The witch is a fundamentally ambiguous character. In fairy tales and folklore, she represents conflicting values: fertility and barrenness, life and death, erotic seduction and fatal rejection. Therefore, the witch, broadly defined as a female1 human or human-like creature capable of magic feats, often embodies conflict. This article will discuss what we may call “the misunderstood witch trope.” The term refers to how several modern adaptations of fairy tales re-imagine the witch as a misunderstood creature who actually tries to do good. Throughout the article, the term fairy tale denotes a fantastic tale functioning socially as a didactic instrument for children, but with content that also appeals to adults, encompassing oral as well as literary fairy tales.The focus of the analysis is how H. C. Andersen's fairy tale “The Snow Queen” (1844; “Sneedronningen”) is adapted into the Disney animated feature film Frozen (2013). The plot of Frozen revolves around Queen Elsa of Arendelle who has the power to create ice. When this is revealed, she escapes, pursued by her little sister Anna. Anna must travel through ice and snow, defeat her love interest-turned-villain Prince Hans, and save her own frozen heart through an act of true love. This act is not a kiss by the treacherous prince, but Anna's selfless deed of saving her sister from being murdered by Hans. While rejecting several of the standard elements in Disney movies, Frozen also takes great liberties with the story of “The Snow Queen.” Andersen's fairy tale focuses on the journey of the heroine Gerda, whose objective is to save her friend Kay from the evil Snow Queen's thrall. Nevertheless, the observation that Frozen is a free adaptation should not be read as criticism of Disney. Rather, I will argue that the adaptation of Andersen's fascinating and troubling story produces its own polysemic complexities. The fact that it is an extremely successful and culturally influential animated movie also calls for an inquiry into what values and ideas it presents and transforms.While there are many critical and scholarly papers on Frozen, detailed analysis of Frozen as an adaptation of a fairy tale is quite uncommon.2 Building on a discussion of the misunderstood witch trope, this article will outline how the Disney movie preserves, transforms, or removes specific ideological and folkloric elements of Andersen's text. Further, I will discuss the interpretative space for queer and feminist readings of Frozen, arguing that the possibility of such readings becomes more apparent through an understanding of Frozen as an adaptation and its use of the misunderstood witch trope. In this way, the analysis identifies ideological complexities in both texts, arguing that they cannot be understood as either reactionary or progressive. Focusing on general issues of ideology and values, the discussion will center on symbolism, characterization, and intertextuality, and will only to a limited extent present close readings.As adaptation theorist Linda Hutcheon states, stories do not consist only of their means of transmission or their genre rules: “Those means and those rules permit and then channel narrative expectations and communicate narrative meaning to someone in some context, and they are created by someone with that intent” (2013, 26; emphasis in original). In other words, an adaptation can be understood through a model of communication taking into account the producer or author, the intended audience, and the context in which the adaptation is made. It is therefore important to pay attention to the Disney company as a producer of adaptations, as well as to aspects of social and artistic context specific to the early twenty-first century, since Disney movies are creative art works that also need to be marketable and cannot openly undermine mainstream values.However, one such element of mainstream marketability is the very act of challenging traditional fairy-tale tropes. Indeed, as Jack Zipes has argued: “More than ever before in history we have fairy tales about fairy tales, or fairy tales that expose the false promises of the traditional fairy tales and leave open the question of a happy ending or even end on a tragic note” (2006, 106). Cristina Bacchilega observes that such re-imaginings break the reader's horizon of expectation, creating an effect that is dependent on the reader's or viewer's acquaintance with the source text3 or the standard formulas and tropes of the genre (1997, 22–3). Thus, such tales highlight, and potentially change or subvert, the content of the specific source text and the norms of the fairy-tale genre.In this postmodern trend of retellings, several adaptations attempt to rehabilitate the wicked fairy-tale witch. Besides Frozen, one might mention Gregory Maguire's 2007 novel Wicked, which has been adapted into an extremely successful Broadway musical, and the Disney live-action movie Maleficent, an adaptation of Disney's animated classic