Tradition, Progress, and Building on Seashells: Some Thoughts on Disney's Moana

[A Note: I know I am pretty behind the times in writing something about Moana, but the Muse calls when it calls, I suppose. Anyhow, this is an essay I wrote originally for school, so while I have tried to spruce it up in some regards, it still may be a little formal... Apologies on that account - hopefully it still has some interest to it, at least as a thought experiment.]

***

                 In 2016, Disney released a children’s film, Moana, detailing the story

of a Pacific Island princess and her quest to save her home. I saw it a good bit later

than that, but we'll leave that fact aside. There is one moment in the movie that

has always piqued my interest (as well as other emotions), near the end of the

movie. It's a potent little curio, and the last shot in the film: a seashell on top of a

tower of stones. But I'll get back to that in a minute.

                 In the film, the eponymous princess, Moana, is drawn to the ocean even

though her father, the king, forbids venturing beyond their island’s waters. Moana

is the crown heir of the kingdom, and she is taught many of her people’s traditions

by her parents. She, however, feels locked in by those traditions. A malignant

goddess is slowly poisoning the islands, making them fall into decay, and this

state of things is beginning to threaten even Moana’s island. Moana decides to

go against her people’s present law and search for someone who can return an

ancient artifact and restore her island’s vitality. Eventually, of course, the mission

is accomplished, Moana returns to her island and people, and she plans to tear

down the laws in favor of the ancient ways of voyaging, with everything

hunky-dory a la classic Disney style.

                   Through the film, the watcher is presented with an idea that to truly be

happy or progress as a society, we have to break down tradition and discard it.

Even though that's the movie's conscious message, however, Moana 

unconsciously undermines it. Accidentally, the film shows us how off the idea

is because it skews the definition of progress, fails to take advantage of the past,

and has no tangible goal or standard.

         Within the movie, the themes of tradition and progress are perhaps best

represented by the curio beginning when Moana’s father takes her up to the top

of the island to show her something. He shows her a stack of stones at the top of

the mountain, each one placed by a chieftain of the island upon his crowning to

“raise the island higher.” Moana is expected to place her own stone one day. At

the end of the movie, Moana returns to the island briefly and we see that she has

placed a seashell atop the stones, giving a visual symbol of her tearing down the

old ways.

         Moana is different from her people and their expectations in many ways.

She loves hearing the stories of other worlds outside her home. She has trouble

accepting the idea of being chief one day, a role destined for her from birth. She

feels called to go beyond the reef around their island, the symbol of her father’s

laws. There is something freeing in the beautiful music and wide, open aesthetic

of the scene when Moana finally makes it beyond the reef successfully. Clearly,

we as the watchers are meant to glean that freedom from tradition means

fulfillment and progress.

         The problem with this idea is that the progress Moana accomplishes

is not fulfillment, even in the scope of the movie. What we are meant to see as

the end goal – Moana transcending her people’s ways – is really only a means

to an end. Throughout the film, the ultimate evil is seen as the destruction of

Moana’s island and home, the paragon of her people’s traditions and

domesticity. Conversely, the ultimate good in the film could be seen as the

preservation of this home and people, and Moana’s safe return to her family.

The very reason Moana disobeys the laws and leaves the island is to save her

people’s way of life from destruction. If Moana’s people had merely become

voyagers at the beginning of the movie, they could have fished and sailed to 

their heart’s content, not needing the island as a home. Even at the end of the

movie, when Moana’s people do voyage, the lyrics of the ending song show an

attachment to home and the old ways: “We keep our island in our mind, and

when it’s time to find home, we know the way… We are explorers,” rather than,

say, “we are nomads” or “we are voyagers.” If the breaking of tradition and the

casting off of old ways were really the route to happiness, then why does the

happy ending of the movie merely show an addition to old traditions, rather

than their eradication?

         The key to both the intentional and unintentional portrayals of the

theme in the film is that tradition and progress are inherently related. Let's go

back to the stone tower now. Like the stones on Moana’s island, tradition is the

foundation that lets progress raise a civilization higher. With each stone, more

is added to society, but the tower would fall and break if one of the lower stones

was removed. That little seashell on the tower is such a powerful moment,

illustrating the clash of themes perfectly. The seashell does raise the island 

higher for one generation, and it looks beautiful at first, but then it makes it 

impossible for future generations to build on the tower without either discarding

or crushing the seashell. In other words, the seashell can’t remain the standard or

else no progress will be made. Tradition – the stones – must remain a part of

society’s standard in order for progress to be made. The fact of it is this: like

Moana’s people, we need to respect tradition in order to move forward in society.

While the movie wants us to see tradition as outdated and inhibitive, what it

accidentally shows us is that tradition is a healthy part of society. Even Moana’s

return to the old ways of voyaging is not a destruction of the stone tower. It makes

use of an old way of life, just altering details for the time’s needs. This is the very

definition of progress.

