A hugely talented lyricist and driven perfectionist, Ashman completes work on just two and a bit films before AIDS-related illness takes him prematurely. In Ashman’s short tenure, together with long-time musical partner Alan Menken, he helps spearhead a renaissance in Disney animation, which rescues the artists from the literal outbuilding they’ve been relegated to. Finally, Disney finds its own crown prince, the only man who’s spoken of in terms as hallowed as those reserved for Walt himself: Howard Ashman. There are cats (Thomas O’Malley, Oliver), dogs (Tramp, Pongo), little boys (Mowgli, Peter Pan) and even a fox who still makes the internet uncomfortably thirsty. Then, for a long time, there is no prince. There’s a reason Maleficent got an origin story over Prince Philip – and she doesn’t even have a song. The prince template is pretty simple: he turns up, interrupts the princess to sing about love, possibly does some slaying or kissing (or both), marries the girl, and is promptly forgotten about. To understand how Flynn drove the final nail into the cookie-cutter prince coffin, let’s go back to Walt’s heyday.
The filmmakers defended the choice because of Flynn Rider, who they argued was a main character. It didn’t go out under the name Rapunzel, reportedly making the shift to a more neutral name to avoid putting boys off with a princessy label. There was also a healthy dose of industry gossip around its marketing. Critics shrugged at it – complaining it was a little weak for the 50th Walt Disney Animated Classic (as if anyone remembers which number their favourite is). Although cinema-going audiences treated it fairly kindly, it struggled to make back its mammoth budget. Tangled has always had a bit of a mixed reputation.