Sleeping Beauty as other contemporary examples. Wicked re-imagines the Wicked Witch of the West, who was introduced in L. Frank Baum's Oz books, as an idealist opponent to the ruling class represented by the tyrannical Wizard. In Maleficent, the witch's curse—that on Princess Aurora's sixteenth birthday, she will prick her finger on a spindle and fall into eternal sleep—is motivated by Maleficent's desire for revenge on Aurora's father, who once spurned her love and amputated her wings.However different these adaptations may be, their striking common feature is the characterization of the witch and her troubled relation to a repressive society. Misinterpreting her acts of protection as menacing signs of unbridled power, people turn against her. At the same time, the real villain in these adaptations is a character who uses the witch as a scapegoat to further his or her own malicious political goals. Admittedly, these plot elements echo those of other misunderstood villains, such as the Beast in Beauty and the Beast or Severus Snape in J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter books, who turn out to be benevolent. The term “misunderstood witch trope,” however, is here used to specify two particular features. First, the misunderstood witch is framed as evil only within the diegesis, that is, the fictional world of the cinematic or literary narrative. In contrast with other misunderstood characters, it is obvious to the reader or viewer from the outset that she is in fact benevolent. Secondly, this implies that the witch is herself a victim of malicious framing by someone else—a framing that is often gendered, in keeping with how the witch as a powerful woman threatens hierarchies of gender.Given the profound changes made to Andersen's story in adaptation, one might admittedly wonder whether Frozen fits with Hutcheon's description of adaptations as “an acknowledged transposition of a recognizable other work or works” (2013, 8; emphasis added). In fact, only in the closing credits of Frozen is the adaptation peritextually acknowledged, as a “Story Inspired by ‘The Snow Queen’ by Hans Christian Andersen” (Frozen 2013). As such, the movie can be understood as what film theorist Dudley Andrew (1984, 99) calls borrowing, a kind of free adaptation whose success is dependent on its “fertility” and not its “fidelity.” While many in the primary audience of children are likely unfamiliar with Andersen, adult viewers may experience the “elitist” pleasure of an adaptation based on a more subtle “intertextual echoing” (cf. Hutcheon 2013, 117). As such, the someone to whom meaning is communicated is arguably a dual audience of children and adults.4Furthermore, “knowingness” in an audience is about more than familiarity with the source text (Hutcheon 2013, 126). Frozen not only acknowledges its transposition of “The Snow Queen”; it also stands in an intertextual relationship to what Janet Wasko (2001, 114) defines as the “Classic Disney” style. This is characterized by light entertainment filled with music and humor, building on revised fairy tales. Among the values it promotes are individualism, romance, happiness, and the victory of good over evil. This form of intertextuality is likely more familiar to the primary audience, and the prince turning out to be evil thus constitutes a denaturalizing break with expectations (Bacchilega 1997, 22–3). Changing the marriage plot in a way that at least partly challenges traditional stereotypes of gender suggests a potential for feminist readings. The fact that the witch is given so much more time and character development in Frozen than in “The Snow Queen” also attests to the importance of the witch character and the adapters’ intention of elaborating on the gendered misunderstood witch trope. Indeed, the liberties taken with the source text make these factors stand out.Andersen's fairy tale has a complex, episodic plot. It begins by presenting a theodicy, where a troll called Dævelen (The Devil) has made a mirror that breaks into myriad pieces, spreading throughout the entire world. Shards of glass fall into people's eyes, distorting their vision permanently. Some even get a scrap of mirror in their hearts, thus becoming evil (Andersen 1862, 395). From the outset, the tale consistently associates evil with cold, and goodness with warmth. The distorting mirror associated with trolls refers to a stock trope in Nordic folklore,5 while fundamental Christian beliefs constitute the second important intertext present in the tale. Thematically, the prologue of the mirror announces the central conflict between (Christian) goodness and (diabolic) evil. The two protagonists, the children Gerda and Kay, are torn apart when Kay is struck by pieces of the mirror; his heart turns into an actual lump of ice and must be thawed.Before the crisis, Gerda and Kay are close friends, “ikke Broder og Søster, men de holdt ligesaa meget af hinanden, som om de vare det” (Andersen 1862, 396) [not