The Thing I Like About …

Willow: the part where the Brownies complain about Raziel.

The Brownies Franjean and Rool have accompanied Willow to find Raziel, the powerful sorcerer who has been imprisoned on an island by the dark witch Bavmorda. Raziel has been enchanted so that she can’t use her powers, and when Willow and the Brownies find her, she has been cast into the shape of a rodent (maybe a muskrat? I don’t really know my different rodents).

The Brownies look at Raziel in rodent form, and one says to the other, “That is Raziel? … I expected something more grand, less … fuzzy.” This rodent doesn’t look like a sorcerer to them, and they are thus disinclined to believe that she’s anything special. But actually this rodent (muskrat?) is Raziel, and her sorcery is almost enough to beat Bavmorda on her own. She also helps Willow become the sorcerer he was meant to be, and together they save the day. Even in human form, Raziel isn’t particularly grand; she’s just an ordinary old woman. But she manages to kick Bavmorda’s butt.

The world is full of expectations of grandeur. We’re surrounded more every day by glamourous people doing glamourous things, spending a lot of money to live a glamourous life. We’re surrounded by stylized stories of heroism, super-heroism, and scripted human interaction. We expect the real world to mirror what we have come to believe about it – from notions about what our money can buy to our complete and utter intolerance of our partners’ non-scriptedness. And while it becomes painfully clear to most of us as we embark on our adulthoods that our dollars will not stretch nearly as far as we had led ourselves to believe, we are able, disastrously, to continue to expect something more grand from the people around us. We have placed our scripts on every facet of human interaction, and we get very upset when the other person does not read from that script. Especially in romantic relationships, we create our image of what the “perfect” partner will say, do, be like … and we feel personally betrayed if that person doesn’t match up exactly.

But love – between partners, between siblings, between friends, between parents and children – is never grand. It is always … fuzzy. And, if we believe in it and follow it, it can kick Bavmorda’s butt.

But we have to let go of our expectations of grandeur. We have to let go of our notions and scripts. We have to be able to see the sorcerer inside the rodent (muskrat?), and allow other people to be who they are. They – and we – are fuzzy.

And that’s okay.

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