King of Wishful Thinking

During the time I lived in New York City (the nineties and the first half of the oughts), one of the prevailing terms for change over that time was “the Disneyfication of New York.” Partly this was a knock on Giuliani cleaning out the elements that made people uncomfortable – the homeless, the porn, the drugs and the like – but it was also literal: Disney’s decision to market shows on Broadway (especially a cleaned up and revitalized 42nd Street) led to simultaneous runs of Beauty and The Beast, The Lion King, and Aida. And though the latter was a somewhat dismal failure, the other two continue in long runs that defy expectations.

I bring this up because to understand the fantastical nature of Enchanted, the cartoon to live action romance that Disney’s unleashed for the holidays, you have to realize that one big problem is place.  “Disneyfied” New York City – the kinder, gentler, more corporate place it’s become – isn’t the rough and tumble urban jungle quite envisioned by the script.  The idea of unpleasant, rude New Yorkers too busy to care for strangers has largely become the stuff of legend; the dirty city with crime lurking everywhere is statistically untrue. And so the movie struggles, not entirely successfully, to suggest that the big bad city is not a cartoon fantasy, only to confirm that, well, it is.

Enchanted, as most people know by now, is the tale of a cartoon would-be Princess, banished on her Wedding Day by an evil Fairy Queen to a far off land accessed through a magic well. And there she is, suddenly Amy Adams, in cream puff white ruffles and bombastic hair, to befuddle Patrick Dempsey’s Robert and his small daughter, Morgan.

Giselle, the Princess is basically pure, childlike naïveté – no sense of irony, nothing to shake her belief in people’s basic goodness and the power of love over all.  As she begins to plot her return to her magic land (Andalasia – apparently some combination of Mu-Lan and Spain, that mostly looks like the spare animated sets from Cinderella), a number of others have followed through the well – Prince Charming, er, Edward; his loyal servant; and a little chipmunk named Pip, who goes from talking chipmunk to frustrated chipmunk who can’t be understood.

Hilarity, of course, ensues.  The cartoon characters are fish out of water, naturally; their exploits confound the average cynical New Yorker; the “magic” of technology replaces fairies and spells. Enchanted works best – and often works well – by believing wholeheartedly in its conceits.  Giselle’s musical numbers, the moments of unexpected sweetness along the way as “real people” find their better selves, these are moments Disney has always done well, and they are no less successful here.  You really can believe in the power of “True Love's Kiss” as Giselle and the Prince put it, repeatedly.

Less successful are the scattershot attempts at irony and sarcasm over Disney’s wholesome rep. The film has two sassy black women too many (which is to say only two, and essentially three black people overall), two hilariously misplaced “hookers” in the Bowery (which like much of Manhattan is a million dollar condo canyon devoid of streetwalkers these days), and too many animal poop jokes for my taste.  More seriously, the misadventures of a cartoon chipmunk are one thing; hanging a realistic chipmunk from dress hanger clips looks too much like real animal torture – and I didn’t need the weeping child behind me to make that realization.

More problematic still is the fact that this “hip” take on Disney’s cartoon Princesses is really just the same old sexist line in a new dress (oh, and girls like shopping, too, naturally). Despite attempts to reverse gender dynamics at the (tacked on) end, Giselle’s helplessness and her traditional “feminine” virtues are clearly her selling point; she needs serious rescuing, and it’s her ability to draw the chivalry out of Dempsey’s Robert that drives the piece, and drives Robert away from his careerist, uptight, less than feminine, potential fiancée (a cruelly misused Idina Menzel).  Nancy, the fiancée, gets the perfect reversal in falling for Prince Charming, er Edward, but that too is by-the-numbers sexism at play: Edward (a charming James Marsden) is a cartoon buffoon of pure narcissism and dopey headed heroics.  He can barely spell sword, let alone successfully use one. In every sense.

Who would want a man like that? Well, according to the movie, an uptight, slightly over the hill bitch, that’s who, smacking of insults all the way around (let’s just ignore the “gay biker” in Robert’s apartment building who sizes up Marsden as well – Marsden does).  The movie can’t force fit its old school romance into modern dress using traditional sexist tropes - or the messaging would be too obvious (helpless women need a strong man to take care of them); instead, Prince Charming is now a real life lawyer who wants his daughter to value strong women, not Princesses… who then hands her a Mother figure who is aces at cooking, cleaning and sewing… and serving a man. That dumb headed lunk who just wants a woman who adores him that he can save… he’s perfect for a career gal who can take charge… but who really wants to be saved, too.

Lest you think I’m all angry rad feminist here, I happened to find Enchanted frightfully charming; I’m a sucker for old school romance, too, and Dempsey, especially, makes the romance work as well here as he does on weekly installments of Grey’s Anatomy – he may be McHarried here, but he’s still the sexiest haircut working right now, and he fires on all cylinders.  Amy Adams, on the other hand, is lovely, but colorless; for an actress making her move into the big time (Adams has two features this fall and more on the way), I expect her to be memorable, and so far, here and in Charlie Wilson’s War, she hasn’t been. Marsden and Menzel make the most of weak roles – Marsden’s square-jawed stardom has been put to especially good use this year and Menzel’s Wicked-referential casting is a bonus point, too.  And Susan Sarandon (who really should know better) drips queenly sarcasm as the Evil Witch. 

In the end, Enchanted works much as Pretty Woman did 15 years ago: wish fulfillment that sells best as a consumerist fantasy that soft pedals antifeminist notions about women’s roles so no one notices, all to a pretty pop score (and look, there’s Carrie Underwood, Country’s reigning Princess, to sing along).  As long as you don’t fall for that magic mirror nonsense they’re pedaling, Enchanted has its charms.  That’s the really scary part. And I’m the King of Wishful Thinking.