If I ever experienced a defining, a-ha series of moments directly connected to the media arts and my sexuality, I would say my relationship with Disney's 1989 animated classic, The Little Mermaid, symbolizes that. Though I had an inkling of the film's importance at the time, real cognizance that it marked a significant point in my development and self-awareness materialized more slowly over self-analysis during the ensuing decades.
I distinctly remember when and where I first saw The Little Mermaid, which happened almost 30 years ago now. My younger siblings and I were spending time with one of our cousins and her kids, the youngest a toddler. We played games, took turns riding around the block on the back of a motorcycle, and watched The Little Mermaid. From the wondrous animation to the charming musical numbers and endearing characters, the movie captivated me entirely. The vivid sequences of Prince Eric's ship caught in the throes of a violent storm, Sebastian leading denizens of the deep in "Under the Sea," and the final confrontation with Ursula the Sea Witch stuck with me in the days and weeks afterwards. Not able to get the film or the music out of my mind, I got the soundtrack on cassette tape and began listening to it almost nonstop. Before long I knew every word to every song, no doubt annoying my brother and sister by singing along at every opportunity. I was, in a word, obsessed, a term I have frequently employed throughout my Countdown to 40 project. Then, one day while strolling the aisles of the local K-Mart, I noticed a copy of The Little Mermaid on VHS for sale. My fondness for the movie and preoccupation with the music led me to ask my dad if I could buy it. He responded with a resounding no, commenting that cartoon movies were for kids and I was much too old. Taking the contrary position I so often did with him, I argued and pled for him to change his mind. Though I could not convince him otherwise at the time, I eventually circumvented his decision and acquired my very own copy. Or maybe I simply wore down his resolve with my constant requests. Either way, once in possession of the video tape, I took every chance I could to watch The Little Mermaid, thereby satisfying my desire to escape to another world. I often chalk up my fixation with The Little Mermaid as simply another stereotypical signpost of my innate homosexuality. My predisposition for the animated movie musical fit nicely alongside other examples throughout my childhood and teenaged years hinting at my gayness. One particular example comes to mind. Around the age of six or seven I asked my parents for a doll house for Christmas. (Or was it my birthday? Some details are fuzzier than others...) Regardless, I ended up receiving one, complete with working light fixtures and everything. My parents, for their part, fulfilled my unconventional request without hesitation or prejudice, and if they questioned it at all, I never knew. Other members of my extended family, on the other hand, proved less than understanding, and I remember being teased heavily for having a dollhouse...even though it had lights. (Did I mention the lights?!? Seriously cool.) They made sure I knew boys played with Tonka Trucks, Transformers, and footballs, not dollhouses. Unequipped to effectively deal with the jabs, I took them to heart much more than I think my family intended. I remember wondering whether or not something was wrong with me, and in a fit of childhood frustration and rage, I cut all the wires for the lights. Perhaps I thought my actions would earn me some recognition that I wasn't such a girly-boy after all. In the end, though, all I got for destroying the wonderful gift I so desperately wanted was disciplined. Within the context of figuring out when my sexual orientation became clear, I often look to experiences like the one with the dollhouse for clues. I clearly didn't know then, but did my parents? I also reflect on the interchange that occurred between my dad and I over The Little Mermaid with a peculiar sense of fascination. What really was the big deal with a 12-year-old wanting an animated movie? I mean, I was not yet a teenager and therefore still a kid by most peoples' definitions. The more I thought about the whole experience, the more I wondered if my dad's refusal represented an intentional or unintentional reaction to my homosexuality. Surely my parents noticed the repeated signs I exhibited growing up, and maybe they originally thought nothing of them. Unlike my request for a dollhouse, which could be attributed to my young age rather than my sexuality, my adoration of The Little Mermaid defied expected behavior for a typical, straight boy of twelve. Perhaps, then, my obsession made the final connection between dots for my dad, and as a result he shut my request for the VHS down. Of course, this could all be in my head and related to my tendency to overthink things. My dad may have truly believed I was too old for an animated Disney movie and thought nothing more of it, a forgotten exchange between the two of us twenty-some-odd years ago. The memory probably stands out so strongly for me because of my desire to constantly search my youth for any and all tell-tale signs that said, in big neon lights: "YOU ARE GAY." And even if it is not the signal to my dad I suspect it might be, The Little Mermaid, my love of it, and the processing of memories connected to it certainly symbolize important milestones in my coming out story.
