Cinderella—So This is Desperation

**Due to recent misinterpretations of some one post from this blog, a disclaimer is now apparently necessary.  If this is your first visit to The Scratched Camera, please read the introductory post and discover, for yourself, that every typed word that follows is unabashedly my opinion and mine alone.  In said introductory post, which, shockingly, I did not simply type up for my own good health, I state that we all read events and characters with our own baggage in mind; no one observes with a perfectly clear lens—hence the name The Scratched Camera.  Therefore, it is completely your will to disagree with any material that follows, just as it is my will to agree and advocate for what is mine.**  ~End, irritating obligatory disclaimer~

Cinderella—So This is Love Desperation

            Recently, a friend and I engaged in a discussion centered on Disney Princesses.  I suggested that the evolution of the characteristics evident in each new Disney Princess serves to chronicle that era’s expectations when it comes to women.  For instance, Snow White and Aurora, who each sleep through the bulk of their motion picture, represent the ideal concept of a docile and complacent woman.  Cinderella, slightly more revolutionary, introduces a woman’s capability for dreams and ambition, but not without a stern dependence upon a man to help them see it through. 

            Throughout her original film—I will be the first to admit I barely made it through Cinderella I and, therefore, had no desire to seek out any following sequels—the audience sees Cinderella as a hard-working, dedicated servant, basically imprisoned at the hands of her inexplicably jealous step-mother and step-sisters.  She resourcefully completes every task they set to her with barely a complaint uttered. 

            Even as she suffers in silence through her servitude, she maintains an image as a beacon of hope—hence Florida’s choice in constructing Cinderella’s castle above all other princesses in their park—well, as their first, anyway—as they hope children will view this as a confirmation that their dreams have come true via this vacation and, therefore, insist on a return visit in the very near future. 

            However, Cinderella’s dream is flawed.  She wishes for nothing more than for her prince to come along and save her from her dreadful treatment at the hands of her stepmother.  A prince, with his high social standing and financial security—because, you know, no kingdom has ever struggled from money problems—would be able to extract Cinderella from this situation in a way that she is incapable of. 

            Most girls from the twenty-first century immediately have some questions about this situation.  The first is typically why doesn’t she merely seek a job?  Having her own financial means could eliminate the need for a prince entirely—essentially cutting out the middleman—and allow for her to find her own salvation. 

            This is, of course, where my theory that each Disney princess is an accurate representation of society’s expectations towards women comes in.  In contemporary times, we watch Cinderella, mouths agape at the stupidity of the supposed hindrances evident in the plot.  In essence, the audience yells at the screen something along the lines of “if you don’t like your mother, stop complaining, move out and make your own way!” 

            Unfortunately for Cinderella, women weren’t necessarily allowed that liberty in the early ‘50s.  They were often forced to live at home until they could find a husband to impede upon live with.

            While I find the entire concept to be ridiculous, I can, at the very least, appreciate that Cinderella is the eternal optimist.  Even through various pitfalls and struggles, she maintained a strong hope that her dream had to be achieved, even if she didn’t personally have the motivation to achieve it by her own means. 

            There seems to be an association with Cinderella that implies hard work pays off.  Cinderella, serving as almost a slave for the first part of her film, does understand the demands of hard work, forced to do all the chores and duties her step-relatives are too lazy to complete on their own.  However, I would argue that, since this hard work fails to touch any contribution to the achieving of her dream, this is a falsified aspect of her personality.  To achieve her dream, she relies on completely external forces.  The mice and other vermin that she keeps as company complete the original renovations to her mother’s dress.  Her Fairy Godmother is completely responsible for successfully getting her to the ball, as she works the magic necessary to achieve a suitable presentation of what is expected of a future princess.  The only task Cinderella personally achieves is managing to have a foot that fits into a presumably entirely uncomfortable glass slipper, thus procuring herself the prince she has always sought. 

            Then, there is, of course, the awkwardness of love at first sight evident in the film.  At the ball, Cinderella and the prince share exactly one dance, barely speaking in the process, as they exchange choruses of “So This is Love….”

