Postfeminist Fatherhood in the Animated Feature Films Chicken Little and Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs

1 Postfeminist Fatherhood in the Animated Feature Films Chicken Little and Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs

The animated films Chicken Little (Disney, 2005) and Cloudy with a Chance of  Meatballs (Sony, 2009) are in i n many respects conventional and unexceptional. They portray

mainly white, middle-class characters (even when they are in the guise of dogs, ducks and chickens), living in worlds in which even alien families come in the form of heteronormative nuclear families, where daddy drives the space ship. They are also conventional in the way that they are paternally themed, privileging father-son relationships, to the exclusion of mothers.1 In this analysis, however, I suggest that although the films are situated within a traditional framework of representation of paternal behavior, they deviate from earlier  portrayals of father-son father-son relationships by demanding demanding a different different type of fathering, a new “culture of fatherhood” (LaRossa, 1997, p. 11), which is reflective of “postfeminist fatherhood” (Hamad, 2013, p. 1). Postfeminist fatherhood, like more traditional narratives of

fathering, marginalizes mothering (Hamad, 2013, p. 4), and Chicken and Cloudy follow the traditional representation of fatherhood in that sense. What makes these two films particularly worth investigating, however, is the way these postfeminist fathers are constructed in opposition to two traditional tr aditional stereotypes: stereotypes: the oppressive father and the pal. These films demand a change in paternal attitudes, requiring fathers to adapt to their sons ’ needs, rather than the sons ’ conforming to the fathers’ expectations. The films thus contain a didactic message to both fathers and sons that within postfeminist masculinity older parenting models are no longer viable. One of the reasons this study is dealing specifically with father-son f ather-son relationships, rather than simply parent-child relationships, is that animated entertainment for children on film and television has tended to present mainly male characters, for a mainly male viewing audience (Hentges & Case, 2013, p. 322; Oliver & Green, 2001, p. 67). When parenting issues are central to the story, they concern a father and son, and the male child protagonist almost never has a sister (Birthisel, 2014, p. 346).  2 The centrality of the father-son relationship continues in the twenty-first century, in films such as Ice Age (Twentieth Century Fox, 2002),  Finding  Nemo (Pixar, 2003), Brother Bear  (Disney,  (Disney, 2003), Shark Tale (DreamWorks, 2004), Chicken  Little (Disney, 2005), Barnyard  (Nickelodeon,  (Nickelodeon, 2006),  Ratatouille (Disney, 2007), Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs  (Sony 2009), How to Train Your Dragon Dragon (DreamWorks 2010), Mr Berit Åström Department of Language Studies Umeå University 901 87 Umeå Sweden

2  Peabody and Sherman  (DreamWorks, 2014) and The Lego Movie  (Warner Brothers, 2014). In

all these films, the relationship between a biological father, or other father-figure, and a son, even when not the main plotline, is an important part of the story. The privileging of the father-son plot is further underscored by an absence of mothers. The mother either dies early, as in, for example, Ice Age and Finding Nemo, or she is missing from the beginning and never even mentioned, as in Ratatouille. Of the films listed above, Finding Nemo, Chicken Little, Cloudy with a Chance of  Meatballs and How to Train Your Dragon stand out through their emphasis on the father-son

conflict, giving it almost equal weight to the adventure, be it kidnapping, alien invasion, amazing inventions or the taming of dragons. However, although Nemo’s father Marlin can  be said to exhibit some of the traits of a postfeminist father, traits regarded by some critics as a kind of mothering (Brydon, 2009), father and son spend most of the film separated, which makes it less suitable for this analysis. Dragon is similarly less apt, since the conflict between father and son, Stoick and Hickup, is resolved by Hickup proving himself to his father through heroic deeds, and Stoick’s acceptance of his son is given minimal screen time. What distinguishes Chicken and Cloudy from Nemo and Dragon, as well as the rest of the films listed above, I argue, is not only that they both include extended scenes in which the fathers acknowledge their shortcomings, and articulate their acceptance of their sons, but also that the relationship between father and son is discussed throughout the narratives: Chicken analyzes the relationship continuously throughout the film, with his friends, but also with his father, and the protagonist of Cloudy, Flint, repeatedly voices his needs, desires and demands to his father, all through the narrative. In a departure from previous animated treatments of the theme of father-son conflict, both films thus suggest that a father-son relationship is an ongoing process, something that must be negotiated, and, most importantly, on the son’s terms. Until recently, scholars analyzing animated films have concerned themselves almost solely with Disney films, 3 often focusing on the potentially detrimental effect on children of “the values they promote, and the forms of identifications they offer” (Giroux , 2010, p. 7). It

is argued that the Disney corporation, and the way it relates to its audience, for example in attempting to “substitute consumerism for democratic citizenship,” are a cause for concern

