How Evil Uses Disability as a Crutch: How the Disabled Villain Found its Place in Animation.

Media has long taught us that images of beauty are to be admired and respected, and in no medium does this seem more true than animation. Disney’s beautiful princesses represent the epitome of moral purity through their delicate, graceful physiques (Bell, 1995) – but by extension, the opposite must also be true. It is through ugliness – and therefore 'otherness’ – that evil is picked out, and what better way to mark a villain than literally, with a visible, physical disability. While modern perceptions and representations of disability are less overt in their othering nature than in the days of freak shows (Garland Thomson, 2000), much of the negative sentiment still exists in today’s media. From the Bible to Shakespeare, to modern blockbusters such as Legendary Pictures’ Detective Pikachu (2019), disability has long been used as an easy signifier of evil:

While this issue has been explored repeatedly within the realms of both literature (Margolis & Shapiro, 1987), and live action film (Longmore, 2003), there is little written on its use in animation. Animation, by its very nature, is a highly visual, constructed medium: every character, every frame of an animated film must be created from scratch. This, in turn, allows great emphasis and exaggeration to be placed upon the animated body, and how it reflects a character’s identity (Batkin, 2017, p. 129).

This essay aims to explore the reasoning behind the deeply interlinked images of disability and evil, and how these depictions have been popularised and exaggerated within animation. Fear of the other, as discussed by Peter Burke in Stereotypes of Others (2001), and Sander L. Gilman in Difference and Pathology: Stereotypes of Sexuality, Race and Madness (1985) provides a strong argument for this link between physical disability and moral failure, but it cannot show the whole picture. Stephen T. Asma (On Monsters: An Unnatural History of our Worst Fears, 2009) and Martin Norden (The Uncanny Relationship of Disability and Evil in Film and Television, 2007) both examine concepts of the ‘monstrous’ and its relationship to both disability and fear. Much like Norden, Paul Longmore expands on this relationship as a visual metaphor in his landmark essay Screening Stereotypes: Images of Disabled People in Television and Motion Pictures (2003), introducing the idea that “deformity of the body symbolises deformity of the soul.” (p. 133). In relation to animation, Jane Batkin discusses the way that the body becomes an external metaphor for many internal processes within a character, both constructing and being constructed by identity (Identity in Animation, 2007, pp. 128-130). Similarly, Elizabeth Bell discusses how the imagery used to create animated characters is formed from layers of meaning, each lending their own weight to the final messages portrayed by the design (1995, pp. 109-110).

Fear of the other

Images of evil are often built from images of the cultural ‘Other’ – antagonists in animated films are often racially or sexually charged, seen in Jafar’s darkened skin and hooked nose (fig. 1) in Disney’s Aladdin (1992), and the use of drag queen Divine as reference for Ursula’s character (Sells, 1995, p. 182) in The Little Mermaid (1989). However, Disney is not the first nor the only proponent of this unfortunate trope: the idea of a homogenised and dangerous ‘Other’ has long existed in the studies of culture and identity.

Sander Gilman argues that these harsh binaries of “us” verses “them” are built early on in life (1985, pp. 17-18), providing the necessary framework to develop and validate ideas of selfhood: we create mental images of the ‘Other’ in order to “set them apart from ourselves.” (p. 15) This, in turn, allows a sense of distance between the safety and comfort of the self, and the anxiety and lack of control of the ‘Other’. Gilman suggests that it is from this early stage of personal development that all stereotypes are given life, inextricably linking them to these very anxieties (p. 17). Similarly, Peter Burke discusses the way that images and ideas of others, or the ‘Other’, are often built as a direct opposite to the culture that is creating and perceiving them. (2001, p. 124) Burke argues that images of others cannot be separated from those that create them, as they are formed from and remain inextricably linked to the creator’s “gaze”: a filter formed by their point of view that “expresses attitudes of which the viewer may not be conscious, whether they are hates, fears or desires.” (pp. 125-126) In the context of images of disability as created from the ‘abled-gaze’, disabled people are often assumed to be in a constant state of self-pity or self-hatred, so-called ‘Bitter Cripples.’ (Nelson, 1994, p. 8) The idea of turning this presumed hatred towards outward sources does therefore not seem so out of the way to the abled viewer – thus beginning the creation of the disabled villain.

