Saving Cinderella Read online

  Only magic could have done this. Because, not only does Cinderella’s dress represent to us, the viewer, that we are now witnessing her true self, but it represents this to everyone else in the story too. Princess critics hate the fact that Cinderella and Prince Charming fall in love at first sight. They think it means that they’re only attracted to each other physically — that Prince Charming fell in love with her because, as Mize puts it, she’s “pretty enough to grab the prince's attention.” But that’s not the point. Prince Charming, who has been yawning and rolling his eyes through the presentation of all the other beautiful ladies, sees Cinderella in her magic dress and glass slippers and knows immediately that she is someone worthy of his love. He sees her true self. Because that’s the magic of the dress and the shoes. That’s what they represent.

  Neither Cinderella, nor Prince Charming, expected to find love at the ball. The whole ball was arranged by the king, who wants to see his son married so that he can start creating heirs to the throne. Charming couldn’t care less, and doesn’t think he’s going to find his true love by meeting a bunch of random women and dancing with them. Even the grand duke, the king’s advisor, says the whole ball concept is “a pretty plot for a fairy tale, but in real life it was foredoomed to failure.” As in, only in a fairy tale, would a prince and a princess be able to recognize each other for who they truly are just by looking at each other. It’s not something that would happen in real life. Luckily, this is a fairy tale. Even with this line right there in the movie, the princess critics still miss it. They still take the whole thing literally. But they’re wrong. They’re so obviously wrong.

  When Cinderella realizes that she has lost track of the time and that she must flee, the prince tries to stop her. “How will I find you?” he calls to her, “I don’t even know your name!” Who are you? What is your name? He’s just met the girl of his dreams and she’s running off without leaving her number. Of course he’s going to ask her name and where she lives. But it’s also worth nothing that a person’s name is also often shorthand for who they are. Their inner selves. It’s a trope that appears in some of the later Disney princess movies — most notably The Little Mermaid, but also Aladdin. Prince Charming feels that he won’t be able to find Cinderella again because he doesn’t know who she is. He wants her to leave him with something that is, without a doubt, her, so that he can find her again. Her name. But, instead, he ends up with her slipper. Not as helpful, if this was a realistic story. I mean, if I left my shoe with a guy I met in a bar it’s very unlikely he’d be able to use it to figure out where I lived. But, in the fairytale shorthand of Cinderella, the shoe (as we’ve already established) is the symbol of her true self. And that is why the prince ends up with it.

  At midnight, the dress, the pumpkin, the horses, and the footmen all return to what they were before. The fairy godmother’s gift was not permanent. Cinderella must make it permanent, with her actions later on. But one thing is left. Her glass slippers haven’t faded away. She still has one of them. And the prince has the other. And, of course, this will prove integral to the final sequence of the plot. Because the shoes — those reflectors of Cinderella’s true self — are the only way the prince can find her again. Not because he can’t remember anything about her, or because he wouldn’t necessarily recognize her face, but because the shoes are representative of who she truly is. That’s why only Cinderella will fit into them. (Did you really think there wasn’t a single other girl in the kingdom with the same size feet as Cinderella?) They’re the perfect safeguard against the prince choosing the wrong girl. The girl who wore these slippers is the embodiment of “princess” to his embodiment of “prince.” The shoe is a physical symbol of Cinderella’s “princess-ness.” Only the girl whose foot fits inside this shoe is worthy of being revealed as a princess.

  When Cinderella learns that the prince (who she didn’t intend to fall in love with, but whose own true self has revealed itself to her) intends to marry her, she immediately starts acting more like herself. She hands the dirty laundry back to the stepsisters, refusing to do her usual chores, and goes upstairs to look at her face in the mirror — not because she’s obsessed with her physical appearance, but because her true self is suddenly reflected there. And this behavior finally alerts the stepmother that Cinderella is the girl the prince danced with at the ball. The minute Cinderella begins to project her true self out into the world, the world begins to see it too. And it prompts the stepmother to lock her in her room so she can’t try on the shoe. But, again, the animals come to Cinderella’s rescue and, after a valiant fight against Lucifer the cat, bring her the key. And so, Cinderella, in an act of agency the princess critics refuse to credit her with, rushes downstairs to announce that she is, indeed, the prince’s true love. And, even though the stepmother causes the slipper to be smashed on the ground, Cinderella will not be dissuaded. She has the other slipper. She is who she says she is. A princess. Even in rags.

  So that’s what the fairytale shorthand of Cinderella tells us. It’s a tale that seeks to represent a universal human need: to be seen for who we truly are. We all long, in one way or another, for the world to see our true selves and, in one way or another, we can’t quite make them. And even if we hadn’t thought all this through before, even if we couldn’t have said exactly what all these things represented, we knew in our hearts that this story is about more than shoes and a dress. We had to. Otherwise we wouldn’t have loved it as we do. The story wouldn’t have endured as it has. This is not a superficial story. It’s a deep and universal one that speaks to us whether we’re two or one hundred and two. The only reasons we now think Cinderella (and other Disney princess movies) is superficial is because we’ve bought into the princess critics’ superficial interpretation of it. We have to stop being so literal. We’ve got to stop listening to the princess critics.