         In short, while the conscious theme of Moana is the harmfulness of

tradition, the movie can’t escape from the truth that tradition is necessary to

have any kind of goal or standard for civilization. The film tells us that the laws

and traditions are a handicap to fulfillment in life, but what it accidentally shows

us is that the laws and traditions are a necessary step on the path to happiness.

The "path less traveled" in the movie is, in truth, merely a branch off of the old

path. Humanity needs tradition. After all, you can’t build on seashells.

(Well, those are my thoughts, anyhow. Let me know what you think! Anything to add or contest? I offer yet another apology for the formatting... I can't seem to figure out the new way Blogger works...)

Meet the Books! - Turning the Century

 Well, it's been a good while since the last Meet the Books!, and I've got two new projects (sort-of) since then, so let's get cracking. This one, previously known by the titles Divided and The World That Was, is coauthored with the Grim Writer, whose blog is here. I will mostly focus on my side of the story, as I know it better. (Perhaps Grim will grace us with her own Meet the Books! post to better introduce her side of the story...? EDIT: Grim's splendid supplementary post is here. Definitely go read it - it will make a bit more sense out of things.)

I really must redo this graphic at some point. It is so very pathetic...

What is the title?

The present title is Turning the Century, but it has been known by the above titles before now.

What is the genre? Time period?

Okay... Um. So we might have sort-of invented a genre...? I guess we'll call it a Fantasy. That works, right? It's a strange sort of Fantasy, though. It's strange because of the time period. You see, the book's world is divided into two halves, in two different period-inspired times. The first half is based on the 1920s, and the second half is based on the 1890s, I believe. 

How is it written (POV, format, etc.)?

We've gone with third person for this, mostly limited. We have stylistically strayed from limited a couple times, though, I think. We're going with a traditional novel format for the most part. Now, the one difference is that, since there are two authors, there is sort of a split of which characters/places are written by whom. In general, scenes in Bellafossa or from my characters' POVs are written by myself, and scenes in Bricklebury or from Grim's characters' POVs are written by Grim. 

What is the setting?

The setting is twofold. The first setting you see is Bellafossa, a rich, decadent, dissipated city loosely based off of Italian and 1920s culture. The second setting introduced is Bricklebury, an impoverished and war-torn fantasy village held together by a few influential patrons, inspired by Britain in the 1890s. 

Who are the characters?

In Bellafossa...

Gianni Verreni is a rich, young gentleman in Bellafossa. He is absent-minded, quiet, heartily lost in the world he lives in, old-fashioned, and perhaps a bit curmudgeonly. He is my main character and POV. He is quite fond of his younger sister,

Fioria Verreni, called Fio. She is a high socialite with spirits as bubbly as champagne and a character to match. She is quite independent, and she enjoys her riches and freedom. She's never worked a day in her life nor had to do anything harder than convince Gianni to take her places. She is Grim's main character and POV.

The suitors are a gang of high-society fellows, mostly working for Vin (explained in a moment), and all quite enamored of Fio. Those particularly worth mentioning are Addio, a fashionable sulker, one of Vin's right hand men, and the one most struck by Fio; Gerry, a fun-loving smooth talker who never misses a party or a trick, also one of Vin's boys.

Flavio Vitale is one of Gianni's best friends, but also a frivolous and somewhat nervous fellow, with good reason; he is very dangerously in debt to Vin and his boys. 

Iago Potenza is Gianni's other best friend. As he tells it, he witnessed his father, mother, and uncle, and his second cousin being shot when he was a boy. He is now an existentialist artist who believe the world is an abyss of suffering, and his only particularly real mission in life is to remove Vin's operation from power. He is always trying to do this, with the help of Gianni and Flavio. 

Vincente Vespa, commonly known as Vin, is a very rich, influential man about town who pulls most of the strings around Bellafossa. Nearly every chap from the old, rich families works for him, and he hosts much of high society at his nephew's ritzy place, the Rubino. It is well-known that he does things under the table and gets his power the hard way, but nobody can prove it. Vin and his boys - those who are admitted to his special circle - are the center of Bellafossa's society, regardless of anybody else's feelings about it. 

In Bricklebury...

Bernard Chester, later to be dubbed "Bob" by Fio for no particular reason, is one of the only pillars left holding Bricklebury up. He comes from an old, noble, wealthy family there, but doesn't have much wealth left, unless compared to the rest of the town. He is Grim's other MC. 

Anne Chester, known as Nancy, is Bernard's cousin. She is also one of my other MCs. She has mysteriously disappeared from Bricklebury when Fio arrives, and nobody but Bob and his confidantes seem to know anything about it...

Saoirse is Miss Nancy's maid, whom Fio renames Wyo because she can't spell Saoirse. 

