Memory and Identity: Why Disney/Pixar's Coco Matters
Most movie-goers – especially those with young children –
have probably noticed the increasingly heavy pace at which Disney cranks out
new films in the last several years. I
remember when we could look forward to a new Disney film about once a year, but
now it seems like there’s a film to dominate the theaters every few months,
thanks in part to the live-action remakes of the classics. While they are certainly cashing in on
nostalgia felt by millennials – notice that the more recent live-action remakes
come from the 90’s era – it is clear that they have also used the remake-craze
to make right some of their past cultural faux pas. The updated live-action versions feature
stronger female characters driven by more powerful forces than a desire to find
the right husband, such as the updated non-midriff-baring princess Jasmine,
whose main goal throughout the new Aladdin remains to earn her father’s
blessing to succeed him as Sultan.
Culturally problematic lyrics are replaced for more appropriate ones or
whole songs are replaced altogether. For
example, the offensive “Siamese Cat Song” featuring outdated stereotypical
depictions of Asian culture from the original Lady and the Tramp is swapped
out with a jazzy number titled “What a Shame” and (thankfully) no slanted-eyed
Siamese cats. Being a 90s kid raised on
Disney movies myself, I adored these movies as they were, and would go as far
as to say that much of the Disney content I consumed shaped my childhood. What book-loving young girl didn’t imagine
she was as beautiful and adventurous as Belle? But I fully appreciate the cultural corrections these remakes offer, and – though
many of my fellow 90s kids may not feel the same way – can view the new
versions as separate and very different works of art from their animated
counterparts.
That being said, I want to talk about the fact that where Disney truly makes strides in correcting their past cultural mistakes is with their new and original films. Moana was the first major Pacific Island princess, Coco featured a young Mexican boy who learned the importance of family and honoring the memory of the past, and Zootopia was – at its core – a cautionary tale about the dangers of racial profiling. This shift in the quality of family entertainment reflects a cultural shift as we begin to take more responsibility for the ways we approach cultural diversity. Art – which I use here as a blanket-term for movies, literature, visual arts, etc. – indirectly records what is happening culturally, and if you haven’t noticed this with Disney’s recent films you haven’t been paying attention.
That’s not to say that Disney doesn’t still slip up every now and then; let’s not forget about their attempt to trademark Dias de los Muertos or the backlash they received for the Maui Halloween costume that donned the demi-god’s tattoos and tanned skin a few years back. But, for the most part, they produce quality content that represent groups not before depicted in animated films, and as a person of mixed ethinicites who thought for a very long time that pretty girls only came in the blond variety, I promise you that this representation matters.
The movie Coco features a young boy who learns that his family has spent generations burying secrets so deep that not one family member (dead or alive) even knows the real truth. While the message of the movie is rooted in the significance of family, it also highlights the importance of remembering the past no matter how painful it may feel. It teaches us that the past never truly stays in the past. This is true with families, and it is also true within a culture.
When I watched Coco for the first time, I had just completed a graduate seminar on Hemispheric Literature and most of our discussions centered around memory and identity. My seminar paper that semester argued for the importance of literature and the arts to preserve and archive cultural memory. Our identity – whether individual or cultural – is shaped by our memories. This concept seems rudimentary, yes. But consider what you learned from the textbooks in your history class as a child and the way you felt as an adult when you became privy to the omitted dirty details, which are often very contradictory to what we are taught in our younger years. When you realize those we are taught to revere were not always the good guys. My children still spend an entire week in school celebrating the achievements of Christopher Columbus. They’re young and I know there are some things they cannot understand, but I like to teach them that our history is complicated because that’s important for them to know. Recorded history has a convenient way of leaving out elements that do not serve its recorders. These bits of omitted history are often painful to learn and building an identity on such an unstable past can be difficult.
As a lover of literature and the arts it is true that my interests lean more toward fiction than hard fact. That’s not to say I don’t want the facts; I just tend to gravitate toward that which appeals to my innate emotional sensibilities. In short, I want all the details and I also want all the drama.
The book Faces and Masks by Uruguayan writer Eduardo Galeano is, in my opinion, a literary masterpiece that weaves fact with fiction to tell a more multi-faceted version of history. I’ll not bore you with too many details other than explaining that it is not exactly a novel and it isn’t even presented as a continuous chronological narrative. It is fiction, but it is rooted in historical fact. In fact, much of the book features excerpts from newspaper prints, archived letters, and recorded interviews. But rather than focusing on the history we know, Galeano depicts the history of the Americas – that is, North, Middle AND South America – in short vignettes in the voices of those who have been silenced. He tells the stories of native indigenous people, slaves, revolutionaries who lost their revolutions, and those we have willfully forgotten because we have left them out of our textbooks. Those gaps in history are more than just empty spaces, they are gaping holes that need to be filled in and wounds that need to be healed. America’s identity has been shaped from a fragmented understanding of the past. The gaps must be filled in for us to understand why we operate the way we do in much the same way that the adorable little, one-dimpled Miguel needs to know why he cannot shake his love of music despite the guilt he feels knowing his family disapproves. His family has rejected something based on a misunderstanding and false recording of events. Music had seemingly caused his great-great grandfather to abandon his family and so it is forbidden. It is not until a family curse sends Miguel to the spirit world that he learns the truth that his great-great grandfather intended to return home from a musical tour when his selfish partner murdered him stealing his songs and his glory. In learning the truth about the past, Miguel can help refresh his grandmother Coco’s memory about her beloved father so that she may share stories and preserve his legacy. To fully understand our identity, we must recognize and reconcile with our past so that we can stop making the same mistakes in the future and create a legacy worth passing on.