  *

  The traditional symbolism of Cinderella is, as we’ve just seen, alive and well in the animated movie. But, as I mentioned earlier, there’s an additional layer that is Disney’s own. I believe (and will endeavor to prove) that Walt Disney intentionally meant to link the themes of Cinderella to the Christian idea of redemption. And, in doing so, he made a bold statement about the importance of true love. A statement that resonates down the years and provides a lens through which to view all the other princess narratives to come.

  First, let’s establish that Disney was, in fact, a Christian. In 1949, one year before the release of Cinderella, Disney said, “I believe firmly in the efficacy of religion, in its powerful influence on a person's whole life. It helps immeasurably to meet the storm and stress of life and keep you attuned to the Divine inspiration. Without inspiration, we would perish. All I ask of myself, 'Live a good Christian life.' To that objective I bend every effort in shaping my personal, domestic, and professional activities and growth.” So we know that Christianity, and its themes, were very important to Disney, and that he believed that they had a place in his “professional activities.” So we can at least speculate that it would be likely that Christian ideas would manifest in Disney’s films.

  I am not a biblical scholar. In fact, until about four years before the writing of this book, I wasn’t even a Christian. But I am going to put forward the theory that, in a very broad-strokes and generalized way, the story of Disney’s Cinderella mirrors the story of Christ. And I am going to further theorize that this connection was intentional on Disney’s part, and that it says something specific about the Disney princess narrative and its intention. It’s not a direct mirror. It’s not just a retelling of the Christ story. But the connection is there. And it goes a long way in refuting the princess critics once and for all. So, let’s begin.

  Cinderella is someone who, because of the actions of her father, has come down from on high. “Though you’re dressed in rags you wear an air of queenly grace. Anyone can see a throne would be your proper place.” As we already discussed, this could (and should) be taken to mean that Cinderella is really a prin
cess in disguise. (Not a literal princess, obviously, but the fairy tale symbol of princess. The perfect woman.) But this idea of “throne” could also evoke another kind of throne (a heavenly one), and, of course, the idea of “grace” is a very Christian theme. So Cinderella, like Jesus, has come from on high (in Cinderella’s case, she’s “high-born”) and has come down to lowlier circumstances. And both of them choose to mingle with the people (or animals) that no one else will associate with (in Jesus’ case prostitutes and tax collectors, in Cinderella’s case mice and birds). In other words: “he gave up his divine privileges; he took the humble position of a slave and was born as a human being,” (Philippians).

  And the people (okay, okay, or animals) they associate with, pledge allegiance to them and would follow them anywhere.

  From the very beginning of Cinderella (in the second scene), we are introduced to a cat named (wait for it) Lucifer. Lucifer is the arch nemesis of Cinderella’s pals the mice. He’s always trying to spoil their plans, steal what’s theirs, and, ultimately, take their lives. And Lucifer is the only person (cat) in Cinderella’s whole life (which is full of pretty awful people) that Cinderella can think of nothing good to say about. So we’ve got Cinderella, come down from on high, to mingle with the lowest of the low, coming into contact with Lucifer.

  Cinderella talks a great deal about “belief.” When we first meet her, she is fervently expressing her certainty that “If you keep on believing / The dream that you wish will come true.” Even in this dark situation that’s she’s found herself in since her father’s death, Cinderella holds on to her “belief.” She “wishes” and she “dreams” and she “believes.” I think it would be fair to say that Cinderella is praying. She believes that if she wishes and dreams hard enough, her desires will become real. For her, there is something out there — some cosmic force — that will look out for her, protect her, and ultimately lift her out of her difficult circumstance. As Jesus says in John, “the one who believes has eternal life.”

  While she is waiting for her prayers to be answered, Cinderella spends her time showing compassion to those who are usually overlooked. Trying to teach them to be kind, even to those who want to do them harm, and to support one another. Cinderella specifically entrusts the care of Gus, a new mouse in the house, to Jaq, a mouse who has been friends with Cinderella for a while. Take care of each other, she teaches them, be brave, resourceful and kind, avoid the cat. They are like her disciples. The mice (and the birds) do everything in their power help Cinderella achieve her goals. They risk their lives to create a dress for her even though they don’t fully understand its significance. But they don’t have the power to create the kind of dress Cinderella really needs. It must come from somewhere else.

  At Cinderella’s lowest point — when her stepsisters have ripped her dress (and her dream of going to the ball) to shreds, and left her behind — Cinderella runs to the garden, weeping. And there, for just a moment, she has a crisis of faith. “There’s nothing left to believe in,” she sobs. Everything she thought was true has been called into question. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Jesus cries out from the cross. And, before you go there, please don’t think I’m saying that not being allowed to go to a party is the same as dying on the cross in order to save mankind. Remember the fairy tale shorthand here. It seems that all hope of Cinderella becoming her true self is lost. She believes she has failed. It seems that no one will help her. It seems that no one will see her for who she truly is.

