Character VS Status Quo in "Encanto"
Third essay in the series: exploring the narrative of standard, identity and generational trauma in D*sney's "Encanto"
Content warnings:
familial tension and conflict;
mentions of forced immigration & refugee experience, generational trauma;
discussions of rejection and alienation of the mentally ill, discussions of OCD, obsessions and compulsions
It is time for the third entry of the Status Quo series! “Encanto” is a pretty obvious choice; too obvious, perhaps. I can only hope that considering it in the context of the previous two posts will provide a sufficiently ✨fresh✨ angle.
I’m gonna’ be very frank with you all and admit that I am only just figuring the whole “media analysis blog” format out, so I’m not quite sure what level of exposition to provide every time. Should I just assume people would not read about a piece of media they are not already familiar with? Or should I try to promote some of my favourite stories by luring people in with enticing titles, then yelling at them excitedly? Lots to ponder!
For now, though, I am going to go with my gut and assume that for D*sney feature films, basic context is available and absorbable by osmosis, so there will be much less plot recap in this one.
Let’s get started!
Disclaimer: We’re Diverting From The Intro So Much
(Feel free to skip this part if you do not care much for apologism or are only here for this one essay and not the whole series, power to you.)
“Fern, you literally started this all by ragging on capitalism and now you’re planning to talk about a family-centered narrative,” I know, but I promise it all sort of makes sense. Let’s think of the narratives we discuss as less thematically identical and more in terms of them sharing a “flavour”, and their subjects having similarly working internal structures and mechanisms. The philosophy behind metaphor the way it was conceived of by pantheistic Romantics is that all things, at the core, are the same. And that is not to say that a family story is actually an intentional metaphor for the humanity overall, but I do mean to imply that where human relationships, however distorted, are present, same values must be upheld, and same challenges will arise if we fail to do so. Much like “Chicory: A Colorful Tale”, “Encanto” deals with the themes of generational trauma, expectation, performance and identity, and an individual’s place within the community. The way these two very different narratives echo each other is quite fascinating, and can certainly inform our understanding of each individual one.
At times, I will probably have to use broad generalizing terms for the ease of drawing parallels between the different narratives we’re discussing and relating them to our socio-political realities. I hope that will not be seen as me simplifying or clinically dissecting a deeply emotional and complex family-centered story: my intention is, always, to bring the same close intimate emotional vulnerability into conversations about impersonal and depersonalizing structures.
Finally, if you’ve read the introduction post, you might remember me specifically stating that the character challenging the status quo will often hold a disabled identity. We have confirmation that one of the Madrigal Outcasts, Bruno, was written with intentional OCD coding. That is certainly relevant to the narrative and plays a huge role in Bruno’s relationship with the rest of the family.
When it comes to Mirabel, things get trickier: when in some stories, “a person without magic in a magical world” creates a lack of accessibility that can ring true to lived disabled experiences, that is not Mirabel’s case. Her unique position is defined by having been expected to be “exceptional”, yet failing to. Still, considering the place it lands her in: isolated, disregarded and seemingly perceived as completely worthless by people who anticipated a standard of performance from her, - her story still holds a lot of relevant motifs. As we consider the movie’s narrative, I will also suggest a parallel between her experience and an average experience of an autistic person, which was a fun little discovery for me!
The Madrigal Family
Let’s start with an overview of the family dynamic on the whole.
We meet the Madrigals pretty early on, on the third generation, which gives us full insight into where the core values of the family took root and how they transformed over time. The “founding” family matriarch is still present, and every generation can communicate with one another directly - except there are obvious and significant obstacles to that.
As a family, the Madrigals are fully defined by their Miracle, embodied in the Candle and imbuing the house and (almost) every family member with magic. In Alma’s understanding, those gifts are not simply gifted - they are earned, through dedication and selfless contribution to the community’s well-being. That tightly entrenched belief permeates the shared consciousness of the entire family, shaping their ideas of themselves, the world and their worth - and at the end, the Madrigals seem largely fixated on their place in the community, their public image and the standard they are expected to live up to.
