Film Name: 冰雪奇缘2 / Frozen II
I’m starting to wonder if human hearing can bypass the brain’s information processing and directly stimulate tear gland secretion. Though the plot itself wasn’t particularly moving, I found myself tearing up while listening to one of the songs in the film—making it a rather peculiar viewing experience.
The “Frozen” series has never been among my favorite Disney works. The multiple female leads make the story feel unfocused. While chronicling the heroine’s journey, the narrative must also devote significant attention to her family dynamics—a sister vying for the audience’s affection—creating a forced sense of conflict through this plot dispersion. On one hand, the film constantly struggles to maintain equal screen time for both leads, fixated on ensuring roughly equal exposure to preserve some delicate balance. On the other, it endlessly dissects their relationship—tangled in their telepathic connection and the harm caused by their protective instincts—creating a messy knot that actually distracts from the main plot.
The film does assign distinct roles to its two heroines. While most Disney animations lean toward fairy tale tropes, the Frozen series carries an epic quality precisely because of this division. Fairy tales typically feature protagonists resolving personal conflicts within imaginary realms—growing, perfecting themselves through self-discovery. Epics, however, depict heroes tackling challenges affecting nations, peoples, or entire races—often sacrificing themselves in the process. Elsa consistently carries this epic quality, while Anna radiates fairy-tale charm. Hence, Olaf always follows the more whimsical Anna, and even romance favors her, while Elsa remains the hero who rescues others and ventures into peril alone.
I suspect the creative impetus behind “Frozen” was to fill a gap in the Disney universe—the absence of a northern kingdom. Thus it tells a story of an ice-and-snow world, an ice-and-snow kingdom, ice-and-snow magic, and an ice-and-snow queen. In the 2013 original, this world was crafted with remarkable purity—from the opening scene’s unforgettable labor chant during ice harvesting on the lake, to the full display of ice magic in “Let It Go.” That’s why it succeeded.
But in “Frozen II,” the film inexplicably introduced four new natural elemental powers—wind, water, fire, and earth—shattering the purity of this ice-and-snow realm. In truth, this is no longer a ‘Frozen’ tale, but a “Five Elements” saga. Should these elements have been added? In a different film, this might have been a brilliant concept. The tangible forms—leaves, horses, lizards, and giants—reflect both real-world inspirations and the animators’ imagination. Leaving the theater, I might even instinctively reach out to touch the texture of the wind. Yet within the world of “Frozen,” this feels subtly jarring. Rather than showcasing the screenwriters’ ingenuity in expanding the realm of ice and snow, it reveals a sense of creative exhaustion.
Nearly every emotion in this film is positive. Even when Olaf vanishes, the word “love” must be spoken. The film simplifies all potential negative emotions—sibling conflict, tribal opposition, trust issues between lovers—by merely touching on them without deepening them. This allows audiences to drift through a serene atmosphere, never fearing heart-wrenching twists. Yet this very simplification prevents the film from conveying emotional tension clearly, robbing it of depth. As the saying goes, no heartache, no true feeling. Take a simple example: how could two tribes emerging from a fierce battle in a dense, foggy jungle suddenly coexist so peacefully?
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