The last warm rays of the sunset sparkled and shimmered through the droplets of chlorine-infused water. My fluttering feet had splashed up into the air–suspending, if just for a moment–in that beautiful, blissful moment when an overwhelming sea of blue rushed and rippled over my streamlined body as I swam in my neighborhood pool. Oh, how I adored those long, languid and blazing hot Virginia summer days, when the tendrils of time seemed stretched taut like the tug-of-war rope in summer camp sessions, when every thought of school was actively pushed to the farthest corners of my mind, when I spent almost every evening at the local pool, swimming and playing mermaids until exhaustion.
I felt free, liberated by the soothing caress of the water lapping at my sun kissed skin. Nothing above the waves mattered–the underwater was quiet, tranquil. Only a small amount of noise penetrated the surface from the chattering parents, bickering siblings, or the consistent kicks of a swimmer making their turns in the lane.
I mimicked scenes from The Little Mermaid, which I had watched in the summer camp aftercare room earlier that day
I swam further, deftly molding my body to slide underneath the ropes dividing the open pool and the deep end, my final destination. The more I swam, the farther the world receded. My legs morphed into a strong conical tail, a twinkling verdant green, propelling me forwards. My lungs swelled, as I vainly attempted to swim underwater without coming up for air. I mimicked scenes from The Little Mermaid, which I had watched in the summer camp aftercare room earlier that day — where the calming whirr of the fan was all that reverberated off the walls, and where my peers and I sat, enraptured.
As the water streamed through my curls, as they pillowed down my back, I grinned and thought maybe I could comb my hair with a fork, too.
I wasn’t just like Ariel in the pool, I was Ariel. Or so, I imagined.
Here I’d stay afloat, either with neighborhood friends or alone, imagining the vivid narrative of my deep-sea kingdom that I was duty-bound to protect. Pulling me from my reverie, the whistle from the disillusioned student life guard sounded at five minutes to eight. Alas! The pool had to close for the night, so I abandoned my Ariel aspirations until the next day.
I had excitedly looked up information about trailers, the cast, etc. but I was not fully prepared to discover the onslaught of controversy that this movie has recently created in popular culture.
In anticipation of Disney’s upcoming The Little Mermaid adaptation, set to release in theaters over Memorial Day weekend in May, I had excitedly looked up information about trailers, the cast, etc. but I was not fully prepared to discover the onslaught of controversy that this movie has recently created in popular culture. Ever since the 2019 announcement that Halle Bailey, singer, songwriter and actress extraordinaire, was cast as the titular character of the film, there has been an uproar of online backlash about the fact that a Black woman is playing Princess Ariel (#notmyAriel), first conceived to be white and red-headed in the original animated movie.
This raises the bigger, perhaps more significant question, of why have we fallen so deeply and irrevocably in love with the fictional characters of our childhood? Is it because we’re able to see ourselves in those stories, because we’re continually trying to bring back just the smallest teaspoon of magic to our world from theirs?
So to anyone who critiques the casting of Halle Bailey, let me say a few words first:
- Simply put, The Little Mermaid is a fictional tale, and therefore a fictional film. The genre of fiction, and especially concerning adaptation of narratives is structurally designed to support change and revision. Besides, from Hans Christian Andersen’s original tale, haven’t we changed a lot of the darker parts in order to fit our own modern sensibilities? How can the skin color of a mermaid provoke such pandemonium on twitter threads, but no one is talking about how there is a singing fish and crab? A.K.A the best dynamic duo: Flounder and Sebastian! And, who can doubt the angelic voice of Bailey in the teaser trailer?
- In this film, race shouldn’t matter. Princess Ariel’s character can speak to the heart of the story regardless of appearance. Director of the film, Rob Marshall, is even quoted in this EW article: “He stresses there was "no agenda" when casting Ariel for The Little Mermaid. "We just were looking for the best actor for the role, period. The end," he remarks. "We saw everybody and every ethnicity." The goal was to find someone who can be "incredibly strong, passionate, beautiful, smart, clever," and with "a great deal of fire and joy," Marshall describes.
- Look at the initial positive reception of this movie and the good it’s doing! There is an entire twitter thread of adorable reactions of young Black girls to the teaser, which has 104 million views, and Disney Parks issued a casting call for a look alike Ariel based on the new movie. Halle Bailey’s casting as Ariel reopened up a critical conversation about representation in popular media, questioning what it means to feel seen, which we need to keep in mind long after the film’s release.
The best part about having a favorite childhood story is that as we grow up, our interpretations of the narrative grow with it. Disney movies, and especially Disney remakes always spark public debate, but the insensitive hate this casting choice has garnered is simply uncalled for. I’ve always loved Ariel’s story in The Little Mermaid and this corrosive controversy should not tarnish the beautiful adaptation that this film promises. Instead, I eagerly await those precious summer days, when all at once, the memories of a mermaid come rushing back.