(Giroux, 2010, p. 13). Approaching the films as “agents of socialization,” some scholars analyze the way the films “enculturate children,” that is, what the children learn about the Berit Åström Department of Language Studies Umeå University 901 87 Umeå Sweden

3 world through the films (Lugo-Lugo & Bloodsworth-Lugo, 2009, p. 167). Freeman’s (2005) claim that animated films function as “portable professors,” (p. 85) teaching children how to

relate to society, is often invoked. Many of the studies thus resonate with a concern as to how children are affected by what they watch, and call for “parental assistance in interpretation,”

for adults to help the children analyze what they see (Towbin, Haddock, Schindler Zimmerman, Lund & Tanner, 2004, p. 40). This article, however, will place less emphasis on Chicken and Cloudy as vehicles of conservative ideology, socializing children into a Western,

 patriarchal, consumerist culture, although they fulfil some of those criteria too. The focus lies instead on the films as postfeminist responses to cultural images of fatherhood in the US, and as advocates for change, for a new culture of fatherhood. In doing this, I will follow the lead of King, Lugo-Lugo, and Bloodsworth Lugo (2010), and open up the discussion beyond the  production of the Disney company, since the father-son relationship is also central in films by Sony, DreamWorks, Twentieth Century Fox and Warner Brothers, as is evident in the list of films above. However, unlike the other narratives, Chicken and Cloudy argue for a renegotiation of the relationship between father and son. US fathers in society and in cultural productions

In many studies of fatherhood, both historical and literary, there is a pervasive notion of what is often termed the “traditional father”: stern, tyrannical, emotionally and physically

distant. However, scholars tend to locate this type of father in a past before the period under study. As LaRossa (1997) notes in a socio-political study of American fatherhood in the 1920s and 1930s, there is a present-day “belief that yesterday’s fathers not only did not want to be involved with their children, but did not even give the subject much thought” ( p. 4).

Thus sociological research on men of the post-war period contrast them “to a more traditional image of absent, authoritarian fathers” (Haywood & Mac an Ghaill, 2003, p. 44). Research on early twentieth-century fatherhood in turn locates the traditional father in the late nineteenth century, yet research on the nineteenth century father places him in the colonial era (Johansen, 2001, pp. 4-5), or in Europe (Kimmel, 2012, p. 38). The oppressive father is never found in the period scholars are studying; he is what the fathers of the period under scrutiny position themselves against. Indeed, social historians invariably find men who were both emotionally and physically present in their children’s lives  (Davidoff, 1987; Johansen, 2001; Tosh, 2007 ).

There is thus a difference between what fathers do and what fathers are expected to do, or are Berit Åström Department of Language Studies Umeå University 901 87 Umeå Sweden

4  perceived as doing, what LaRossa (1997) refers to as the “conduct of fatherhood ” and the “culture of fatherhood ,” and the oppressive father turns out to be part of the culture, rather

than conduct, of fatherhood (p. 11, original emphasis). Although the authoritarian father in reality seems rather illusive, he is very much in evidence in the US cultural imagination, particularly in nineteenth-century literature (Armengol-Carrera, 2008; Johansen, 2001; Leverenz, 1998), which in turn will have influenced other cultural productions, such as animated films. In a study of 26 Disney films  produced during the twentieth century, more than half of them present fathers as “controlling, aggressive, protective disciplinarians that expect their children to earn their love rather than giving it unconditionally” (Tanner, Haddock, Schindler Zimmerman & Lund, 2003, p. 363). I suggest that the way the father-son relationship is played out in Cloudy is a reaction against, and critique of, this image. The other cultural image of the father is as “economic pr ovider, pal and male role model” (LaRossa, 1997, p. 1), a model of fatherhood that, although it developed in earlier  periods (Leverenz, 2003, p. 25), became institutionalized in the US in the 1920s and 1930s (LaRossa, 1997, p. 1). Later fictional iterations include the “bumbling” dads of the 1950s (Hamamoto 1989, p. 17) exemplified by Ozzie Nelson in The Adventures of Ozzie and  Harriet  (Gilbert, 2005, p. 142) and the 1980s “new, enlightened, participator y dad,” in for

example The Cosby Show  (Douglas & Michaels, 2005, p. 106) as well as the “sensitive, nurturing, postfeminist men” in, for instance, Family Ties and Growing Pains  (Dow, 2006, p. 121). Hapless, yet well-meaning fathers learning on the job continue in such films as  Daddy  Day Care (Sony, 2003) and Old Dogs ( Disney, 2009). Outside films, the cultural image of