Much as racist and homophobic images stem from a deep-rooted fear of the other, so too do these ableist depictions of villainy. Stereotypes are a long-discussed element in the creation of images of the ‘Other,’ built from shortlists of exaggerated traits and beliefs about a person or culture. (Hall, 2013, p. 247) Elizabeth Bell likened these collections of images to ‘pentimentos:’ layers of paint produced over time, (1995, pp. 108-109) with each new image building upon the previous. It is likely from Burke’s idea of the ‘gaze’ that these images are birthed.

Stereotypes are often created from a position of power, used as a tool to define the prestigious ‘Us’ from the persecuted ‘Them,’ stated by Hall to be “part of the maintenance of social and symbolic order.” (2013, p. 248) People with disabilities have long been considered the world’s largest minority group, facing largescale discrimination across time and place: “the dominant ideology of our society does not treat people with disabilities as it treats the able-bodied majority.” (Harnett, 2000, p. 28) From this standpoint it is no wonder that a range of insidious stereotypes have been built to represent disability.

As Richard Dyer proclaims, “The effectiveness of stereotypes resides in the way they invoke a consensus.” (2002, p. 14) Their power forms from the way that they are repeated across media, forming a single, instantly recognisable image to the viewer. These images become visual shorthands, used to convey information to the audience in a quick and convenient fashion: “Consider the ease of signalling good vs. evil by the addition of a hook, peg-leg or eye patch.” (Lewis, 2000, p. 94) Consider Captain Hook’s eponymous disfigurement (Peter Pan, 1953), or Tempest Shadow’s menacingly shattered horn (My Little Pony: The Movie, 2017)(fig. 2).

Burke argues that prejudiced representations of the ‘Other’ are used to villainise those seen as outside the cultural norm, creating “monsters” (2001, p. 126) of them in order to validate a cultural sense of self and superiority. Brought to its classic extreme, this process can result in instances such as the ancient Greek ‘monstrous races’ – fantastical beings imagined to live in far-off countries and cultures (pp. 126-128). In a modern context, however, where do we draw the line between the so-called monstrous one-legged ‘Sciopod’ and an amputee? What separates the idea of the diminutive race of ‘Pygmies’ from those with Dwarfism? These hazy distinctions between friend and foe, person and monster, are key to understanding the cultural link between disability and evil.

Fear of the Monstrous

The term ‘Monster’ is one seeped in cultural and emotional weight. Used to signify our worst fears, the most unimaginable and inhuman concepts we can conjure, it is by its very definition a source of evil and trepidation to the modern viewer. Turning back the clock, however, this word was first used to describe those living with physical and developmental disabilities (Asma, 2009, p. 32) (Bogdan, 1982, p. 32).

Nowadays, monsters are the true face of evil: Nazis, murderers, things that go bump in the night- all fall under this banner. Asma argues that a monster can be formed from something inhuman, unthinkable, or unmanageable (pp. 24-30), regardless of whether it is a tangible thing or an intangible concept. Through this, both people and their actions can be considered ‘Monstrous:’ Asma notes that just as a disfigured foetus is monstrous for its unsettling, inhuman qualities, so too is the evil, unthinkable act of torture (pp. 5-9).

Martin Norden takes this idea further, arguing that in much of our media the disabled, monstrous body is used intentionally as an outward symbol of the evil, monstrous mind (2007, p. 128). Studio Ghibli’s Princess Mononoke (1997) provides a near-perfect illustration of this link between physical deformity and monsters: when the protagonist, Ashitaka, is cursed by a demon it takes the form of scarring and disfigurement on his arm (fig. 3). This curse is even described as a degenerative condition that will eventually kill him, as it did the Boar demon: “A poisonous hatred that consumed his heart and flesh and turned him into a demon-monster.” (Princess Mononoke, 1997)

This visible representation of Ashitaka’s curse is highly reminiscent of the medieval beliefs that attributed disability to the work of demonic possession. Norden, referencing Freud, suggests that this belief may be a dominating factor in the creation of the disabled villain (p. 132).

