Howard Ashman’s involvement – as a gay man of the 1980’s – reinterpreting this story written by a queer man of the 1830’s cannot be overstated, as far as I’m concerned.
In the original Little Mermaid fairy tale, merpeople are depicted as less than human – creatures that lack a soul who live a long time, but ultimately vanish into sea foam, leaving no lasting impact on the world around them. The titular little mermaid (never named) has to abandon everything she is and masquerade as a human, trying everything she can to fit in and be happy alongside her prince, all while it feels like her feet are being stabbed with knives with each step she takes and the prince treats her more like a child than a lover:
“As the days passed, she loved the prince more fondly, and he loved her as he would love a little child, but it never came into his head to make her his wife.”
The prince even calls the mermaid his “dumb foundling” and “dumb child” at two different points. (Using “dumb” meaning “silent,” but still – not exactly the most romantic or even platonic terms of endearment.) And no matter how much the mermaid tries to walk the walk and be everything the prince could want, he ultimately chooses a “real” human woman in place of the mermaid, leaving her to die and chase salvation for all eternity as a Daughter of the Air.
This is a story of a queer man deeply scarred by religious trauma – who sees himself as someone less than the people around him and constantly falls short of happiness because of his inherent nature. Merpeople – maybe as an allegory for LGBT people in that period? – live apart from humans ignorant of their existence and are ultimately forgotten and unloved by humanity. The mermaid’s desire to be truly human therefore can be totally read as a gay person wanting social acceptance and never getting it from society and – therefore – presumably from God as well. Even the mermaid’s transformation into a Daughter of the Air seeking an after-life…she has no power in whether or not she will ultimately succeed in that endeavor, as at the end of the fairy tale, it’s said that she’ll wait 300 years, unless the children of the world do good deeds (shortening her stint) or misbehave (lengthening her stint).
“After three hundred years, thus shall we float into the kingdom of heaven,” said she. “And we may even get there sooner,” whispered one of her companions. “Unseen we can enter the houses of men, where there are children, and for every day on which we find a good child, who is the joy of his parents and deserves their love, our time of probation is shortened. The child does not know, when we fly through the room, that we smile with joy at his good conduct, for we can count one year less of our three hundred years. But when we see a naughty or a wicked child, we shed tears of sorrow, and for every tear a day is added to our time of trial!”
Until the very end, the mermaid is reliant on others to dictate her worth. Not even sacrificing her own happiness for her prince is enough for her to earn the soul she longed for, nor the love, happiness and acceptance she deserves. Like a struggling writer beholden to patrons to promote and celebrate his works, the mermaid is constantly seeking approval and praise from those more powerful and “normal” than her, all the way until the end.
Contrast this again to Ariel, who quite frankly I would say Howard Ashman put just as much of himself into as HCA put himself into the original mermaid. Ariel values herself – she wears her emotions on her sleeve – she knows what she wants and she’s not ashamed of it. She might have a secret grotto where she keeps her human treasures, but that’s more of a safe space for herself, since her father and other merpeople don’t “get” her interests. Ariel is told by Ursula, just as the mermaid is told by the OG sea witch, that her looks and charm should be enough to snag the prince’s heart, regardless of her voice, but Ariel doesn’t play games trying to “win” Eric’s heart. While on land, she’s honestly just enjoying herself so much that her heart shines through even without her voice, prompting Eric to fall for her all over again. Even with the deadline looming, Ariel can only focus on how much she loves being on land and with Eric. She’s happier than we’ve seen her in the entire rest of the film, including while she was around human stuff before. Ariel isn’t chasing Eric’s love out of any desire to “complete” or “improve” herself – she’s not looking for his love to “give her a soul,” the way the OG mermaid does. Instead being with Eric on land gives Ariel a kind of liberation she’s never known before. Ariel always had a soul – and now, as a human on land, that soul can finally soar. She doesn’t need the world to validate her or her trials – she just wants one person to share her experience of this wonderful world with her.
It’s honestly little wonder that LGBT+ people of all stripes really identify with the Little Mermaid story as well as its adaptations, and it will continuously frustrate me how many people neglect to acknowledge the depth of the Disney film’s themes.