Saving Cinderella Page 4

  It should be obvious to everyone (including princess critics) that, at its most basic level, Cinderella is a classic rags-to-riches narrative. That’s one reason it has endured for so long and in so many cultures. It’s the oppressed winning out over the oppressor. The plucky little guy triumphing over the bully. The American dream. As folklorist James Deutsch explains in Smithsonian Magazine, “the story of Cinderella tells us that virtue is rewarded and evil is punished. You rightly deserve your prince (or princess).” It’s humanity’s most basic wish-fulfillment dream. We all believe we can be more than what we currently are. That we deserve better. Justice will be done. Vengeance will be ours.

  But there’s even more to Cinderella than this. In fact, I believe that Disney’s version of this classic tale does two key things that the princess critics — and therefore most viewers — miss. The first is to expertly employ the fairytale shorthand inherent in the story of Cinderella. And the second is to use that shorthand to make a bold and very specific point that is Disney’s own. Even more than being a rags-to-riches story, Cinderella is the story of someone becoming who she truly is. Yes, she bests her wicked stepfamily by getting what the stepsisters were after — the prince — but it’s not just that. Cinderella, like Snow White, is a fairy tale and employs the exact same fairytale shorthand. The dress is not a dress, the shoe is not a shoe, the prince is not just some guy. They’re all symbols for Cinderella’s inner self. Even a two-year-old could tell you that. You don’t have to understand exactly what each item symbolizes to feel the resonance of the story. When my little friend was asking me to repeat the transformation sequence from Cinderella over and over again it wasn’t the dress she cared about (she had lots of dress up clothes, and they never came into it), and it wasn’t the prince (she never actually made it to the ball) it was something so much deeper than that. She, even at two years old, had grasped the deeper meaning of that pivotal transformation sequence — that it isn’t just about rags becoming a pretty dress, it’s also about a downtrodden girl becoming her true self. She grasped it the way we all do, intuitively, when we watch it. All of us, that is, except the princess critics. So that’s the first thing I’m going to show you — what the symbols in Cinderella are and what they represent.

  But I believe Disney goes one step further. All the traditional symbolism of the story of Cinderella is there in the movie. But there’s an additional layer that is Walt Disney’s alone. A powerful statement that would serve as a blueprint for the intention of all his princess narratives from this point onward. By intentionally coupling the established fairytale shorthand of Cinderella with Christian themes and metaphors Disney makes a bold pronouncement about the place of love (true love) in our lives. The traditional symbolism of Cinderella — which inspires us to become the truest version of ourselves — acts as a springboard for Disney to elevate that concept to a Christian vision of becoming who God intended us to be. The themes of this movie are deeply religious, and they draw a clear comparison between the transformation of Christ from God, to man, to God again, and Cinderella’s transformation from noblewoman, to scullery maid, to princess. By elevating the traditional meaning of the Cinderella story in this way, Disney equates true love with God’s love, letting us know that the Disney princess narrative is not a frivolous love story between a pretty girl and a charming prince. It’s so much more than that. It’s a map which, if followed, leads to the deepest fulfillment we can achieve on this earth. That’s the second thing this chapter will explore.

  If Cinderella is Disney’s most popular princess, we ought to be able to love her proudly and openly. We shouldn’t have to confess our love for her only on anonymous secret-sharing websites — literally whispering that this iconic but unfairly maligned princess is really our favorite. By the time we’re done, you’ll know that Cinderella’s popularity comes not from the sparkliness of her dress, but from the glittering purity of her character.

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  So, who is Cinderella really? Let’s begin by delving into the fairytale shorthand of Cinderella and the way that it plays out in Disney’s retelling. Princess critics think Cinderella is a poor girl, dressed in rags, forced to be a household drudge and comply with the every whim of her evil step mother. But if that was who she was, there’d be no point telling her story. See, that isn’t who she is, that’s what she’s doing. In fact, that’s one of the very first things we’re told about Cinderella: “Though you’re dressed in rags you wear an air of queenly grace / Anyone can see a throne would be your proper place.” (That’s from a song that plays during the opening credits of the movie.) The rags (and the drudgery and the servitude) are a disguise, hiding Cinderella’s true self. Who she really is, you see, is a princess. Not a literal princess, a symbolic princess. She embodies the highest virtues a person can possess. She’s the perfect woman. But she looks like lowest of the low. She’s a dirty scullery maid dressed in rags. Her journey won’t be through — her story won’t be complete — until the inside of her and the outside of her are a match.