father as pal, as an, often bumbling, playmate, is still prominent, particularly in relation to very young children, as studies of parentcraft literature has shown (Sunderland, 2000). Chicken suggests that although the father-as-pal can provide a good, stable home, jovial

 benevolence and good intentions are not enough to help a child cope with emotional  problems. There is an emphasis on father-son relationships in live action films as well. Bruzzi (2005) terms it “Hollywood’s preoccupation with the father,” ( p. 153), whereas Rattigan and McManus (1992) have traced what they regard as a “virtual obsession with father -son relations” through more than 150 films  in the 1980s alone, making up what they call a “‘father/son’ cycle” ( p. 15). These fathers are of the traditional, oppressive type. Discussing Berit Åström Department of Language Studies Umeå University 901 87 Umeå Sweden

5 the depiction of fatherhood in films from the 1990s onwards, Bruzzi notes that although they demonstrate a greater diversity in the representation of fatherhood than in previous decades, the films appear to desire a return to the “strong, conventional father,” that is, the “traditional father” (2005, p. 191). Bruzzi mentions in passing that in such films, which “sustain the ideal of an omniscient, guiding father,” sons often “seek to emulate the father or seek his approval”

(2005, p. 158, p. 159). She describes such a search for approval as positive, since it teaches the sons to appreciate their fathers’ values and realize why they are worth upholding (2005, p. 159). Rattigan and Thomas on the other hand, pointing to an “undercurrent of guilt” (1992, p. 16) demonstrate the negative side of such relationships. They discuss how the characters suffer from a “guilt of inadequacy,” which is caused by the sons not living  up to their fathers’ expectations, whether these expectations relate to academic or athletic success, or social skills (1992, p. 16). A recurring theme of the father-son film, Rattigan and Thomas note, is that “Sons must seek atonement with fathers”  (1992, p. 18). As both Bruzzi, Rattigan and Thomas

argue, Hollywood films have been preoccupied with how to shore up a masculinity perceived to be under threat, and the solution offered is for a return to the traditional father, who knows  best. Such a model of fathering may comfort the fathers, but as the films show, is it hard on the sons. In presenting the sons in Chicken and Cloudy as undersized, weak, accident-prone and generally embarrassing, the films draw on the tradition of sons seeking atonement for their guilt of inadequacy, but I suggest that this tradition is subverted in the way the narratives are played out. Unlike in the films discussed by Bruzzi, Rattigan and Thomas, the fathers, their actions and beliefs, are not valorized. Instead it is the fathers who are r equired to live up their sons’ expectations, and the fathers who must literally seek the sons’ forgiveness for th eir

own inadequacies. Postfeminism, masculinity and fatherhood

In the first decade of the twenty-first century, a new model of fathering has begun to be articulated, what Hamad has termed “postfeminist fatherhood” (2013, p.1). Postfeminism as a term is, as Gill (2007) states , “overloaded with different meanings,” and  although the concept has been in use for over twenty years there is still no consensus of what it means (p. 147). Clark (2014) suggests two definitions: the period that comes after the end of second-wave feminism, and “a conceptual framework” in which the “tenets of feminism” are assimilated into “the cultural imaginary and social relations” (p. 447). This assimilation can manifest Berit Åström Department of Language Studies Umeå University 901 87 Umeå Sweden

6 itself in different ways. Wooden and Gillam (2014), acknowledging the complexity of the concept in their analysis of masculinity in Pixar films, use postfeminism as a relatively neutral concept, referring to a worldview where women expect to reap the rewards of feminism, to have the same rights as men. Tasker and Negra (2007) are more wary, seeing postfeminism as a way to evoke and acknowledge feminism, only to dismiss it as a thing of the past (p. 21, p. 1). McRobbie (2004), for her part, argues that postfeminism constructs feminism as “redundant,” “a spent force” now that equality between sexes is supposedly a chieved. To her, “feminism is invoked in order that it is relegated to the past” (p. 262). Postfeminism may thus

 become a way of circumventing feminism, of re-establishing patriarchal structures. Owing to the “contradictory nature” of postfeminist discours e (Gill, 2007, p. 149), narratives

constructed within it may thus “express both rejection and celebrations of feminist gains” (Clark, 2014, p. 448) and what appears to be a broadly progressive text may exhibit surprisingly conservative traits, as Wooden and Gillam remark throughout their book. Pointing to how cinematic fatherhood has come to articulate a “ new hegemonic masculinity,” (2013, p. 15), Hamad follows Tasker, Negra and McRobbie, arguing that postfeminist fatherhood is predicated on a marginalization of motherhood (2013, p. 3). She references Modleski’s (1991) observation that men may “respond to the feminist demand for their

