.  The song allows Snow White to find some joy in a difficult and boring task.  It’s what the British call “stiff upper lip.”  She’s been handed a raw deal and she’s got two choices: she can whine, complain, and swoon (rather like a damsel in distress); or she can buck up and get on with doing what she has to do.  And she chooses the latter.

All Disney princess narratives are about the transition from childhood to adulthood.  As legendary Disney producer Don Hahn explained it, “Disney films are about growing up. They’re about that day in your life when you have to accept responsibility.”

There’s a reason the enchantress turned the prince into a beast instead of, say, a frog, or an object like his servants.  He’s a beast because beasts are aggressive, strong, stubborn, powerful, and selfish — a beast holds within himself all the basest urges of men.  The Beast has been transformed into what the prince was to begin with — a man, without a woman’s touch.  Or, to put it another way, a man without a woman worth channeling those urges towards protecting, loving, and supporting.

All the Disney princesses who came before (with the possible exception of Pocahontas) were as courageous and strong as a man.  They just weren’t courageous and strong like a man.

A Disney princess doesn’t need a man.  In the case of the traditional fairy tale movies, she gets a man as a representation of her transition to adulthood.  In the case of the Renaissance movies, her dreams are fully formed before she ever meets a man.  A princess — a woman — wants a man because she wants love in her life, a family of her own, and the children that proceed from that love. 

But they couldn’t subvert fairy tale symbolism because they didn’t understand it. 

There is no doubt that Disney is on a path set by the princess critics.  They are more concerned with their princesses’ external qualities — their race, their body type, their sexual orientation — than their inner beauty.  But the thing that gives me hope — that should give us all hope — is that little girls aren’t buying it.  They still gravitate towards the symbols and ideas that Disney princesses — and fairy tale princesses in general — have always offered.