  This idea of being a princess is one of the most important fairy tale symbols. And it’s vital to us because . . . well, because this is a book about princesses. But also because the symbolism of the princess remains constant throughout all Disney princess movies (except the ones the princess critics ruined) and it means something that ought to help us understand one of the princess critics’ central mistakes. In a fairy tale, the point of being a princess is not to have lots of money, lots of pretty things, and a handsome prince to marry. The point is that a princess is a high-born lady. She represents the highest, most true, most virtuous elements of womanhood. She is perfect. Strong, brave, kind, determined, patient — everything we wish we were. You can be a princess even in rags. Cinderella is. We’re explicitly told that she is. It’s a symbol: an external, concrete image of an internal, intangible quality. That’s the mistake the princess critics make over and over again. The external beauty of a fairy tale princess is shorthand for her inner beauty. As Gould explains, “In plays and movies, we understand the visual code that says the good must be beautiful while the wicked are ugly.” Disney movies (and fairy tales in general) aren’t telling little girls that they ought to be literal princesses. They’re telling them to be the best possible versions of themselves.

  So, other than the fact that the movie explicitly tells us so, how do we know that Cinderella is actually a princess (in the fairy tale sense of the word)? Well, she shows us. Like Snow White, Cinderella is in an impossible situation. Her doting father has died, leaving her alone with her wicked stepmother and cruel stepsisters, who force her into servitude. Princess critics want us to believe that Cinderella’s submission to this situation, like Snow White’s, is indicative of her weakness. Garis says, “The problem with Cinderella has always been a lack of genuine motivation. At any point in the 10 or some-odd years that Cinderella works as a housemaid she could've just been like, ‘NOPE’ and bailed, but she doesn’t.” But that’s ridiculous. Where would she go? What would she do? Live on the streets? Hire herself out as a scullery maid to some other family? Perhaps Cinderella could invent something (an iPad? A flush toilet?) that people want and save up enough money to strike out on her own. No. She’s obviously stuck there. We can’t judge her based on her circumstances. We have to judge her based on how she handles them. And she handles them with grace, determination, and strength.

  When we first meet Cinderella she is singing about what she wants. “A dream is a wish your heart makes,” she tells her animal friends. But, when asked what she was dreaming about, Cinderella won’t say. If you tell a wish, she explains, it won’t come true. But we have a guess about what it might be because, as she’s singing, the camera keeps panning to her window where the glittering castle is pretty much the only thing that can be seen. But don’t jump to conclusions! She’s not dreaming of the man who lives in the castle coming to rescue her (she doesn’t know him at all). She’s dreaming of getting back a life that once was hers — a life of luxury
, comfort, and warmth. A life she once enjoyed in her father’s home where she is now a servant. A life represented to her by the glittering luxury of the castle. Cinderella wants to live, if only for a moment, the life of a noblewoman — the life she was born to. We know this because, later, when she doesn’t finish her chores in time to go to the ball, it’s the ball she’s sad to miss, not the opportunity to meet the prince. A royal ball, she says to herself would have been “completely wonderful.” She knows that the ball is in honor of the prince, but at no point does she hope that that prince will notice her. Unlike Snow White, Cinderella’s hope is not to find romance but, rather, to reclaim the life that once was hers.

  People like Mize want us to think Cinderella “was willing to continue her crappy lifestyle and never tried to escape her situation. She waited for a prince to whisk her away, and if that hadn't happened, she would have been checking out her reflection in soap bubbles for the rest of her dreary life.” But that’s not true at all. Cinderella is stuck in her “crappy lifestyle” but her dreams for the future tell us that she’s longing to escape it. “In dreams you will lose your heartaches,” Cinderella sings. “No matter how your heart is grieving / If you keep on believing / The dream that you wish will come true.” Cinderella is not content. Far from promoting “a fetishization of housecleaning,” as Alyssa Rosenberg suggests on Slate, Cinderella is doing what she must until she finds a way out of this nightmare and into the life of her dreams. The life she used to have, and longs for again. The thing she ought to have, because it is rightfully hers.