 participation in childrearing in such a way as to make women more marginal than ever (p. 87). To Hamad then, postfeminist fatherhood may turn out to simply be old patriarchal structures in a new form. The move towards postfeminist fatherhood may be traced back to the second half of the 1990s and the changing way US media structured news accounts of stay-at-home fathers (Vavrus, 2002). In her study of news reports of what became termed Mr. Moms, Vavrus argues that the news stories worked “to normalize male nurturance and domesticity” by

suggesting that to be a househusband was to be “properly masculine” (p.  353). The Mr. Moms of the late 1990s, supporting working wives and upholding the heterosexual nuclear family, could be said to have paved the way for the caring, nurturing, single father, who can be both Mom and Dad. Vavrus’s account points to the complica ted nature of postfeminist fatherhood in that it would seem to be a positive development that men participate in childcare to a greater extent than before, yet this participation can be used to uphold conservative and restrictive values and structures (p. 353). As Dow (2006) notes, these new fathers may make “the need for continued feminist critique of patriarchy even more suspect” ( p.129). Berit Åström Department of Language Studies Umeå University 901 87 Umeå Sweden

7 I posit, then, that the model of fatherhood represented in Chicken and Cloudy draws on  postfeminist masculinity, which allows them to challenge hegemonic masculinity. Earlier animated films, when avoiding the oppressive father, have tended to present the character as “bungling” or “inept” (Wynns & Rosenfeld, 2003, p. 103). Chicken and Cloudy are showing

the fathers as more skilled, examples of “a model of fatherhood that is (or becomes) emotionally articulate, domestically competent, skilled in managing the quotidian  practicalities of parenthood” (Hamad, 2013, p. 2). The fathers have therefore incorporated

some aspects of postfeminist fatherhood, since they are more than capable caring for their children, managing to feed and clothe them  –  all that is left for them is to become emotionally aware and articulate. The films

Chicken Little takes its premise from the folk tale variously also known as Chicken

Licken or Henny Penny, categorized as Aarne-Thompson type 20C (Thompson, 1961), in which a hen or a chick mistakes a falling acorn for a piece of the sky, and, together with other animals, decides to go and warn the king. The main protagonist of the eponymous film, set in the small town of Oakey Oaks, also mistakenly sounds the alarm: first because he thinks the sky is falling, although it later turns out to be a piece from an alien spaceship. A year later, he sounds the alarm because he has seen the actual spaceship, although it becomes invisible  before people arrive. In both instances Chicken is assumed to be lying and his father, Buck Cluck, ashamed of his son, is forced to apologize to the townspeople for the havoc Chicken has caused. The first time it happens the story becomes national news. The second time, the visiting aliens, Melvin and Tina, have accidentally left their son Kirby behind, and when they discover this, they attack the town with a whole fleet of space ships. In the panic and destruction, Chicken, his friends, and his father manage to re-unite Kirby with his family, and the invasion is aborted. Afterward, all the misunderstandings are cleared up, and Chicken  becomes a hero. Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs  is loosely based on the 1978 picture book with the

same title by Judy Barrett. In the book, a grandfather turns a mishap at breakfast into a  bedtime story of the wonderful town Chewandswallow where no one has to cook, because food falls from the sky. Keeping the theme of food raining from the sky, the film tells the story of a little boy, Flint Lockwood, living in the failing island fishing town Swallow Falls. Berit Åström Department of Language Studies Umeå University 901 87 Umeå Sweden

8 Flint wants to become an inventor, but his inventions have a tendency to malfunction. The only person who believes in him is his mother, Fran. After eight minutes, the film jumps ten years into the future, when Flint is now a young man, working in his father Tim’s tackle shop, still trying to invent something useful. He invents the Flint Lockwood Diatonic Mutating Dynamic Food Replicator (FLDMDFR). The machine, malfunctioning like all the other inventions, ends up floating in the sky, but it turns out that Flint can program it to rain food down on the town. Initially, the machine revives the town, the name of which is changed to Chewandswallow, turning it into a tourist attraction. After a while, however, the hamburgers, sausages and steaks become bigger and bigger, and in the end the machine threatens the lives not only of the people in the town, but in the rest of the world. In order to avert disaster, Flint, together with his father, the weather reporter Sam Sparks and the camera man Manny, destroys the machine and becomes a hero. 4 Although the characters in Chicken are anthropomorphized animals, whereas those in Cloudy are humans, there are some striking similarities, such as the child ren’s status as “geeks” and outsiders, and the way they appear to disappoint and embarrass their widowed

