"Wandering Free, Wish I Could Be . . .": Ambition, Art, and Nostalgia in Disney's The Little Mermaid

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"Wandering Free, Wish I Could Be . . .":Ambition, Art, and Nostalgia in Disney's The Little Mermaid Eileen G'Sell (bio) Look at this trove, treasures untold . . . When Disney's The Little Mermaid was released in November of 1989, I was 10 years old. My sisters were eight, six, and four; we were all duly spellbound, as was much of the entire nation. It was the sixth highest-grossing film of the year, said to launch "The Disney Renaissance," a decade that witnessed no fewer than 10 Disney animated features, including The Lion King, which made more money than any traditionally animated film before (or since). I did not know at the time that The Little Mermaid was the film to reanimate Walt's waning empire, but I sensed it—from the spate of "Part of Your World" talent show solos to the sold-out Sebastian Christmas ornaments at the local McDonald's. No longer, I thought, would I wonder where all the marvelous fairy-tale movies had gone—the ones like Snow White, Cinderella, or Sleeping Beauty, the ones in which a stunning first soprano leads a dangerous life in a magical forest or castle, the ones with a dazzling female villain who upstages her virtuous prey, the ones that came out decades before I was born. I gravitated to fairy-tale narratives—both in the library and the video store—largely because they featured female protagonists who were beautiful, impeccably dressed, and endured dramatic suffering. These were the same reasons, notably, that I took to certain entries in the sumptuously illustrated A Picture Book of Saints in which Saint Cecilia and Saint Dorothy were my favorites. (Would I prefer to be beheaded or tortured on a wheel?) If someone had asked if I sought to emulate the docile benevolence of either saint or princess, I surely would have been befuddled. Nothing about these women's behavior had anything to do with me. I aspired to their sheen, their grit, their glamor. Plus, the idea that I would ever lead a life half as exciting seemed far-fetched indeed. How many wonders can one cavern hold? Enter The Little Mermaid. Vying for my attention with Don Bluth's All Dogs Go to Heaven (a conviction I already deeply held), released the same weekend, The Little Mermaid sated my appetite for polychromatic splendor [End Page 159] and sartorial novelty (hoop skirts and body-skimming sequins), plus piqued my erotic curiosity for female nudity. (In one shot, Ariel's naughty bits are barely concealed by subaqueous shadow and bubble.) Even better, Ariel, like me, was rather bored by her surroundings; she was rebellious, daring, and playful. She had more personality than all the older princesses combined. One could even say she paved the way for Millennials' prioritization of experience over materialism ("but who cares . . . no big deal," she claims of her thingamabobs). Ariel's shameless ogling of Prince Eric was also about as sex-positive as a Disney movie gets; her gaze mattered more than any other character's, even as she herself was the creation of a male-dominated artistic team. No doubt, Ariel's decision to forfeit her voice for a shot at romance was, and is, an issue (never mind that it was a fundamental plot point to Andersen's original tale, said to be based on his own experience giving his only admirable feature, his "voice," to an aristocratic man he was enamored of via a series of love letters never requited). As are, arguably, Ariel's porntastic body (less is made of how Eric is also quite the conventional snack) and swift marriage at the end (one has to admit, her hair pops against a bridal veil). Still, it feels plausible that Ariel could land a guy based only on looks and good humor. Is this the ideal message for one's daughters (and sons)? Of course not. But at the same time, at the time, the movie was progress. The Little Mermaid was also the last full-length animated Disney film comprised of hand-inked and painted cels. That means that every frame was hand-drawn and colored by an artist—dozens and dozens of artists...