Pursuit of amusement

Posted by admin on Jan 29, 2011 in Featured, Issues & Ideas | 0 comments

For devout Disney fans, the folktales of Charles Perrault, the Brothers’ Grimm, Hans Christian Anderson, and Joseph Jacobs are lost, having been reshaped by the ìmagicî of Disney. Children’s literature has indeed evolved greatly; the once-popular didactic tale has been replaced with imaginative freedom. The rise of nonsensical storytelling, such as Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and the tales of Dr. Seuss, are proof of an ever-growing craving for entertaining stories that abstain from offering moral guidance.

The differences between folktales and modern stories are staggering: while folktales instill a sense of justice, shape our sense of adventure and help distinguish between good and evil, modern children’s stories are surface-level, employing onomatopoeia and outrageous characters to tickle the imaginations of readers and viewers alike. And yet, one cannot help but fear the path that our culture has embarked upon.

Though critics argue that folktales are rampant with violence, it can be similarly argued that modern stories are doused in emptiness: A Robert Munsch book may entertain for a quarter-hour, but will it provoke further questions tomorrow? Disney’s newest movie Tangled may indeed be delectably colorful and charming, but is it not simply a diversion from schoolwork?

Will it truly open up a child’s mind to new ideas?

Hans Christian Anderson’s The Little Mermaid, which has been extraordinarily beautified by Disney, would not be recognized in its original form. Disney shies away from the greatest lesson that this story offers: sacrifice. In Anderson’s gripping tale, the mermaid, who has traded her beautiful voice for two legs, is broken-hearted when the Prince chooses another maiden to be his bride. As the wedding day approaches, the little mermaid’s death also nears, for she had not been able to win the heart of the Prince. The mermaid’s six sisters exchange their long-flowing hair for a knife from the Sea Witch that the little mermaid can use to slay the prince so that she may become a mermaid again. Yet, just as dawn breaks, the Little Mermaid thrusts the knife aside and throws herself into the sea where her body dissolves into foam. She trades her life for his.

Anderson’s tale, wrought with ideas of unending devotion and ultimate sacrifice, is never told by Disney. Granted, it isn’t amusing, nor would it cause one to laugh incessantly at the movie theatre; yet, the beauty of this story haunts me years after having read it. Why do we seek amusement when it cannot satisfy anything beyond a temporal desire for entertainment?