The original Moana could not have arrived in cinemas at a more inopportune time. A movie about a Disney princess – weren’t they supposed to be lovelorn, male-fawning, insipid types? – who isn’t even vaguely intrigued by romantic attachments, boasts a perfectly normal body type and ultimately emerges as a leader of her ancient Polynesian people, it was released in cinemas just as Donald Trump’s presidency began in 2016, with all its inherent implications of a shift in the zeitgeist towards knuckle-headed, white supremacist, women-hating conservatism.
As a cultural marker in the sands of time, this one was up there for its gorgeous failure to mirror shifting societal winds with Blade Runner’s anti-corporate vision of post-human slavery in the dystopian future landing at the height of Reaganomics. And yet, there was something very welcome about this unorthodox tale of a brave, open-hearted young woman and her demigod comrade, who vacillates between cheery narcissism and the apologetic demeanour of one who realises they have failed themselves, their people, and ultimately decent blokedom everywhere.