  Like Snow White, Cinderella has resolved to be cheerful in the face of adversity. Instead of falling all over herself in self-pity, Cinderella’s inner strength allows her to make the best of a terrible situation. Immediately after learning that she longs for a better life, but has resolved to make the best of her current situation, we see her interacting with her animal friends. She frees a frightened mouse from a trap, feeds him, and clothes him, and gives him a name. She takes time to visit with the horse and the dog, the mice and the birds, and make sure they are fed and comfortable. Even in amongst all her other chores that she must do (lest she face the wrath of her stepfamily) she finds time for chores she wants to do because of her care for her animal friends. She even, in an act of charity most of us would not attempt, tries to think of something good about her stepmother’s diabolical cat Lucifer who is tormenting the other animals. So we know, very early on, that, in addition to being strong in the face of adversity, Cinderella is caring, compassionate, and kind.

  And then we meet her stepfamily. Over and over again, from the very first time we meet the stepsisters, and on throughout the rest of the movie, Cinderella and her stepsisters are intentionally compared to one another. And through these comparisons Cinderella’s true character is further illuminated. Immediately before we meet the stepsisters for the first time, we see Cinderella carrying three full breakfast trays up the stairs with dexterity and grace — one on each hand, and one balanced precariously on her head. She even, in a moment of foreshadowing, loses her shoe on the stairs, turns, reclaims it, and turns again to continue up the stairs, all without dropping a thing. And then she enters her stepsisters’ rooms, where she finds them sprawled across their beds, backsides in the air, yawning loudly without covering their mouths, whining and complaining in voices that would make anyone’s skin crawl. Here they are, the movie seems to say, two examples of womanhood. Take your pick.

  And, if that wasn’t clear enough, the comparisons continue. The stepmother, offering her daughters a traditional feminine education that is closed to Cinderella, begins a music lesson with them while Cinderella scrubs the floor. While their horrible, out of tune, voices drift down the stairs, they mingle with Cinderella’s beautiful, clear tones singing the same song. “Sing sweet nightingale,” the girls sing. There wouldn’t be anyone listening who couldn’t discern which of the girls in the house was truly the “sweet nightingale.” Cinderella, we are learning from these early comparisons, inherently possesses the traditional feminine qualities of grace, beauty, and elegance that the stepmother is trying (and failing) to instill in her daughters. But, of course, this isn’t enough for princess critics because grace, beauty, and elegance are all qualities of an “oppressed” woman. Not a “strong” and “empowered” one. Which is fine, because (as we’ll see in a moment) Cinderella is so much more than graceful, beautiful, and elegant. But, remember, we’re trying to build a picture of perfection — of a princess. Her quiet elegance, her effortless grace, her unselfconscious beauty, are all symbolic representations of her inherent goodness. So we’ll add them to the mix.

  A messenger comes to the door. The prince is holding a ball! But what Cinderella hears and what the stepsisters hear, when this message is read, are two very different things. “Cinderella never asked for a prince. She asked for a night off and a dress,” quipped young adult novelist Kiera Cass. For Cinderella, as we’ve already seen, the exciting prospect is the ball — a chance to be seen as her true self. For the stepsisters, though, the exciting prospect is the prince. Contrary to all the princess critics’ complaints that Cinderella’s “dreams all revolve around marrying someone, anyone,” (as Dray proclaims) it’s the stepsisters — the example of what a woman should not be — who immediately fixate on marrying the prince. And then fall all over themselves trying to be beautiful enough to attract him — as if outer beauty was what was important here.

