It's not exactly a newsflash: the new Disney/Pixar movie will make you cry! But it's true, and as with everything Pixar, there's a heart inside that surprises you no matter what you expected.
Tangled is a hyped up, postmodern retelling of Rapunzel that, unlike nearly everything else in Hollywood, gets grief right.
The core of the tale begins when an infant girl with magic hair, born to doting parents after a difficult pregnancy, is kidnapped by an evil witch. One with marvelous hair, a worthy competitor … the witch's salt and pepper coils are depicted with nearly as much lush pleasure as the princess's pristine and glowing acres of flax. (Magically renewed, the witch looks tight and a little overdyed to me. A statement, to me, from a studio that can make any magic.)
Every year on their lost child's birthdate her parents — a flawless and kind King and Queen — release a paper lantern in her honor.
The sky lantern ceremony is beautiful and magical in a way that only the simplest things — a candle, paper, and the night — can ever be. As the King's subjects hand up thousands of lanterns to follow the first, no eye in the theater was left dry. This meant my 6 year old was pounding on my thigh to stop crying mommy for chrissakes.
And now I feel, in a way, that I've actually been to a lantern ceremony of remembrance (they're used for weddings, too). Cartoon or not, this event is moving and also just. And as I smell the popcorn, I am reminded that this is a fairy tale, and why we have them: so we have something to look up to.
Because in this kingdom, the King and Queen's tears are honored each year, even at number 18. No one tells them to get over it or stop dwelling in the past. This village celebrates the life of a princess it barely knew with mead, flowers, and dancing in the streets, and closes with a sad sharing of hearts. And the ceremony itself — the lanterns bobbing in the night air, above water — brings together earth, sea, and sky. What else should ritual do but unite things larger than we are with our simple "here" selves?
Tangled contains the most moving, emotionally generous ritual of remembrance I remember in any American movie, and within a story that's entertaining, rich, and appropriate for families with kids of many ages (including a lot of boys, I am told -- the 10 year old boy with us cried, too.)
While it may be wonderful for others living with grief, I hesitate to recommend Tangled to families who have been through childloss. In addition to the fairy-tale ending (the child is not dead!) there is also an emergency rescue of a pregnancy that's important to the plot. I'm not sure the tears and emotional satisfaction of the lanterns justify going through all the other triggers.
Babylost friends, what do you think? Did this movie "work" for you at all, did it help you, was it true? Or is the general grief message just that?
ADDENDUM: I'm a dolt. I forgot that someone imporant DIES and then comes back to life. This could be a trigger for any widow, especially with a loss from violent crime. I mean, it IS a cartoon, but if I'm going to take one scene seriously....
Meet Jesse, a bright seven-year-old, with the cutest pink pigtails and a fuzzy blue face. She’s Elmo’s cousin, and her father died almost a year ago. Yes, the newest Muppet is a bereaved child. “When Families Grieve,” a one-hour special from Sesame Street, features her family and Elmo’s. With help from Katie Couric, herself a widowed Mom, and from Elmo and his friend Rosita, Jesse shares her experience of loss in an accurate and age-appropriate way. I know because I am mother to a grieving and fatherless little girl who is nearly that age now.
The show is compelling, compassionate, and reassuring for viewers of all ages. The goal of the program is to encourage conversation about loss and grief, particularly between parent (or uncle, as in the case of Elmo’s father, who lovingly engages Jesse) and child, the first and most important step in beginning to cope. It tells kids they’re not alone, and that while their emotions can be big and hard to understand, having feelings is natural and normal.
“When Families Grieve” is a great resource to advance grief literacy, reducing stigma and providing basic tools to open conversations. By illustrating real families and fuzzy ones sharing their feelings, the show demonstrates that talking about it really does help, and listening can be powerful.
If you’re one of my core readers, you probably already know these basics, but watching will validate some of your feelings and experiences. But if you’ve been afraid to talk with your kids, or too numb to do so (even after years – you wouldn’t be the first!), you’ll come out reassured, with some new, creative ways to remember your loved one. Most of all, the dialog and stories remind viewers that life goes on, that loss doesn’t ever completely disappear, and that there is no right way to grieve.
As for age range: The kit includes support materials aimed at kids ages 2 to 8, including a sweet storybook. My daughter, now 6, wanted me to skip (the preview DVD) ahead to the sections with Muppets, but older kids will be more interested in the 7-to-teen real kids whose families are interviewed in some detail. The oldest boy shown was 13 or so. Older teens MAY be able to gain something. Because childrens’ grief is progressive and developmental, kids experience the loss anew at each developmental stage, and ask new questions, or ask the same questions in different ways as they learn. So it’s possible that a teen who experienced loss at a younger age may be able to put himself in his old (smaller) shoes and gain something, or identify with the older kids and skip the Muppets. Leave the room and hand them the remote.
Of the four families, three lost fathers, and two of the losses were military-related. The producers didn’t take any easy ways out: one of the military deaths was a suicide after a soldier returned home. “When Families Grieve” is part of “Talk, Listen, Connect,” a program which supports military families living through deployment and other challenges. Spanish language materials are available.
In a brief segment, Couric interviews the featured widowed parents about what helped them and what didn’t, but it’s not a comprehensive view of the sequelae of grief or the complex problems facing these parents. There are no divisions: the show is neutral on politics, society, and medical, mental health, and pastoral care, and doesn’t touch on any of the supports widowed people need outside of their households. I didn’t learn much about life for military families after loss, who often live behind a wall. But for what it does – the most important goal of providing basic facts and reassurance -- this show is wonderful.
