One of the best action movies of the ’90s is a Disney princess musical

With Women Of Action, Caroline Siede digs into the history of women-driven action movies to explore what these stories say about gender and how depictions of female action heroes have evolved over time.

One of the biggest rallying cries of the last decade of pop culture discourse has been the call for more “strong female characters” to inspire young girls. But what’s funny is that I actually felt like I already had a lot of them growing up. As a child of the ’90s, I was obsessed with animated action shows like Sailor Moon, The Powerpuff Girls, and Princess Gwenevere And The Jewel Riders. I found aspiring female knights in Tamora Pierce novels and animated films like Quest For Camelot. And I loved the heroines of live-action sci-fi and fantasy TV specials like Zenon: Girl Of The 21st Century and The 10th Kingdom. 

The difference is a lot of those female action heroes existed in what I’ve dubbed on my Substack “girl culture”—media that’s largely marketed towards young women and therefore siloed away from the mainstream canon. The most ubiquitous kids’ action franchises of the ’90s tended to be boy-heavy with just one or two women on the team (think Power Rangers or Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles). And while I was encouraged to watch those and then round out my media diet with “girl power” properties too, I’m not sure my male elementary school classmates were being pushed to pick up an Alanna book or buy a Gwenevere action figure in the same way. 

That’s why it’s such a big deal that the sixth-highest grossing film of the Disney Renaissance was about a young woman who saves all of China. While the boys in my class could easily skate by without knowing the specifics of The Baby-Sitters Club or the American Girl doll lineup, it was basically impossible to be a kid in the ’90s and not know the decade’s Disney princess canon: Ariel, Belle, Jasmine, Pocahontas, and Mulan. Like Batman and Superman, they’re characters that transcend their context to become cultural icons. And on a purely representational level, there’s a power to having a lineup of female protagonists that omnipresent—characters that kids of all genders can immediately recognize by name.

Fittingly, gender roles are at the very heart of 1998’s Mulan, the first Disney princess film with an action focus. (Yes, Mulan isn’t technically royalty, but she’s part of the official branded line of Disney princesses, alongside the OGs Snow White, Cinderella, and Sleeping Beauty as well as later additions Tiana, Rapunzel, Merida, Moana, and Raya; Frozen’s Anna and Elsa are their own thing.) The film was folded together from two different development processes: a short film called China Doll about an oppressed young woman in China who’s rescued by a British “prince charming,” and a manuscript from children’s book author Robert D. San Souci, who wanted to retell the ancient Chinese folk song the Ballad Of Mulan—a sixth-century story of a woman who disguises herself as a man in order to take her aging father’s place in the military. 

As with a lot of Disney animated films from the ’90s, there was a well-meaning attempt to research and celebrate a specific culture with Mulan, even though the top behind-the-scenes roles were still largely filled by white men. (Chinese-American writer Rita Hsiao is one of five credited screenwriters and has talked about feeling the pressure to bring authenticity to the narrative as one of just two Asian crew members involved in the story process.) Disney largely—although not exclusively—sought out Asian and Asian-American voice actors for the main roles. And the animators were influenced by Chinese ink wash painting and watercolor for the aesthetic of the film, even if that cultural celebration sits somewhat uncomfortably alongside things like the inhuman depiction of the Huns or the fact that Eddie Murphy voices a dragon named Mushu. (It’s unclear whether the name comes from a 1903 Chinese theatrical adaptation of the Mulan story or if it’s just a food joke.)

Where Mulan does unquestionably excel, however, is in its depiction of its female lead. While the original plan was to make Mulan a plucky tomboy who longs for adventure and decides to run away from an arranged marriage, the writers quickly realized that made her far too similar to her fellow rebellious ’90s princesses. They eventually decided to return to the ethos of the original Chinese ballad and create a protagonist who’s driven by a deep desire to love and honor her family; even if she struggles to fit the mold of the dutiful bride she’s supposed to be. So when Mulan sees an opportunity to serve her family by taking her father’s place in the army instead, she seizes it—blending the spirited independence of Western heroines with Eastern ideas of filial piety (and leading to one of the greatest haircutting scenes in cinema history). 

It’s a trope Disney would return to in Moana, and in both cases it strikes me as unique for a female-led adventure story. Women action heroes tend to fall into four main categories: Scrappy final girls (Laurie Strode), traumatized badasses (Sarah Connor, the Bride), defiant rebels (Katniss Everdeen, Elizabeth Swann), and unflappable idols (Wonder Woman, Trinity). Mulan is a much rarer fifth thing: a true, relatable everywoman with a sense of humor, a strong moral compass, and no innate inclination to be a fighter. She’s basically the Peter Parker of female action heroes, and that is something that still feels pretty revolutionary, even today. It’s part of the reason why Rey in The Force Awakens and Kara Danvers from the Supergirl CW show were such breakouts in 2015 and why the Ms. Marvel Disney+ show was such a breath of fresh air a few years ago. 