fathers. Another similarity is that of body type. Buck Cluck and Tom Lockwood are both big,  burly men, whereas their sons are small and weak. Both sets of fathers and sons thus fit the dichotomy Birthisel (2014) sees manifested in animated films, between “large, strong and respected men” and “smaller, weaker men” who cannot “meet the expectations created by

larger- bodied men” and have to make up for that through “grit, determination, or unique skills” (2014, p. 342). This, as Wooden and Gillam (2014) discuss , is a “tragically familiar social paradigm” that runs through American society in general, cutting across socio-

economic, ethnic and regional differences, in which “bigger, stronger, and more athletic men and boys are invariabl y understood as superior to smaller, more delicate, or intell ectual ones” (p. 34). This social paradigm is part of Connell and Messerschmidt’s (2005) hegemonic masculinity, which to a certain extent is established through “exemplars of masculinity” (p. 846). Hegemonic masculinity is contrasted against subordinate masculinity that excludes men and boys “from the circle of legitimacy” (Connell, 2005), often thr ough labels such as “nerd” and “geek” (p. 79). Both Buck and Tim can be viewed as such exemplars of masculinity: Buck’s wide chest and stomach, and thick arms stand in stark contrast to Chicken’s  tiny body,

with its spindly arms and legs. Chicken is so short that he does not even reach up to his father’s waist, and his “geekiness” is further underscored by his glasses. The discrepancy Berit Åström Department of Language Studies Umeå University 901 87 Umeå Sweden

9  between Tim and Flint is almost as great: Tim has a very thick neck, broad shoulders and thick arms. Most of the time his eyes are hidden under very bushy eyebrows. Flint, like Chicken, is short with thin arms and legs. He retains a slender build and large child-like e yes even as an adult, never reaching his father’s height. His obsession with inventions, which

never work, further marks him out as a “geek.” The narratives thus construct the children as ranking low in the “hierarchy of masculinity” (Birthisel, 2014, p. 345) and initially it appears

that the boys are required to compensate for their lack of masculinity through “unique skills” (p. 342) in order to be acknowledged by their fathers. Chicken is devastated by his father’s failure to support him publicly and privately, when

he is accused of lying about the sky falling and the alien space ship. However, he interprets the lack of support as his own fault, as the inevitable and justifiable outcome of him failing his father. For most of the film, Chicken is trying to find a way to make his father proud of him, to atone for his guilt of inadequacy. Similarly, the adult Flint’s attempts at inventing something useful are motivated by a desire to make his father proud of him, and he is repeatedly appealing to his father for validation. Flint’s need for his father’s approval even outcompetes his budding love affair with weather reporter Sam. It is only after he and his father have reconciled that Flint and Sam can build a relationship. The films thus appear to follow the established formula of father-son films as outlined  by Rattigan and McManus (1992), in that both children seem to fail their fathers and try to make up for that failure. However, as the films progress, they deviate from this pattern. The fathers are forced to learn three important lessons: to support their sons emotionally, accepting them as they are; to listen to them and communicate their own emotions; and to acknowledge their own faults, and to be willing to change. In the end, the sons are accepted, not for what they have achieved, but for who they are. Analysis

 Failing to be supportive

Both films present the fathers as failing to provide emotional support for their sons, albeit in different ways. Buck can be viewed as an example of LaRossa’s fat her as “economic  provider, pal and male role model.” He certainly provides for his son, since they can afford a

large house and a car, and the boy looks up to him for his sporting successes in his youth. In general, theirs appears to be a harmonious and friendly, if somewhat superficial, relationship. Berit Åström Department of Language Studies Umeå University 901 87 Umeå Sweden

10 Yet, Buck is unaware of how much Chicken suffers from what Buck calls his “little mistake,” seemingly confusing an acorn with a piece of the sky. In a scene early in the film, Buck, evidently puzzled by the national interest the mistake has generated, lists all the spinoff  products: a book, a board game, spoons, commemorative plates, a website, bumper stickers, and finally Crazy Little Chicken: The Movie . Chicken is visibly upset by this recitation, but Buck is oblivious. Rather than comforting him, he advises his son not to draw attention to himself, to “lay low,” to live his life as a game of hide-and-seek where “the goal is never to be found, ever.” It is not clear whether he says this to protect Chicken or himself, but Chicken

interprets the statement as his father finding him embarrassing. The clearest evidence of Buck’s failing as a father, however, is his lack of emotional

