I’ve resisted the Frozen phenomenon for as long as humanly possible but there is one thing I have recently discovered to be an inalienable truth. It doesn’t matter how many Oscars a film has, how funny it is, how beautifully shot it is…if you’re forced to watch it more than thirty times, you will hate it with a passion so strong, you’ll want to suck bin juice through a foreskin straw before the opening credits have even started rolling.
I’m coming to the end of my tour widowhood with only two sleeps and I’ll be honest: my energy is waning, my enthusiasm is fading and I am all out of ideas. The TV (I’d call it the third parent, but really, it’s more like the second parent) is singlehandedly responsible for letting me get my work done, organise our tax return, cook any kind of meal and fill those teething, snotty, miserable days when even the offer of a chocolate biscuit causes a meltdown because I held it incorrectly.
Until recently, The Small was obsessed with The Lion King. I think we can all agree that Disney’s classic is about as great as animated films get. It’s a classic. It’s got catchy tunes and even though The Small thinks the word for ‘lion’ is ‘Simba’ (as in cat, dog, zebra, simba), we’ve also added ‘antelope’, ‘savannah’, ‘carnivore’ and ‘hyena’ to her vocab. As an aside, a friend once confided that she had a crush on Simba as a child which was 50 parts adorable and 50 parts kind of weird.
Anyway, I couldn’t bear to watch the Lion King one more time. Elton John and his spunky tunes can take their African drum beats and fuck off back to Pride Rock. If I never hear Rowan Atkinson’s voice again it’ll be too soon. I needed another film – I needed something great, something that would make the Small forget all about her perky lions. I had to bring out the big guns: enter, Frozen.
I was reluctant. I had seen the film and thought it was great – I just couldn’t get on board with all the bullshit that comes with it. I didn’t want a Small getting sucked up into the commercialisation of it all. I didn’t want to be held hostage in a store by a Frozen lunchbox or a towel or bedsheets or pyjamas. I didn’t want Anna and Elsa plastered over everything in her toy box, but I did need a film and, well, at least there’s songs.
You know what though? It’s a bloody great movie. I’d rather she watched Frozen than the old-skool and heavily misogynistic Sleeping Beauty where only a Prince and a kiss can save the girl. Beauty & The Beast looks like it’s selling a wholesome moral – beauty is on the inside – until the handsome prince is revealed because a happy ending can’t include an ugly face. Cinderella promotes only three versions of womanhood: the evil bitch, the spoilt princess or the downtrodden slave who’s only chance is a handsome Prince who offers to marry her.
Frozen is the sisters doing it for themselves. Anna starts off naive, sheltered and totally obsessed with the old-school Disney version of love until she has to man-the-fuck-up and save her sister, her kingdom and herself. While true love does save all, is the sisters’ true love for each other…the men take no responsibility for the happy ending. Ok, Anna and Christophe share a kiss at the end but only after she’s bought him a car (reindeer sled) with her own money and anyway, she kisses him while he fumbles for the right words to ask.
Olaf the snowman steals the show and Let It Go may possibly be the most irritating song on the planet but the Smalls love singing it and if she’s singing I’m smiling. All in all, I’m pro-Frozen. Prozen, if you will.