While female action heroes are often quippy, they’re rarely allowed to be funny in awkward, weird, self-deprecating ways. But from the moment Mulan appears frantically cramming for a test, she immediately feels real and relatable. Unlike her more elegant princess counterparts, she’s a lovable hot mess, with her only natural talent being an underdeveloped sense of strategic thinking. (She rigs up a creative chicken-feeding system and immediately spots how to win a checkers game.) And even after she gets an impressive training sequence set to the iconic song “I’ll Make A Man Out Of You,” she never really becomes a “badass” warrior. Instead, it’s her creativity and sense of determination that allow her to succeed—including figuring out how to beat an impossible flag pole challenge years before Steve Rogers would do the same.

Anchored by an all-time great voice performance from action icon Ming-Na Wen, there’s a wonderful playfulness to Mulan as a character, and that’s echoed in the movie’s subversively playful take on gender. The whole second act is basically a satire of masculinity, with the ultimate takeaway that it’s just as much of a prison as restrictive femininity. While handsome Captain Li Shang (BD Wong) exists as a ripped-but-sensitive masculine ideal, most of Mulan’s fellow recruits are just as shaggy and eclectic as her cross-dressing identity “Ping.” They’ve just learned to fit in socially better than she has—even if the winking number “A Girl Worth Fighting For” suggests they’re not nearly as worldly as they think they are. 

But where Mulan really comes together is in its third act, where it drops the movie musical format and becomes a full-on action film. While the animation in Mulan isn’t always held in the same esteem as The Lion King or Beauty And The Beast, the film’s mountaintop battle is one of the most riveting in the Mouse House’s canon—from the stunning shot of the Hun army cresting over the snowy hillside to the way Mulan manages to save the day with just a single well-placed cannon and a savvy understanding of the physics of avalanches. It’s a genuinely thrilling sequence that would feel totally at home in Peter Jackson’s Lord Of The Rings trilogy, which began releasing three years later. 

I also love the final raid on the Emperor’s palace, which takes place after Mulan’s identity has been discovered and she’s been thrown out of the army. (“No one will listen.” / “Hey, you’re a girl again, remember?”) It’s the first time Mulan gets to let go of a sense of gender performance—either as a feminine bride or a masculine soldier—and simply exist as herself. And it’s where a lot of the movie’s themes of strength, trust, identity, and duty come to a head. As Mulan successfully argues, if her former battalion trusted her as Ping, they should trust her as Mulan too. Her army buddies even get their own gender-bending experience when they dress up as women to sneak into the palace. (I’ve seen this moment called a cheap laugh-at-a-man-in-a-dress joke, but it’s always read more as a playful bit of drag to me.)

Best of all, Mulan ultimately defeats the villainous Hun commander with a simple folding fan—a symbol of demure femininity reclaimed as a weapon strong enough to save all of China. (And she gets to keep her madcap comedic streak right through the end too, unlike in the 2020 live-action remake, which basically just turns her into a stoic superhero with magical martial arts powers.) More so than most ’90s Disney princesses, Mulan’s true struggle is an internal one. Her big “I want” song—gorgeously sung by Lea Salonga—isn’t about yearning for something external, but about yearning for self-understanding. And that identity crisis is resolved when Mulan realizes she doesn’t have to fit either a feminine or masculine ideal, she can simply exist as herself and still be respected.

That’s why I kind of love that Mulan ultimately turns down an offer to join the Emperor’s royal council—a plot point that’s frequently been dinged over the years. The thing is, though, Mulan didn’t set out to join the army for public glory or to become the new “girl boss” of China. She just wanted to be able to live authentically without disappointing her family. In “Reflection,” she sings, “If I were truly to be myself, I would break my family’s heart.” So it’s deeply moving to watch her return home and hear her father tell her, “The greatest gift and honor is having you for a daughter.” (There’s a reason this movie resonates so strongly as a queer allegory.)

While Mulan celebrates the strength of its female lead, it also suggests that being “empowered” isn’t a one-size-fits-all proposition. For Mulan, being empowered means creating a sense of family respect that goes both ways—from child to parent but also parent to child. And that’s a lovely message for kids to see. Especially when it’s just one of several complex themes (and memorable action sequences) crammed into the movie’s swift 88-minute runtime. In so many ways, Mulan set a gold standard for future female-led kid-oriented action movies to follow. It’s nice that the rest of pop culture has finally started to catch up.

Next time: How Michelle Yeoh got her start in Hong Kong action cinema