“Encanto’s” combination of setting and narrative choices is very fascinating. Intentionally set in Colombia and reflecting Colombian culture, it simultaneously seems to harness an immigrant family perspective. The co-director of the movie, Charise Castro Smith, is Cuban-American, and has openly talked about how the heart of the narrative is strongly inspired by her relationship with her own grandmother, and the character of Alma is derived from the women in her own personal life. We see Alma being forced to leave her home with her newborn children; we see her husband sacrifice everything to give his family (and community) a chance to find safety, and to thrive. We see the pressure Alma, her children and grandchildren feel: the need to do something worthwhile with the precious gift of life they were given. The Madrigals and the people they led to safety are a community of refugees - subconsciously feeling like their right to safety is conditional, and like they have to work hard to hold onto their place of refuge.
Mirabel’s Character: Newcomer Perspective
Mirabel enters her environment when the status quo seems to be gaining an increasingly strong foothold. The third generation brings more and more Madrigals, more and more magical talents, and on the surface level, the family and its community seem to be flourishing.
In hindsight, we know of the already existing inner conflict and Bruno’s difficult predicament, the past tension between him and the rest of the family; but it is probably easy enough for characters to dismiss, because what the Madrigals and specifically Alma are preoccupied most with - the magic of the Candle - does not seem obviously threatened by this strained relationship.
As the surface-level signs all seem to be pointing towards the family’s growing prosperity, Mirabel’s “failed” Gift ceremony brings this growth to a sudden, unexpected halt. The unease and upheaval in the wake of it are understandable: the Madrigals have identified with their magical Gifts so strongly the latter have become an extension of their personal worth. That over-identification probably affects Alma’s grandchildren the most, too: being triplets, Pepa, Julieta and Bruno all received their Gifts at the same time, and their ceremony was the first in the Madrigal history. They weren’t brought up with the expectation to grow into a powerful and unique magic identity. In the triplets’ case, they were given the chance to be “special” before they ever became “gifted”.
With the precedent set, however, Alma’s affection towards her grandchildren is left basically with no chance of being unobstructed by expectation - not because she does not care for them beyond what they can offer, but because now, the initially loving formula (“A gift as special as you”) becomes a way for these tiny kids to measure their worth. This message of conditional “specialness” probably isn’t something they fully process on a conscious level, seeing how excited, albeit nervous, baby Mirabel seems on the day of her ceremony. But it’s undeniably there - and exposed with shocking force when she does not receive a Gift of her own. When there is an external, tangible proof and validation of one’s worth, it’s far too hard to divorce one’s self-perception and sense of identity from it.
And yet, Mirabel boldly tries to do so.
Mirabel’s arrival into the family and the unexpected course of her life offer a challenge to the status quo by asking important, essential questions: “What are we worth to each other without exceptional talents? What happens to the family if the magic ever weakens? How do we treat each other when one of us cannot contribute what is expected of them?” Her inclusion into the family is an invitation to reconnect with the truth of their care for each other outside of the framework of “work and dedication” as the only viable expression of love and gratitude. It’s a silent call to resolve the growing disparity and devastating intra- and interpersonal issues brewing under the surface. But the Madrigals, and Alma specifically, have come to associate the Candle and its magic with safety - so the “failed” ceremony is more than just a challenged expectation. On the most basic, unconscious level, it is perceived as a threat - and in a tragically ironic plot development, Alma’s desperation to make sure the threat is diverted only furthers the cracks in the family foundation and makes them more and more vulnerable.
It is against the backdrop of growing dread and hypervigilance, anxious fretting and family members driving themselves to break-down, burnout and self-sacrifice, that Mirabel takes upon the task to answer the questions the adults seem to have neglected out of fear, focusing on keeping things the way they are instead.
It’s interesting that Mirabel herself starts off ignorant of the degree of her family’s suffering and sacrifice and perceives everyone’s preoccupation with upholding the status quo as a personal rejection and neglect (quite understandably). So when she sets out on the task to help her family, it is her finding a way to make herself useful: it seems to be much more about self-determination than it is about meeting other people’s needs. We cannot blame her for that, of course: she is a teenager struggling under the weight of failed expectations, in an environment that is constructed in a way that keeps her from finding a healthy sense of identity. If anything, Mirabel’s ambition to prove herself is reflective of the entire family’s attitude: their service and dedication are “advertised” as community-oriented, but at the end, they are much more about the individual, one’s unique contribution and unique usefulness, since they are inseparably tangled up with every Madrigal’s sense of worth, self and their identity.
