I resisted taking Ryan to see Frozen for a variety of reasons.
It’s not just the princess thing, though that’s definitely part of it.
Neither of my kids really like going to the movies, despite the movies having everything they love—screen time, popcorn, seats that move when you wiggle or kick. But the movies provide the kind of sensory overload that can absolutely crush a kid like Kai, who hears and sees absolutely everything even before you turn it all up to eleven. It bothers Ryan, too, and we had to leave the Lego Movie halfway through (much to my chagrin, because I was digging it pretty hard).
I’m not completely anti-princess. Ryan has all of the princess dresses that a four-year-old could want, plus several tiaras, at least one scepter. She as fairy princess wings. She has a pirate princess be-jeweled sword. But what she doesn’t have is an affinity for a specific princess.
That, to me, seemed like a good way to navigate the princess culture, a way of expanding the narrative beyond being rescued by a handsome prince.
I have always had a hard time buying presents for Ryan, wanting to walk that fine line between guiltily buying the things she’s naturally drawn to (sparkles, crowns, lace, pink satin) and the things I’m supposed to want her to be drawn to (chemistry, math, engineering). Of course, complicating this is that I, myself, dislike those things. Legos are, to me, the toy equivalent of reading Atlas Shrugged.
For me, with Ryan, everything is so fraught.
But on Saturday night, I suggested to Ryan we watch it.
This was partially because I’d run 9 miles that day and was unable to move from the couch. But it was also because I knew she’d already seen it at a friend’s house. Twice. The princess was out of the bag.
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When I was thirteen, Flashdance came out and my parents wouldn’t let me see it. So I did what every kid does, and watched it over at a friend’s house. Later, when my parents made a big deal about finally letting me see the movie when they rented it, I did a poor job of pretending not to know what was going on.
Just before Jennifer Beals’ big dance number, I leaned forward in my seat and murmured, “I love this part,” at which point my dad raised his eyebrows at me. “I mean, I think I’m going to love it,” I said.
I thought of that when Ryan tapped me on the shoulder just before Elsa’s big number. “This is the song, Mommy,” she said, leaning forward in the same anticipation I remembered feeling.
Ryan, of course, didn’t have to pretend she hadn’t seen it, but I wondered how she knew what a big deal the song was. I wondered, too, how she already knew most of the lyrics. And while I could have done without Elsa’s sexy makeover, I understood that she understood what a powerful moment in the movie the song really is, when Elsa embraces who she is and can, unfettered, literally build her own castle in the sky.
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Ryan wanted to go to bed halfway through the movie, and after I’d put her to bed, done the dishes and set the coffeemaker, I went to bed, too, and finished the rest of it.
The princess-sisters end up saving themselves.
I could get on board with this, I thought. The movie was charming, and I’ve seen plenty of movies with less sophisticated plots that I’ve also liked (I’m looking at you, Anchorman). But I wondered why the two girls had to be princesses? And why does Disney only make movies for girls? Or should I say at girls? And why is love always the answer, when, and let’s be honest here, it’s usually 99% of the problem?
All of these questions weighed on me the next day, as Ryan and I ran errands in the unseasonable cold. It didn’t help that Ryan carried around a Barbie everywhere we went.
“This is Elsa,” she said. “You can tell because she has white hair.”
As we were getting out of the car to go grocery shopping, I thought I'd test the waters to see if she identified with the princesses in the movie.
“Are you Princess Anna, or are you Princess Elsa?” I asked.
“Ryan!” she said.
“Princess Ryan?” I asked, because I would take that, really.
“No,” she said. “I’m not a princess. I’m Ryan.”
I gave her hand a squeeze. The hand that wasn’t holding Barbie Elsa.
“Ryan’s my favorite,” I said.
Ryan released my hand and skipped ahead of me, her purple jacket unzipped and flapping in the bitter wind.
The cold never bothered her, anyway.
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