Movie magic

                                                                                                Disney image via IMDB

When Oscar nominations were announced Tuesday morning, “Encanto” was a foregone conclusion in the animation category. Smart money's betting on it to win the whole thing.

The reasons are simple. It comes from Disney, the entertainment behemoth that literally wrote the book when it comes to cartoons. With the acquisition of Pixar and Marvel, the corporation has expanded beyond Walt Disney's wildest dreams of shaping young imaginations into his own magic kingdom.

In Walt's day when I was a kid, “Someday my prince will come,” pretty much said it all. That would cost lots in therapy bills in ensuing years for little girls who grew up with Disney dreams.

Following its founder's death in 1966, the Disney company spent several years floundering, unable to navigate those a-changin' times, paralyzed by the question, “What would Walt do?”

The studio didn't come back to life until its new bosses realized they would have to do things differently. Forget waiting for the prince. Forget the prince, period. Beginning with “The Little Mermaid” in 1989, the studio started replacing its helpless damsels awaiting their heroes' arrival with strong, smart empowered little feminists who realized they'd have to save themselves, along with everyone else in the story before the final fade-out.

Picking a setting rich with cultural traditions is the only variable in the current Disney paradigm. And whether the action takes place above or below sea level.

On first glance, “Encanto” seems stamped by the same cookie cutter. The title translates to “charmed” or “enchanted,” and the action takes place in the Columbian village of San Basilio de Palenque. In these picturesque surroundings, Mirabel Madrigal (Stephanie Beatriz) is the only member of her family who, for reasons unknown, doesn't receive a magical power on her special birthday. 

Her sister Luisa is super strong. Cousin Dolores hears everything. Pepa can make it rain with her moods. Antonio communicates with animals. Isabella makes plants bloom, and is otherwise, just, well, perfect. Bruno displayed clairvoyance before he disappeared … but we don't talk about Bruno.

Led by stern matriarch Abuela Alma (Maria Cecilia Botero), the Madrigals reside in a colorful hacienda that has enchanted powers, and a personality, of its own. It's framed by lush tropical foliage and purple mountains in the distance. Being a Disney production, everyone in their village is liable to break into song on a moment's notice.

The Columbian setting is a reminder that the film's brand of magic isn't pure fantasy so much as the magical realism that influenced so many Latin-American novelists in the last century. Indeed, the storyline is heavier on psychology than on themes more suited to audiences of children. While there's nothing inappropriate or particularly scary for young viewers, the film's writing and cast of characters will provide richer pleasures for their parents.

Along with Beatriz's spunky performance, “Encanto's” secret ingredient – its real magic – comes in the songs of Lin-Manuel Miranda. The film's “We Don't Talk About Bruno” has become a huge, and hugely unexpected, breakout hit on the music charts. Just as his “Hamilton” revolutionized Broadway, Miranda's salsa-inflected dance groove and clever rap lyrics are now injecting some badly needed new blood into Disney's musical algorithms. The fact that “We Don't Talk About Bruno” is an ensemble piece shared by the cast members demonstrates what a lovable clan they are. 

“Bruno” has even eclipsed “Frozen's” immortal earworm “Let It Go” in popularity. It would have been an obvious choice for a Best Song Oscar if only the studio had the foresight to push it, rather than Miranda's more generic “Dos Oruguitas” for the prize.

But “Bruno's” chart-topping performance has cultural commentators wondering if there's some underlying meaning in its runaway success. I've got my theory. At one point in the story Mirabel is accused of being in denial about being shortchanged her magic. She denies it of course. But as it turns out, she's not the only one in the family with something to hide. Despite their supposedly charmed lives, all the Madrigals are suffering from insecurity as they try to fulfill the requirements of their special powers. 

Only Bruno (John Leguizamo) spoke truths, a dubious distinction that no one in the village could handle. This sent him into hiding before Mirabel's story even begins.

The lighthearted “We Don't Talk About Bruno” is a catchy act of trying to whistle past the graveyard of everyone's hidden fears, just under the surface of their brave facades.

Likewise, truth be told, “Encanto” is playing to an audience in its own state of denial, a shared mass depression heightened by the double whammy of a two-year pandemic and an unprecedented threat to our democracy. If we can just sing a happy little song, maybe we can shake the sense that life as we used to know it will never be again.

The threat to our democracy, and to our sense of reality, comes, ironically enough from an individual suffering from a psychological disorder known as “magical thinking.” It's a clinical term for a delusion that believes it can impose its own insanity on the world through sheer willpower. 

But we don't talk about him …