brother and sister, but they cherished each other as much as if they were]. With only a grandmother present as an adult character, the two children give the impression of being alone in the world.6 This close relation between the protagonists and their ostensive lack of parents are some of the elements the Disney version transposes, where Elsa and Anna are not only like siblings, but actual sisters. In addition, Elsa and Anna have lost their parents, in keeping not only with what is suggested in “The Snow Queen,” but also with the general Disney tendency to have orphan heroes.7The troll mirror makes Kay forget his trusting, childlike attitude toward the world. He begins to viciously impersonate Grandmother, as she is called by both children, instead of listening to her stories, indicating an ironic, knowing attitude—a symbol of growing up. However, this turns out to be useless when facing the Snow Queen's fantastic power of seduction. As the queen passes him on her sleigh one winter day, he attaches his sled to it, but soon finds himself abducted.8 The rest of the story follows Gerda's journey in search of her friend. Her journey allegorically depicts how one can get rid of evil through good, Christian actions, while avoiding the perils of adult sexuality personified in the Snow Queen.9 However, Andersen not only contrasts Christianity with black magic and folklore; another ideological antagonist is excessive rationality. When the Snow Queen drags Kay away, he feels “ganske forskrækket, han vilde læse sit Fader vor, men han kunde kun huske den store Tabel” (Andersen 1862, 402) [quite frightened, he wanted to read the Lord's Prayer, but he could only remember the multiplication table]. When we encounter him several “stories” later, Kay is unable to spell “Evigheden” (Andersen 1862, 436) [Eternity]—which is the condition for his release from the Snow Queen. Until Gerda rescues him, and in spite of his “rationality,” he is unable to solve existential problems and reach the idea of eternal salvation. The characters of “The Snow Queen” thus embody a dichotomy between logic and sensibility, which is repeated in the trope of love as the solution in Frozen. However, while Andersen does not gender these characteristics in a categorical way—Gerda stands for love, but the female Snow Queen represents rationality—in Disney, as we will see, love and sensibility are gendered as female, and rationality and strategic thinking as male.On her journey, Gerda encounters talking animals and flowers, a helpful prince and princess, and several other magical helpers. Among them are a “Lapp” woman and a “Finn” woman, portrayed as good witches. Both terms are synonyms for “Sámi,”10 the Indigenous population that the Scandinavian majority peoples have traditionally associated with magic and have regarded with distrust (Mundal 1996, 99; Kvideland and Sehmsdorf 1991, 164). In Frozen, however, only the music of the opening scene alludes to the Sámi. The title of this piece, “Vuelie,” is the South Sámi word for joik, which is a type of traditional shamanic chant.11 Although the music might bring spiritual magic to mind, Andersen's derogatory depiction of Sámi magical helpers is removed. While it would perhaps be a stretch to view this as an indication of an increased sensibility to ethnic diversity, Disney's choice of using Sámi music is at least laudable. Importantly, Anna's magical helpers are instead a tribe of trolls, the Scandinavian fairy-tale creatures present in the frame narrative of “The Snow Queen.” The witch, and the phenomenon of sorcery in general, are in European culture traditionally defined in opposition to the Christian God (Russell 1980, 35). The association between Andersen's Snow Queen and the “devil” troll thus alludes to the common idea of witches as Satan's followers. In Frozen, however, rather than being wicked, the trolls are advisors, and they provide comic relief. This strengthens the impression that Frozen actively re-evaluates traditionally “wicked” characters.In the end, Gerda finds Kay in the Snow Queen's castle in Norway's extreme northern Finnmark region, one of the core areas for the persecution of witches in Norway (cf. Alver 1971, 14).12 The Queen conveniently leaves, and as Gerda embraces Kay, her tears melt the ice in his heart. When she sings Kay a hymn about the Child Jesus, he weeps, his tears washing out the piece of troll mirror in his eye. He completes the word puzzle and leaves with Gerda. Safely home, Kay and Gerda realize they have grown up, and the story ends with Grandmother reading Matthew 18:3: “Uden at I blive som Børn, komme I ikke i Guds Rige” (Andersen 1862, 440) [Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven]. Allegorically, then, “The Snow Queen” is a story of growing up; surviving emotional, intellectual and physical challenges; and remaining good Christians. Kay's sudden and dangerously erotic maturation needs to be tempered by Gerda's self-effacing, childish