Lady Macready is one of the strangest old women Fio has ever met (and, yes, her name rhymes). She lives in a house that has feet, apparently her dog is her long-enchanted husband, and she knows about secret things around Bricklebury. She is one of the only people helping Bob to keep the town afloat. 

Odysseus Wilde is a long-gone inventor and relative of Bob and Nancy. Rumored to be either quite crazy or a genius, bits and pieces of his various projects litter the Chester mansion. He hasn't been heard of since the War. Nobody is really sure what happened to him.

What does the plot consist of?

The plot begins with Fio and Gianni living it up in the Bellafossa half, a world that vaguely remembers the word "war," but has no idea what it means. They are comfortable and have their own private dramas until a hungover Fio messes with something she shouldn't and lands herself in the Bricklebury's world, a place where a great war still leaves its long shadow, impoverishing and dividing the land. Bricklebury has a grave problem with malign fantastical creatures. (Heh. Grave. Methinks I made a pun for you, Grim...) This leads some from Bricklebury to propose a great plan to try and reach the other side of the world using haphazard inventions from a lost lunatic. On Bellafossa's side, there is a serious gangster problem. Vin pretty much owns the city, and he has no intention of letting the threesome who oppose him go. Gianni increasingly gets in hot water when he starts a fight with one of Vin's boys on account of Fio's disappearance, and he is very soon on the run with a mysterious stranger who seems to know what happened to Fio...

(Anyhow, I described it really badly, but it should be a pretty fun story. Hopefully Grim will do a Meet the Books! for it as well so you can get some better synopses.)

What gave you the idea?

Eh.... *searching back into the abyss of brainstorming from years ago* I think we vaguely based the idea on some fairy tale awhile back. You know, the one where the girl falls down a well and discovers another world? Well, in the original draft of this story, Fio did fall down a well, but we changed the means of transportation to an old, crashed plane. I would give credit where credit is due with ideas and all that, but it's been so long, I really can't remember who came up with what. As for the time period overhaul, I suggested it to be funny, but Grim liked it and really fleshed it out (thanks for that!), so here we are. 

Who are the favorite characters so far?

Well, nobody's really read the whole thing, but I think Fio is pretty well-liked by authors and sneak-readers alike. She really was meant to be a flapper - the medieval period was really cramping her style. 

What is the favorite scene so far?

Again, nobody's really read it in earnest, so there isn't one yet.

Any drawings? Aesthetics?

I don't have any drawings, but I have a couple aesthetics. (Grim has even more, so let's hope she does a post also, at least to show off the aesthetics.) 

Storyboard. My image.

My image.

Any themes of music for the story?

Well, we've actually had to write a song for this story. Don't ask why... It's kind of complicated. Anyhow, though, we do have an original song for the story. It... does not have a name yet. We also have a playlist for writing it too, here. (Hopefully it's accessible... I can't tell). 

Any snippets?

Here goes...

***

“Back-step, kick-step, kick-kick-kick-back…?” Two feet crashed through the stained glass window, each belonging to a different person.

Gianni lifted his foot out of the conservatory window pane gingerly. “Don’t tell me that was what’s supposed to happen.”

“No, no, no!” Fio tossed her head back and laughed. “You can’t just keep kicking 

backwards. It doesn’t work that way.”

“Don’t forget, you did it too.”

“I was just following you.” She lifted her foot out of the window pane.

Gianni frowned at the broken window thoughtfully. “I think that’s the first time the conservatory window’s been broken since I hit a baseball into it when I was ten.”

Fio grinned. “Well, then, it’s about time, honey. It was in need of some excitement.”

***

It was swinging at the Rubino that night. If Fio hadn’t been thoroughly used to it, she might’ve felt a bit blinded walking in, the room glittering with champagne and diamonds. Just past the bar area, the open silver floor was barely visible through the many dancers. Every one of Vincente Vespa’s boys was there every night, and every rich doll, and just everybody who was anybody. Nobodies simply didn’t come to the Rubino. And judging from the atmosphere, it was going to be a killer diller night for everybody that did. Fio fluffed up the feathers on her dress excitedly. 

“Oh,” said Gianni dubiously, glancing around as they entered the floor. 

“What do you mean, ‘oh,’ you old grump?”

“The entire string of victims is here.”

***

Strangely, though the squirrels had quieted and the only birds singing were doves, as Fio kept walking, she had the distinctly unpleasant notion that she was not alone. Somebody was watching her.

“I’m just crazy with hangover and worry,” she said to herself, with a nervous laugh. But she started walking a little faster all the same.

There was the ravine ahead of her—but where was the path down? She walked to the edge and paced up and down a moment, trying to determine where the path had gone—but it seemed that years of weather had worn down the earth and rendered the cliff too steep to be traversed. 