  In this moment of learning about the ball, we not only see that Cinderella isn’t obsessed with marriage and physical appearance (as the princess critics want us to believe), we also see her stand up for herself and show the “backbone” the princess critics say she doesn’t have. As the stepsisters squabble and preen Cinderella realizes that the invitation is extended to “every eligible maiden” in the land and that, as such, she is also invited. Her sense of self is intact. She knows who she is. She is an eligible maiden, worthy of attending the ball. And she says so. Would a drudge — content to be a drudge, totally broken by her stepfamily, and afraid of their wrath — speak up in this moment? I don’t think so. But Cinderella does. “Why, that means I can go too!” she says. And even when her stepfamily scoffs, and teases — “I’d be honored your highness, would you mind holding my broom?” — Cinderella stands firm. And she wins. Her stepmother agrees that Cinderella may go to the ball, as long as she finds something suitable to wear, and completes all her chores before it’s time to leave. Of course her stepmother fully intends to give her so many chores she couldn’t possibly complete them, but it’s a victory nonetheless. And it shows that Cinderella has a strong sense of herself, and a fierce and determined inner drive to get what she wants. As Deutsch reminds us, “Cinderella is not a passive wimp who simply wishes upon a star. She makes things happen through her fortitude, perseverance, and wise decisions.”

  This is who Cinderella really is. A kind, caring, generous girl, who hasn’t forgotten her true identity, who stands up for herself with quiet determination, and works hard to get what she wants. A princess. Not because of her external beauty or her desire to marry a prince, but because of the internal qualities which manifest — through fairy tale shorthand — in her beauty and grace. So Cinderella, who has been aided by her animal friends, comes downstairs ready for the ball wearing her mother’s old gown, adorned with her stepsister’s castoffs. But, when Cinderella’s stepmother sees what she’s wearing and points it out to the stepsisters, they rip her dress to pieces. So that, by the time the stepmother and stepsisters leave for the ball, the stepsisters are wearing their finest dresses, and Cinderella is in rags. It’s backwards. The stepsisters are internally ugly, but externally dressed in beautiful clothes. And Cinderella is internally beautiful, but dressed in ugly tatters.

  This is the pivotal moment. Princess critics complain because Cinderella’s efforts to get to the ball on her own — with her mother’s dress — don’t work out. “Not only is this poor girl kind of enslaved,” says Sonia Saraiya on Nerve, “bu
t then pretty much everything she tries to do to make her life better blows up in her face.” They see this as her attempt at agency and dislike that it is thwarted in favor of the fairy godmother’s intervention. But Cinderella’s agency or non-agency isn’t the point here. The point is that her mother’s dress, done up with the stepsisters’ sash and pearls, isn’t good enough. It isn’t her. Only magic can make this right. Only magic can manifest internal qualities as external ones — can allow the world to see with their eyes something that occurs in the soul. Princess critics think the dress is just a dress. That Cinderella is a person who couldn’t even find a dress to wear without magical intervention. But that’s just silly. Now that the stepsisters are gone, she could have raided their closets. That’s not the point. What happens to Cinderella is not a thing that could actually happen. Anyone can wear a pretty dress. The stepsisters were wearing pretty dresses when they left for the ball. But there isn’t, in real life, a way to visually display your true self. That’s what the fairy godmother provides.

  The fairy godmother gathers together a bunch of ordinary things (a pumpkin, some mice, a dog, a horse) and elevates them to the level of the extraordinary. But, in the movie, these are not just any mice, dog, and horse. They are Cinderella’s friends, who have served her faithfully and stuck by her. And so, just as she will, they become expressions of who they truly are. Faithful steeds, trusty footmen, loyal coach drivers. And when all this glittering finery is complete, it’s Cinderella’s turn. With a final wave of her magic wand, the fairy godmother reveals Cinderella’s true self — a transformation that has stuck in the memories of countless viewers for almost seventy years. The dress shimmers and sparkles with the light of truth, and (in Disney’s version at least) it’s white like the purity of Cinderella’s soul. And, raising the hem of her dress, Cinderella finds she is wearing slippers made of glass. Glass like a mirror. Reflecting her true image. Finally, Cinderella looks the way she is. And, in the symbolism of the fairytale shorthand, she is now transformed for all the world to see. Her internal self made visible.