What would mickey do?

Commonweal, Nov 5, 2004 by Laura Sheahen

The Gospel According to Disney

Faith, Trust, and Pixie Dust Mark I. Pinsky

Westminster John Knox, $14.95, 286 pp.

Think back. In the Disney movie The Lion King, when a baboon anoints the cub Simba and lifts him to the heavens, did you think "infant baptism"?

Probably not. But Mark I. Pinsky, reconciler extraordinaire of pop culture and religion, did. In The Gospel According to the Simpsons, Pinsky--a religion writer for the Orlando Sentinel--investigated the beliefs of Springfielders like Homer, Marge, and Reverend Lovejoy. Now he takes on the religious dimensions of America's favorite cartoon movies in The Gospel According to Disney. In short chapters (about five pages per movie) Pinsky painstakingly analyzes every animated Disney film made since the 1937 Snow White, searching for spiritual themes. And while his take on The Lion King may not ring true to everyone, many of his interpretations--call him the Talmudic scholar of the Mouse House--are amusing and thought-provoking.

Pinsky acknowledges that Disney, like most media companies, has tried to steer clear of overt religious themes to avoid controversy. But he points out that many Disney movies have a secular "belief" component (to succeed, the hero or heroine must believe in self and the power of love) that resembles religious faith. One need only remember Jiminy Cricket singing "If you keep on believing, the dream that you wish will come true" to buy this.

The problem, the creator of the Christian cartoon series VeggieTales tells Pinsky, is that the Disney faith is all too easy. As the closing credits roll, there is no stern tomato summing up the moral and telling kids to be nice on the playground. Disney movies, says VeggieTales's Phil Vischer, are "virtuous but self-absorbed"; they cater to viewers "who want to believe in something that doesn't require anything of them."

That may be true to some extent. Disney movies are, after all, meant to be escapist. But, as Pinsky demonstrates, these films--unintentionally or otherwise--have affected people's morals and behavior, if not their specific religious beliefs. Its "faith, trust, and pixie dust" subtitle notwithstanding, the best chapters of The Gospel According to Disney focus not on religion but on sociology.

Consider this claim for Bambi as catalyst in the antihunting movement: "From the 1960s on, it has been difficult to have a lengthy discussion about the Second Amendment without someone--often a woman of a certain age--bringing up Bambi." It might be nice if Pinsky backed up this anecdotal claim with data about, say, approval ratings for gun control. But even lacking that, he has a point. He makes similarly provocative cases for 101 Dalmatians as PR tool for PETA, Beauty and the Beast as feminist parable, and Robin Hood as "social gospel in action" (and let's not forget scenes from the class struggle that is Lady and the Tramp). One may not agree with all Pinsky's conclusions, but the questions themselves are intriguing.

Pinsky cleverly weaves historical events and pop psychology trends into his analyses. He notes that Jungle Book appeared at the height of the civil-rights movement, and sparked angry debate about possible racial stereotypes in the portrayals of the bear Baloo and the monkey monarch King Louie. And he can hardly avoid discussing the Peter Pan Syndrome--the 1980s label applied to "men who never grew up"--or its newer counterpart, the Cinderella Syndrome, in which otherwise proactive women wait passively for Prince Charming to arrive.

When he concentrates on religion proper, however, Pinsky often can't do much more than make vague, strained generalizations about archetypes or spiritual symbols. He quotes a scholar who says that because of her shimmering blue-and-white raiment, the Blue Fairy in Pinocchio could refer to the Virgin Mary as she appeared at Fatima--not exactly convincing. He discusses the "deathlike sleep" and resurrections of Snow White and Princess Aurora. Hmm. He makes much of cross symbolism in Sleeping Beauty. No matter how hard Pinsky tries, he can't persuade us that hidden underneath Disney's dancing mice and magical pumpkins are faith-specific beliefs; the movies may invoke the human spirit, but they simply aren't that religious. The book's playful asides are more successful because they don't make sweeping claims: In Peter Pan, Pinsky writes, the Darlings "operate on what I like to call the 'Southern Baptist model' ... the wife pretends to submit to her husband's authority while effectively subverting it."

There are, though, certain chapters where the religious approach works. For example, Pinsky sees The Little Mermaid as a story of inter-marriage, and in an inspired move, asks a rabbi to compare Jewish-Christian marriages with the film's mermaid-human one. "Ariel 'converts' ... Since Prince Eric cannot 'convert' to mermaidism," says L.A. rabbi David Wolpe. Pinsky gives a nod to the movie's straight-to-video sequel, in which Ariel's daughter discovers her hidden mermaid heritage and pursues it, with some success. But it's "not always possible to split the difference," notes Pinsky, who intermarried.