[7.9/10] We have so many stories about the burden of being the chosen one. Everything from Harry Potter to Buffy Summers to Avatar Aang delves into the burden of carrying the world on your shoulder as the fabled champion. It’s a good thing, to humanize those fighting against a supernatural evil, make them recognizably human despite their heroic poses and incredible gifts.

But *Encanto* explores something rarer -- the burden of *not* being the special one, of feeling like you have something to give the world even if you haven’t been blessed by the divine or fate or random chance with the abilities of your fellow men and women. The movie celebrates the self-made miracles that follow in the wake of those individuals, who likewise struggle with self-doubt and certain hurts, but who also do the hard work of making things better without the magical boosts the chosen ones have in tow.

The center of the story is a young woman named Mirabel, the lone powerless member of the magical Madrigal family. Since her abuela first discovered the titular “encanto” (or enchantment), every Madrigal child received a wonderful “special gift” when they came of age. It could be super-hearing or the ability to speak to animals or even the power of prophecy. But whatever the gift, the family uses their collective talents to help build and protect their town.

The film is, effectively, a tug of war between Mirabel, who feels left out of the family due to the encanto mysteriously skipping her, and her grandmother, who is fiercely devoted to holding the family, the miracle, and the home and town both fuel, together at any cost. Mirabel labors to do good, to contribute, despite being the lone non-magical Madrigal under their roof. And Abuela Alma pressures everyone in the family, including herself, to use their powers to the peak of their potential in order to be worthy of the mysterious gifts they’ve received.

It’s a potent metaphor for the story of so many immigrant families. The older generation is acutely aware of the sacrifices necessary to scrape together what their family has, so well-meaning parents and older relatives push their progeny to climb higher, do better, to hold onto it and be worthy of their blessings. The younger generations, in turn, can mean well but crack under that pressure, feeling as though they’re not good enough or that if they stumble, even a little, they’ll be letting “the family” down. The resolution of those two sides, the harmony it finds in intergenerational understanding, is *Encanto*’s greatest strength.

But hey, the pure aesthetics and artistry of the presentation aren’t bad either! The family dynamics *Encanto* deploys are universal, but it’s a devotedly Colombian movie. Along with other recent Disney animated films, that cultural specificity gives it a greater flavor and a rich tradition to pull from when filling in the corners of its world. The colors, architecture, flora, fauna, food, and dance all have a distinctive flair, which make the movie an inviting and enervating experience.

To that end, the studios’ animators continue to outdo themselves. There’s an incredible amount of expression in the movements of Mirabel and her family, whether they’re salsaing or arguing or heaving donkeys around. In both traditional music numbers set within the heightened (and radiant) reality of the film, and in more impressionistic numbers with fantastical representations of the characters’ wishes and anxieties, the directors and animators catch the eye with fabulous movements and inventive imagery. As pure visual expression, the movie wows.

The same goes for the music. With original songs from Lin-Manuel Miranda, there’s an almost effortless sense of high quality melody and verse at play. Miranda’s trademarks, with fast-talking verbiage and a cacophony of parts stacked on top of one another, return here with the composer’s usual alacrity. But so too does his ability to stir the soul, in inspirational tunes and sentiments that could come off saccharine were the craft not so good and the harmonies not so piercing. The artist remains Disney’s cheat code, with songs that soar nearly as well as those in the Miranda-assisted *Moana*.

That film scans as *Encanto*’s closest predecessor, another tale of a young woman finding her place in the hierarchy of her family and village, grappling with how she differs from expectations. The film pulls from other pieces of Disney history, with a second act sequence that evokes the Cave of Wonders escape from *Aladdin*, and a delightful living house character that feels of a piece with *Beauty and the Beast*. But it’s *Moana*, with its similar musical stylings, comparable visual flair, and lack of a villain in favor of reconciliation and self-actualization, that proves the closest analogue.

And yet, in its own way, *Moana* is also a chosen one story, while *Encanto* marks new territory for the House of Mouse, in exploring how those less “burdened by glory” can still make the grandest contributions. In the end, Mirabel not only unravels the mystery (more or less) of what her missing uncle Bruno prophesied, but discovers that the family members she envied for their abilities struggle just as much as she does to live up to expectations, in a way that went unseen by their abuela. It reconnects her with the family members she bristled with or otherwise felt apart from.

More than that, though, when the miracle does fail, when the family home does crumble, when the town they support does crack, it’s Mirabel who gives everyone the strength to rebuild it, magic or no magic. In the absence of those gifts, she learned to be strong without it, to rely on herself, on hard work and empathy, to make the difference, which turns out to be exactly what the family needs. The town, rather than turning on the Madrigal, comes to help in the effort, completing the “We are the ones we’ve been waiting for” sensibility of the fable.

In the effort, Abuela Alma recognizes that Mirabel *is* the miracle, that her children and grandchildren matter far more as who they are than the gifts that they bear. It’s a lovely, life-affirming sentiment, where both generations truly see one another and recognize both their mutual struggles and the good intentions behind them.

The Madrigal family that reunites under a new banner is a slightly scrappier one, falling short of the standards of perfection both chosen ones and immigrant families hold themselves to. But it is also one which is more whole and full of acceptance, where all of the cousins and kin are allowed to relax and express themselves, where those who remain unblessed by the supernatural or fated still find ways to be extraordinary.