support. Following the panic Chicken causes at the beginning of the film, which leads to car crashes, the destruction of a movie theater and a water tower, Buck steps in and apologizes for his son’s behavior , telling Chicken to stop claiming that it was not an acorn falling from

the sky: “this is embarrassing enough.” Chicken is devastated that his father does not believe him. Buck excuses Chicken’s action with the claim “kids do crazy stuff” and the epithet crazy follows Chicken throughout the film. A reporter labels him “insane,” and he is r epeatedly

referred to by other characters as “the crazy chicken.” The second betrayal occurs when Chicken asks his father to believe in the now invisible spaceship. Again, people are angry. Chicken appeals to his father: “Dad, I’m not making this up. You gotta believe me this time.”  Buck, his eyes darting back and forth between his son and his angry neighbors, is visibly torn, but finally chooses to abandon his son: “No son, I don’t.” He then apologizes to the adults: “I can’t tell you how embarrassed I am, folks. ” In

 both instances, Buck chooses his relationship to the townspeople over that to his son and his repeated use of “embarrassing” reinforces the notion of Chicken’s guilt of inadequacy. Buck

is a fair-weather father, happy to acknowledge his son when he secures a baseball victory  –  “that’s my boy out there” –  but will not support him when the boy needs it the most.

Tim’s failure to support his son is less public, but no less emotionally devastating. He is a less hands-on father than Buck, appearing mainly as a silent, disapproving figure on the margins. In the early part of the film there are no scenes where father and son enjoy each other’s company. Instead Tim is presented as  being on the receiving end when Flint’ s

inventions explode or malfunction in some other way. When Flint’s show-and-tell at school fails and he becomes despondent, his mother asks Tim to talk to his son. Tim proves to be Berit Åström Department of Language Studies Umeå University 901 87 Umeå Sweden

11 literally lost for words –  he can only speak in fishing metaphors that Flint does not understand, and is therefore unable to comfort the boy. Later on, Tim asks Flint to “give up this inventing thing and get a real job,” which prompts Flint to comment in a voice -over that although his mother had been dead for ten years, “Dad still didn’t understand me the way she did.” Flint repeatedly turns to his father for validation, but Tim never replies. In contrast to

Buck, who thinks that he is doing a good job of being a father, Tim is shown as playing almost no part in Flint’s life, not taking any interest in what he does . Tim is wary of the

technology Flint uses, and is not willing to learn about it. The narratives thus depict how the two, oppositional, types of fatherhood both cause fathers to place their own needs before their sons’, and to fail to give support when needed.

 Learning to listen and communicate Chicken and Cloudy both emphasize the importance of father-son communication,

demonstrating how a failure to communicate makes the children unhappy. Disregarding his friend Abby’s advice that he should tell his father about his hurt feelings, that they need “closure,” Chicken opts for winning his father’s love through sports. He joins the school

 baseball team. Although spectacularly bad at it, since he is so small, he saves the team at the  bottom of the ninth, allowing it to beat a rival school for the first time in many years. Afterwards father and son seem to bond over the success and they agree that they do not need “closure”; they do not need talk about the acorn incident. Later on, when Chicken finds a

 piece of an alien space ship, he almost tells his father, but loses his nerve at the last moment. Buck, rather than pressing the matter, thinks that he has handled the situation well and congratulates himself : “you gotta be ready to listen to your children, even if they’ve nothing to say.” Although Buck recognizes the importance of listening, he has not learned how to do

it. Instead he happily bumbles on, thinking he is a good father. It takes an alien invasion for Buck to be ready to listen properly. When Melvin and Tina attack the town with a fleet of spaceships, Chicken tries to return Kirby to his parents, but is hindered by his father, who again does not listen. Chicken finally snaps and accuses Buck of not paying attention to him and of not being supportive: “you’re never there for me.” Seeing Kirby, a tuft of hair with three eyes and three legs, Buck realizes that Chicken was right all along, and acknowledges his son’s feelings and emotional needs for the first time. He

specifically apologizes for making Chicken think that he had to earn his father’s love, stating Berit Åström Department of Language Studies Umeå University 901 87 Umeå Sweden