When Mirabel tries to answer the difficult questions of her worth and what it means, to be a family - something she by definition cannot figure out on her own, - she represents an automatic challenge to the status quo, but does not necessarily seek to challenge it herself. Still, her perspective is a “newcomer” one: she finds herself on the outside of the “gift → work” system, yet desperately tries to insert herself into it, to feel included. Not having an expected role to easily slide into, she tries to be creative, to “invent” her external worth - and that means exploring the mechanisms of something the rest of her family just takes at face value. The unconscious “gifted = special” and “magical = worthy” beliefs get beckoned into the floodlights of conscious self-exploration, with Mirabel being forced to examine these ideas in an attempt to squeeze her way into the narrow and rigid system.
In a way, we could even draw parallels between her situation and autistic masking. Just as promised! Here it comes:
Our society has a whole plethora of pre-existing expectations, rules and conditions: some productive, some neutral, some oppressive. An average allistic or just generally neurotypical person picks up on the cues of what is expected of them naturally and unconsciously, which eases their integration into the society - but creates the danger of absorbing unconscious thought patterns without any awareness of them, and not all of those patterns are going to be kind to ourselves or others, for example. An autistic person, however, is acutely aware of the fact that they do not “fit in”, and often has to meticulously study the internal mechanisms of the society in order to successfully pass as its member. The effects of such masking are devastating, and with that, we can once again observe how an inflexible social standard and a system that lacks human compassion get exposed by the intense suffering of the most vulnerable groups - and that calls attention to something that must be affecting and hurting all of us, on some level we might not even be aware of most of the time.
Then, once again, Mirabel is not aware enough of the standard being harmful at the start: she is much more focused on finding her unique place within it, while also obviously accumulating resentment. Her conflicting feelings are obvious when it comes to Antonio and his ceremony. She is both happy for him and suffering from this interpreted confirmation that the problem isn’t with the magic: it’s with her. Her relationship with the Miracle is complex, too: it seems to be what she calls out to bitterly, asking to finally be “blessed” - and at the same time, this force that seems to have for some reason excluded and neglected her is still what imbues her family house and makes it a home, alive, safe and warm. It is still something that she treasures, alongside the rest of her family members, something that symbolizes their care for one another and promises them safety; something that remains after her grandfather, who she never met but whose love she must still intensely feel.
When she overhears Alma talk to herself, learns that her Abuela knows the magic is fading, Mirabel’s response is not bitter vindication - it is compassionate grief, and determination to set things right. Instead of exposing Alma to prove she wasn’t making what she’d seen up, Mirabel decides to save the magic instead. The most genuine goal is, of course, to save her family - because the two have truly become inseparable in everyone’s minds.
On top of that, her ultimately loving act gets burdened with the underlying desire to find her own place, be the person who makes everything alright again. Quite paradoxically, our newcomer, the natural challenge to the status quo, is still operating within its values and almost seeks to uphold it.
That changes once Mirabel starts paying closer attention to her family in an attempt to understand the magic she has been excluded from more. In that, she reconnects with her real values, the most loving core of her actions - and starts prioritizing her sisters’ well-being over the status and image of her family, and by association even the magic itself. That is when her perspective becomes an actual, real challenge - and when she starts getting blamed for the unrest she is supposedly causing.
This position creates a striking parallel with the Madrigal family’s “Original Reject”: Mirabel’s Tío Bruno.
Bruno’s Character: Bearer of the Curse
Bruno’s place in the family is a fascinating one. In a way, he set the precedent for what Gifts were actually welcome, and was the first sign of the status quo setting in and gaining a tight grasp on the Madrigals and their community.
The very nature of Bruno’s Gift was antithetical to Alma’s determination to keep things controlled and within the realm of desired. He would consistently make others face the uncomfortable truth that bad things always have the possibility of happening. His prophecies would get interpreted as sentences, which stripped others of a sense of control over their futures - something that was deeply disconcerting to survivors of life-shattering events, and activated the defensive responses rooted in generational trauma.
It’s interesting that everyone in Bruno’s life tended to interpret him as almost reveling in their discomfort, as evident in his titular song. That completely overlooks not only Bruno’s suffering over how his Gift affected his family relationships, but also his very obvious, very intense OCD*.
