Finally, I settled down with my kids to watch Disney’s “Encanto,” a film that had been generating considerable buzz for its surprisingly deep subtext. Like many, I’d heard whispers that this wasn’t just another animated movie, so we snuggled up on the couch, eager to see what lay beneath the surface of this vibrant story about the Encanto Family. It turns out, the film offered much more than just catchy tunes and colorful animation.
It’s often said that great art, in its pursuit of truth, inadvertently touches upon divine themes. After all, truth is inherently linked to the divine. Storytelling, a cornerstone of art, whether captured in a painting, sculpted in form, or set in motion through film, possesses a unique power. Exceptional art not only reflects truth but does so in a way that resonates across generations and cultures. “Encanto,” in its narrative of the Madrigal family, masterfully achieves this, prompting reflection far beyond its surface entertainment value.
“Encanto” introduces us to the Madrigals, an extraordinary Encanto family blessed by a miracle. This miracle, symbolized by a magical candle, bestows a unique gift upon each family member as they come of age. These aren’t just any gifts; they are fantastical abilities that range from superhuman strength and enhanced hearing to the power to heal with food, conjure flora, control the weather, communicate with animals, and even foresee the future.
The grandmother, Abuela Alma, the family matriarch, diligently reminds each member that these gifts are not for personal glory but for the service of their village. This service is presented as their core purpose. The unspoken, and later explicitly stated, rule is that failing to utilize their gifts for the community risks diminishing, or even losing, the miracle itself.
From an outsider’s perspective, the Madrigal family and their enchanted lives seem idyllic. However, this façade begins to crack when Mirabel Madrigal comes of age. Unlike her kin, the miracle seemingly bypasses her, leaving her without a supernatural gift. She receives no magical room and grows up feeling like the ordinary member of an extraordinary family, the one who isn’t “special.”
Mirabel’s lack of powers becomes the unspoken tension within the Encanto family. No one wants to address it, especially Abuela Alma, who secretly fears Mirabel’s ordinariness is a harbinger of the miracle’s decline and a threat to their family’s standing in the community.
Driven by this fear, Abuela intensifies the pressure on her gifted family members. “Push harder! Do your best! We must keep the miracle strong! It’s up to us to preserve it!” As the movie progresses, the audience witnesses the immense stress these expectations place on the family, all striving to “keep the miracle strong”—a miracle that was originally given freely. Luisa, the sister with superhuman strength, poignantly captures this burden in her song:
*“If I could shake the crushing weight of expectations*
*Would that free some room up for joy*
*Or relaxation, or simple pleasure?*
*Instead we measure this growing pressure*
*Keeps growing, keep going*
*'Cause all we know is*
*Pressure like a drip, drip, drip that'll never stop, whoa*
*Pressure that'll tip, tip, tip 'til you just go pop, whoa-oh-oh*
*Give it to your sister, it doesn't hurt*
*And see if she can handle every family burden*
*Watch as she buckles and bends but never breaks*
*No mistakes just*
*Pressure like a grip, grip, grip…”*This relentless pressure to perfect and amplify their miraculous gifts begins to manifest physically. Cracks start appearing in Casita, the family’s enchanted home, mirroring the fractures within the Encanto family itself. Paradoxically, the more the house cracks, the more the family pushes to perform, to be better, to do more. The mantra becomes “Hold it together! Be better! Do more!” yet it’s never enough.
The relentless demand to flawlessly wield their gifts gradually erodes the familial love that should bind the Madrigals. Bickering erupts, and the warmth of affection is replaced by the cold pressure to perform and the blame game when things falter. It is Mirabel, the seemingly ungifted one, who bravely seeks the truth behind the unraveling miracle, initially believing herself to be the cause. Her quest leads her to Bruno, the ostracized prophet of the family, living in self-imposed exile within the walls of Casita. Bruno had been banished for sharing his visions of the cracks plaguing their home, his foresight deemed a threat rather than a warning. Yet, unable to abandon his family, Bruno secretly attempts to mend the cracks from within, desperately trying to buy them time as the fissures deepen.
However, Mirabel and Bruno are not the source of Casita’s instability. The true cause lies in a subtle yet profound shift within the Encanto family. They have unknowingly transitioned from placing their faith in the miracle itself to placing faith in their own ability to make the miracle happen. They began to perceive themselves as the origin of the miracle, rather than mere recipients of a divine gift. This fundamental misplacement of faith is what erodes the foundation of their home and threatens to doom them all. The more pressure they exert to perfectly produce the miracle, the deeper the cracks become, both in Casita and within their familial bonds.
Adult viewers watching “Encanto” alongside their children often recognize deeper layers in the narrative. Psychologists have noted parallels between the film’s themes and “Internal Family Systems Theory,” suggesting Disney may be using the Encanto family‘s story to explore diverse responses to trauma, similar to how Pixar’s “Inside Out” delved into the complexities of brain development and emotional processing.
But beyond the psychological interpretations, “Encanto” offers a powerful theological reflection. The movie poignantly illustrates the consequences of conflating vocation and sanctification. Justification and sanctification, akin to the miracle in the film, are gifts of grace freely given, not achievements to be earned or manufactured. Vocation is how we utilize these gifts to serve others, but it doesn’t contribute to the inherent beauty and mystery of grace itself. We are not the source or the sustainer of the miracle; we are stewards of a gift.
Imagine substituting the word “miracle” with “grace” throughout the movie’s narrative. Suddenly, “Encanto” resonates deeply with many Christian viewers. It’s perfectly understandable if this realization evokes tears.
Conversations with individuals who have experienced spiritual trauma reveal that the story of the Encanto family in “Encanto” provides a powerful metaphor for their own pain. The gift, initially intended as grace, can become distorted into pressure, a burden, a means of proving worthiness within a community or family. The haunting question emerges: when we fail to produce the expected “gift,” do we still belong?
This beautifully crafted story leads the Encanto family to their breaking point, a moment of complete loss, before they can rediscover and truly appreciate the miracle for what it is—a miracle. Without revealing the ending entirely, “Encanto” beautifully weaves together the concepts of extraordinary miracles and the miracles that work through ordinary means and ordinary people. It’s a powerful reminder that true magic lies not in flawless performance, but in the grace that binds a family together, imperfections and all.
