"Frozen's" Secretly Depressing Ending

My girlfriend finally got me to take her to see Disney's "Frozen" last weekend. Since this is the internet, I'm willing to admit that it was actually pretty good. The little snowman in particular was cute. But this isn't about how "Frozen" works as a movie--for that, you can go read the dozens of glowing reviews penned elsewhere. This is about a problem I had with the ending.

The ending, for those of you haven't seen the movie, is a characteristically happy one with the bad guys getting their comeuppance and a happily ever after for our plucky heroines. The sisters realize they love each other, Ana is saved from certain death, Elsa learns to harness the power of her witchcraft, and the kingdom is saved. Hooray! Another delightfully saccharine Disney ending. Until you think about it more, specifically about what happens to this guy:

This guy is the Duke of Weaselton, and he is portrayed as an avaricious dick. He spends the duration of the movie trying to depose Elsa, so that he can exploit Ardanelle (the name of the kingdom that Elsa rules) for financial gain. He's sly and underhanded and has no respect for the power of love or magic or reindeer or anything else that you could make a Disney ride out of. And for his troubles, he is unceremoniously deported from the kingdom and told that the queen will be shutting down all trade with Weaselton. Yeah! Way to hit him where it hurts! What's the problem?

Well, earlier in the movie, he describes his kingdom to the queen as "your closest partner in trade." So Ardanelle has just ceased all trade with it's most lucrative market? I'm sure that won't cause an economic depression and an increase in unemployment. Even if Ardanelle can survive the loss of Weaseltonian goods and the tax revenue the trade brings in, the move demonstrates a remarkably dim grasp of a global economy and foreign policy. But hey, at least all of the merchants will have snowmen and ice rinks to amuse themselves with as they slowly go broke.

I guess this is what happens when you hand absolute power to a girl who grew up locked away in her bedroom. 

The 5 Stages of a Winter Storm In The South

1) The Forecast.

"Hey everybody, it's Chett McGornell here with the Channel 3 Forecast, brought to you by Bill Jenkinson's Ford Outlet, and it looks like we have some winter weather on the way! Our latest projections with the Doppler 3600 Hemi Radar is that we're in for 5 to 7 inches of snow tomorrow, starting around 10 AM and continuing throughout the day before tapering off sometime overnight. This looks like it could be a bad storm, folks, so stay safe and inside and off of those roads unless, of course, you bought a new Ford truck from the fine folks over at Bill Jenkinson's Ford Outlet, in which case you feel free to go out and show everybody that a real man doesn't need to stay inside like them hippies with their hybrids scooters. Bill Jenskinson's, your source for fine Ford products. And now over to Jimmy Stevens with sports."

2) The Panic

The grocery store looks like the Super Duper Mart from Fallout 3, complete with menacing thugs roaming the aisles, looking for either the last few cans of beans on the shelves or intruders to mug. There isn't a roll of toilet paper for sale anywhere in the state, and most of the newsprint has been requisitioned as well. But the main shortage is for booze. The ABC store (for state-run liquor store) is a war zone. Whiskey, gin, vodka, bloody mary mix--it doesn't even matter what's in the bottle, as long as you can get your hands on it and throw it in the shopping basket. The people that were stupid enough to go to the grocery store BEFORE going to the liquor store are reduced to buying the 2 oz. mini bottles by the dozen. Anything to ensure that you don't have to talk to your family sober while you're all snowed in together.

3) The Lull

The provisions have been secured and moved into the house. You've got everything you think you need--food, drinks, books, porn. You're ready. You're even a little bit excited--a day off of work/school and nothing to do but watch the snow come down and lay in bed. You've made a fort out of the couch cushions, two blankets, and a half roll of duct tape. You're ready to go. Snowmageddon can't touch you. You're ready.

4) The Disappointment

It's a quarter past noon, and still no snow to be seen. The snowplows are driving around in a forlorn manner, looking for something to pass the time. You're beginning to feel a little bit stupid for calling out today. Did the forecast maybe mean next week would be when the blizzard comes? That fucking Chett McGornall. Oh, wait, there's a flake. And another. Not that much though. It's not even sticking to the ground. Well, you can't go into work now anyways. Might as well crack a beer.

5) The Hangover

Goddamn, your head hurts. That's what happens when you run out of beer and spend an evening drinking gin and blue Powerade. Ugh, close those blinds already. Your fucking head! You squint out the window, momentarily ignoring the intense pain it causes your frontal cortex. There's a half-inch of white stuff on the grass, and the roads are completely clear. Traffic is flowing normally. Ugh. You head back to  your blanket fort, into the comforting darkness, and call out of work again. Your boss probably doesn't believe you when you tell him you're snowed in your driveway, but what the hell. This pain in your head isn't going away anytime soon. Hey, there's half a liter of gin left here. Do you have any more Powerade?

Richard Sherman DGAF (nor should he)

Richard Sherman isn't even close to giving a fuck. He's taking all the fucks in the universe and hoarding them, so that nobody else will ever have another fuck. He has a gigantic swimming pool of fucks stored in his mansion, where he will occasionally cannonball in and savor all of these fucks he has, and reflect on how he's not going to give any of them.

And why should he? Dude gets paid to play football. That's it. Nowhere in his contract does it stipulate that he has to play football "with class", whatever that means. He doesn't get paid extra if he plays football in a way that satisfies the old-timers on TV, who didn't do things like that in their day. And he's not going to get cut even if thousands of thin-skinned viewers with Twitter accounts nearly wet their hashtags over his postgame interviews.

Just because we get to watch the games on TV and tweet at Richard Sherman and see the talking heads on the networks get upset doesn't mean we get to criticize the way Richard Sherman goes about his business. The dude has had a hell of a season, made a hell of a play on Sunday, and now gets to go play in the Super Bowl. Just as the cherry on top, he's now one of the most talked about athletes in the country and a hero to those of us who can't stand the sanctimonious bullshit that so often accompanies sports. So keep on keeping on, Richard Sherman. Say what you want. And definitely don't start giving a fuck now.