  It is at the exact moment of Cinderella’s seeming loss of faith that the fairy godmother appears. The fairy GODmother. Hello! “If you’d lost all your faith,” the fairy godmother says, “I couldn’t be here.” A fairy godmother, apparently, can only appear to someone who believes in fairy godmothers. And Cinderella has never truly stopped believing. So, here, at her lowest point, comes salvation. A fairy godmother who, in Disney’s version, proclaims she is here to perform “a miracle.” And what is the miracle she’s here to perform? She will clothe Cinderella in the garb of her true self. She will reveal her, in her true form, to the world. She will resurrect her. But only for a short time. Only until midnight.

  “It’s like a dream,” Cinderella says, examining her reflection, “a wonderful dream come true.” Her prayers have been answered. The dream that she wished has come true. Her belief has been validated. All is right with the world. And off she goes to the ball. Where no one recognizes her. Transformed, as she is, into her true self she is like Jesus risen from the dead — somehow unrecognizable to those who had known her intimately. It says in Luke: “Jesus himself came up and walked along with them; but they were kept from recognizing him.” No one who knows Cinderella from her life before (her stepmother or her stepsisters) can figure out who the beautiful young girl dancing with the prince could be. But the prince, who has never met her before, recognizes her as the love of his life. The prince who, in fairy tale shorthand, is the most perfect version of manhood recognizes Cinderella, the most perfect version of womanhood. And their union is at the center of this entire transformation.

  “So this is love,” Cinderella and the prince sing to each other. “This is what makes life divine.” “This key to all heaven is mine.” “This is the miracle that I’ve been dreaming of.” This is it. Heaven. The triumphant reward. The fulfillment of Cinderella’s true self. Love. True love. “Wives,” it says in Ephesians, “submit yourselves to your own husbands as you do to the Lord.” Disney is saying that the princess narrative is not just a story about a girl and a boy falling in love. It’s an expression of the divine on earth. Love — human connection — with someone who recognizes you for who you truly are, who shows his true self to you, and with whom you can be complete, is the greatest happiness we can achieve on this earth. It’s the closest we can come to the divine. As Gould says, “The Cinderella story is, in its own way, a religious vision that describes the entrance of grace into our lives.” When the prince and the princess recognize each other — either through true love’s kiss, love at first sight, or some other, more realistic means — it is an experience akin to redemption.

  So Cinderella has appeared on earth in her true form. And no one recognized her. Not, that is, until Lucifer the cat (remember him?) is shoved out the window by Cinderella’s animal friends. He falls to his death, snarling and hissing all the way. Vanquished. “I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven,” it says in Luke. And, in that exact moment, Cinderella emerges from her room, pulling from her pocket the symbol of her true self: the glass slipper. Which, when it is placed on her foot, immediately reveals her true self to everyone in the room. And, the very next moment, Cinderella ascends to heaven — she marries the prince. And the story is complete.

  *

  You see, we love Cinderella because it’s a story about something we all want: to become our true selves. To be seen as our true selves. To be loved as our true selves. It’s not the dress. It’s not the shoes. It’s not the handsome prince, or the fairy godmother, or the ball. It’s what those things represent. What we know they represent. The princess critics have made us forget the we know it. Their literal take on every movie they watch siphons off all the symbolism, leaving only an empty shell. That’s not the way to view this movie. The story makes no sense without the symbolism. And we know that it makes sense. We feel it. A two-year-old can feel it. Don’t listen to the princess critics, okay? Love Cinderella. She’s worth it.

  And remember this, too: Disney means for you to understand something about true love. He wants you to see that his princesses don’t just fall in love with the first guy they meet. They don’t wait around for a man — any man — to rescue them. They wait for a man who sees their true selves. They wait for a man whose true self they can see too. They wait for that man, and then they cleave to him. They complete their lives with love. Not because they can’t survive without a man. But because everyone is better off with love in their lives. Because someone who knows who they truly are can find someone who com
pletes them. True love, Cinderella tells us, is divine.

  Chapter Three: Aurora

  I hate to say this but, when it comes to Sleeping Beauty, the princess critics kind of have a point. The princess (Aurora) spends only eighteen minutes, out of seventy five, on screen and delivers around eighteen lines of dialogue. Not much to work with. Not to mention the fact that the movie is kind of boring. Okay, fine, a lot boring. Plus, Snow White was pretty much the same story, only done a whole lot better. A wicked witch casts a spell on a princess so she falls asleep and only true love’s kiss can wake her up? Yup, same story. Same symbolism of jealous witches, and falling asleep, and true love’s kiss. Yes, they’re common fairytale tropes, and we’re certainly open to another movie that includes them, but it’s got to offer something more than the one we’ve already seen. And Sleeping Beauty, well, it kind of doesn’t.

  But we shouldn’t write this movie off. Regardless of my own personal feelings about this movie, and the contemporary critics’ reaction, many many people love Aurora. In the Whisper poll that asked 80,000 people to name their favorite princess, Aurora placed third. Try asking people you know who their favorite princess is and, before long, you’ll get at least one — if not more than one — answer of “Aurora.” But there is no doubt that the movie is problematic. The film received a poor showing at the box office, luke warm reactions from critics, and, ultimately, spelled the demise of the Disney princess narrative for the next thirty years