devotion.While the tale offers few details about the Snow Queen, she evidently conforms to several of the central prejudices surrounding witchcraft in Western Europe. Indeed, presupposing the reader's knowledge of such ideas likely allows Andersen to omit a detailed description. On a general level, the European witch might be considered one of many examples in human history where certain kinds of people have functioned as a scapegoat.13 However, historian Lyndal Roper (2012, 24) emphasizes that the witch in Western European imagination expresses ambivalent feelings concerning “death, identity, and motherhood.” These abstract characteristics are all visible in Andersen's Snow Queen, and many of them are transferred to Elsa.Other traditional aspects of the European witch, however, would be highly problematic in a children's animated movie today. The witch often represents dangerous, sexual knowledge, set to destroy the natural development of growth and reproduction. Writing on early modern European witch trials, Roper states: “The European witch hunt was fired by an obsession with the power of old women to destroy fertility in the human and the natural world” (2012, 1). The contrast between the barrenness of snow and ice and the fertility of summer echoes this trope. On the one hand, the witch stands for lack of fertility, and a cold rationality in contrast to the warm “words of life” that Gerda utters to save Kay. On the other hand, this cold threat is predicated upon the witch's unusual, tempting beauty, luring Kay away. Paradoxically, the Snow Queen arrests life and love through a feminine mystique connoting seduction and eroticism. None of these disturbing motifs are preserved in Frozen.As many have noted (e.g., Solomon 2013, 11), Disney's Elsa is an amalgam of Andersen's Snow Queen and Kay, a complex mix of frightful powers and a good heart. This also means that Frozen does not depict an abduction. Instead, the film features two quests, by both female protagonists. Much in the same way that Gerda's journey in “The Snow Queen” reads as an allegory of puberty, so Elsa's and Anna's journeys symbolize a process of maturation, introspection, and insight. In both Scandinavian folklore and “The Snow Queen,” Christian actions, such as uttering the Lord's Prayer, are a way out of magical imprisonment. This trope is altered in a profound way in Frozen, where there are two scenes of revelation. The first takes place after the troll master has told Anna that only an act of true love can thaw her heart, which Elsa has accidentally frozen (Frozen 2013). However, when Anna wants her love interest, Prince Hans, to kiss her, he refuses. He only proposed to Anna in order to inherit the throne and plans to kill both sisters. Moreover, Disney uses the possibilities of creating suspense in the film medium by not simply sending Hans away at the right moment, the deus ex machina solution in “The Snow Queen.” In the second scene of revelation, as Hans prepares to kill Elsa, Anna leaps in his way, freezing into ice in slow motion, breaking Hans's sword (Frozen 2013). This act of sororal sacrifice, however, makes Anna thaw once danger is averted. While the adapted Snow Queen, Elsa, is responsible for freezing Anna's heart, it is Hans who reflects the source text Snow Queen's evil act of capturing and seducing a defenseless child, as well as her cold rationality. While evil is transposed from a traditionally malevolent female character to the stereotype of the benevolent Prince Charming, the film adaptation retains and dramatizes the trope of devotional, non-erotic love as the solution to existential problems.After having established some of the overarching differences between source text and adaptation, the following section of the article will address the ideological aspects of both: How deep does the re-evaluation go? And what are some of the possible readings that emerge from a critical-comparative perspective?Discussion of ideology in Disney movies is often limited by categorical assertions. To some scholars and audiences, Disney is regressive, patriarchal, representing a conservative-capitalist worldview. To others, Disney is a force for progressive social change. The latter stance is demonstrated by film critic Douglas Brode, who has made the case that the Disney Company is a vehement promoter of progressive politics, to the degree that their films allegedly paved the way for the late 1960s youth revolution and modern liberal views on homosexuality (Brode 2005, 6, 227–8).14 Some have labeled Disney's recent turn to more active female characters, such as Elsa, “feminist” (García-Manso 2017, 3). There is also a clear tendency in the popular reception to regard Frozen and other recent Disney movies as “queer” and therefore progressive (Nikolas 2014).While it is problematic to jump from the identification of progressive elements to reading an entire movie—or the entire Disney Company—as exclusively progressive, one may also