[eight – Encanto] you can’t live with ’em, you can’t kick ’em out

I wrote this review of Encanto on Christmas Day, surrounded by family. There’s my sister, my parents, my grandmother and my uncle and his family. And we all came together in a rare moment of stillness to watch Encanto. Encanto was my first Disney movie in a long time, and watching it, I was reminded of why Disney Animation persists in the cultural imagination. For all their recycling of cliches, their best movies use music as a conduit for emotion in a way that strikes some deep, inexplicable chord in you. People have really strong emotions about Disney movies, and even my cynicism couldn’t stop my heart from breaking when I saw that Bruno, the family’s black sheep, had a little peep-hole where he could watch the family dinners and pretend he was a part of it. I’m over Disney, but they are the best at what they do, annoyingly.

Family mess you up. Whenever I talk with friends, the conversation always steers back to family members and how they hurt us, disappoint us, make obviously stupid decisions whilst refusing to listen to sense. We’ve all come to conclusion that families are inherently unhealthy. Families are vampiric. A group of people tied to each other by blood, knocking heads, scrambling for slivers of privacy. We all thank God everyday that we no longer live at home. So whilst Encanto tickled some starry-eyed part of me that’s always yearned for a large communal family, it was also very claustrophobic. Abuela’s character was especially frustrating. If there’s one thing this movie has over Coco, it’s that it actually explores the matriarch and her complicated relationship with her offspring. Abuela isn’t a verbose figure. Rather, it’s what she doesn’t say – her quiet sternness and her inability to properly communicate with everyone in the family. Why, you want to scream at her, why didn’t you hold Mirabel in your arms when she looked up at you with all the hurt in her eyes over not having a gift? How could you do that to a child? But the obvious thing is sometimes not the natural thing, and to Abuela, what was natural to her was to investigate this “failure” rather than reassuring Mirabel. When parents assume that their love is a given, this gives them blind-spots. And Abuela, hardening herself for the survival of her family, had every blind-spot imaginable.

Spending time away from home has given me some perspective. My parents were far, far from perfect – and still are – but I’m so lucky to have them. I’m glad I could watch a Disney movie with them this Christmas. That’s a blessing in itself. I hope that my dear readers got to spend Christmas with the people they consider family this year. I hope that you guys ate a lot this Christmas! And sang a lot, and laughed a lot! It’s been a long year, and we all deserve some love. This isn’t the last you’ll see of me this month (I still have four more posts to write, ‘cos I’m a dumbass who can’t schedule…), but for now: Merry Christmas! Wishing you all the best!

Fantasia: Bill Tytla’s Chernabog

Chernabog begins boisterously and ends with the silent sound of bells. He stretches out his wings with sharp movements, wrought with tension, heavy and simultaneously light. He’s surprisingly agile as Tytla contrasts sudden, decisive action with more languorous ones- so the demon partakes in his evils with eager, careful delight. His fingers dance, stirring up chaos with unexpected grace and elegance. Tytla communicates such weight to his expression that you feel like he would shatter the earth if he fell. His movements are theatrical- broad, sweeping gestures – without being overwrought. And the slowness of his timing contrasts wonderfully with the fast action of the spirits he brings to life.

All of this is enhanced by a powerful design. Chernabog feels carved out of the night, as silly as that sounds, due to the deep blue-blacks used for the shadows, and brighter highlights that sharpen his form. His design is just close enough to convention to be immediately recognisable as ‘demonic’, whilst having enough nuance to it to make him iconic.

Chernabog’s animation elevates the Night on Bald Mountain to the most impressive short in Fantasia. How Tytla managed to animate a character that complex, both heavy and light in form and action, is beyond me. Animation’s complexities reveal themselves in performances like this.