The Gift of Disney's Encanto

Over the holiday break, my family watched Disney's new movie Encanto. The Madrigals are Walt Disney Animation Studio's first Latino family to be featured as main characters in a film. The movie has been largely celebrated as a triumph of representation, with music by Lin Manuel Miranda and a roughly $150M budget. Some of my friends on Facebook have remarked that they didn't think the film was all that great, while others have utterly raved about it. To be sure, we all look for different things when we judge a film, so in reality, all the opinions are right . . . since you know, they are opinions. 

That being said -- and having watched the film only once so far -- here are my humble, initial thoughts on Encanto.

While the music was fun and the animation was beautiful, I -- as per usual -- felt drawn into the storyline. It all begins with a couple running for their lives with triplets in tow. The father sacrifices himself for his family's safety, and the mother is given a magical candle as a consolation prize as she raises the triplets, sort of This Is Us style. The movie tells the story of Abuela, her children, and their children. In the family Madrigal, every child receives a gift at a certain age, a gift that comes complete with its own magical room in their magical house. Pretty amazing, right? 

But as the family members and their gifts are introduced, I started wondering how much of a "gift" they really receive. For example, one character, Dolores, has super-sensitive hearing. Let's be real: wouldn't that get annoying? It's the burden of the empath -- to notice (hear) everyone's suffering .  .  . and to carry the feeling of obligation to help everyone at the same time. 

Speaking of carrying, another character, Luisa, has super-human strength. Disney did the PC thing and made this character a female, in an attempt to make us forget about allll those years of sexism and racism in their old movies. But, just like the super-sensitive hearing, this gift comes with some heavy baggage -- literally. Luisa is constantly called upon to use her strength for various tasks for everyone in the family, and in the village surrounding the magical house. 

In fact, Luisa shares the burden (pun intended) of her immense strength in a song with these lyrics:

Pressure like a grip, grip, grip and it won't let go, whoa

Pressure like a tick, tick, tick 'til it's ready to blow, whoa

Give it to your sister, your sister's stronger

See if she can hang on a little longer 

Who am I if I can't carry it all?

Phew! As a recovering perfectionist who struggles to ask anyone for help, I felt CALLED OUT by this song. I know I'm not alone, so don't even play. 

Even Isabela, the oldest grandchild ,whose gift is to grow flowers and plants, is more complex than she seems on the surface. Throughout the majority of the film, Isabela is the stereotypical beauty, surrounded by fragrant flowers and a doting suitor. But, even Isabela has her limits and in a soul-bearing moment with her sister Mirabel (we'll get to her in a minute), sings: 

I make perfect, practiced poses

So much hides behind my smile [. . .]

What could I do if I just knew it didn't need to be perfect? 

It just needed to be? And they let me be?

Though we aren't supposed to "talk about Bruno," I have to mention the older brother/uncle of the family who has the gift of seeing into the future -- and actually hides in the walls of the enormous mansion so that he can keep an eye on his loved ones, despite being ostracized for telling his family what they don't want to hear about their potential downfall. 

Now, to Mirabel. She's optimistic, enthusiastic, kind, compassionate, selfless -- and yet, she is the only member of the Madrigal family to NOT receive a gift or a magical room of her own in the house. (I mean, we could argue that all those previous qualities listed are in fact gifts, right?) She is, perhaps not surprisingly, the one who is clear-eyed enough to see the cracks starting to show in this pressure-cooker of a family. 

Of course Mirabel's huge heart and passionate impetuousness lead her to make unorthodox decisions (like not only talking ABOUT Bruno, but also talking TO him! gasp!) which wreak all sorts of havoc. As the dust settles (again, literally...spoiler alert, but the house crumbles to ground), Mirabel and her abuela finally have the heart-to-heart talk the family needed years ago. Abuela admits to her part in the family stress -- her seemingly antiquated traditions come from a place of love and a desire to protect her family. She knows what loss feels like and has wanted nothing but the best for her family ever since. Losing the magic of the candle would mean finally losing her husband after all these years. Mirabel and the younger members of the family are removed from that initial loss, and they've grown up with the magic, so they naturally take it for granted (which is why everyone was shocked when Mirabel didn't get a gift). They want to use their gifts for the greater good, but they need healthy boundaries. 

Sound familiar? 

OK, so maybe you don't live in a magical house and have magical gifts, but the cyclical nature of misunderstood good intentions is well-known to us all. Every generation of parents wants better for their children . . . and then becomes frustrated when those children don't realize how good they have it. And the younger generation striving to make the world a better place don't get why their parents and grandparents resist change. The grandparents and parents hide their personal struggles, as they were taught to do, and end up coming off as distant and unapproachable. The kids wear their hearts on their sleeves, and end up being judged as weak and impressionable. 

Some good old-fashioned authentic talks would go a long way toward understanding, but unfortunately, for a lot of families, healthy discussions and open-door policies are rare. Instead, we tend to sweep the unpleasant business under the rug (or deep into the bowels of the house like Bruno) and put on a facade until we reach a breaking point and the house falls down around us. 

For the Madrigals, it's a happy ending -- it's Disney, and they need to sell tickets, soundtracks, merchandise, and theme park rides, after all. 

For everyone else? Maybe, just maybe, movies like Encanto will help to normalize imperfect families who forgive and heal together. What a gift.