Good morning 🐣

She’s got six tentacles (she lost two in a battle with Disney accountants), a deep-sea grudge, and a heck of a singing voice. She’s Ursula, the sea witch, and she’s one of the greatest movie villains of all time.

Early in “The Little Mermaid” (1989 • Disney+ • watch the trailer), we get the impression that Ursula used to work in the palace for King Triton, ruler of the ocean and merpeople. (When the writers still envisioned her as just another mermaid, she was even considered to be the King’s sister and thus the aunt of our protagonist, Ariel.) But she was banished from the kingdom at some point and now lives on the volcanic floor in the bones of an ancient sea beast, subsisting on measly shrimp. She’s bitter and angry — reminiscing about magnificent feasts in the palace — and baby, she wants revenge.

As she whiles away her time, she lures lonely merfolk to their doom, promising that their deepest wishes will be granted. She may look enticing and benevolent to the desperate, but she can barely hide her disdain for the world… and there’s always a catch.

In the mouth of her lair are the bottom-dwelling shriveled-up sea slugs of lost souls that she’s ensnared with her tricks and curses. I’ve previously written in Cinescape about the soot balls of “Spirited Away” and the Kodama of “Princess Mononoke.” Ursula’s slugs remind me a little of those — tiny little spirits without a voice — but these are corrupted, toxic, slimy, and physically rooted in place, robbed of their spirit and independence, grasping out in desperation. Who knows what would happen if they touched you…

Pat Carroll, who died last month at the age of 95, had already enjoyed a long television career starting in the ’50s when she was approached to voice the octopodal menace, but she wasn’t the first pick. The filmmakers originally envisioned Bea Arthur or Joan Collins in the role and auditioned Elaine Stritch and Charlotte Rae, but once they finally heard Carroll perform, co-writer/co-director Ron Clements said, “She sort of was Ursula, became Ursula.”

If you’ve seen the movie before, you can practically hear Carroll’s emphasis on “body language” as you read that. The confidence she projects through this character is astounding. Ursula makes full use of her voice and body and really knows how to put on a production. I mean just the way her tentacles look like legs as she struts around is iconic. She understands human (and merfolk) sensibilities and exactly how to manipulate them. When it’s too late and Ariel has made the deal with the devil, Ursula’s green spectral hands wisp through the water and reach into Ariel’s throat, plucking out her voice. It’s a haunting image.

And as you can tell, Ursula is more than just her voice. Being an animated character, several people had a hand in what makes her tick. Writers and directors John Musker and Ron Clements were major figures in the so-called Disney Renaissance, a roughly ten-year span starting with “The Little Mermaid” that brought Disney back to critical and commercial acclaim. They made “The Great Mouse Detective,” “Aladdin,” “Hercules,” “Treasure Planet,” “The Princess and the Frog,” and “Moana,” along with contributions to many other Disney films. And while it was the first of the ’90s resurgence, it was the last Disney feature film to use traditional hand-painted celluloid, as well as the xerography method that had been in use since 1961’s “One Hundred and One Dalmatians.”

Several animators (who later went on to become directors of their own) spent four years trying to design Ursula, basing some ideas on the singer Patti LaBelle and others on the drag queen Divine. Ultimately it was Ruben Aquino that took on the task of animating Ursula. Clements reportedly said: “We had reservations about Aquino doing Ursula because if you’ve ever met the guy he’s so quiet and kind of timid and a little bit, say, very low-key, very inhibited. This other side of him came out in the animation.”

And then there’s the music and lyrics. The longest scene we have with Ursula is her big song and dance, convincing Ariel to sell herself out for a shot at something different from her normal, boring life, that it’s not only OK to give up her voice, but that men would actually prefer it. The pairing of composer Alan Menken and lyricist Howard Ashman is one of those moments in time that couldn’t have worked out any better. The two had previously done “Little Shop of Horrors” before getting swooped up by Disney to work together on “Mermaid,” “Beauty and the Beast,” and “Aladdin.” You’ll recognize how creative and playful the songs are in each of these films. In the case of the song “Poor Unfortunate Souls,” they combined Broadway theatre with burlesque. Some even consider this “the film that brought Broadway into cartoons.” But Howard Ashman’s life was cut far too short. He was diagnosed with HIV/AIDS and passed away at only 40 years old. “Beauty and the Beast” is actually dedicated to him, stating: “To our friend Howard, who gave a mermaid her voice and a beast his soul, we will be forever grateful.”

These artists — Aquino, Ashman, Carroll, Clements, Menken, Musker, and others — are pieces of a whole, essential elements to one of the finest movie villains of all time. But it’s safe to say that without Pat Carroll, Ursula would have been so completely different. You can feel Carroll’s voice coming through the character. She may have passed away, but her total dedication to the craft will live forever. Just look at this photo of her recording and how she puts her whole body into it:

Ursula is the great manipulator, promising us quick riches at the expense of our integrity. But like all great manipulators, the higher they climb, the harder they fall. When her plot doesn’t go according to plan, Ursula cheats again and again. She even uses two henchmen, the eels Flotsam and Jetsam, to slither in the shadows and carry out her machinations. They have big, droopy jowls and throaty voices. They look and sound like they haven’t set foot outside an old downtown Vegas casino in years.

Ursula appears to have genuine feelings for them, calling them her “poopsies,” and grows to a gargantuan in vengeful anger after they’re killed. She then claims the title of “ruler of all the ocean.” She roars for everyone to hear — “The waves obey my every whim! The sea and all its spoils bow to my power!” — but at this point her voice is just blowing in the wind. The ocean is too vast a force to be trifled with. Her hubris and obsession lead to her downfall and she’s more pathetic than how she may have ever viewed any of her prior victims.

May that be a warning to anyone following in her tentacular steps.

Until next time! 👋