            No, it’s really not.  Simultaneously meeting and falling in love with someone does not set any form of an excellent example.  It sets up teenage girls to fall into the trap of someone they barely know, to be manipulated and persuaded to go against their own instincts simply because they are supposedly loved—a situation that rarely ends well. 

            For my post centered on Bella Swan, I quoted a critic from Entertainment Weekly who said the audience “may wish [Bella] had loftier goals and a mind of her own, but these are fairy tales, and as a steadfast lover in the Disney Princess mold, Bella has a certain saccharine appeal.”  This tale may very well be a fairy tale, but little girls idolize Disney Princesses; they mirror their words, actions and choices.  Personally, I’d rather have my future daughter shooting fake arrows at trees in the backyard than playing dress-up and throwing herself at every Charming she happens to come upon. 

From Bella to Katniss:  Is Cinderella a good role model?  Unlike Bella, Cinderella has some redeeming qualities.  She’s dedicated to her family, despite the difficult tasks they place upon her.  But, more importantly, she’s dedicated to her dreams.  She may ultimately rely on a man to remove her from her less than ideal situation, but she refuses to let any road blocks in her path to finding that man deter her from her dream.  However, marriage as her only motivation in life is not necessarily an admirable goal and, therefore, hinders Cinderella’s ability to serve as a stellar example.  With this drive to find marriage and settle into the local castle, comes a distinct desperation.  As a result, Cinderella—and, astoundingly, Prince Charming as well—believes she’s in love with the prince mere seconds after seeing him.  This—in addition to the extreme makeover provided by the hands of the fairy godmother—places an emphasis on physical appearance that is a feminist’s nightmare.  There is no possible way for the very few words exchanged between the pair to be sufficient to incite a deep enough appeal from both parties to spark any semblance of feelings, let alone as intense of an emotion as love.  Therefore, it is safe for the audience to assume this attraction is driven purely by physical appearances, which is, on its own, obviously never a very solid foundation for a relationship.  By Cinderella’s example in modes of communication and standards, I should fall in love with the checkout attendant at my local grocery store, with whom I exchange more words than Cinderella does with the Prince in their entire first meeting. 

Role Model Rating:  3/10

From Lorelai to Wonder Woman:  Is Cinderella relatable?  With Disney Princesses, there tends to be two options—either the girl is born a princess, or will marry a prince to “earn” the title via marriage by the end of the film.  For obvious reasons, little girls tend to relate slightly more to Princesses such as Belle, who marry into the title; characters such as this give the audience a glimmer of hope that they can marry a prince and become a princess, just as their favorite character did.  Cinderella, much like Belle and a few others, does marry into her title.  She also has a job—if we can really call it that, and I don’t think we really can—that she hates, serving on her step-relatives.  This is a sentiment I think more people can relate to, as opposed to someone in the opposite circumstances who loves their job very much, as I know very few people who are head over heels for their job.  There’s also an element of the hopeful about Cinderella, who avidly—if not actively—seeks out her dreams (even if they are utterly silly dreams…) that is refreshing.  This aspect, while not relatable to me in my realistic tendencies, is arguably appealing to those who are essentially more in the middle on the optimistic scale than I am.  The character is also very sweet, as she submissively obeys the orders from her step-relatives—as opposed to me, who would tell them to cook their own damn breakfast, or perhaps merely settle for spitting in their eggs.  Here, Cinderella once again serves as a relatable model for those who are more in the middle on the delightful/disagreeable scale than I am.  However, the quick pace of her romance with the prince seems a bit ridiculous to those of us who reside in the twenty-first century and serves as a distinct disconnect between the audience and the character.  This void may be lessened by romantics—I do know quite a few women who would still, to this very day, respond with an ‘Awww,’ as opposed to my scoffed ‘please,’ as the first few notes of “So This is Love” queue up.  However, I believe even romantics would be able to see that Cinderella is, as Entertainment Weekly’s Chris Willman states, “no feminist icon,” even with her small accomplishment as the only “vintage Disney Princess who stays awake through [her] last act.”

Relatability Rating:  2/10