Encanto is a film that grew in stature after its theatrical run. The initial response was positive but not ecstatic. Then “We Don’t Talk About Bruno” happened. The song became a viral phenomenon, climbing charts months after the film’s release and eventually becoming Disney’s biggest musical hit since “Let It Go.” But the song’s success pointed people back to a film that deserved the attention for reasons beyond a single earworm. Encanto is about the weight of family expectations, the damage that unprocessed trauma inflicts across generations, and the radical idea that being ordinary in an extraordinary family isn’t a flaw. It’s a freedom.
The conversation around Encanto has been rich and personal in a way that few Disney films generate. People see their own families in the Madrigals. They recognize the golden child and the overlooked one, the family member whose strength was really a cage, and the matriarch whose love became control. The film’s themes struck a nerve that goes deeper than entertainment, and the community response has been shaped more by personal identification than by traditional critical evaluation.
”We Don’t Talk About Bruno” and a Family That Sings Its Pain
Miranda’s soundtrack for Encanto might be his strongest Disney work. “We Don’t Talk About Bruno” is a masterclass in ensemble songwriting, weaving together multiple characters’ perspectives on the family’s exile, each revealing something different about the Madrigal dysfunction. “Surface Pressure” captures Luisa’s specific anxiety with visceral precision, the strong one who can never admit she’s breaking. “What Else Can I Do?” gives Isabela her rebellion in bloom, literally, as she discovers that her gift isn’t limited to the perfection she’s been forced to maintain.
The Colombian setting and cultural specificity give Encanto a visual identity that’s entirely its own. The Casita, the magical house itself, is a character, responding to the family’s emotional state with architectural expressiveness that’s both comedic and revealing. The color palette draws from Colombian textiles and landscapes, creating a warmth and vibrancy that makes every frame feel alive. The character designs reflect real Colombian faces and body types with a specificity that represents a genuine step forward for Disney’s approach to cultural representation.
Mirabel is a compelling protagonist because her problem isn’t external. There’s no villain to defeat, no quest to complete, no kingdom to save. Her conflict is internal: she’s the only Madrigal without a magical gift, and she lives in a family where your gift defines your purpose. Stephanie Beatriz voices her with a mixture of cheerful determination and barely concealed hurt that makes Mirabel’s journey feel emotionally true even when the plot mechanics around it get tangled.
The family dynamics are the film’s greatest achievement. Every Madrigal family member represents a different response to pressure: Luisa carries everything, Isabela performs perfection, Bruno saw the truth and was punished for it, and Abuela Alma’s trauma from losing her husband has calcified into a need for control that she calls love. The film maps an entire family system with remarkable accuracy, and the recognition it generates in viewers is what gives it such lasting emotional power.
The Story That Can’t Match Its Themes
The plot is the film’s weakest element. Encanto doesn’t quite know what story it’s telling beyond the family dynamics. The magical candle is dying. The house is cracking. Mirabel needs to find out why. But the investigation doesn’t follow a clear logic, and the connections between Mirabel’s discoveries and the larger crisis are fuzzy. She visits family members, learns their secrets, and somehow this relates to the house falling apart, but the causality is more thematic than narrative.
Bruno’s reveal, while emotionally satisfying, raises questions the film doesn’t address. He’s been living in the walls of the house for years, and nobody noticed or cared enough to look? The family’s acceptance of his exile is disturbing in ways the film acknowledges (“We Don’t Talk About Bruno” is literally about collective denial) but doesn’t fully reckon with. The reconciliation happens too quickly to address the genuine harm of casting out a family member for a decade.
The climax, where the house collapses and the family must rebuild it without magic, is thematically clear but dramatically flat. After all the buildup about generational trauma and family pressure, the resolution is essentially Abuela admitting she was wrong and everyone hugging. The conversation between Mirabel and Abuela at the river is moving, but the systemic family dysfunction that the film so carefully establishes can’t be resolved by a single tearful confession. Real families don’t heal in a single scene, and the film’s compressed timeline makes the ending feel too easy.
The film tries to serve too many characters. With the entire extended Madrigal family to introduce, individualize, and give emotional arcs to, many characters receive only brief moments. Camilo, Dolores, and Antonio all have interesting gifts and implied stories that the film can only gesture at. The result is a cast that feels rich but underexplored.
The Gift of Having No Gift at All
Encanto’s most powerful idea is that the family’s magic wasn’t a blessing. It was a coping mechanism. Abuela Alma received the miracle in a moment of devastating loss, and she spent the rest of her life treating it as something that had to be earned and maintained through service and sacrifice. The gifts became obligations. The magic became a cage. Mirabel’s lack of a gift, the very thing she spent her life grieving, turns out to be what allows her to see the family clearly. She’s the only one not defined by what she can do, which makes her the only one who can ask what the family actually needs.
Should You Watch Encanto?
If you’ve ever felt the weight of family expectations, this film will find you. The soundtrack is exceptional, the visual design is gorgeous, and the family dynamics are drawn with unusual precision. Children will enjoy the color, the music, and the magical house. Adults will see their own families reflected in the Madrigals, and that recognition can be both healing and uncomfortable. Skip it if you need a strong narrative through-line. The plot is the least compelling element, and if thematic resonance doesn’t compensate for structural looseness, the film may frustrate you.
The Verdict on Encanto
Encanto is a film whose themes are more powerful than its plot, whose songs are more emotionally precise than its screenplay, and whose cultural specificity becomes a source of universal recognition. Miranda’s soundtrack is outstanding, the family dynamics cut close to the bone, and Mirabel’s journey from feeling invisible to becoming essential lands with genuine emotional force. The narrative mechanics can’t quite support the weight of the ideas, and the resolution comes too easily. But the feelings this film generates in its audience, the recognition, the tears, the conversations about family that follow, suggest that Encanto accomplished something more important than perfect storytelling.