“What a bummer,” she said aloud, pouting her lower lip in an attempt at humor, but in reality, she was close to tears. It was very silly of her to see that ravine and that old plane as the key to fixing her relationship with Gianni, no doubt, but she’d almost begun to believe her little daydream in her short time walking. She walked back the way she had come a bit, and stood peering over the ledge, trying to make out the details of the plane’s dark form on the bottom of the ravine. It was covered in leaves from all the autumns since she and Gianni had last visited it and brushed it off, but it was still there.

***

Gianni and Fio’s father had successfully got the machine to start when they had first found it. However, as he was not a pilot, and it was so old, he had determined he would never attempt to fly it, nor sell it, nor give it away. The children love playing on it, so there it shall stay, he had said. 

But that didn’t mean Fio couldn’t give it a go. With difficulty she managed to get herself into the seat, despite the years of forest debris within it. 

The key was in the engine—but when she reached for it something clinked to the floor of the cockpit. She reached down with a grunt—another key? Yes, a silvery one, with an odd shape, and a tiny face etched into the key’s end. There was a half-rotted string loop that had attached it to the other key until it had broken at her touch. 

Fio frowned, and, slinging her purse tighter over her shoulder, she stuffed the key into it and zipped it closed. 

Then she turned the other key in the engine.

“Well, here goes nothing.”

But the engine roared to life, and as she pressed her high heel against the accelerator, unbelievably, the plane began to move, crackling slowly through dry leaves, picking up speed—and then time seemed to freeze for her. 

Would it take off?

In that frozen moment, she smelt something peculiar—something marvelous—something far more pleasant than antique engine oil.

She didn’t have time to determine what it was before the plane took off—and she was rising up—up—through the trees, into that lovely sleek blue of the sky. 

Fio couldn’t help but whoop with delight at the sheer adrenaline high it gave her—

And then the engine stalled—and stopped.

With a bloodcurdling shriek, Fioria Verreni and her antique airplane plummeted to the earth. 

***

And, appropriately, I think, I'll leave you there at the end of my part of things...

Strong point in the story?

Well, the strongest point right now is probably Grim's energy for it, haha... But on a more serious note, I think we've been okay about making the fantasy and storyline and such fairly creative and not too reliant on any stereotypes. 

Weak point in the story?

Eh, my part, haha... In the original draft, my part was a little boring. My people just traveled around looking for something and never finding it. I think my part might still be a little boring unless I figure out another plotline to set up in it. 

What are your plans for it?

That is a good question... Unfortunately, I have no answer. Other than finishing it at our leisurely pace, I don't think we really have a plan. 

Any particular writing habits for it?

Not particularly, but it seems an almost universally true rule that if we both get on there to write, very little writing gets done... 

If it were made into a movie, what would be your ideal cast for it?

Okay... So, I spent way too much time trying to think of some good castings, but, really, just look at the face claims on the aesthetics. I think those are pretty good. (Grim has more face claims as well...)

Well, this post is ridiculously long, so I will end it without further ado. Have a good weekend, all!

Christmas Gifts - A Poem

 (Since it's still Christmas by the Catholic reckoning of things, I reserve the right to post about Christmassy things...)

***

Christmas Gifts

Imagine if Christmas gifts under the tree

Were unwrapped, left open, for all eyes to see.

As each day grew closer to coming Yuletide,

We’d pass without wond’ring what joy lay inside.

We’d walk past and see every box without lid,

Not a bow to conceal the great secret it hid.

Oh, how dull it would be if things were this way,

If we knew every present before Christmas day!

On Christmas Eve, we’d be untempted to sneak,

Untempted to spy, untempted to peek,

For a glimpse of our gifts would be quite commonplace,

No surprise, no excitement to make the heart race,

No great hopes, no great dreams, no great wishes built high

No guess made every minute as hours ticked by,

No anticipation - there might be no shout

When, on Christmas morn, all the presents were out.

Without a great secret or any surprise,

Our interest would fall, and our boredom would rise.

Why, the ingrates we are, we might not even blink

If the whole world were set down before us, I think!

And, perhaps, some would say, with a yawn or a snore -

“Oh, it’s only the world, yes, we’ve seen it before.”

Oh, dear Lord, was it this that You held in Your Mind

When You made Yourself known to our fickle, old kind?

Did You make Yourself Man - clothed with flesh ‘stead of fire -

So that we’d pay You heed when You raised Yourself higher?

Do You hide Yourself under a veil of white

Like a bride hides her face before her wedding night?

Oh, perhaps in the moment You made us, You knew

How waning our nature, how childish, untrue,

And, perhaps, with the sighs of a love from afar,

You hid Yourself from us, so as not to mar

Our coquettish interest, our curious need

To see Your Face fully and know You indeed.

Perhaps, Lord, You’ve wrapped Yourself only to lift

Our eyes, ever-searching, to our Christmas Gift.

J.M.J