object to interpreters who see no redeemable qualities in recent Disney works. For example, Madeline Streiff and Lauren Dundes conclude their analysis of Frozen by calling Elsa “just a variation on the archetypal power-hungry female villain whose lust for power replaces lust for a mate and who threatens the patriarchal status quo. The only twist is that she finds redemption through gender-stereotypical compassion” (2017, 9). Such an assertion would have to ignore the many actual “twists” in Disney's treatment of “The Snow Queen,” as discussed above. Further, this analysis indicates a facile understanding of the movie's characters. Far from power-hungry, Elsa is a reluctant queen, in clear contrast to the zealous Prince Hans (and Andersen's Snow Queen). Neither is her lack of a mate due to prioritizing power; she fears her powers and avoids engaging in emotional relations lest she inadvertently hurt others. Finally, such readings risk reducing Frozen to a single, coherent ideological message. Here, I agree with Henry Giroux and Grace Pollock's call for nuance when they observe that Disney is progressive and regressive at the same time: “Such contradictions should not be taken as grounds for dismissing Disney as a cultural force but instead should be exposed and used for the potential spaces of resistance they provide and for the imaginative possibilities they might offer” (2010, 49). As Kay Stone has fascinatingly suggested in her investigation of readers’ responses to fairy tales, “the true power of fairy tales was found precisely in this flexibility, that they are always and ever open to new reactions and interpretations at any stage of life. . . . For some readers fairy tales had the possibility of not being inherently sexist at all” (2008, 36–7). The meaning of a text is not entirely governed by the text itself; what one reader might consider sexist might for another be liberating, a chance to identify with, or even mentally “co-author” the plot and characters.With respect to Disney movies, Wasko argues for distinguishing between the “preferred textual message” and other “resistant and even emancipatory readings [that] can be decoded by audiences” (2001, 188). The contradictions and complexities of the films can be dealt with on the production level (the author and their context), the “textual” level, and the reader level. Thus, we now return to the question of the audiences at which Frozen is aimed, the to someone of Hutcheon's model. Instead of assuming that the narrative orders a specific kind of reading, the following discussion will consider the potential for queer and feminist readings of Frozen.15Witches and sexual “deviants” have in common the act of representing an “inversion” of societal norms: “Witchcraft . . . is an act of pure inversion. Witches model their behaviour on our world, just as we do. Because their inspiration is demonic, their perception is overturned; they see and do everything the wrong way up” (Clark 1997, 13). The allegorical leap from the witch to the homosexual thus seems small, which supports viewing witches as possible proxy identities for gay men, in the terminology of David Halperin (2012, 211).16 Describing gay male culture as “parasitic on mainstream culture” (2012, 422), Halperin argues that female melodramatic suffering is an accepted, cultural performance that gay male culture has borrowed to express experiences that do not share the same cultural acceptance or respect. Crucially, gay male culture treasures such appropriation of elements from the majority culture. Thus, the “gayness” of a work does not depend on whether it features an openly gay character, but on the room for recognition and appropriation.17Disney scholar Sean Griffin notes several common aspects in Disney movies that may connect with a gay community: the importance of fantasy and escape, the focus on outsiders who lack a loving family, and the ability of animation to caricature and campily overdo depictions of masculinity and femininity (2000, 63–4, 74). This indicates that both gay and feminist readings of Frozen might usefully focus on the female characters. As Elizabeth Bell remarks on Disney's women: Disney transforms the vain, active, and wicked woman of folktales into the femme fatale, the ‘deadly woman’ of silent film and of Hollywood classic film. . . . Mary Ann Doane summarizes the femme fatale's most striking characteristic as ‘the fact that she never really is what she seems to be. She harbors a threat which is not entirely legible, predictable, or manageable.’ (Bell 1995, 115)Not being what one seems to be and harboring a threat that escapes legibility are also classical tropes in the cultural construction of homosexuality.18 Bell concludes: “The wicked women harbor depths of power that are ultimately unknowable but bespeak a cultural trepidation for unchecked femininity” (1995, 121). While this is true for depictions where the witch, such as the Snow Queen, is described from the outside, one might reasonably expect that these attitudes are changed in retellings where events are viewed from her perspective.Many elements in the portrayal of Elsa are open to an allegorical reading where she potentially represents a gay male “proxy identity.” At the beginning of the movie, the master troll asks whether she was born with her power or whether she is cursed (Frozen 2013). Innate or acquired—this is the same question that has been asked about homosexuality since the creation of nineteenth-century sexology (cf. Oosterhuis 2000, 39). In order to shield Elsa from the world and prevent her from causing damage, her parents lock her in her room. The visual metaphor of the closed door runs through the entire movie, creating the impression that Elsa has to stay in the closet to protect the integrity of her family. Isolation is also a leitmotif in “The Snow Queen,” as all of the witches live solitary lives. While the narrator's voice in the fairy tale never states this fact, Elsa's isolation is constantly emphasized in Frozen, and through Anna's care for her sister, the audience is led to feel sympathy for Elsa.In an animated musical movie, songs offer the main window into the psyche of a character. As Elsa walks up the mountain to escape from the social sanctions she fears after the “uncloseting” of her powers, the first piano chords of “Let It Go” start (Frozen 2013). This song marks an emotional high point in the story, as well as providing a commentary on the plot and characterization. In addition, the lyrics and melody are, of course, composed to be marketable. As such, the lyrics are also general enough to be open to “filling in” by different audiences. In the first verse, Elsa assesses her new situation: The snow glows white on the mountain tonightNot a footprint to be seenA kingdom of isolationAnd it looks like I'm the queenThe wind is howling like this swirling storm insideCouldn't keep it in, heaven knows I triedDon't let them in, don't let them seeBe the good girl you always have to beConceal, don't feel, don't let them knowWell, now they know(Frozen 2013)The lyrics are elegantly written, featuring an internal rhyme (“white/tonight”) and a paronomastic summary of Elsa's condition: the word “isolation” contains the syllable “ice.” This poetic device suggests that the state of being cold is connected to solitude and loneliness. At first, Elsa seems to grieve over this assessment. The voice actress Idina Menzel19 draws out the syllable “ice,” and adds a slight quiver to her voice during the first six lines. However, the song comes to a turning point as Elsa quotes her dad's admonitions: “Be the good girl.” Here, she repeats the norms that have limited her life so far, ultimately rejecting them. Her rejection is pragmatic; because her powers are revealed, she decides to “let it go”: Let it go, let it goCan't hold it back anymoreLet it go, let it goTurn away and slam the doorI don't careWhat they're going to sayLet the storm rage onThe cold never bothered me anyway(Frozen 2013)The chorus, of course, is ambiguous. “Let it go” means letting go of the rules, but also letting out the power to create ice. Elsa embraces her uniqueness, and as the music and Menzel's voice soar, the obvious message is one of empowerment and staying true to who one is. However, the pervasive metaphor of the closed door suddenly appears here as well. Her decision to “slam the door” seems paradoxical as it is followed by the exclamation that she does not care “what they're going to say.” One wonders who “they” could possibly be, as she has just decided to stay away from everyone else. The idea of “letting go” thus comes across as self-deception; she is only free to stay isolated from society. The freedom Elsa believes she has now gained is an example of dramatic irony as it depends on going back into the closet.This fact is highlighted in the following verse, where the confident tone of Menzel's voice contrasts with the solution of solitude: It's funny how some distanceMakes everything seem smallAnd the fears that once controlled meCan't get to me at allIt's time to see what I can doTo test the limits and break throughNo right, no wrong, no rules for meI'm free(Frozen 2013)Again, Elsa's fears cannot get to her, because by definition, the fear of being discovered or revealed is dependent on there being other people present. This also brings nuance to her triumphant assertion in the second chorus: “You'll never see me cry.” She will not cry, but only as long as she has nobody to cry about. In the end, she does cry, when she believes Anna has died to save her. For Elsa, then, the plot is directed toward the realization that she cannot stay alone. Her actions have repercussions for everyone else, which can only be resolved by the act of Anna's sacrifice.To an adult audience, it will be obvious that the trope of coldness is a metaphor for Elsa's psychological state—for example, in the simile “like this swirling storm inside” in