(*I have heard the commentary on how certain details, like superstitious belief or Dolores’ squeaks, getting interpreted as signs of neurodivergency overlooks the fact that they are just casual parts of the culture. This video on Dolores’ autistic coding is a great example of a conscientious breakdown that accounts for the cultural background, while also highlighting how the character stands out against their surroundings, and how a casual cultural trait can become “absorbed” into their neurodivergent patterns and reinforced by them.
Moreover, being superstitious on its own is not evident of OCD: plenty of people would like to avoid opening their umbrella inside, for example. But constantly repeated compulsions that permeate a person’s daily experience and make it almost impossible to move through life without fixating on trying to prevent a terrifying future are the telltale mark. The specific expressions of Bruno’s obsessions and compulsions can be shaped by and sourced from his cultural experience, and cultural belief can become integrated into the specific workings of his psyche.)
Bruno is clearly not enjoying getting haunted with thoughts and signs of a terrifying future. He is obsessively trying to ward off devastating possibilities - something that could have very likely been shaped by the trauma he unwillingly triggers in everyone around him.
Bruno’s personal suffering and fear, however, go unacknowledged. His Gift causes others discomfort, and we can only guess his OCD would, as well - and at the end, others’ distress at the possibilities he brings up is greater than whatever compassion they could summon towards him. Eventually, they lose sight of that compassion entirely, letting their dread turn to frustration and unconsciously justifying their anger by assuming Bruno enjoys tormenting everyone around him: otherwise why would he continue sharing every horrible thing he foresees?
It’s crucial to keep in mind that Bruno’s Gift is also fundamentally misunderstood by his family. Triggered by the idea of a lack of control, they are resistant to the prophecies, too afraid of the image of a future set in stone, of a tragedy they would not be able to prevent. That knee-jerk emotional reaction is so intense they will not listen to his insight, won’t understand what he’s actually trying to say: that his vision is a possibility, and one past which many other possibilities exist, as well.
Let’s look at a few of the genuine prophecies he’s shared. The case with Dolores is the most simple, straightforward one: she did suffer a period of “unrequited” love, with the man she fell for being “just out of reach”. The prophecy wasn’t wrong, but it also wasn’t a sentence, because life does not simply stop at a certain event: things can evolve and change past them.
But the status quo mentality is resistant to change - and the downside of that is the inability to imagine a world of possibilities past an undesirable outcome. So Dolores was left to believe that that is all her life was going to be - without being able to internalize the notion that everything just might change at a later point.
It’s also important to point out that her love life predicament was fully rooted in the status quo: she was kept from Mariano by family expectations. Bruno was predicting the path her life would take under the specific circumstance that was being actively reinforced by his family, and the inevitability of Dolores’ heartbreak was not written in the stars but determined by her family life and dynamic. If the Madrigals allowed Bruno to question the way of things, the entire hurdle could just as easily have been avoided.
The same happens with Isabela’s prophecy. It’s strikingly telling that she undeniably interpreted his vision of a happy future as a sentence of its own. Note the leitmotif used in her part of “We Don’t Talk About Bruno”, when she sings:
“He told me that the life of my dreams
Would be promised, and someday be mine
He told me that my power would grow
Like the grapes that thrive on the vine”
It surfaces again in “What Else Can I Do?”, specifically when Mirabel sings:
“You just seem like your life's been a dream
Since the moment you opened your eyes”
The leitmotif seems indicative of deceptive appearances, perceived effortless and natural perfection that is later revealed to be a carefully constructed and suffocating front, managed at the price of one’s authenticity. The use of the leitmotif seems to imply that Isabela assumed the life “promised” to her by others and presented as something she is supposed to desire would not actually be the authentic freedom she craves.
And here, the ambiguous nature of Bruno’s prophecies strikes again. There are so many ways the wording of the prophecy can be interpreted. Maybe there is an implied contrast between a life “promised” and a life that is authentically Isabela’s, with the latter eventually replacing the former. If that is the case, Bruno could be trying to offer Isabela hope that one day, the pressures she is trapped under will fall away, and she will truly live her genuine dreams. Or perhaps the wording accommodates an intricate dance of meanings, of appearances and truth, and, just like Dolores, Isabela had to confront the objective reality of an undesirable situation, then move through it and discover that happiness is still possible, and things never have to stay set in stone.
