When Elliott found E.T. in his backyard 28 years ago, the world became spellbound with the magic and charm that Spielberg’s film radiated – the human desire for childish fantasies, for the extraordinary beyond the drum of everyday life, for the innocence of what was once ubiquitous during everyday childhood. 

This classic parable – a boy and his little secret – encompasses such a desire, and has been reincarnated in other narratives such as Brad Bird’s “The Iron Giant” in 1999, and more recently Hayao Miyazaki’s “Ponyo” in 2008 (arguably, this narrative quality is what might’ve made the first half of Michael Bay’s “Transformers” in 2007 endurable when Sam comes into possession of Bumblebee). These boys were nothing spectacular – perhaps quirky here and there, but that’s not to say we all have our idiosyncrasies – yet by chance they came across marvelous discoveries, exceptional gems that they are blessed to even glance upon. These protagonists are who we all wish to be, to be chanced upon wondrous avenues that deviate from the limits of human life. However, 

Does this story only apply to boys? 

Hogarth and his robot from “The Iron Giant,” 1999. 

Types of popular narrative are indicative of a society and its standards of normality, morality, ethics, and avenues of progress. As it stands, most nuanced narratives of children and adolescents belong to boys: from the quiet Sousuke in Miyazaki’s “Ponyo” to the wide-eyed Elliott in Spielberg’s “E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial,” portraitures of adolescent fancy has predominantly fancied boys over girls. 

Are girls any less interesting, thoughtful, inquisitive? Of course not – simple observation instantly dispels such a notion. Are they more difficult to portray than their male counterpart? Again, no – girls are not much different than boys beyond interests and the social norms that may bind them to certain behaviors. 

So what is it about popular narrative that seems to favor boys over girls? 

It boils down to the type of society America and most other countries are – patriarchal. Thus by default, patriarchal qualities are valued more than matriarchal: what these terms encompass is defined solely by each society, but nonetheless these terms subconsciously deem what is more acceptable in the public spectrum. 

This comes back to why boy narratives are more predominant and more nuanced than their girl counterparts: females are indoctrinated to set standards at an early age, standards that are arguably more restricted and less opportunistic than that of males; these notions are marketed heavily to children through various mediums and consumeristic products. 

Girls get Barbie, Disney princesses, pink dresses, little toy baking sets, and an emphasis on the importance of shopping and fashion and make-up and all that jazz; boys get Nerf guns, Hotrod cars, little building sets, and an clear alleyway to getting muddy and dirty and matted and icky and all that fun romping business.

These are terribly gross generalizations, but they are necessary for consideration. At first glance it may seem that the qualities between boys and girls don’t seem any more restrictive than the other. But here’s the key difference: 

Indoctrinated norms for girls are deeply domestic while indoctrinated norms for boys seem boundless and opportunistic. 

It’s this key difference, this important deviation that subconsciously drives public acceptance for more nuanced narratives about boys than about girls. It may very well be the reason why it is difficult for more writers and creatives to depict nuanced girls beyond Cinderella daydreams and wedding planners and pink tutus at all – and it’s very well the reason why it’s even more important to advance beyond the princess narrative into a more sophisticated, a more engrossing and a much more gradated painting of young, adolescent girls. 

Mei and Satsuki peering down the stream in “My Neighbor Totoro,” 1988. 

Not to say that this challenge hasn’t been met and executed before. Hayao Miyazaki created two of the most subtle and sweet couple of sisters, 10-year-old Satsuki and 4-year-old Mei in “My Neighbor Totoro” back in 1988 and again in 1989 with the gifted and down-to-earth young witch, Kiki in “Kiki’s Delivery Service.” More recently, stop-motion animator Henry Selick adapted the prolific Neil Gaiman’s novel “Coraline” into a full-length feature, released in 2009. 

“Coraline” is particularly notable because it is one of the few American film efforts (adapted from a British novel) to convey a nuanced girl as the main protagonist that did not involve princesses and princes or jolly Disney side-kicks to sashay into musical dance and joy. 

Coraline is a strong and curious girl, displaying some traits of Alice from Wonderland but very distinctly sharper. Interestingly, this film – which was one of the best efforts to portray a non-Disney archetype girl – was met by most critics as a “fantastic” visual, few giving much thought to Coraline’s depiction; the few who did did so sparingly, tacitly and almost off-handedly. One of the most esteemed film critics, Roger Ebert, critiqued in his review, 

“Even more rare is that Coraline Jones is not a nice little girl. She’s unpleasant, complains, has an attitude and makes friends reluctantly.”

On the surface – yeah, maybe she is, depending on where you’re coming from and what your experience (or expectation) of girls are. But not all girls are sweet, gentile, quiet, obedient, daydreaming, as Ebert clarifies in his review; more pressingly however (and something that he did not address or perhaps consider) is that Coraline is just as vulnerable as any other girl despite her no-nonsense mannerism. Beyond the surface of her (seemingly negative) attitude is a nuanced character that deserves more than just a “unpleasant” stamp on the head. More than anything she is something of a gem, a girl who refuses to be Disney-princess-ified or Barbied-up or stuck in the kitchen baking flowery cakes and goods. 

She’s a girl, striking and unique, and one who speaks more to the female demographic than any social expectations of red lipstick and white minivans and great big suburban houses we’ve grown so familiar with. 

So to answer the question posed earlier: does this story – one of finding something extraordinary or being lucky enough to encounter something marvelous – is it only conveying, convincing and moving with a boy protagonist?

I think Miyazaki already answered this question 22 years ago.