Among the more overpraised cartoons in the Disney canon, Aladdin explores what happens when a street urchin simultaneously falls in love with a princess and incurs the wrath of the evil sorcerer trying to destroy her father’s kingdom. Jasmine is another “free-spirited” type in the studio’s Barbie-doll tradition, a sexualized faux feminist who wants everyone to know that she can do everything that boys can. Though the film’s milieu is ostensibly an Arab enchanted city, there’s nothing particularly Middle Eastern about the whole thing outside of the preponderance of sand. Having spent considerable quality time with Aladdin dodging officers and fruit sellers at the local market, it’s amazing Jasmine can’t recognize Aladdin beneath the turban. It’s not like the animators have made it difficult for her, as every Arab male in the film is shady and sniveling (even the evil Jafar’s pet parrot gets his name from Shakespeare’s “darkest” play, Othello), whereas Aladdin looks like Scott Wolf and sounds like Clay Aiken. Disney knows how to sell lies, but Aladdin is ultimately less offensive than ridiculous, mostly because its ethnic white noise is really just an excuse for Robin Williams—as a postmodern blabbermouthed genie who grants Aladdin three wishes—to put on an elaborately narcissistic circus act. The actor once said, “Cocaine is God’s way of saying you’re making too much money.” Aladdin is proof that he was right.
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