Finally, the vision Bruno has about the family’s future, magic, Casita and Mirabel is the culmination of this subtle and complicated conflict between what he actually means and what his family fearfully assumes because of their obsession with things remaining fixed and stable.
The tragedy of Bruno’s situation is that, having lived with his future vision for a long time, he is perfectly aware of how it works - but no one else can bear to listen to him long enough for him to explain.
In the previously linked video on Dolores’ neurodivergent coding, the reviewer suggests that the Gifts are not only reflective of Madrigals’ personalities and inclinations, but are also meant to help them navigate personal challenges, including neurodivergence. In Bruno’s case, the ability to have a deep and intimate understanding that nothing is guaranteed to happen a certain way, and even if it does, we can always move past and beyond that without necessarily losing what is precious to us, could help him counteract an obsession that his entire family are doomed to inescapable overwhelming tragedy unless he preforms a compulsion (knocking on wood). His prophecies being, at the core, very open-ended and ultimately reassuring could aid his well-being greatly - except everyone else seems to take them bluntly and at face value, taking away Bruno’s chance to cope with future fears and isolating him in the process.
That seems reflective of a way that a person struggling with a morbid mental disorder can have perfect understanding of the source of their ruminations, intrusive thoughts, tendencies, obsessions, so on, but ends up completely misunderstood and emotionally rejected by their surroundings. That misunderstanding and rejection deal a harsh blow to whatever security they might’ve worked up in an attempt to remember that their mental illness is not them, does not define them, and the thoughts haunting them do not need to be trusted.
Oh, Bruno.
One great example of tragically ironic miscommunication around Bruno’s Gift that reinforces his isolation is the story of Pepa’s wedding. From what we can gather, Bruno expected his sister to know and understand the workings of his prophecies and the unique and complicated position he was taking in the family. And on her wedding day, he attempted to cope with the general rejection by leaning into his Outcast role as a way to free his sister of the responsibility to maintain a “perfect” front. It seems he was almost trying to have some morbid fun with it and invite Pepa in on the joke, signaling to her, “Hey, if this has to happen, might as well be Bruno’s fault again, right?”. As he directly states in the final song, it was an act of love and care: offering himself up as a scapegoat, as long as between the two of them, Pepa knows why he did this, and understands that he isn’t actually a walking bad omen excited to ruin her special day.
But by that point, Pepa has been fully conditioned into the general fixation on standard and appearance. It no longer feels external, imposed by someone else’s expectation, and is instead something she has internalized, so “failing” at keeping up a maintained front feels like an attack at and injury to Pepa’s own values and sense of self.
Let’s briefly look at these lines from “We Don’t Talk About Bruno” that go back to back:
[Pepa:]
It was my wedding day
[Félix:]
It was our wedding day
Note the difference in pronouns used: for Félix, the wedding is about their union, while for Pepa, it is a day that is about her - not in the sense that Félix is not important, but in the sense that the ceremony reflects onto Pepa’s character. She is less preoccupied with making it a day on which she is happy, and more with making it a day on which she seems happy, collected and content; she is a Madrigal, it is her wedding, the community’s eyes are on her, so she has to uphold the family image.
Where that lands Bruno, though, is that Pepa does not care about what is a genuine prophecy or not, and cannot appreciate him putting himself on the line to relieve her of responsibility. Avoiding responsibility would not be enough for her; instead, she needs things and herself to actually be perfect, and by stepping up, Bruno accidentally makes himself her scapegoat instead of the rest of the community’s.
The nature of Bruno’s rejection is that his family cannot bear to have something pointed out to them when it is at odds with their standard of perfection and presentation. Everyone acknowledges that Bruno’s Gift isn’t curses or hexes but prophecies - and yet, everyone hates to hear him speak as if he is manifesting the unpleasant and uncomfortable truth, not simply acknowledging the possibility of things going wrong sometimes. (Which is doubly sad in the context of Bruno’s OCD, since a lot of obsessions can center around the fear of unwilling or unconscious manifestation.)