12 that his love is unconditional. In a reversal of the traditional trope of atonement, it is now Buck who must seek atonement with his son for his own guilt of inadequacy. Tim, on the other hand, not only does not listen, but he also cannot express his feelings for his son. When he is not forbidding Flint from continuing with his inventions, or questioning the safety of the FLDMDFR, he continues to speak in fishing metaphors, although Flint still finds them incomprehensible. Most of the time, however, Tim is simply silent, refusing to respond to Flint’s enthusiasm, withdrawing when support is demanded. In the end, it is Flint’s technology that allows Tim to communicate  his feelings. A thought-

translator, which Flint built for his pet monkey Steve, finally allows Tim to express how overwhelmed he is by Flint’s intelligence and capabilities, and how proud he is of him: “You’re talented; you’re a total original and your lab is breathtaking.” He also explains that

the fishing metaphors are his way of expressing his love. Tim needs help from his son to be able to communicate what he feels. He is then finally able to state that love without the use of the translator, and gives his son a hug. The trajectory in both narratives is thus from a traditional, father-knows-best approach to a more child-centered kind of parenting focusing on two-way communication. Seeking atonement Both boys, each in their own way, “seek atonement with [their] fathers” (Rattigan and

McManus, 1992 p. 19). They try to find ways to please their fathers, to win their love. The word “proud” resonates throughout both films and it is significant that both s ons believe that their fathers’ approval is something that needs to be earned, that is not freely given. Chicken

decides to join the baseball team because “then finally Dad will have reason to be proud of me,” as he says to his friends . Flint, on the other hand, repeatedly appeals to his father for his

validation. Discussing his ideas for the FLDMDFR he states “You would be so proud of me, dad.” Similarly, when the machine is up and running, he mentions the  praise he has received from the mayor and adds: “Aren’t you proud of me?” Yet, in each i nstance, Tim withholds

any approval, refusing to answer. The message communicated in both films is that when a father-son relationship does not work, it is the father who needs to change, not the son. As is shown, Chicken’s baseball success is not enough. When he needs his father’s support later, his father fails him again. It is

not Chicken who must become less of an embarrassment, the narrative suggests; it is Buck Berit Åström Department of Language Studies Umeå University 901 87 Umeå Sweden

13 who must learn to love his son no matter what happens. Buck learns this lesson when he realizes not only that Chicken was right all along, but how much he has hurt his son by not supporting him. Now he embraces the new role as father: “craz y supportive, that’s me.” The

word crazy takes on a new meaning, no longer descriptive of Chicken’s failure, but of his father’s changed attitude. When Chicken again appeals to Buck “I can do this, you gotta  believe me this time,” he does believe him, and his support enables Chicken to become a hero.

Thus, the narrative suggests that the onus is not on Chicken to adapt to his father’s expectations, but for Buck to adapt to his son’s  needs. It is not Chicken who has to earn his father’s love, but Buck who has to earn Chicken’s. There is more to being a father than being

an economic provider, a role model and a pal; the postfeminist father must also display emotional competence: he needs to provide emotional comfort and support. Flint, who is in his early twenties throughout most of the film, is less eager to change to earn his father’s love, but more vocal about his needs. Although Tim forbids him to continue

with his inventions, Flint never complies, thinking that if he can only succeed in his work, his father will acknowledge him. He appeals several times to his father, asking him to be proud of him. He also demands to be loved for his own sake: “When are you going to accept that this is who I am, instead of trying to get me to work in some boring tackle shop?” Tim’s response to

these demands is to withdraw from his son: “I guess I’ll just get out of your way.” Since they are both adults, the conflict lies on a different plane than in Chicken, but it is evident that Flint cannot sort out his life until his relationship with his father is resolved. As in Chicken, it takes an external crisis of gigantic proportions to make Tim change. When it appears that the FLDMDFR will destroy the world, Tim not only shows himself supportive, but even manages to take the step into Flint’s world. In order to avert disaster, Tim is forced to try to learn how to use modern technology. Tim and his father both dislike each other’s worlds, but it is Tim who must learn to adapt, by learning to attach a file to an email and sending it to the computer onboard the FLDMDFR. In the end, Tim has learnt how to tell his son that he loves him, and he has made the effort of connecting with Flint’s  world. In this way, both films argue that rather than the son living up to the expectations of the father, whether a new pal or an old-style oppressor, it is the father who must make sure that he fulfills the emotional and physical needs of his son. Not to do so may lead to the destruction of the world, either through the invasion of aliens, or through the son’s disastrous inventions.

