Inga’s Movie Review Corner: Frozen (Disney, 2013)

Now I’m no expert on Disney Princesses. I was nine before I saw my first ever Disney Princess movie: Beauty & the Beast at the now defunct Cairns Five Cinemas. I think I enjoyed it, but to be honest I was probably more enraptured with the size of the screen than with the magic of Belle, considering our TV at the time was a tiny 8″ bug zapper. To this day, I haven’t seen Cinderella, Snow White, The Little Mermaid, Sleeping Beauty, Mulan, Pocahontas, Lion King…in fact just about every movie available for children in the 90’s, because turning on the VCR involved cranking up the diesel generator, and one does not turn on the generator simply to watch a movie. I suspect this is why, as a childfree 31-year-old, my DVD collection looks like this:

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So while I don’t have the relevant viewing experience to verify the claim, Frozen supposedly represents a new era for Disney because for once, the Princess saves her own arse and doesn’t marry a bloke she met three minutes ago. Also, the “true love” trope takes an unexpected turn when the protagonist falls in love with her own sister. Or realises the strength of familial loyalty, or something. I dunno, I was too busy swishing my hair and flinging open doors and drawling “the cold never bothered me anyway.”

Anyway, I had trouble getting on board the whole thing because:

a)      I don’t buy the “sisterly love” angle. Elsa was a horrible big sister. Your parents die in a horrific boating accident, and you can’t drag your emo arse out of your bedroom to comfort your baby sister? Poor Anna’s been asking you to come out and play for like, ten years, and she’s been wearing the same clothes since she was six, for Pete’s sake. And when you finally deign to notice her, you cock-block her new boyfriend and then try to kill her. Twice. That’s not love; that’s some Gallagher-level bitchery right there.

b)      Disney finally points out how silly it is to fall in love with a guy you’ve just met. However it’s perfectly acceptable to fall in love with one you met 24 hours before, especially if he respects the fact that you already have a boyfriend and doesn’t try to stick his hand down your blouse. That, my girls, is TRUE LOVE – not common courtesy, basic decency or anything so mundane.

c)       Elsa should’ve died. Or the snowman should’ve died. Or the reindeer. Somebody should’ve died – seriously, there’s not enough death in kid’s movies any more. I’m pissed off that an entire generation will grow up never knowing the heart-wrenching anguish we felt when Artax gave in to the sadness.

Despite my quibbles, I’m not ashamed to admit I’m completely obsessed with the soundtrack:

What woman hasn’t wanted to strut through the halls of her imaginary ice-mansion, wearing a cape and negligee, mincing her malnourished hips and belting out the virtues of being gay yourself in a voice surprisingly unaffected by the temperature, altitude, and the fact that she just scaled a goddamn mountain?

If you’re having a shit day, just sing that last chorus. Go on.

Hello, my name is Inga and I’ll be your weather girl today.

I’m reluctant to make light of cyclones because they’re often catastrophic, and having grown up in the Tropics I have more than a passing respect for their potential. On the other hand, North Queenslanders often evince a discrepant pride in these furious seasonal visitors, which often brings communities together in ways both heartwarming and amusing. Here’s Daryl, Andy and Mick, after Cyclone Yasi in 2011 (photo credit: Herald Sun):

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Our current leading lady, Cyclone Ita, made landfall around 10pm last night at Cape Flattery, after being downgraded from a Category 5 to a breezy Category 4. She promptly took out the weather station (the last recorded wind gust was 135km/hr) and tore the roof off the West Coast Pub. I’d put money on which incident affected the locals the most.

A couple of lads styling themselves as the Oz Cyclone Chasers headed up to Cooktown to document the event, and frankly did a stellar job keeping both the locals and their distant loved ones updated on social media. They subsequently found themselves stranded in Cooktown by flooded waterways, and have since been unable to stalk their gusty girlfriend as she wends her way south east. Their Facebook page is worth a look, if you’re interested in seeing some of the mental storm footage local residents have been capturing.

As I type, she’s been downgraded to a Category 1 and it’s still a couple of hours before she travels between the coast and GOF Manor. Dad tells me they had 12 inches of rain today, and looking at the radar they’re still weathering (har!) a fair sprinkling. The wind will give them a bit of a lashing overnight, but hopefully it won’t be anything that puts my inheritance at risk. At the most they may be facing yet another nursery rebuild, debris clean-up, and some minor road resurfacing. Unfortunately, cyclone clean-ups usually render one or both of my parents incapacitated, because they insist on climbing things, standing under falling things, walking on slippery things, ricocheting branches into things and carrying multiple wheelbarrows full of heavy things. Someone should remind them they LIVE FORTY KILOMETRES FROM THE NEAREST HOSPITAL AND ONE OF YOU DOESN’T DRIVE AND THE AMBULANCE PROBABLY DOESN’T HAVE FOUR WHEEL DRIVE AND MAYBE STOP STRESSING OUT YOUR DAUGHTER YOU MANIACS. Ahem.

Anyway, the upshot is they’re fine at the moment – although GOF was almost in mortal danger when he nearly forgot their 34th wedding anniversary today. Fortunately he keeps a warm bottle of Moscato in his workshop for such occasions.