Writing Analysis, Writing Craft
‘Frozen II: Into the Unknown’ Was a Masterpiece
Why is it so hard for me to write this?: I, a grown woman, love Frozen.
I love Anna. I love Elsa. I love Olaf and Kristoff and Sven and Iduna and the trolls. I love all the characters and the world they inhabit, their oft misguidedly expressed but always devout love for one another.
I saw the movie. Then the second. I saw the musical during its infuriatingly short-lived time on Broadway. With my Disney+ subscription I’ve rewatched Frozen Summer and all of Olaf’s goofy short films — all the fan service intended for kids.
When I visited Disneyworld last winter, I explicitly requested an Elsa FastPass card.
Frozen II: Into the Unknown was polarizing, something I would have never expected as I sat in my chair looking up at the big screen in awe — twice.
SNL has a great skit on how Frozen II’s plot was “terrible.” The movie was notoriously snubbed for an Oscar.
When describing the movie, I like to use the word “ambitious.” I don’t blame people for not getting it. It was goddess origin story akin to that of Hercules, something we’ve never seen before from Disney animation — except in Hercules.
What are you talking about? you might ask. Mulan was a verifiable badass; we got to see her blossom from wily, awkward troublemaker to confident, competent warrior. Woody may have been a leader within Andy’s room, but Buzz’s arrival, and later Forky’s kidnapping, forced him to step up as a leader outside his known world.
But the distinction between god/goddess origin story and other hero origin stories is important.
God/goddess origin stories require mythical trials. It seems like no matter where in the world you grew up, we all learned about Greek and Roman mythology. Only recently have we (outside of specific circles) started paying attention to Nordic mythology, courtesy of Chris Hemsworth’s portrayal of Thor.
Elsa’s transformation into a demi-goddess draws on the same mythology that gave birth to Thor. Like Iron Man, she is restless, constantly pulled towards a higher state of the world and herself, though she may not know what that looks like. Like Captain America, she is stupidly good — sometimes to the detriment of those around her.
I have a hypothesis for why audiences couldn’t suspend disbelief when a blonde Norwegian girl followed the same trajectory as their favorite Avengers.
But let’s focus on what’s important: the movie was awesome, and a great exercise in writing.
(Spoilers ahead)
Change and Transformation in ‘Frozen II’
Improving on the first movie, none of the story arcs in Frozen II rely on an objectively evil outsider. In Frozen I, the main antagonist was fear — of Elsa, including Elsa’s fear of herself. Hans and the people of Whiselton piggybacked on this fear and exploited Arrendelians while they were distracted.
In Frozen II, the main antagonist is the unknown: why is the forest enchanted? Why is it beckoning Elsa and threatening Arrendele? The brilliance of Frozen II is that the main antagonist is also the main promise and theme: how can we uncover the unknown and what will we find if we do?
By throwing herself into the unknown, Elsa not only drags Anna and everyone else along with her, but more importantly, she prompts growth and transformation for all.
(A quick word: you might think Elsa and Anna’s grandfather is an objectively evil outsider, but he’s really a part of that unknown: What exactly did he do that fateful day the enchanted forest became locked? Through his deceitful actions, he causes the unknown: Why is the forest locked, is it malicious, and what can the sisters do to save their kingdom?)
Everything in Frozen II feeds into the theme of change and transformation. For starters, the story takes place in fall, and falling leaves are a recurring motif throughout the opening sequence. As the leaves change color and winter approaches again, Elsa is no longer able to resist the voice that calls out to her: a mournful, hopeful cry that beckons her somewhere north, into the unknown.
Despite being comfortable, happy, and satisfied, Elsa needs more to find true fulfillment and enlightenment. This is a woman who spent her childhood denying and fearing her own magic, a large part of who she is. After having embraced and harnessed the power, she feels a sense of longing as she quietly asks herself: is she alone? Where did her power come from? After having been (self-)quarantined for so long, she’s thankful to even walk among non-magical folks in Arrendele, and yet as her power grows, the castle walls of Arrendele feel more and more constricting.
How many of us feel the same? Even with a job, a loving family, supportive friends — how many of us feel a call towards something different, something greater?
Elsa’s mythical quest for self-actualization runs parallel with Kristoff’s more common quest to express himself, namely by popping the question, “Will you marry me?” Throughout the movie, Kristoff struggles to propose to Anna, in part due to his blundering uncouthness, and in part due to Anna’s distraction with protecting her older sister. He struggles with his inability to express his many emotions: loving Anna, feeling abandoned by her, yet understanding and supporting her mission to protect her sister and her kingdom. The movie ends with a proposal, an almost too-perfect ending that makes you roll your eyes and clutch your heart at the same time.
If you go over the soundtrack, you’ll find that songwriting gods Kristen Anderson-Lopez and Bobby Lopez graced us with a deleted song in which Anna ends up proposing to Kristoff. The song is well-written, but I’m glad Kristoff got to pop the question without musical fanfare. The greatest celebration is that he finally got to voice his emotions, and that Anna gleefully, tearfully said “Yes!”
Olaf, the most fragile of the group structurally speaking (because he melts), is magically cast with permafrost, making him immortal. Yet he, too, transforms with age. It quickly becomes obvious that the talking snowman is the equivalent of an eloquent five-year-old. As he starts to confront more and more questions about life and existence, his emotional range also grows to incorporate more than giddy happiness.
Olaf’s emotional growth spurs Anna’s, which is not surprising given that Olaf is a stand-in for Anna. He was, after all, dreamt into being by childhood Anna’s goofy, fun-loving self. (The fact that Elsa created him at all after she banished herself shows how much she missed her sister.)
Let’s face it: Anna carried Arrendele on her back in Frozen. Why would we expect any less of her in the sequel?
Frozen II is Anna’s coming-of-age story. Through hardship and trial, Anna transforms from a content optimist with separation anxiety (I mean, she lost both her parents and almost lost her older sister to her evil ex-boyfriend) to a woman who can climb towards the next right thing despite crippling despair. A leader who is willing to risk herself to magical forces for the greater good of truth and justice.
Anna’s powers may not be magical, but for that, they are just as, if not more, wondrous: strength, resilience, dog-headed persistence, and undying love and loyalty. Plus, some sitar-swinging fighting chops and axe-throwing, giant-taunting quick thinking.
It doesn’t detract from Elsa to elevate Anna to the same stature. Think of them as two ends of a bridge that are on the same level.
Change and transformation permeate the soundtrack, too: all the songs are wonderfully bizarre, using unconventional scales and rhythms, with well-timed key and time signature changes. The scales and rhythms draw you in and make you go, “What did I just hear?” The changes throw you off kilter and feel like puzzle pieces falling into place.
The songwriters were ambitious with the songbook, confronting despair with unadorned language and throwing in a tongue-in-cheek homage to 80s rock. Even I hated that latter song, “Lost in the Woods,” when I first heard it; I thought it was indulgent and a sign the songwriters had gotten too comfortable. It quickly became one of my favorites afterwards, especially the rendition by Weezer.
For all the gales and flames bursting through the soundtrack, the songs are strung through with a common motif, much like how all the story elements are tied to the theme of transformation and change.
At the end of the movie, Anna ends up the rightful queen of Arrendele, Anna embraces her purpose as the fifth element that binds the four elements, and the two accept their role as the bridge between humans and nature. Kristoff and Anna end up engaged, and Olaf ends up accepting the full range of his emotional capacity, while retaining his usually sunny persona. They come back home transformed, yet more themselves than before.
