In the ever-shifting landscape of streaming entertainment, where nostalgia battles innovation for viewer eyeballs, Disney+ has long been a battleground for the House of the Mouse’s most cherished properties. The platform, launched in 2019 as a direct counterpunch to Netflix’s dominance, has amassed over 150 million subscribers worldwide by leaning heavily on its vault of animated classics, live-action remakes, and original series that blend fairy-tale whimsy with modern sensibilities. But few moments capture the platform’s volatile alchemy quite like the recent coronation of Frozen: The Musical as Disney+’s top-streamed title, effectively eclipsing the freshly minted live-action Snow White. Arriving on June 20, 2025, this Broadway-to-screen adaptation didn’t just climb the charts—it stormed them, displacing the controversial remake that had only just settled into its streaming throne. What does this seismic shift say about Disney’s content strategy, the enduring allure of sisterly sorcery over poisoned apples, and the precarious tightrope of remaking icons in an era of cultural scrutiny? As Snow White fades into the algorithmic shadows, Frozen‘s frosty triumph signals a pivot toward safer, more magical escapism.
To understand this replacement, one must first revisit the tumultuous path of Snow White, Disney’s boldest—and most beleaguered—attempt yet at reimagining its foundational fairy tale. The original 1937 animated feature, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, wasn’t just a film; it was a revolution. Walt Disney’s gamble on the world’s first full-length cel-animated movie, budgeted at a then-astronomical $1.5 million (equivalent to over $30 million today), paid off spectacularly, grossing $8 million in its initial release and earning an honorary Oscar for its creator—complete with seven miniature statuettes for the dwarfs. The story, drawn from the Brothers Grimm’s 1812 tale of a persecuted princess, her vain stepmother, and a band of merry miners, encapsulated the studio’s early ethos: enchantment wrapped in moral simplicity. Snow White’s doe-eyed innocence, her songbird friends, and that fateful apple became shorthand for childhood wonder, influencing generations and cementing Disney’s princess archetype.
Fast-forward nearly nine decades, and the live-action remake arrives not as unadulterated joy but as a cultural lightning rod. Announced in 2016 with screenwriter Erin Cressida Wilson and producer Marc Platt at the helm, the project aimed to honor the original while infusing it with contemporary relevance. Casting announcements in 2021 ignited the first sparks: Rachel Zegler, the 20-year-old breakout star of Steven Spielberg’s West Side Story, was tapped as Snow White, bringing her luminous voice and Latina heritage to the “fairest of them all.” Gal Gadot, fresh off Wonder Woman, embodied the Evil Queen with regal menace. Yet, from the outset, the film courted controversy. Zegler’s early interviews, where she critiqued the original’s passive heroine—”She’s not going to be dreaming about true love; she’s dreaming about becoming the leader she knows she can be”—struck a chord with fans who saw it as a dismissal of the classic romance. Social media erupted, with hashtags like #BoycottSnowWhite trending alongside petitions demanding fidelity to the Grimm source.
The dwarf dilemma only fanned the flames. In January 2022, actor Peter Dinklage, who has achondroplasia, lambasted the remake on Marc Maron’s WTF podcast as a “backwards story about seven dwarfs living in a cave.” Disney’s response—to consult the dwarfism community and pivot to CGI “magical creatures” instead of traditional dwarfs—drew accusations of erasure from both sides. Little people actors like Dylan Postl (from the 2015 Ted 2) voiced fears of lost opportunities, while others praised the move to sidestep stereotypes. Production hiccups compounded the chaos: a March 2022 fire at Pinewood Studios damaged sets, and the 2023 SAG-AFTRA strikes delayed principal photography’s wrap. By the time the film hit theaters on March 21, 2025, with a bloated $270 million budget (swollen by reshoots and VFX), expectations were a toxic brew of curiosity and cynicism.
Critics were divided, but audiences were unforgiving. Snow White opened to a middling $45 million domestically, trailing far behind projections of $80 million-plus. International markets offered little solace, with the film scraping $205 million worldwide—barely covering costs after marketing. Review aggregators painted a grim picture: a 42% on Rotten Tomatoes, with detractors calling it “visually sumptuous but narratively adrift,” a “garish package” that prioritized social commentary over whimsy. Zegler’s powerhouse vocals in new songs like “Waiting on a Wish” earned praise, as did Gadot’s icy charisma, but the film’s reimagined arc—Snow as an empowered leader forging alliances with diverse forest folk—felt forced to many. Families reported kids bewildered by the absence of the dwarfs’ cottage antics, while older viewers mourned the diluted love story. Box office bombshells like this aren’t new for Disney’s remake slate—Pinocchio (2022) and Peter Pan & Wendy (2023) also fizzled—but Snow White‘s cultural baggage made its fall sting sharper. By early June 2025, as it trickled onto Disney+ on June 11, the film hovered in the Top 10, buoyed by morbid fascination rather than fervor.