In their trauma-induced fear and anger, the Madrigals fall prey to irrational thinking patterns: possibility becomes sentence, prophecy becomes manifestation, a soothsayer becomes a curse-worker. It is understandable and natural for them to recoil: prophecies require them to consider the possibility of their life changing, and that scares them more than anything else - so the easiest reaction is to avoid what troubles them on such a deep level altogether.
That’s how Bruno becomes an Outcast, and eventually internalizes that role himself. When his Gift becomes in some way toxic to his baby niece, when he realizes his prophecy may hurt her, he does not see a way to separate himself from his ability. If he needs to put distance between Mirabel and his Gift, that can only mean putting distance between himself and the rest of the family.
Finally meeting Mirabel gives Bruno a chance to reconsider this perception, because, much like him, she is rejected for acknowledging uncomfortable truths others would rather avoid - and she does not need any special ability to do so. That brings us to,
The Mirabel Paradox: None Power, All Fault
Mirabel is interesting in comparison to the character discussed in the previous essay: Chicory from “Chicory: A Colorful Tale”. Both of them represent a sort of “tipping point” for the growing underlying strain and overwhelm the status quo landed their respective communities in. But, unlike Chicory, Mirabel does not hold a special status or have access to a special ability; so, unlike Chicory, she also does not have the grounds to believe that the external, environmental expressions of her suffering are actually directly connected to her.
The moment the cracks show up in the movie is also the moment Mirabel comes face to face with the full weight of her anguish over the rejection she feels. It is soon enough revealed that Alma is, in fact, aware of Casita’s fracturing. But she isn’t quick to connect Mirabel to the fact, even though to the viewer the simultaneous externalizing of both Mirabel’s hurt and Casita’s weakening makes for an obvious correlation.
To the characters, though, it’s as if Mirabel is completely inconsequential and irrelevant to the family life, cannot have any power over or connection to her surroundings, just because that power and that connection are not in the realm of strictly magical.
At the same time, Mirabel gets all the blame when other family members’ hurt starts coming up to the surface. She cannot supernaturally affect the world around her, but can apparently be a powerful enough “corrupting” influence on her sisters.
In all that, however, just like Burno, Mirabel is only calling attention to what is already there - not even with the goal to expose, but simply as a way to take care of her family. She starts pursuing answers about magic because she wants to help; she does not encourage Luisa or Isabela to speak up, stand up against the pressures, challenge the older generations - she simply shows them unconditional compassion, and that gives them the rare, precious opportunity to simply be themselves. But her persistent curiosity and refusal to shy away from hard questions are antithetical to the status quo rule of “don’t think about it too hard & just go with it”.
Mirabel does, after all, offer that essential fresh “newcomer” perspective: having existed on the outside of her family life for so long, she is surprised to find out about the degree to which her sisters push themselves. That self-sacrifice is probably a point of unspoken, implied, perhaps fully unconscious solidarity between the rest of the family. Everyone else is familiar with the pressure, and so other family members’ dedication to rising to the expectation is a silent encouragement to do the same. For Mirabel, though, learning about Luisa’s burnout and exhaustion and Isabela’s fully neglected, repressed inner life and desires is a shock, a discovery that creates sudden grounds for them to relate to each other, to connect as people that are equally vulnerable, and equally in need of care and support.
Mirabel finds herself in the unfortunate position of being the most striking and constant reminder that the assumed status quo is not something that is promised, sustainable, or really everything it’s made out to be. She is concerning for others (or, more specifically, Alma) to look at, so it is easier to just push her into the background. That’s what they did with Bruno, after all - and he gave up on trying to find a place for himself in the family and let himself be trapped behind the scenes. Note the cracks he patches up from inside the walls: already there, already present, taking his constant, isolated, self-sacrificial work to mend; hidden because he agrees to remain hidden and not call attention to the things he plainly sees.
Mirabel, however, refuses to be confined to the shadows. She steps forward, hurting and impatient, she calls for something to set things right, because she clearly deserves it, she’s ready, she can prove herself if anyone gives her the time of day. As her heart cracks, the walls crack - and this time, it is on the outside, because the hurt has been brewing too long, and because Mirabel is not retreating, not giving up on her place in the light.
