Okay, you were warned.
Preface: I knew almost nothing about this 4th Toy Story going in, except that Bo Peep was featured prominently, and that's about it.
When we got to the end, the very end (because, as usual, there are about four false endings as we have to wrap up the smaller storylines, too), when Woody decides to (gasp!) leave his child (Bonnie) to join up with Bo and her sheep, I said, "Whoa! I didn't expect that!"
And the boytoy said, "Seriously, you didn't see that coming?"
And I had to stop and think for a moment because I'm usually very good at anticipating narrative arcs and supposed "plot twists"; it generally takes a lot for a movie's plot to actually surprise me. I guess that comes from years of studying and teaching narratives and stories, but I digress.
I think I finally stumbled upon why Woody's decision came as a surprise to me: because I was focused on Bo Peep. I was so focused on her story with my inner monologue saying furiously, "Please don't let her rejoin them! Please don't let her rejoin them!" that I really wasn't paying as much attention to the very obvious layout of Woody's track, including his need for a "purpose" and/or a kid to take care of (established in the very beginning of the film).
I was watching and waiting, hoping against hope that the writers wouldn't have Bo Peep rejoin the toy-kid-family, thereby negating her own personal journey in that way that happens to so many female characters. I thought Woody would rejoin his family, leave Bo again in a bittersweet moment that showed that she couldn't just go back to her old life (and that was okay). So his move surprised me; plus, it's pretty out of character for Woody who is rather defined by his loyalty to tradition (hello, the plot to the whole first movie).
But Bo Peep's transformation from sweet love interest shepherdess to badass, staff-wielding adventurer also got me thinking, especially when I commented during the film, "Bo's gone feral!" I shouldn't have said that; "feral" was definitely not the right word. Instead I should have said, "Bo became a badass!" or even "Bo learned some survival skills!" Bo is example of what I've decided to call Tarzan Syndrome.
Some things to note right off the bat:
- This shouldn't be confused with Tarzan syndrome for kittens (and why you should adopt more than one at a time), or really with any other actual psychological condition. We're just talking literary analysis here, folks.
- I'm using Disney's 1999 animated film Tarzan as my base model.
Even if you've not seen the 1999 Disney movie (with music by Phil Collins!), you are hopefully familiar with Tarzan as a story/literary trope: male human baby is abandoned in the jungle. He is found by/adopted by/raised by gorillas in the wild and learns to communicate with them/behave like them. By the time other humans stumble upon Tarzan, he speaks almost no English or other human language, but can interact with wild animals. Basically, Tarzan is left alone in the wild, and by the time the outside world catches up with him, he has brand new bag of tricks and survival skills. He's also an adult and somewhat respected leader in his (animal) community.
Bo Peep's transformation in Toy Story 4 is an example of this: she was abandoned, left, or "lost." And by the time we (the world at large) "find" her again, she has a whole new badass skill set, many of which seem alien or foreign (or "feral") to us, and she is also in a respected leadership role in her new community (of other lost and/or "wild" toys).
The main difference, though, between Bo and the actual Tarzan story is that we don't get to see Bo's transformation. Tarzan's story is just that: his story. And the Toy Story franchises are generally Woody's (and sometimes Buzz's) stories. Even in this movie where Bo is featured prominently, her transformation and journey are relegated to a brief flashback and some exposition. We don't get to see it; we don't see her "origin story" (if you wanna put it superhero movie terms).
Bo Peep is just one in a list of "strong female characters" in (mostly) film that have Tarzan syndrome (patent pending). Here's an incomplete/in-progress list that's been playing through my head:
- Janet Van Dyne (Michelle Pfeiffer) in Ant-Man and the Wasp (2018)
- Atlanna (Nicole Kidman) in Aquaman (2018)
- Princess Leia's transformation to General Organa is almost a contender for her inclusion on this list, but not quite as no one thought she was dead; time just passed, and we were presented with her new self in Episode VII. She does (very briefly) have her time in "the wild." It's called Endor, and the Ewoks are like tiny gorillas.
- Rey in Star Wars: The Force Awakens is almost a Tarzan, except that we do get to witness her part of her story and transformation (which is why it's probably my favorite Star Wars movie, with Episode VIII in 2nd place).
Jodie Foster as Nell, Amy Acker as Fred in Angel, I would contend, are not Tarzans because they do not (initially) come back as bad-asses. They come back (or are discovered) broken, for lack of a better word. Fred eventually overcomes most of her trauma and becomes a functioning member of Team Angel (and then Illyria happens, but that's a different piece of analysis entirely). I haven't watched Nell in I don't know how many years, so I can't comment on her outcome.
An argument could almost be made for Catwoman in 1992's Batman Returns (there's Michelle Pfeiffer again!), except there are too many slight perversions on the list of requirements to put her in the category (she isn't "lost"; she's pushed out a window; she doesn't learn a new skill set so much as get some supernatural cat reflexes and characteristics; we do see her transformation).
One of the defining Tarzan Syndrome traits (since I've just decided that it's a thing) is that we don't get to see these women's transformations, and that's bad. Sadly, most of these characters are relegated to the sidelines; their discovery and re-entrance into the world is a secondary (or even tertiary) storyline to the lead (usually cishet white male) character's story and development. The women attain an almost mythical quality because they were gone (often presumed dead), and simply reappear, years later, as badasses. When we do get to see their stories (female buildingsroman, anyone?), some of the mythos is lost because we can see it happening. We get depth and details, and in exchange we lose a bit of mythical hero. And I'm okay with that.
We should be telling those stories, with their sweat and grit and hard fucking work (I mean, can you imagine the sheer trauma Janet Van Dyne endured living ALONE in the quantum realm for decades?!?!), and not just because those stories often involve awesome "getting ready" montages (I fucking love a good montage, and even not-so-good ones). And we still get badasses when we tell the stories and see what went into creating the heroine we see: please see Captain Marvel (2019), Wonder Woman (2017), Rey in Star Wars, and nearly every woman who has had to recreate herself after being abandoned.
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