Berit Åström Department of Language Studies Umeå University 901 87 Umeå Sweden

14  Role models for fathers and sons

It could be argued that the films function as Freeman’s “portable professors,” with a message aimed at fathers and sons. In both films, other fathers function as didactic models in order to illustrate what a good father should be like, to the father characters, to the child  protagonists, and directly to the audience. In Chicken, it is the three-legged, three-eyed alien, Melvin, who explains to Buck what good fathering entails. The narrative has Melvin apologize for overreacting and launching an invasion , with the explanation: “I’m a dad. And you know how it is with your kids when they need you. You do whatever it takes.” To be a

good father is to do absolutely everything in order to keep the child happy and safe, whether it is defending him when he seems to be lying, or invading an alien planet. In Cloudy there is also a character to hand to demonstrate what fatherhood should really  be about, even though he does not explain this directly to Tim. Instead, the local police officer Earl Devereaux repeatedly articulates to Flint what can be expected of a good father: “You know how fathers always try to express their love and appreciation for their sons.” He has no

 problems telling his son that he loves him and the son is safe in the knowledge of his father’s emotions: “I know dad. You tell me every day.” In this way  Flint and the audience are informed of what good fatherhood entails, and in the end Tim learns it too. There is also a note of warning in Cloudy: if a father does not make his son feel loved, the son may be open to exploitation by other father figures. The mayor of Chewandswallow uses Flint’s need to be loved to manipulate him into misusing the FLDMDFR and thus indirectly place the world in jeopardy. When Tim disapproves of the machine, and wants Flint to turn it off , the mayor uses Flint’s emotional needs against him: “I always felt that you are like a son to me. And I’m going to be so proud of you.” Because Flint’s desire to be loved has not been met, he is vulnerable to the mayor’s flattery, and almost destroys the world. Through

these models, and anti-models, the narratives teach the characters, and the audience, what is to  be expected from a postfeminist father.

Conclusion

The animated feature films Chicken Little and Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs  are situated within a patriarchal, heteronormative system, and can hardly be s aid to address issues of class, ethnicity, race or sexual identity.5 Like animated films of earlier periods, the fathers’ Berit Åström Department of Language Studies Umeå University 901 87 Umeå Sweden

15 involvement with their sons is predicated on the absence of the mothers. Unlike earlier animated films, however, the father-characters are shown as competent carers for their children, aligning the narratives with other contemporary visual texts drawing on postfeminist notions of masculinity and fatherhood. The films are also unusual in the amount of screen time given over to the children’s demand for a renegotiation of the father -son relationship. In

the end, Chicken and Flint win their fathers’ approval, not because of heroic acts, of proving themselves by embracing their fathers’ values, or becoming “exemplars of masculinity” –  all Chicken does is return a missing child, and Flint destroys a doomsday device of his own making –  but because the fathers realize that it is their responsibility to give it. Both films draw on hegemonic masculinity in the presentation of the fathers, but challenge it, showing how the earlier models of parenting, the oppressive father and the pal, are ineffective and  potentially damaging, and that the position of father no longer automatically confers authority and valorization. What is needed, the films argue, is both a new “conduct of fatherhood” and a new “culture of fatherhood” (LaRossa 1997, p. 11), in which a man’s masculinity is defined  by his ability to care for and nurture his child. As Connell emphasizes, “hegemony is a mobile relation” (2005, p. 77) , which suggests that hegemonic masculinity can be challenged and

redefined. Such a new hegemonic masculinity appears to be gaining ground (Hamad 2013). It needs to be problematized, as both Hamad and McRobbie have shown, particularly in its  position towards motherhood, but the fact that a process of renegotiation has begun, could  perhaps be a cause for cautious optimism. REFERENCES

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Berit Åström Department of Language Studies Umeå University 901 87 Umeå Sweden

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Berit Åström Department of Language Studies Umeå University 901 87 Umeå Sweden

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Berit Åström Department of Language Studies Umeå University 901 87 Umeå Sweden

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 For discussions of the absent mother as a recurring trope in animated films see, for example, Worthington (2004), Haas (1995), and Åström (in press). 2 Father-daughter films tend to concern girls in their late teens, presenting them as “young girls in need of  parental guidance and  –  eventually – husbandly control” ( Worthington 2004, p. 2). 3 See, for example, Ayers (2003), Bryman (2004), Cheu (2013), Gillam & Wooden (2008, 2014), Haas (1995), Lacroix (2004), Li-Vollmer & Lapointe (2003), Smoodin (1994) and Ward (2002). 4  It is noteworthy how both films change the source material in order to provide a dead mother and a father-son conflict. 5 In Cloudy, the police officer and family are seemingly the only non-white residents in the town. In Chicken, the only non-white character is Morkubine Porcupine, who may be intended to be perceived as African-American, although that is far from clear. The character Runt of the Litter’s  connection to Barbra Streisand, and Gloria Gaynor’s “I will survive” may be intended to signal homosexuality, but this t heme is not developed.

Berit Åström Department of Language Studies Umeå University 901 87 Umeå Sweden