Freud’s own theory of the uncanny makes numerous mentions to disabilities of both the body and mind. He defines the uncanny as being something that is frightening not so much for the ways it is unfamiliar, but how the familiar has instead been distorted into something not quite natural, but still, undoubtably, recognisable (Freud, 1919, p. 124). As anyone who has been witness to a seizure may attest, they can certainly be a frightening sight for just these reasons – while the body may be recognisable and familiar, the violent, jerking movements are in some way ‘wrong.’ In a similar manner, visibly disabled bodies are invariably ascribed to this idea of the uncanny: human, but not quite.

This act of dehumanisation of disabled people further solidifies their perception as ‘monstrous,’ following Asma’s identification of the inhuman monster. Returning to the idea of the ‘Other,’ this is perhaps the most extreme variation of the “Us” versus “Them” dichotomy, separating disabled people not only from the dominant cultural group, but from their very humanity itself. Drawing from Gilman’s argument, this denial of humanity may mean that able-bodied viewers are less likely to understand and relate to disabled characters onscreen, instead linking them with the anxieties and lack of control felt toward the unknown ‘Other’.

How then, does this all relate to the idea of evil, of monsters created by their actions? Asma argues that “The label of monster […] is usually reserved for a person whose actions have placed him outside the range of humanity.” (p. 222) As with disabled characters, a truly evil villain may prove hard to relate to for most viewers. Gilman discusses the fundamental desire to associate the self with “good” and push away the parts of the self that are perceived as “bad,” instead associating these with the internal concepts of ‘Other.’ (p. 17) This is can be linked to Asma’s claims, suggesting that monsters are then formed when these “bad” thoughts are no longer pushed away, but instead accepted and acted upon by an individual (p. 229).

Norden argues that these evil thoughts also fall under the uncanny effect: the viewer recognises some of their own thoughts in this behaviour, but the extremes to which they are taken and twisted are just outside of general comprehension (pp. 134-135). In this way, he suggests that Freudian perceptions of disability and evil are not too dissimilar, and can in turn lend addition weight to one another onscreen: “the synergetically [sic] powerful combination of villainy, disability, and diabolic possession […] provides an uncanny effect of maximum impact.” (p. 134) We see this combination in action in Princess Mononoke as Ashitaka’s cursed arm seeks brutal retribution against his rival, Lady Eboshi – the physical disfigurement and demonic strength work together to raise the tension through their frightful, uncanny effects.

Twisted Body, Twisted Mind

The ideas of Norden, Freud and Asma would then suggest that the uncanny, disabled body is used in media as an outward reflection of a villain’s uncanny, evil behaviour. In this way the disabled body becomes a symbol, reducing a disabled character from a person to an archetype.

Norden himself coined the term for one of the most prevalent versions of this archetype: the Obsessive Avenger, defined by their disability and a never-ending desire for revenge against those responsible for their suffering (1994, p. 52). Paul Longmore expanded upon this idea, arguing that these characters’ disabilities may take one of two forms: either as a punishment for their evil nature, or the cause of it (2003, pp. 134-135). Captain Hook’s relentless pursuit of Peter Pan provides a textbook example of this character type; his goals, actions, and even name are dictated by his disfigurement, which is presented as a punishment for his past viciousness towards Peter (Peter Pan, 1953). Hook, whether correct or not, pins the blame for his lost hand on Peter, and puts aside the interests of both himself and his crew in his quest for revenge. However, like most every villain of this type, his quest ends only in his own death (fig. 4) – a form of tragic, but inevitable, retribution for their actions (Longmore, 2003, pp. 135-136).

The Obsessive Avenger is Nelson’s “bitter cripple” (1994, p. 8) stripped of their humanity: not only are they filled with the self-pity and -disgust afforded to them by the ‘abled-gaze,’ their thoughts and physicality as a result pull them squarely into the realm of the uncanny, monstrous being. This is perhaps the final layer of paint composing one of Bell’s pentimentos, built up from the previously discussed anxieties surrounding disability: much as in the cinematic representation of women (1995, p. 109), theatrical and literary conventions of disability have long fed into the creation of the disabled villain and the Obsessive Avenger.

Alison Harnett argues that this use of disability in a purely symbolic manner only serves to further ‘Other’ people with disabilities, a fact exacerbated by the lack of ‘normalised’ representation to counteract this (2000, p. 22). By this suggestion, the link between disability and evil becomes a form of self-fulfilling prophecy: physical deformities are used to represent evil, which increases the perception of them as threatening, which then causes further similar representations.