That being said, I want to talk about the fact that where Disney truly makes strides in correcting their past cultural mistakes is with their new and original films. Moana was the first major Pacific Island princess, Coco featured a young Mexican boy who learned the importance of family and honoring the memory of the past, and Zootopia was – at its core – a cautionary tale about the dangers of racial profiling. This shift in the quality of family entertainment reflects a cultural shift as we begin to take more responsibility for the ways we approach cultural diversity. Art – which I use here as a blanket-term for movies, literature, visual arts, etc. – indirectly records what is happening culturally, and if you haven’t noticed this with Disney’s recent films you haven’t been paying attention.
That’s not to say that Disney doesn’t still slip up every now and then; let’s not forget about their attempt to trademark Dias de los Muertos or the backlash they received for the Maui Halloween costume that donned the demi-god’s tattoos and tanned skin a few years back. But, for the most part, they produce quality content that represent groups not before depicted in animated films, and as a person of mixed ethinicites who thought for a very long time that pretty girls only came in the blond variety, I promise you that this representation matters.
The movie Coco features a young boy who learns that his family has spent generations burying secrets so deep that not one family member (dead or alive) even knows the real truth. While the message of the movie is rooted in the significance of family, it also highlights the importance of remembering the past no matter how painful it may feel. It teaches us that the past never truly stays in the past. This is true with families, and it is also true within a culture.
When I watched Coco for the first time, I had just completed a graduate seminar on Hemispheric Literature and most of our discussions centered around memory and identity. My seminar paper that semester argued for the importance of literature and the arts to preserve and archive cultural memory. Our identity – whether individual or cultural – is shaped by our memories. This concept seems rudimentary, yes. But consider what you learned from the textbooks in your history class as a child and the way you felt as an adult when you became privy to the omitted dirty details, which are often very contradictory to what we are taught in our younger years. When you realize those we are taught to revere were not always the good guys. My children still spend an entire week in school celebrating the achievements of Christopher Columbus. They’re young and I know there are some things they cannot understand, but I like to teach them that our history is complicated because that’s important for them to know. Recorded history has a convenient way of leaving out elements that do not serve its recorders. These bits of omitted history are often painful to learn and building an identity on such an unstable past can be difficult.
As a lover of literature and the arts it is true that my interests lean more toward fiction than hard fact. That’s not to say I don’t want the facts; I just tend to gravitate toward that which appeals to my innate emotional sensibilities. In short, I want all the details and I also want all the drama.
The book Faces and Masks by Uruguayan writer Eduardo Galeano is, in my opinion, a literary masterpiece that weaves fact with fiction to tell a more multi-faceted version of history. I’ll not bore you with too many details other than explaining that it is not exactly a novel and it isn’t even presented as a continuous chronological narrative. It is fiction, but it is rooted in historical fact. In fact, much of the book features excerpts from newspaper prints, archived letters, and recorded interviews. But rather than focusing on the history we know, Galeano depicts the history of the Americas – that is, North, Middle AND South America – in short vignettes in the voices of those who have been silenced. He tells the stories of native indigenous people, slaves, revolutionaries who lost their revolutions, and those we have willfully forgotten because we have left them out of our textbooks. Those gaps in history are more than just empty spaces, they are gaping holes that need to be filled in and wounds that need to be healed. America’s identity has been shaped from a fragmented understanding of the past. The gaps must be filled in for us to understand why we operate the way we do in much the same way that the adorable little, one-dimpled Miguel needs to know why he cannot shake his love of music despite the guilt he feels knowing his family disapproves. His family has rejected something based on a misunderstanding and false recording of events. Music had seemingly caused his great-great grandfather to abandon his family and so it is forbidden. It is not until a family curse sends Miguel to the spirit world that he learns the truth that his great-great grandfather intended to return home from a musical tour when his selfish partner murdered him stealing his songs and his glory. In learning the truth about the past, Miguel can help refresh his grandmother Coco’s memory about her beloved father so that she may share stories and preserve his legacy. To fully understand our identity, we must recognize and reconcile with our past so that we can stop making the same mistakes in the future and create a legacy worth passing on.
Thought-provoking piece!
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