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I love Pixar movies. The end.
In all seriousness, I could probably and justifiably start and end this post with only those two sentences to accompany the graphic above, but that would do little justice to the pantheon of Pixar features I adore so much. Stopping there would also fail to provide an explanation for why the post covers a collection of films rather than a single stand-out. When Toy Story debuted in theaters during the fall of 1995, I was still adjusting to my freshman year experience. Moving away from home and finding my way through those first few months at college helped nudge me further along my path of self discovery. While continually expanding my knowledge of the world around me and discovering more about myself, I also retained several core tenets of my identity that developed over the preceding 18 years. One of those essential attributes was my love for Disney movies, a truth I established early in posts about Bedknobs and Broomsticks and The Lion King. So, because previews for Toy Story advertised the film as a joint venture with Disney, I was initially excited, even if Pixar was a relatively unknown studio at the time. As Disney released more information about Toy Story, I will confess one thing had me a bit worried--Pixar's well-publicized breaking with the Disney Renaissance film convention of characters breaking into song, a convention I had grown accustomed to and loved dearly. I need not have worried. Pixar's groundbreaking first computer-animated film exceeded all expectations. Toy Story proved winsome, heartwarming, and beyond infinitely entertaining. (See what I did there?) With a single film, the studio's creative team effectively changed the landscape of animated motion pictures and established the medium as worthy of well-developed stories that appeal to adults on multiple levels and every bit as much as they engross children. With the subsequent releases of A Bug's Life, Toy Story 2, Monsters Inc, Finding Nemo, The Incredibles, Cars, Ratatouille, Wall-E, Up, and Toy Story 3, Pixar delivered a string of near-perfect and brilliant movies, raising the bar for live-action and animated films alike and setting ridiculously high expectations for themselves (perhaps unfairly). In fact, prior to the release of Cars 2 in 2011, each new contribution to Pixar's oeuvre either improved upon the achievements of its predecessors or further solidified the studio's foundation with pure and honest emotion, poignancy, imaginative storytelling, and beautiful animation. Originally, I planned on writing today's post strictly about my favorite Pixar film, Finding Nemo. But then I got to thinking, if I only focus on Finding Nemo, what happens to Toy Story 3? I decided, okay, I'll write about that instead. But wait. What about Up? Maybe I should pick Up. No--that leaves out A Bug's Life, and I can't leave out A Bug's Life! I'd be fired, courtesy of Tuck & Roll. I mustn't forget Inside Out, though, either. I loved that movie. And Wall-E. How could I write about a Pixar movie and not include Wall-E? Or Ratatouille? Or The Incredibles? My gosh, I almost forgot about The Incredibles! Not to mention Monsters Inc and Cars. Jeez. What was I thinking, picking just one of Pixar's films? Clearly, then, when I say Finding Nemo is my favorite, I mean that very loosely, and primarily only make the distinction because the summer when Brave came out, Bryce and I challenged each other to rank all of the Pixar films released at that time. Afterwards, we compared our lists. Turns out the exercise proved more difficult than it seemed at the outset. We both agreed on which two movies rounded out the bottom of the list--Cars 2 and Brave--but the remaining 11 movies were practically interchangeable, with mere minutiae separating them. And that was before Pixar added Inside Out and Finding Dory to their arsenal. Which, at the end of the day, is why I couldn't settle on just one of their outstanding offerings for today's post. I declared my feelings for Disney movies earlier this month when ruminating over the live action-animated crossover musical, Bedknobs and Broomsticks, and if you asked me to describe those feelings in a single word, I would choose enamored. My process of discerning which of the studio's movies would earn full blog posts therefore proved difficult, especially considering Disney films accounted for approximately a dozen finalists for my Countdown to 40. While it pained me to cut many of them, Beauty and the Beast and The Hunchback of Notre Dame above all, four ultimately made their way onto the list, and of those four, I was most obsessed with The Lion King.