Through this, the mere appearance of the disabled body has become an icon of horror: as Longmore notes, “the subtext of many horror films is fear and loathing of people with disabilities.” Perhaps one of the clearest pieces of evidence toward this is the acting portfolio of Javier Botet, a man with Marfan’s Syndrome who has become one of Hollywood’s most prolific monster actors, starring in films such as Mama (2013), Slenderman (2018), and Insidious: The Last Key (2018) (Cooper, 2019). Botet’s elongated figure and hypermobile joints perfectly emphasise the characters’ inhuman, uncanny nature (fig. 4).

While this use of symbolic deformity may have its origins in literature and folklore, it is in more modern, visual mediums that it has found a lasting home (Barnes, 1992, p. 11) (Norden, 2007, p. 132). In both theatre and film, novice writers are encouraged to “give their villain a limp or an amputated limb” (Lewis, 2000, p. 94) by their instructors, in order to represent their sinful natures (Norden, 2007, p. 126) – constructing images of evil out of disability.

Constructed images

In 1992 Colin Barnes produced a report on the representation of disabled people in British media, highlighting depictions of disability as evil as being “one of the most persistent stereotypes” (p. 11) surrounding disabled people, as well as one of the longest standing – particularly within film. Norden suggests that many filmmakers cite the visual nature of their work as necessitating these “physical markers” of otherwise hidden character traits (2007, p. 126). Indeed, two of Disney’s animators admitted the need “to depict [their] examples of vileness through a strong design” (Johnson & Thomas, 1993, pp. 18-19) when creating villains.

As Irene Kotlarz discusses in The Birth of a Notion (1983), representations within animation often mirror and further exaggerate issues found within ‘live action’ film (p. 21). For this reason, it is no surprise to find the image of the disabled villain thriving within the medium. Animation is an almost uniquely constructed medium for visual storytelling: characters must be drawn, modelled, or otherwise created by hand, and reproduced thousands upon thousands of times. This leaves little room for “accidental” imagery – both Kotlarz and Bell note that in animation, visual metaphors are rarely unintentional, even if they can be argued to be the result of unconscious bias (Kotlarz, 1983, p. 28) (Bell, 1995, p. 108). As Mariah Crilley said of disabled characters in comics, “Visual media like pictures, illustration, and movies tend to reify rather than mitigate or reclaim dangerous stereotypes of the visibly different.” (2016, pp. 80-81)

Jane Batkin argues that in animation, the body becomes more than just a physical form for a character – it becomes the character’s very identity (2017, pp. 128-9). Not only does the character dictate body, the body dictates character. Bell also argues this in a literal sense – while the Disney princesses are ostensibly characterised as demure and passive, their movements betray a strength behind their actions, resulting from the lithe bodies of the dancers used as reference footage (1995, p. 112).

The disabled body then, too, becomes a form of identity when portrayed in animation, but it seems to take on an even larger role than usual. Many disabled villains are named after their disfigurements: Captain Hook (Peter Pan, 1953), Metal Beak (Legend of the Guardians: The Owls of Ga'Hoole, 2010), Scar (The Lion King, 1994), even Mr. & Mrs. Potato Heads’ villainous alter-egos are known as ‘One-Eyed Bart’ and ‘One-Eyed Betty’ (Toy Story 3, 2010). Many of these characters also fit the Obsessive Avenger archetype to a T – unforgiving and relentless in their quest for revenge following moral sleights they perceive made against them. You could even argue that their disability, and bitterness as a result, has become their entire identity – most markedly in Captain Hook and Metal Beak. This complete singularity in character could be argued to be a result of the ‘abled-gaze’ we discussed earlier – in real life abled people have an unfortunate habit of seeing disabled people as just their disability, rather than well-rounded humans of their own right. In animation, as with many aspects of character, this has simply been exaggerated.

Alternatively, Batkin expands upon the idea of bodily identity, claiming that “a body in flux is a marker of chaos or rebellion.” (2017, p. 98) Perhaps this then explains why these villains seem so centred around their disabilities – their bodies, and therefore identities, were previously damaged, changed, or else ‘othered’ from the norm, leaving them to cling to what they have left.