Enter Frozen: The Musical, the arctic antidote Disney desperately needed. Debuting on Disney+ exactly nine days later, on June 20, this filmed version of the 2018 Broadway sensation didn’t just replace Snow White—it obliterated it, claiming the #1 spot within 48 hours and holding it firm. Directed by Alex Timbers and with a book by Jennifer Lee (co-director of the original Frozen), the stage show had already proven its mettle: after previews in Denver in 2017, it opened on Broadway to Tony-nominated acclaim, running for over 900 performances and spawning global tours. The Disney+ iteration, captured live at the St. James Theatre, preserves the spectacle: towering LED screens conjuring Arendelle’s fjords, a proscenium-shaking “Let It Go” that brings audiences to their feet, and a score blending Idina Menzel and Kristen Bell’s originals with new numbers like “Hygge.” Priced as a premium add-on for subscribers, it clocked millions of hours viewed in its first week, outpacing even Moana 2‘s recent splash.
Why the instant dominance? Frozen‘s DNA is pure streaming catnip. The 2013 animated film shattered records with $1.28 billion in earnings, its empowering tale of sisters Elsa and Anna—united by love, not romance—resonating in a post-Twilight world craving female-led fantasy. “Let It Go” became a cultural juggernaut, spawning parodies, covers, and even linguistic ripples (Elsa is a household name in Mandarin as “Ai Sa”). The sequel in 2019 doubled down, adding $1.45 billion and deepening the lore with spirit realms and expanded ensembles. Unlike Snow White‘s fraught updates, Frozen‘s stage adaptation hews close to the source: Elsa’s icy isolation, Anna’s plucky optimism, and Olaf’s comic relief translate seamlessly to theater, amplified by Michael Grandage’s illusions—like a frozen palace materializing mid-air. The cast, led by Samantha Barks as Elsa and Claire Moore as Anna in the filmed version, delivers vocal fireworks that feel tailor-made for home viewing. Parents, exhausted by Snow White‘s debates, flock to Frozen for its uncontroversial joy: sing-alongs that double as family therapy, costumes ripe for Halloween, and a message of self-acceptance that lands without lectures.
This swap isn’t mere coincidence; it’s a masterstroke in Disney’s data-driven playbook. Under CEO Bob Iger’s renewed focus on profitability—post-2023’s proxy battle and cost-cutting spree—the company has pivoted from quantity to quality in its remake pipeline. Snow White‘s underperformance prompted whispers of shelved sequels and a reevaluation of “woke-washing” classics; reports surfaced of Tangled‘s live-action reboot being paused indefinitely. Meanwhile, Frozen embodies the franchise goldmine: with Frozen 3 slated for 2027 and a LEGO spin-off, Operations Puffins, dropping in October 2025, the brand is a perpetual motion machine. Disney+ algorithms, fine-tuned by viewer retention metrics, prioritize content that hooks across demographics—Frozen‘s 85% completion rate dwarfs Snow White‘s 62%. It’s a reminder that in the attention economy, familiarity breeds streams: why risk alienating purists when you can thaw hearts with proven magic?
Yet, this dethroning ripples beyond charts, touching on broader tensions in Disney’s empire. The remake era, kicked off triumphantly with 2010’s Alice in Wonderland ($1 billion haul), has devolved into diminishing returns. Hits like The Lion King (2019, $1.6 billion) coexist with flops like Dumbo (2019, $353 million), fueling fatigue among audiences weary of photorealistic fur and half-baked empowerment arcs. Snow White‘s woes echo The Little Mermaid (2023), where Halle Bailey’s Ariel sparked race-based backlash yet still swam to $569 million—profitable, but polarizing. Critics argue Disney’s attempts at modernization, born from inclusivity mandates, often clash with the escapist core of these tales. Zegler’s Snow, meant to shatter glass ceilings, instead highlighted fractures: a heroine too modern for her Grimm roots, creatures too vague to charm. In contrast, Frozen‘s success underscores the power of evolution over revolution—updating without upending, empowering through plot rather than proclamation.
As October 2025 unfolds, with Halloween specials and holiday previews looming, Disney+ braces for more flux. Snow White lingers in the mid-tier, a cautionary artifact of ambition unchecked, while Frozen: The Musical ushers in a cooler clime. Will this propel more stage-to-screen ventures, like a Hamilton-style Encanto? Or signal a retreat to originals, à la Pixar’s Inside Out 2 (2024’s billion-dollar phenom)? One thing’s certain: in Disney’s kingdom, thrones are fleeting. Elsa’s ice palace may melt come Frozen 3‘s hype, but for now, Arendelle reigns supreme, a frosty rebuke to fairy-tale folly. Viewers, scrolling through endless options, find solace in the chill—proof that sometimes, the best magic is the one that lets you build your own snowman, controversy-free.