That is her ultimate mistake in Alma’s eyes. Mirabel purely accidentally, through the power of emotional honesty, acknowledges the most mind-numbingly terrifying truths Alma instinctively cannot bear to face. The thought of the magic being impermanent, or not controlled through tangible dedicated work to ensure it stays strong, is too much - so it cannot possibly be accepted as the truth. And so what Alma grasps for is blaming Mirabel for daring to call attention to it. Mirabel is seen as the disruption for the fact of speaking up - when in fact, she is only giving voice to the simple, even if horrifying, truth of things.
Through that, she remains tragically singled out and isolated. Alma blames her for hurting the family as if Mirabel is not part of it. At the start, she is disconnected from her family because of her perceived powerlessness, as if she could not possibly contribute anything to it. When Mirabel’s search starts uncovering the underlying issues, however, she gets blamed for her presence having too much influence on her family life. It’s especially tragic that Mirabel gets backlash for trying to insert herself back into the family and for building a real connection with her sisters. That connection and her influence on them, the connection between her state and Casita’s, ultimately reinforce the truth that she is deeply, inalienably a Madrigal, that her state and her relationship with her family members affect all of them. But with the backlash she faces, the message at the end of it is that her connection is not actually welcome, since it does not fit into the picture of how things are “supposed” to be. Even when asserting her place in her immediate circle, Mirabel is not seen as a part of it - and so it is easy to single her out and see her as the root of the problem, not one of the people suffering from it.
All of that seems like a tragically self-fulfilling version of Bruno’s original prophecy about his niece and the future of the family. Because, the way I personally see it, that prophecy was not actually meant to put Mirabel at the center of the problem and imply that she has to be the one to solve it, to “save the magic”; instead, it was much more likely a message to all of the adults around her, urging them to show up for her in her full vulnerability - and through that, show up for themselves, as well.
Love: Gifted, Not Earned
Let’s consider the nature of the Miracle. Born out of Pedro’s sacrifice, it is very clearly tied to him through the butterfly motif; it is his spirit and his love persevering, transcending death to continue keeping his family safe. The Miracle, Pedro’s gift, is just that - love, given freely, not for any accomplishment, not coaxed out of his heart through dedication. It is a gift of life that everyone inherently deserves, it is unconditional, all-encompassing love that needs nothing from the loved ones but themselves.
The implications of that permeate the language Alma uses: “gift”, something given lovingly and freely, “miracle” and “magic” - something that needs no reason or explanation, cannot be rationalized or controlled, happens sporadically and in incomprehensible, wonderful ways. And yet, paradoxically, she still tries to earn it, still seeks to control it to make sure it never leaves - because there has been too much sudden, inconsolable loss in her family’s life already.
Still, that doesn’t change the true nature of the Miracle: the love the Madrigals all share for one another. That is the source and the purpose of it, and the Gifts and the life that imbues Casita are external expressions of this miracle of deep, unconditional care.
Ironically and tragically, that same love gets twisted out of its natural shape by Alma’s fear of losing what is dearest to her.
A heart-aching symbolic representation of this is the scene in which Mirabel first sees the cracks for herself, reaches for a broken plate and cuts her hand. Imagine living in a sentient omniscient house that loves you and is moved by the desire to keep you safe; how many times did Casita prevent kids from bonking their heads or scraping their knees, or turned the stairs into a slide so that they don’t hurt themselves tumbling down them? And then, suddenly, in a moment of weakness, this safe, nurturing place loses control of itself and accidentally hurts you with its sharp, broken edges. Something that was always meant to keep Mirabel safe cannot stop itself from hurting her, because it is being torn apart by issues too horrifying to face.
That scene, among other things, establishes Mirabel’s place in the family and how the rest of them have tragically, unwillingly failed her. She is part of the family Madrigal, through and through, affecting their connections with each other and affected by them; and what the rest of the family was supposed to give her was constant, unfailing affirmation of her belonging, a vocal expression of their unconditional love. Because Mirabel is loved - otherwise, she would not have made the impact that she did.
“All Of Me”
As a general disclaimer, this is not to parrot the “Your family always loves you no matter what” sentiment, which is untrue and alienating to oh so many. But “Encanto” is, intrinsically, a story of love: how after trauma, it can get twisted to the point it turns against itself; a story of what we lose when we lose track of it, and how we can find our way back to it and each other, as long as we remember why our loved ones truly matter to us. That is represented in Casita: the warmest, most nurturing and poetic idea of a home, a place of unconditional love and care, a shelter; it’s represented in how that home fractures and crumbles under stress, heartbreakingly, and how it’s rebuilt, because the love that imbued it never went away.
