FAIRY EXCHANGE

Sleeping Beauty villainess tells her side of the story in Maleficent

For 40 years, feminists have complained about the sanitized fairy tales force-fed to little girls in Disney cartoons—the ones that promise a handsome prince and true love's kiss. And over the last couple of years, the Mouse House seems to be getting a clue. (Well, better late than never...) Brave featured an independent-minded princess who didn't get (or need) a prince. In last year's mega-hit Frozen, an ironic plot reversal was built around the (mistaken) notion of true love's kiss.

Times and tastes change, of course. Kick-ass heroines (the very phrase is already a cliche), in the Katniss Everdeen mode, are all the rage in the YA fantasy market—to which all little pink Disney Princess fans graduate soon enough. And it probably made a difference that the above Disney films were largely conceived, as well as co-written and co-directed, by women—Brenda Chapman and Jennifer Lee, respectively.

For Maleficent, the studio turns over scriptwriting duties to one of its most accomplished players, Linda Woolverton, who wrote (among other things) Disney's fabulous Beauty and the Beast, and its live-action Alice In Wonderland. It's Woolverton's task to blithely rewrite the vintage Disney Princess cartoon, Sleeping Beauty—or at least provide a bracketing story around events in the earlier movie that pretty much changes everything.

Not your ordinary fairy wings.

This time, the story is told from the viewpoint of the so-called evil fairy, Maleficent, formerly the designated villain. It's an audacious idea, and a nod to the trend for rehabilitated villains, a la Wicked (not to mention Alias Hook).

And while the narrative stumbles now and then, Maleficent is often a savvy and entertaining live-action revision. With the formidable Angelina Jolie in the title role, we get a character who is both deliciously wicked (when she needs to be) and surprisingly, believably tender as her side of the story plays out.

Disney's original, in all her wicked glory.

In this version, we meet Maleficent as a young fairy (Isobelle Molloy) growing up blissfully happy in the moors, a verdant haven for all manner of magical CGI critters adjacent to a kingdom of humans. For some reason never explained, Maleficent is blessed with majestic hawk-like wings as tall as she is, which enable her to tumble around joyously in the sky, but also to swoop down on anyone or anything that threatens her precious moors.

As a child, she befriends a human boy, Stefan, who strays into the Moors one day. They become close friends—until the day, years later, that he betrays her. It's not simply that his love isn't true enough, but as a grown man (now played by Sharlto Copley), driven by ambition to inherit the kingdom, he commits an act so heinous and horrifying against Maleficent, it hardens her heart and sets her on the road to villainy.

The symbolic weight of this action for female viewers cannot be overestimated, and it ground's Maleficent's psyche in something much deeper and more primal than an unhappy romance.

When her former friend becomes King Stefan, and he and his queen celebrate the birth of their daughter, Aurora, Maleficent crashes the party and delivers her famous curse: on her sixteenth birthday, Aurora will prick her finger on a spinning wheel and fall into a trance-like sleep from which she will never waken.

This is the "familiar" part of the story, except things don't play out the way we expect in Woolverton's clever script. Not to give away the best surprises, but Aurora, raised in secret by three fairies in a cottage in the wood, grows up a wild child, beloved by all the woodland creatures. Including, gradually, Maleficent herself—whom Aurora calls her fairy godmother.

When Aurora (now played by the dewy Elle Fanning) nears her sixteenth birthday, Maleficent actually tries to revoke her curse, but can't. Ironically, the only possible escape clause is "true love's kiss"—which Maleficent believes does not exist.

The film marks the directing debut of visual effects wizard and production designer Robert Stromberg (Oscar-winning art director on Avatar and Alice In Wonderland). The effects are sophisticated, especially the transformations of Maleficent's shape-shifting crow familiar (nicely played by Sam Riley in human form). Also cunning is the way the faces of actresses Imelda Staunton, Lesley Manville, and Juno Temple are morphed onto tiny winged bodies as the guardian fairies—although too much time is wasted on their slapstick Three Stoogettes routines when they switch to human size.

Something to crow about: Sam Riley and Jolie.

In an earlier scene, there's something ugly, gratuitous, and out-of-character in the savage way winged Maleficent keeps diving into the fray when an invading army attacks the moors—especially since giant bog creatures of trees, rock, and mud seem perfectly capable of defending themselves.

Short shrift is also given to the story's central motif, the death-like sleep into which Aurora falls when the curse is fulfilled. Her sleep is usually shown to cast a pall of tragedy over the realm; in some versions of the tale, the entire kingdom likewise falls asleep for a hundred years.

Here, she's only asleep for about five minutes of screen time before the apparent rescuer(s) start parading in. I love how the notion of what does (and does not) constitute "true love" is handled in this sequence; still, waking the princess from a nap doesn't have quite the same dramatic urgency.

But despite these missteps, the film's fresh ideas (including its notion of who the real Sleeping Beauty is) help this radical retake cast a certain spell.

