Fairy Tale – Bitch Flicks

‘Ever After’: A Wicked Stepmother with Some Fairy Godmother Tendencies

This guest post by Emma Kat Richardson appears as part of our theme week on Bad Mothers.

Let’s face it: Ever After is pure fluff. Sure, as a late ‘90s girlhood staple, it’s been deified by 20- and 30-somethings old enough to remember when Drew Barrymore was touring with Hole and flashing David Letterman. And yes, there is some feminist gravitas about the film that makes it stand out; a streak of personal empowerment runs through this hip retelling of the classic, demur Cinderella tale. It was the perfect interpretation of a decidedly not-feminist fairy tale for the Girl Power! generation.

Revisiting Ever After now is a bit like biting into a Hot Pocket after 10 or more years of not having done so; it’s a bit more plastic than you last remembered. The shiny Hollywood gloss that decorates Ever After from head to toe becomes more transparent with age. To its credit, the film does a relatively competent job of co-opting the look and feel of a real Renaissance setting, but this doesn’t prevent the acting from being frequently overwrought, the plot devices predictable and contrived, and the fact that everybody speaks with a British accent, despite living in France. (No Francophile worth her weight in, well, Francs, would stand for it!)

That said, there is one compelling element to this fairy tale that makes it well worth a closer look: the utterly fascinating dynamic between Cinderella and her “wicked” stepmother.

As an orphan of common origins, Drew Barrymore’s spunky protagonist, Danielle de Barbarac, is forced into a life of servitude to her father’s widow, the Baroness Rodmilla de Ghent, and the Baroness’s two natural daughters, Jacqueline and Marguerite. As Baroness Rodmilla, Anjelica Huston is equal parts breathtaking as she is fearsome, as cruel as she is oddly sympathetic. Disney never could have dreamed up such a multi-layered villainess. Together, the two lock horns in a continuous battle for control over personal fortune and fate. It’s far from a healthy relationship, and Rodmilla is far from a nurturing force. Even toward her own daughters, she’s spiteful and manipulative; throughout the film, she continuously taunts Jacqueline about her weight, and spends a considerable amount of time trying to push Marguerite into bed with the prince. (Not that Marguerite is exactly unwilling; she’s certainly inherited more of the toxic elements of Rodmilla’s personality.)

And then, there are hints at Rodmilla’s background that suggest more substance than one-dimensional wickedness. For one thing, she’s a noble woman who appears to have married Danielle’s father, a man far below her station, out of love. The de Barbaracs are not nobility; before she met Prince Henry, Danielle had never been to court. Her father, Auguste, is a country gentlemen of modest means and one small manor farm for property. On the other hand, the baroness brings with her a title and riches. Presumably she is a dowager baroness, since she has two daughters but no baron to keep her swathed in rich furs. We see more evidence of their love when Danielle tends to Rodmilla in her most intimate moments – brushing her hair before bed, sharing heartache over the memory of Danielle’s father, who died of a heart attack when she was just 8. “Did you love my father?” Danielle inquires earnestly. “Well, I barely knew him,” is the restrained reply. “No go away, I’m tired.” Visibly moved, Rodmilla stifles a tear and looks off into the distance, sobered.

While she may have loved her father, she merely tolerated Danielle, which is the most generous possible way of putting it. With his dying breath, Auguste reaches for his scrawny, weeping daughter–not his glamorous new wife, also howling with grief. It is an unintended slight for which Rodmilla never forgives Danielle, and the severity of Danielle’s punishment for this offense is boundless. Yet, Danielle can’t help but try at every turn to please her ceaselessly demanding stepmother. In lieu of any other parental figure, Danielle may have latched on to Rodmilla as the only viable role model in her young, fragile life. It’s possible she even learned how to cultivate self-reliance and independence from the formidable baroness; after all, Rodmilla spends the majority of the movie husbandless, scheming, and maneuvering her way into higher chances and better opportunities. In many ways, Rodmilla and Danielle are more alike than they are drastically different, as every other Cinderella narrative would have you believe. Both are rather unusual women for their era: Danielle is the daughter of a low-born farmer, but she can read and write, and even quote Thomas More from memory. Rodmilla, a woman born to privilege, actively chooses to be single and to make her own way in the world – even if this occasionally involves playing by the rules of the patriarchy, which govern both their lives.

Ever After 1 — I’m the thinking man’s helpless victim, don’t ya know?

But ultimately, of course, we all know how this story concludes. Danielle triumphs over her tormentor, capturing the heart of the prince and rising to a status so high it would have made even the grasping Rodmilla dizzy. Given that, however indirectly, she taught Danielle to follow her heart and live out her ambitions for a better life, can we really write her off as a bad – or, indeed, wicked – mother? Rodmilla is deeply flawed, and far from perfect. She’s narcissistic and hypocritical: “We must never feel sorry for ourselves,” says the woman who spends much of the movie moping about how under-appreciated she is. And yet, the pivotal role she plays in the development of Danielle’s self-actualization cannot be denied. Even more so than in her relationship with Prince Henry, Danielle is indelibly shaped by her stepmother’s influence. Driven to succeed on each of her own terms, these two remarkable women together fill the void left by far too many conventionally competitive mother-daughter dynamics. In the end, karma doles out adequate payback, with Rodmilla and Marguerite being sent to work in the royal laundries, as Danielle becomes queen-to-be through her marriage to Henry. “I only ask that you show her the same kindness she has always shown me,” Danielle says to the king and queen, while debating Rodmilla’s punishment for lying to the queen about Danielle’s identity. Even as Rodmilla acquiesces to her fate, there’s a glimmer of respect in her eye for her long beleaguered stepdaughter. Perhaps she has taught her ward well after all.