As it tends to happen with Bruno’s prophecies, even when things physically, literally fall apart, it is not the end. The Tower symbolism referred to in the previous essay is very poignant here, too - except Casita is not the rigid structure of the status quo that has fallen, and is instead a representation of how much of the family’s sense of safety, security and identity was pinned onto an artificial idea of excellence. Still, though, there is the option to rebuild - and the tragedy, however unnecessary, still has valuable lessons to offer.
With the world the Madrigals have gotten used to falling apart , the flaws of the status quo finally get fully exposed; moreover, the characters now exist in the tangible material reality that persists beyond it. They are living the objective truth that life can go on beyond the one shape they’ve known it to take. And with that, they can rebuild with the new awareness of what is actually important, what has really kept them safe and close. With every stone they carry, they get in touch with what truly makes up their family home. The foundation wasn’t faulty; they don’t have to give up on what matters to them to let go of the artificial idea of it that has been hurting them. The real miracle is all of them, in their objective reality, present and loving each other. And that includes Mirabel, undeniably and fully.
The final song uses one of the movie’s central leitmotifs: “Open your eyes”. The meaning of it shifts as the narrative progresses and characters get more and more introspective insight.
First, Alma invites Mirabel to open her eyes to the light of the Candle as she tells her granddaughter the story of their family. She is inviting Mirabel into the knowledge of her inherent worth, into the idea of being “special” - and asks her to perceive her own obvious bright light. Later, Mirabel echoes the sentiment back at Alma, pleading for her to open her eyes to everything Mirabel feels capable of doing for the family, Gift or no Gift. As mentioned before, though, her determination is still fully dependent on finding some sort of tangible worth: she cannot be magical, but she can still do something great.
At the end, Alma invites Mirabel to open her eyes once again - asking what she sees. Mirabel answers: “All of me”. Her self-identification has progressed beyond a specific contribution, beyond the idea of defined worth. Just she herself is what’s important - because it was not just her actions that helped her family heal. It was the simple and natural act of her belonging, and the work others did to recognize that.
There would be nothing Mirabel could do to make Alma see the error of her ways if Alma didn’t love and care for her already. Mirabel is able to play her part in the story because she is unconditionally loved - and that truth was never going away. She was not to “deserve” that love - that is antithetical to the care one’s family owes to them. She was simply to be herself.
In “Encanto’s” narrative, the love is there, always present - and that’s what makes connection worth saving. And at the end, the journey is never one of proving one’s worth - the journey is of coming back to it, of compassion, recognizing the other’s pain, and rediscovering your love for them. Mirabel and Isabella did that for each other, and Alma did that for the rest of the family.
So at the end, that is the cure. Surpassing a limiting identity imposed on us by a rigid structure of desperate control. Reconnecting with the objective reality and all it holds: our connection, our compassion and care for each other, our place in our community and the unconditional love we are all endlessly capable of giving each other on the grounds of our shared humanity. Redefining our values: what we actually seek to preserve, and whether systems of control are worth maintaining if they end up hurting us and what we genuinely care about. Moving past the illusion that the status quo is the only way for things we love to be protected, and seeing what sort of world we can build together, with every one of us heard, empowered and endlessly reassured of their inherent right to exist as a part of the collective, and to be cared for.
I like to think of a family as something we define for ourselves, and something that can expand endlessly as we find unconditional love, acceptance and safety in our relationship with others. I would love to see entire communities operating on familial terms: with compassion and inalienable belonging at the very core of them, and always there to rediscover and come home to, whatever external challenge arises. That really sounds like a future worth striving for.
And with that, the “Character VS Status Quo” series goes on a hiatus until the rest of *drum roll* “The Owl House” gets released! I’m gonna’ go a bit feral with that one once it’s time.
Until then, there will be other lengthy rambles to fill your inboxes, so tune in next time for a breakdown of Gnostic symbolism in “We Know The Devil”! This one is for all of you victims of Catholic guilt out there. (That is unless I watch “Wendell & Wild” and realize I really need to yell about that first.)
Take care, and a have a lovely day!