I was honored to be invited to a screening of the new Sesame Street special, “When Families Grieve,” at the Pentagon. Every loss recalls every other, and brings back our first loss. It’s impossible to go to the Pentagon without remembering that I watched the plume of smoke rise on September 11. The bus shelter I waited at was dedicated to those who lost their lives that day. Helicopters buzzed overhead, it seemed for ambiance. Wonderful clouds that looked like baroque draped silver curtains couldn’t be photographed because of security restrictions.
A highlight of the presentation was the banter between Deputy Secretary of Defense William Lynn and Chairman Joint Chiefs of Staff Admiral Mike Mullen with Elmo, Rosita, and Jesse. A baby in the audience (Adm. Mullen’s grandson) exclaimed with pure joy when Elmo appeared from behind the podium, and Elmo’s 3-year-old self responded honestly and spontaneously.
Of course, laughter turned to snuffled tears, wiped away with medaled and camo'ed cuffs, as the packed room watched the families onscreen share their stories of loss and living.
I was, I think, the only civilian press in the auditorium, and the only widow aside from those featured in the film (we were asked to stand). Despite security phalanx, I felt welcomed and as if my little blog was worth a listen.
I needed the confidence. I had a mission on this, my first visit to our nation’s military headquarters. Not just to watch (I’d already seen a previous preview online) and to ask questions if the chance arose (of course not – it was very official) -- I had a message for Elmo.
“Thank you from the bottom of my heart for what you do,” I told Kevin Clash, the man behind (really under) Elmo. He was pulling down masking tape that held his script inside the podium, wearing an elastic headband that I’m sure stabilizes the Muppet or audio gear somehow. “I have to tell you how grateful I am to you for keeping my toddler entertained after her father died. All I wanted to do was lie down on the couch and nap, and I could, while she watched you. Thank you for making this terrific program, it was accurate for the age, I can testify, and really wonderful. But mostly, thanks for your role in our survival* and even for many moments of joy during that numb time.” I meant every word, and I managed to keep eye contact with the puppeteer, not the puppet.
Then, I got my picture taken with Elmo, who, I stressed to Short Stack’s friends at the bus stop, was the real Elmo, NOT the one that’s just a guy in a suit, who gets paid to walk in parades. I posted the picture on Facebook and kvelled over and over; I was glowing all evening, my husband didn’t want to interrupt, and my daughter asked me to please not talk about it any more, please.
This morning my husband said I looked a little spent from my time with the little red guy. “You have no idea,” I taunted him, “how much worse this would be if it had been Grover. I mean, Elmo didn’t even exist when I was a kid.”
That shut him up right good.**
* (I did not tell Mr. Clash that I was pretty sure Short Stack would think Barney was her Dad after that first summer, just the two of us and the TV.)
** Not really.
I can see the screenwriters salivating: enter the beautiful divorcee with a kid the same age, cue music, and as the sun sets we know closure’s been reached.
And no one really expects a movie to hit it on the head when discussing an issue like losing a partner and raising a child amid the stress and numbness of grief.
But as a young widow who parented under strikingly similar conditions, I can testify that The Boys Are Back (based on a memoir by Simon Carr) gets it right. The pictures are not pretty: man and boy alternate between fisticuffs and catatonia. House goes to pot. Cooking is neglected, alcohol abused.
As I did, Joe faces competing grievers (his mother in law, trying so hard to be good) and dense supervisors who call him “brave” but do, by God, expect him to travel. By beautiful, unvarnished images of the light and empty bottles littering our mourning household we know Joe’s isolation. The images are real and speak of the gritty abysses and sparkling appreciation we feel in grief.
And the man finds his way. Largely as I did: by watching his child. We see Owen’s unshaven visage as the light glints on water, as his son makes and enjoys unspeakable messes with the pure delight a child keeps, even in the darkest times. In the theater, some around me said they couldn’t believe the way the son reacted to his mother’s impending death. But I can certify that Nicholas McAnulty as Artie, spacey and intense two mintues apart, demonstrates authentic, age-appropriate response to loss.
In the Boys are Back it’s palpable, even at the end, that the boys’ loss doesn’t go away or even lessen. Father and sons (yes, there’s a subplot) never lose sight of what has left the world -- they know they’ve been cast out, each alone. But fighting turns to horseplay, the washing gets done, and it’s implied that after some time, the boys might consume a vegetable or two.
Their contempt for the ways of the world turns into a playful disrespect for the rules that don’t work after serious shit goes down. We know the man will find joy again, but the film doesn’t take the easy way out by giving him the blonde just under his nose, at least not yet. The movie’s not perfect, it stacks up twists and promised near-endings in the last third as they always do, perhaps to justify the screenwriter’s pay. It’s not something I understand, though I do always roll my eyes.
But as a widow with a young child, I not only felt validated by, but appreciated the perspective given by The Boys Are Back. I don’t get out much, but I’ve never seen such a sensitive portrayal of fatherhood. It’s a nice break from the usual romantic widows and widowers (cured by love!) of Sleepless in Seattle and One Fine Day. I wonder how the film will play to men. I have no idea how it can be marketed.
There are as many ways through grief as there are through any other challenge of growth, or of parenting. I wonder if those who see it will feel more compassion and less fear of those of us who’ve come so close to falling with our partners. I’d love to hear what the widowers think of the movie.
The Boys Are Back provides a refreshing view of fatherhood and a realistic glimpse into the world of a grieving family.
[Financial disclosure: I received a free ticket to the screening of the film. I bought my own Coke and paid for parking.
Content disclosure: My review is based on what I saw. I missed two minutes of the film when I went to pee.]