When I saw it in theaters for the first time, The Lion King amazed me like no other animated film had before. With its breath-taking animation (the opening sequence anyone?), heart-warming cast of characters, tragic death of Mufasa, triumphant return of Simba, hilarious one-liners, and unparalleled music, the 1994 African savanna fantasia epitomized everything I loved most about Disney movies. These qualities cemented what many consider the ultimate Disney Renaissance Film as not only one of my all-time favorites but as one of the greatest films ever made. Period. I was and am not alone in my adoration of the film. I mean, you've seen it and probably love it, just like other people of all ages who flocked to theaters to experience the magic of The Lion King. In fact, according to Box Office Mojo, it held the title as highest-grossing animated film for nearly an entire decade before Shrek 2 outsold it. More importantly, one of my best friends in high school, Debbie, was just as obsessed with The Lion King as I was. We saw the film repeatedly in the theater and countless additional times on VHS after purchasing our copies the day they went on sale (probably at Target), watching it so many times we knew the whole script by heart. (My friends in college teased me for how well I knew the film, noting how I would even sigh when the characters sighed.) We listened to the soundtrack incessantly, memorizing every song. We collected The Lion King trading cards, piecing together full sets of both series one and series two. We acquired stationary products, toys, and ornaments. We accumulated tie-in coloring books, too, and spent many a summer afternoon perfecting the right combination of Crayola crayons in our efforts to perfectly recreate the colors we saw on screen. We were all too happy and eager to spend the summer leading up to our senior year almost totally immersed in the world of The Lion King. And when something pervades so much of your life and becomes such an important part of a friendship, it truly helps to define an era and therefore my 17 year-old sense of identity. My slight, er, obsession with Disney movies dates as far back as I can remember. Whether animated, live-action, or a cross section of the two, whether classic or modern, whether musical or otherwise, I possess a tendency to gravitate towards the studio's library of films without prejudice. When thinking about my childhood Disney experiences in particular, gems like Mary Poppins, The Apple Dumpling Gang, The Love Bug, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, Pete's Dragon, and Dumbo come to mind. None stick out among the classics, however, as much as my personal favorite, Bedknobs and Broomsticks.
If you've never seen the movie musical, it blends live-action with animation, much in the style of Mary Poppins, and stars Angela Lansbury as a witch by the name of Miss Eglantine Price and David Tomlinson as Professor Cornelius Brown. Set in 1940s England with an impending threat of attack by Nazi Germany always looming, Bedknobs and Broomsticks focuses on Miss Price, Professor Brown, and three children (Charlie, Carrie, and Paul) as they track down a much sought-after spell that could help England with the war effort. Their adventures take them to London and Naboombu, an animated island filled with enchanted, speaking animals before returning them to Pepperinge Eye, Miss Price's fictional hometown on the English coast. Shortly thereafter, Nazi troops invade the island and commandeer Miss Price's home as their headquarters. Using the Substitutiary Locomotion spell found on the Island of Naboombu, Miss Price brings an army of British Isle soldiers to life and forces the Nazis back to sea. I do not recall how old I was when I first saw Bedknobs and Broomsticks, but I always connect my earliest memories of the film to my older sister, Melissa. I can only assume, therefore, that she introduced me to the movie a few decades ago, and for that I will be eternally grateful. Of course, I immediately fell in love with Bedknobs and Broomsticks and have seen it perhaps more times than I've seen any other film. I'm actually watching it now, as I write this post. I simply cannot get enough of its fantastical premise, historical setting, and delightfully catchy music. Truth be told, not a week goes by without songs from the soundtrack, "The Age of Not Believing," "Portobello Road," or "The Beautifully Briny," getting stuck in my head at one point or another, a pleasant byproduct of repeated viewings and the earworm nature of the songs. Beyond my affinity for the film as sheer entertainment, Bedknobs and Broomsticks helped to establish my fondness for fantasy and most probably served as an early spark to my interest in history, particularly in regards to Germany and World War II. In fact, it may have been my first introduction to the topic, proving that inspiration can spring from the most unassuming and unintentional places. |
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I am a self-proclaimed pop culture geek and list enthusiast who is celebrating the big four-zero by counting down the most important, influential, and favorite music, movies, television shows, books, and video games of my life so far. Categories
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