BRAVE NEW GIRLS

What Disney Princess movies say about gender, culture, and romance

What would the holidays be without a new Disney feature cartoon? With Frozen, the studio is in full "Disney Princess" mode—the line of femme-centric fairy tale movies designed to market Mattel dolls, outfits and accessories to little girls. (Especially now, as the holiday buying season ramps up.) A marketing ploy made all the more obvious when the movie is animated via CGI, and all the characters already look like plastic dolls, with their smooth, unlined skin and dimensional shading.

Let's take a moment to consider the history of the brand. At least since the revisionist '70s, we've all been yammering on about the evolution, or lack thereof, of Disney's fairy tale cartoon heroines, but I think it's interesting to see how they've reflected their times.

  Snow White was sort of a neutered '30s chorus girl (Betty Boop, without sex), with her bobbed hair and baby-doll voice, pining for her prince to come. Cinderella was the obedient drudge, ca. 1950, sublimating her own desires. A decade later, Sleeping Beauty could let her hair down, but she was still the poster girl for passivity; her most dynamic action was to fall asleep for 100 years.

But since the resurgence of fairy tale princess movies that began in 1989 with Ariel in The Little Mermaid, Disney heroines have become more resourceful, spunky (and, oh please, don't make me write "pro-active"), in taking charge of their lives. And more ethnically diverse—grudgingly—if you count Chinese warrior princess Mulan, and Jasmine, from Aladdin, although it took 72 years for the first black Disney cartoon heroine, Tiana, from The Princess and the Frog in 2009.

Very loosely inspired by Danish storyteller Hans Christian Andersen's classic tale, The Snow Queen (although it has only the vaguest nodding acquaintance with the source material), Frozen is one of the whitest of all Disney Princess movies. Not only is it set in a Scandinavian island kingdom perched on a fjord and full of Nordic blondes, but there's the whole snow thing—a princess with uncontrollable magical powers whose touch turns everything to ice.

After Princess Elsa accidentally freezes the kingdom in perpetual winter, she flees up into the mountains and magicks herself a crystal ice palace. The rest of the movie follows her sister, Princess Anna, on a trek across the snowy mountains to find her sister and save the realm. Her unlikely guide is humble woodworker and ice delivery man, Kristoff, while she leaves the kingdom under the protection of neighbor Prince Hans.

For those of you keeping score at home, that's two Disney princesses, one handsome prince, and one roguish commoner.

Which brings us to another topic: the evolution of the Disney cartoon hero. Seriously, does anyone even remember the bland, boring, cookie-cutter "Prince Charmings" of those earlier films? The first one to distinguish himself from the pack was Beauty's splendid Beast in 1991, and even he morphed back into a (yawn) prince at the end.

But finally, the folks at Disney are starting to perceive that their new breed of heroine deserves better, maybe a male counterpart with, you know, a personality.

Frog Prince Naveen was a charming wastrel with a line of corny, yet good-natured patter; unfortunately, he spent most of the movie as a green amphibian.

Flynn Rider in Disney's 2010 Rapunzel movie, Tangled, wasn't even a prince, but a thief and a rogue, on the lam from the palace guard. Sure, the rascal hero is as old a cliché as the bland prince, and if wisecracking Flynn were a live-action hero, he'd be pretty obnoxious, but as a new Disney hero, he had his points. And in the landmark Brave in 2012, there was no romantic hero at all; bow-and-arrow sharpshooter Princess Merida was too busy finding herself.

The excess of heroes in Frozen might suggest a regressive step back to the old days, except for the surprisingly clever, even subversive way the love stories play out. And it's interesting to watch the Disney tale-spinners create more evenly-matched romantic figures, characters who grow and endure trials together, and end up together because they deserve each other, not just because they're the only prince and/or princess in the movie.

But wouldn't it be refreshing if a Disney heroine wasn't a princess at all, but an ordinary girl? Now that would be brave.

PARADES AND PRINCESSES

The last time I was in a parade, I won a trophy. I was seven years old, and I won for "Most Original Costume" in the Hawaiian Days Parade in Hermosa Beach, CA. (Actually, my mom should have won the award; she sewed the floral muu-muu I wore, and a matching miniature one for my Shirley Temple doll that I carried in the parade. All I had to do was show up.)

I didn't win any trophies in the downtown Holiday Parade last Saturday, but still, I had the most fun a person can have squashed into the back seat of a vintage Mercedes going one mile-per-hour. My esteemed editor, Greg Archer, invited me and Art Boy to ride in the official Good Times car with him, the aforementioned Merc, recently purchased by GT's Webmaster Jeff, who also drove. Greg sat up on top, perched on the edge of the sun roof, and our intrepid one-man camera crew, Flax Glor, basically trotted alongside, setting up his tripod and shooting, guerrilla-style.