This idea of the body in flux representing a mind in flux is highly reminiscent of the above ideas of the ‘twisted body, twisted mind,’ in a more generalised form. If a character’s body is their identify, then the uncanny, inhuman body once again is the marker of the uncanny, inhuman mind. Vice versa, the opposite must also be true: if the body is the identity, then the identity must also be the body. We are therefore told that the uncanny mind must have an uncanny body as a result, calling back to Longmore’s conclusion that the disabled body is either the cause of a villain’s evil, or their punishment as a result of it (2003, pp. 134-135).

It is clear that Elizabeth Bell’s ‘pentimento’ metaphor is accurate to the representation of disabled people within animation (1995, pp. 108-109)– the modern disabled villain is built from layers of fear, dehumanisation, and crises of identity to form a vision of evil easily recognisable to the viewer. These constructed images of disability send a clear message: deviance from the norm, especially through physical difference, is a sign of sin.

Conclusion

There is no doubt that these negative portrayals of disability will have a profound effect on their viewers, particularly those with disabilities themselves (Harnett, 2000, p. 23). In a political climate already rife with ableism, from the denial of medical insurance in America on grounds of “pre-existing conditions” (Cohen, 2018) to the UK’s “failure to uphold disabled people’s rights” according to UN convention (Butler, 2017), such depictions push the line from irresponsible to downright dangerous through their continued proliferation of stigmatising imagery.

As Kotlarz discussed, many problematic and stereotyped images of other minority groups, particularly those of African Americans, have been phased out of the public eye (1983, pp. 21-22). Representations of ethnic minorities, women and LGBTQ+ people have made significant strides over the last few decades, leaving the realm of the ‘Other’ and ‘Monster’ to join to prevalent “us,” but people with disabilities seem to have been left behind in this progress.

However, it is uncertain whether we would be able, or should even aspire to eradicate the cultural link between disability and evil. It has, after all, remained prevalent for centuries already (Barnes, 1992, p. 11) (Norden, 2007, p. 132). As Kotlarz noted with regard to stereotypes of black people in animation, taking away negative imagery may leave no representation at all for some minorities (1983, p. 23), or leave equally insidious depictions in its place – such as the “pitiful victim” and “supercrip” stereotypes (Harnett, 2000, pp. 21-22) (Barnes, 1992, pp. 7-10, 12-13).

Instead, perhaps a more pertinent course of action would be to better analyse the choices made in character creation – especially in regard to the design of villains. As Hall argues, “difference signifies. It ‘speaks’” (2013, p. 230) – but we must pay attention to what it says. Why do we find particular characters so scary? Do they represent minority groups? Are there enough alternative representations offered to provide a rounded overall depiction of these groups? Certainly, issues of disability are not the only place these questions may find relevance – cartoon villains are still rife with anti-Semitic, xenophobic and fatphobic depictions, amongst others.

Another possible outcome would be to find new signifiers of evil altogether – although this may also prove the most difficult solution. Dark, high contrast colour palettes and obscured faces seem to be on the rise as effective signs of evil, seen to effective use in the new She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018) reboot, (fig. 6) but these each bring their own issues (access for d/Deaf and partially sighted viewers comes to mind) and may prove difficult to implement in many scenarios. Alternatively, we could certainly seek to benefit from more varied and humanised depictions of disability within our media. Introducing more ‘normalised’ depictions of disabled people can only dilute the proliferation of negative imagery, not hide it completely, but it certainly might help to improve public perceptions of disability, as well as providing better and more varied representations for disabled people themselves.

Overall, the issues raised between depictions of disability and depictions of evil are deep-rooted and complex, and we may never truly be free of this association in our media. In the meanwhile, however, we can certainly become more aware of them and how they reflect on both our personal and cultural biases, as well as taking a more critical eye to the overall representation (or lack thereof) of disabled characters in both animation and beyond. It is clear that something must change, but it is up to us to shape how.

