"I've Got So Much To Tell You:" Coraline as Trauma Narrative

Coraline, famed director Henry Selick’s newest stop-motion venture, is both a work of visually-striking surrealistic fantasy/horror and a refreshingly non-saccharine “children’s film.” The story of a young girl’s relocation by seemingly unaffectionate botanist parents, Coraline follows the titular character’s discovery of, and adventures into, an alternate reality contained within her home. Though this “other world” first appears to be one of excessive splendor and delight it soon dissolves into a ghoulish nightmare, controlled by a infanticidal “other mother,” from which Coraline must rescue the ghosts of the mother’s previous victims, her family members and herself. Though the substitution of a young, easily perturbed girl for a heroic figure, the phantasmagorical nature of her quest and the stunning visual effects in themselves make the film immensely enjoyable it is for another reason that I find Coraline to be an especially interesting animated children’s film: the plot’s covert resemblance to the recovery narratives of trauma survivors. The implicit discussion of such an adult topic within the frame of a film style supposedly targeted at younger audiences permits Coraline to transcend the limitations of typical animated fantasy films and become an efficacious tale of triumph over distress that is relatable to viewers of all ages.

Despite the fact that the origin of Coraline’s trauma is uncertain—whether it was instigated by the stress of the move or even dates to an earlier incident is never disclosed—the evidence of her trauma is apparent from the film’s start, in relation to the dynamics between the youngster and her parents. Though Coraline’s distant relationship with her parents appears at first to be based in actuality (what parent doesn’t occasionally tire of their children’s constant dependence) the continuously overexaggerated nature of her mother and father’s apathy calls Caroline’s perception of reality into question and hints at the manifestation of one of the main effects of trauma: dissociation. Dissociation is a psychological defense by which victims of trauma instinctively separate themselves from their immediate—and perceptively dangerous—environment through a disruption of their consciousness. This reaction often results in the unsettling metamorphosis of the surrounding environment, an outcome evident in the disparity between Caroline’s treatment by her mother at the beginning of the film and her mother’s compassion at its conclusion.

Aside from Coraline’s dissociative dealings with her parents the very presence of the “other world,” so different from Coraline’s real life and yet so similar, suggests the centrality of trauma to the film’s narrative. Like dissociation, fragmentation, or the process of splitting one’s consciousness into multiple—and frequently contradictory—parts, is a common result of trauma. Coraline’s impossible discovery of the “other world” behind the brick wall of a hidden door in her home, while certainly fantastical, is accordingly exemplative of this process of fragmentation; it is, truthfully, the tails-side to the coin of her life, luxurious while the other is mundane, loving where the other is cold. Yet Coraline is not just a narrative of trauma but also of recovery, and thus her dissatisfaction with the “other world” comes at the time when her connection with the real world is resuming. Coraline’s confrontation of the “other mother” in an attempt to save her own parents serves as a challenge to her fears (whatever they may be), an important first step in the rehabilitation process, while her operation to rescue the ghost children functions as a “survivor’s mission,” an attempt to raise awareness or exact justice that is also an integral facet of recuperation from trauma. Ultimately, however, it is Coraline’s ability to speak candidly about her trauma and be listened to that cements her ability to recover. By speaking about her ordeal to Wybie, who first refuses to validate her remarks but eventually concedes his trust, she is able to resolve her trauma and commence leading a frank and productive life. As she admits in her last line Caroline has “so much to tell,” and it is that telling that will allow her to remain whole and happy.