Here's what I love about Santa Cruz: the sheer variety of participants in this hands-on, hometown parade. We had everyone from the little mermaids in this Save Our Shores float to the Santa Cruz Derby Girls, from Cub Scout troupes to the sexy Salsa Rueda dancers, to the KUSP "Geek Speak" brain trust cheerfully broadcasting live from their open truck in the rain, under a plastic tarp. And of course, my personal favorite, the Santa Cruz Public Library Book Truck Drill Team (their book trucks festively painted red for the occasion).

Unfortunately, when you're actually in the parade, you don't get to see much of the other groups, floats and marchers. What we mostly saw from inside the parade car was the crowd outside, lining Pacific Avenue. ("Throw candy!" one little girl yelled eagerly, no doubt mistaking us for a Mardi Gras parade.) And while perfecting my Queen Elizabeth wave, here's what I learned about crowds: if you smile at someone and wave, guess what? They wave back! I'm sure that about 90% of the onlookers (and 100% of the kids) along the parade route had no idea who we were, tucked away in the back seat of the car, but they waved back, nonetheless.

You too can experience our insiders' view of the Holiday Parade in this You Tube video Jeff shot on his phone while driving. (Don't try this at home, kids.) Those are the lovely hoopsters Heather and Mary marching along in front, priming the crowd with their hooping skills. Greg and Flax are also assembling a short film to be posted on GTV before you know it. Check it out if you missed the parade, or if you were one of the bystanders waving at the camera, hoping for your 15 minutes (okay, seconds) of fame.

And speaking of seasonal films, what would the holidays be without a new Disney feature cartoon? In Tangled, an entertaining riff on the Rapunzel tale, the studio is in full "Disney Princess" mode—you know, the line of femme-centric fairy tale movies designed to market Mattel dolls, outfits, and accessories to little girls. A marketing ploy made all the more obvious when the movie is animated via CGI (as Tangled is), and all the characters already look like plastic dolls, with their smooth, unlined skin and dimensional shading.

Since Tangled is a milestone—Disney's 50th cartoon feature—let's take a moment to consider the history of the brand. At least since the revisionist '70s, we've all been yammering on about the evolution of Disney's cartoon heroines, but I think it's interesting to see how they've reflected their times. Snow White was sort of a neutered '30s chorus girl (Betty Boop, without sex), with her bobbed hair and baby-doll voice, pining for her prince to come. Cinderella was the obedient '50s drudge, sublimating her own desires, and Sleeping Beauty was the poster girl for passivity; her most dynamic action was to fall asleep for 100 years.

But since the resurgence of fairy tale princess movies that began in 1989 with Ariel in The Little Mermaid, Disney heroines have become more resourceful, spunky, and (oh please, don't make me write "pro-active," but you know what mean) in taking charge of their own lives. (And more ethnically diverse—grudgingly—if you count Mulan and Jasmine from Aladdin, although it took 72 years for Disney to introduce its first black cartoon heroine, Tiana from last year's The Princess and the Frog.)

But now let's take a look at the evolution of the Disney cartoon hero. Seriously, does anyone even remember the bland, boring, cookie-cutter "Prince Charmings" of those earlier films? The first one to distinguish himself from the pack was the magnificent Beast, in 1991, and even he morphed back into a (yawn) prince at the end. But finally, finally, the folks at Disney are starting to perceive that this new breed of plucky heroines deserve better, maybe a male counterpart with, you know, a personality. This sea change first became apparent last year with Frog Prince Naveen, a charming wastrel with a line of corny, yet good-natured patter; unfortunately, he spent most of the movie disguised as a frog.

Which brings us to hero Flynn Rider in Tangled. For the first time in "Disney princess" history, he's not even a prince, but a thief and a rogue (notice how he looks a little like Jake Gyllenhaal) who hides out in Rapunzel's tower while on the lam from the palace guard. Sure, the rascal hero is as old a cliché as the bland prince, and if wisecracking Flynn were a live-action hero, he'd be pretty obnoxious (although good-hearted enough to redeem himself). But as a new kind of Disney hero, fit for a princess, he has his points. Flynn's cheeky narration frames Rapunzel's story, but never overwhelms it; her character is equal to his in grit and chutzpah. And it's interesting to watch as the Disney tale-spinners labor to create more evenly-matched romantic figures, characters who grow and endure trials together, and end up together because they deserve each other, not just because they're the only prince and/or princess in the movie.

Looking for something a little more grown-up at the movies this weekend (or just want to practice your Italian)? Don't forget the Dante Alighieri Society's monthly Italian Neo-Realism series, presented at the VAPA Art History Forum Room 1001 at Cabrillo this Sunday. This month's classic is La Strada, by the great Federico Fellini, a filmmaker more often associated with lush spectacle than gritty realism. But Fellini does Neo-Realism his way in this 1954 allegorical fable, one of the most acclaimed and heartbreaking of his early films. It's set in a circus, where brutish strongman Anthony Quinn buys winsome, simple-minded waif Giuletta Masina to work in his act. But complications arise in the person of clown/trapeze artist Richard Basehart. Presented in Italian with English subtitles. Showtime is 7 pm, Sunday only, and it's free!