List of Figures:

• Figure 1: Clements, Ron & Musker, John. Walt Disney Pictures. 1992. Aladdin. [film still]. Jafar and Jasmine. Available here. [Accessed January 2020]
• Figure 2: Thiesson, Jayson. Allspark Pictures, DHX Media. 2017. My Little Pony: The Movie. [film still] Tempest Shadow threatens other ponies with her broken horn. Available here. [Accessed January 2020]
• Figure 3: Miyazaki, Hayao. Studio Ghibli. 1997. Princess Mononoke. [film still]. Ashitaka’s scarred arm.
• Figure 4: Geronimi, Clyde, Jackson, Wilfred, & Luske, Hamilton. Walt Disney Pictures. 1953. Peter Pan. [film still]. Hook meets his inevitable demise. Available here. [Accessed January 2020]
• Figure 5: Universal Pictures. 2013. Mama – Movement Test. [Youtube video]. Botet's movement test for the titular monster of Mama (2013). Available here. [Accessed January 2020]
• Figure 6: Stevenson, Noelle, & Austin, Chuck. Dreamworks Animation. 2019. She-Ra and the Princesses of Power. [film still]. Shadow Weaver (right) makes good use of alternative symbols of villainy. Available here. [Accessed January 2020]

Film List:

• Aladdin. 1992. [Film] Directed by Ron Clements, John Musker. United States of America: Walt Disney Pictures.
• Detective Pikachu. 2019. [Film] Directed by Rob Letterman. United States, Japan: Legendary Pictures, The Pokémon Company.
• Insidious: The Last Key. 2018. [Film] Directed by Adam Robitel. United States of America: Blumhouse Productions, Stage 6 Films.
• Legend of the Guardians: The Owls of Ga'Hoole. 2010. [Film] Directed by Zack Snyder. United States of America, Australia: Animal Logic.
• Mama. 2013. [Film] Directed by Andy Muschietti. Spain, United States of America, Canada: Toma 78, De Milo Pictures.
• My Little Pony: The Movie. 2017. [Film] Directed by Jayson Thiessen. United State of America, Canada: Allspark Pictures, DHX Media.
• Peter Pan. 1953. [Film] Directed by Clyde Geronimi, Wilfred Jackson, Hamilton Luske. United States of America: Walt Disney Pictures.
• Princess Mononoke. 1997. [Film] Directed by Hayao Miyazaki. Japan: Studio Ghibli.
• She-Ra and the Princesses of Power. 2018. [TV Series] Directed by Noelle Stevenson, Chuck Austen. United States of America: Dreamworks Animation.
• Slenderman. 2018. [Film] Directed by Sylvain White. United States of America: Screen Gems, Mythology Entertainment, Madhouse Entertainment, It Is No Dream Entertainment.
• The Lion King. 1994. [Film] Directed by Roger Allers, Rob Minkoff. United States of America: Walt Disney Pictures.
• The Little Mermaid. 1989. [Film] Directed by Ron Clements, John Musker. United States of America: Walt Disney Pictures.
• Toy Story 3. 2010. [Film] Directed by Lee Unkrich. United States of America: Walt Disney Pictures, Pixar Animation Studios.

Works Cited:

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• Batkin, J., 2017. Identity in Animation: A Journey into Self, Difference, Culture and the Body. Abingdon-on-Thames: Routledge.
• Bell, E., 1995. Six: Somatexts at the Disney Shop: Constructing the Pentimentos of Women's Animated Bodies. In: E. Bell, L. Haas & L. Sells, eds. From Mouse to Mermaid : The Politics of Film, Gender, and Culture. Indiana: Indiana University Press, pp. 107-124.
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• Butler, P., 2017. [online]. UN panel criticises UK failure to uphold disabled people's rights, London: The Guardian. Available here. [Accessed 16th December 2019]
• Cohen, J., 2018. [online]. Possible Removal Of Pre-Existing Conditions Protections, Jersey City: Forbes. Available here. [Accessed 4th January 2020]
• Cooper, K.-L., 2019. [online]. Javier Botet: Meet the actor behind Hollywood's monsters, London: BBC News. Available here. [Accessed 2nd January 2020]
• Crilley, M., 2016. Drawing Disability: Superman, Huntington's, and the Comic Form in It's a Bird.... In: C. Foss, J. W. Gray & Z. Whalen, eds. Disability in Comic Books and Graphic Narratives. London: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 80-94.
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• Sells, L., 1995. Eleven: Where Do the Mermaids Stand? - Voice and Body in The Little Mermaid. In: E. Bell, L. Haas & L. Sells, eds. From Mouse to Mermaid : The Politics of Film, Gender, and Culture. Indiana: Indiana University Press, pp. 175-192