For years, Pixar has been the hallmark of animation. Beginning with Toy Story, their progression has been incredible, and their allegory-riddled, satirical stories have been sharply written. The Incredibles poses as a film about a superhero family, and while it creates a discourse about success, failures, and expectations, it’s, underneath, an examinations of lawsuits and how they undercut and create competition in society. Wall E pokes fun of our laziness and our intertwined need for convenience and love of technology. Up is about the pangs of regret, the need for connection, and contains one of the most touching, best illustrated montages in recent years.
Then there was Cars 2, which might be the epitome of a tent-pole film for Pixar, but we’ll just skip on over that.
Or, at least, that was my plan, until I saw Brave, which is much better than Cars 2, but it’s still feels mediocre compared to what Pixar produced previously. On the bright side, the animation is characteristically stellar. This is never an issue. Our protagonist’s race through the woods on the back of her horse is riveting and suspenseful. The camera angles are those you would fine in a Bourne movie – just without the extreme shakiness. Like most Pixar films, there is a realism created here that is unmatched by other animation houses. While I appreciate The Lorax and Despicable Me, it often felt like I was watching plastic toys on screen going through the motions of a narrative.
This is not the case with Brave. Merida is a young Scottish princess who has reached the age to be betrothed to one of the sons of the other three kingdoms that comprise Scotland at this time. Her father, King Fergus is built like a brick house and appears ten feet tall. He often regales everyone with the tale of how he lost his leg to a bear and is a child at heart. The other three Lords of Scotland are the same. Their juvenile antics cast them as children-men, showing off their strengths and living vicariously through the potential of their sons, as if they were contemporary little-league fathers pushing their child to throw a no hitter, despite his wonky arm. Their three sons follow suit. One is skinny and arrogant, another larger and meet, the third inept at nearly everything it seems. Here, Brave could have woven a fine allegory about parental pressures and the dangers of being overbearing. Something that is continued by Merida’s mother, Ellinor, whose most often uttered phrase is “A princess doesn’t…” They could have, but they skirt this issue and just allow us to fill in the blanks from our familiarity with films that contain a similar trope.
The rift from the beginning is clear: Merida wants to be her own person, but “can never get away with anything because [she’s] the princess,” and her mother wants her to be perfect so that she can be married off as a princess. The generational clash is palatable here as is Elinor’s push for Merida to “strive for perfection.” The theme here is fine, but it’s been done before. Many, many times.
And, this is what is slightly disappointing about Brave. It feels like I’ve watched it many times.
Merida disrupts an archery challenge that was to determine her betrothed by hitting the bull’s eye herself on three separate targets with her amazing archery skills. This too is fine. There is no discussion about whether this is proper; if anything, her father seems to encourage it and be proud. Rather, the issue is with her mother’s fear that Merida is destroying tradition and that Merida is just running “away from who we are.” The tradition angle is fine, but again, it’s been done. A lot, from Dickens to Disney (much much Disney).
I’m not suggesting here that Brave needs to be revolutionary. Clearly, there are only so many stories to tell, but the arc is extremely foreseeable. Merida flees to the forest and meets a witch who plays on the semantics of Merida’s desire that her “mother would change.” Clearly, change will occur in drastic metamorphosis, and Merida learns a lesson about using a thesaurus.
The mother changes, and they seek shelter in the woods until they can figure out a way to change her back. The solution comes to them about thirty minutes after it’s come to us, and they make their way back to the castle. Here, in the midst of juvenile buffoonery, the men in the castle have nearly started a war over Merida’s hand. This creates the need for Merida to explain why she doesn’t want to marry quite yet – which miraculously changes the whole country’s tradition – and creates tension as her mother tries to sneak up the stairs to her bedroom without being noticed.
More conflict ensues when Fergus catches a glimpse of his monstrous wife (that he doesn’t recognize) and the chase between the entire population of the castle and the Queen begins. To be truthful, there are tense moments here as the monster becomes part of the traditional bear-baiting where dogs chase the animal into the forest and subdue it until it can be fastened with rope and killed. However, the predictable villain appears from the darkness, a battle begins, and all is remedied by the end.
I wouldn’t necessarily suggest a different ending given that children don’t need to see an eviscerated mother cum animal, but there could have been so much more done with the story of Pixar’s first lead female character. In The Incredibles, Helen was a strong mother, but she was secondary to Bob. In Wall E, Eva was monosyllabic and behind the title character. Jessie from Toy Story 2 and 3 was behind the duo of Woody and Buzz.
For Brave it seems there is an irony. The first lead female character tries to break away from her womanly duties in a traditional setting, but this story is one that has been told for centuries, and she seems unable to break away from it.
