Editor’s Note: The following article is a guest opinion submitted by Dr. Foote, who previously brought us such insightful exposés as “The Perils of Pokémon Pandering” and “Justin Bieber and the Satanic Gravy Train.” As always, we welcome spirited debate, provided it remains God-fearing and denim-free.
Friends, patriots, parental units and seekers of truth, I bring you grave tidings from the deepest trenches of Hollywood’s latest attempt to strangle virtue with sequins and sass. I speak, of course, of the upcoming remake of Disney’s Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, a film once beloved by God-fearing households and now tragically hijacked by a coalition of revisionists, hair stylists, and oddly angular women.
The lead in this modern desecration is one Rachel Zegler, a woman who describes herself as “Latina,” “a performer,” and “totally chill with tearing down cinematic icons built on white lace and moral restraint.” Zegler, whose name sounds like a villainous potion ingredient (“one eye of Zegler!”), has been parading herself around on red carpets in pantsuits so shimmering and tight they practically scream “forbidden mood.” I watched an interview and had to turn the monitor away from my office hamster, Ezekiel.
She is not my Snow White.
Let’s be honest. Snow White, in her original, un-woke, pre-Zillow form, was pale, gentle, soft-spoken, and gratefully barefoot. Her presence invoked an innocence that called men to protect, to build birdhouses, and to speak in unnecessarily deep voices. Zegler’s take? She stomps into the forest looking like she just criticized your fantasy football picks and drinks oat milk with a vengeance. I fear her shoulders. I fear her jawline. I fear the stirring deep within me that… ahem, let’s not get off track.
Now, as for the dwarves – if we can even call them that anymore – am told they will be portrayed by an eclectic assortment of “diverse” actors. The lineup resembles the kind of dinner party you’d find in Brooklyn, where no one eats gluten and someone is crying about the ethics of eye contact. Where is Grumpy? Where is Sleepy? Why does one of them have a man bun and quote Rilke? The answer is clear: this isn’t your grandpa’s enchanted forest. This is a queer woodland throuple commune, and I, for one, will not be packing a lunch.
Let me be clear: my objections are rooted entirely in traditional family values and not, as some have claimed, in my disturbing tendency to keep screenshots of shirtless men from The Bachelor in my sermon slides “for educational purposes.”
Zegler’s Snow White has declared she doesn’t want a prince. Instead, she wants a “career.” A “voice.” A “narrative.” These are not things women in Disney films are supposed to want. They are supposed to sing to bluebirds and collapse gracefully when poisoned, not hold court in press junkets talking about patriarchal subversions. I don’t even know what that means, but I know it made me sweat.
I watched the trailer twelve times. For research.
There was a moment so brief, fleeting, where Zegler twirled in a crimson cloak and glared directly at the camera. I do not know what she saw, but I know I felt seen. And I did not like it. Nor did I like the cut of the costumer’s jib. Or the fact that my Amazon order history now contains “crimson velvet cape, adult, unisex.”
In conclusion, this film represents a betrayal of tradition, a threat to masculinity, and a confusing awakening that I will continue to process exclusively in online comments and whispery late-night voicemails to Glenn Beck. America deserves better. Snow White deserves better. And I… I need to go lie down.
For the purity of film and the clarity of feelings I definitely don’t have,
Dr. William Shannon Foote
Concerned Lifestyle Reporter, Certified Youth Guidance Counselor (Online),
Author of Cinnamon Toast and the Satanic Agenda