Emma Kat Richardson is a Detroit native and freelance writer living in Austin, Texas. Her work has appeared in xoJane.com, Bitch, Alternative Press, LaughSpin.com, Real Detroit Weekly, 944, and Bust.com. She’s enough of a comedy nerd and cat lady to have named her Maine Coon Michael Ian Cat. Follow her on twitter: @emmakat.

Whispers of a House Mouse: Attempting to Disrupt ‘Cinderella’ in 2015

Written by Colleen Clemens.

I took my daughter to see Kenneth Branagh’s live action Cinderella over the weekend, even though before my daughter was born, I swore there would be no princesses.

We knew she was a girl early on but, much to the consternation of those around us, didn’t share the news. I wanted to avoid the “pink tide” for as long as possible. We have a strict “No Barbie” policy in the house. I teach Gender Studies; I rail against the princesses during class hours. But my home isn’t a feminist utopia. My daughter made bracelets instead of bridges with her Goldie Blocks. At this point in her life, she is more interested in accessorizing than engineering.

I was parenting solo that weekend. I had a cold and was exhausted. The movie was cheap, the popcorn and soda for dinner even cheaper. I told myself it was a material issue, that it was a feminist act that I chose my sanity, the promise of her being still and entertained for a few hours worth the exposure to blond, white princesses. And there was the Frozen short we were both curious to see.

In the end, I liked the movie. But I didn’t love that I took her. Because I worry that some of the images from the film—as much as I tried to disrupt them—will stick with her. I can think of three specific examples.

First, the waists. I had been so worried about the whiteness, the blondeness, the general thinness, that I forgot to think about the waists, but during my viewing, all I could do was stare at Lily James and Cate Blanchett’s waists. I hadn’t read all of the pre-film hype about the issue, that James had eschewed solid food for days on end to fit her already slim waist into the corset. During the movie, my mind raced: Will my daughter think this size is normal, even though she often pulls up my shirt to look at my very normal belly to press my belly button? Will she start comparing my stomach to Cinderella’s? I kept wondering: Can film editors do the same tricks that print editors do? Is there some kind of filmic Photoshopping happening? (They swear there is no digital magic happening.) The waists are something to behold and left me trembling. Meanwhile, my daughter housed a large popcorn without a care in the world. But how long will it be before she starts to make connections between food and body shame, even if I do all I can to disrupt it?

Second, the love story. The idea that all stories work toward a heterosexual coupling is a myth we work toward disrupting in our household, for both familial and political reasons. We have lots of conversations about what love can look like for her and for those around us. So I wasn’t too upset when she insisted she needed to go to the bathroom at the moment Cinderella and Kit come together to declare their love. However, the line at the loo foiled my plan. As we stood at the back of the theater and watched the two come together, I whispered in her ear: “Remember, this movie is about a boy and a girl in love. And there are lots of other ways to love. But this movie right now is about a boy and a girl.” I can whisper in her ear all I want. Until she actually sees a romance that goes beyond the one trope we all know, these whispers may fall on deaf ears.

Third, the desperation. The shenanigans that the women of the kingdom enact to jam their feet into the glass slipper are hysterical. I laughed. Especially at the wicked stepsisters and their desperation to get…that…foot…into…that…shoe.

However, just as with the rest of the movie, I also felt an anxiety about those scenes as I felt the weight of my daughter, sitting on my knee at this point in the movie. If the goal to be attained is the love of a wealthy man in just about every film marketed to her, and if her initiation into girlhood isn’t going to be completely mediated by me (though how I wish that were possible), what are my choices? I can whisper in her ear that marriage isn’t everything, that waists aren’t that tiny, that love looks like many things, but aren’t the shouts of Disney in this world louder than my whispers in her ear?

I may only be as loud as the mice that flit about Cinderella’s feet.

Colleen Lutz Clemens is assistant professor of non-Western literatures at Kutztown University. She blogs about gender issues and postcolonial theory and literature at http://kupoco.wordpress.com/. When she isn’t reading, writing, or grading, she is wrangling her two-year old daughter, two dogs, and on occasion her partner.

Sexism in Disney’s ‘Into The Woods’

This cross-post by Jackson Adler previously appeared at his blog The Windowsill.

CONTAINS SPOILERS for the stage musical and subsequent film adaptation of Into The Woods.

Previously, I have written on the racism in Disney’s Into The Woods, a film adaptation of the Stephen Sondheim and James Lapine musical that interweaves various European fairy tales into one tragicomedy. Sadly, while the movie certainly has its merits (and some great performances), it has a few more faults I would like to point out – particularly in regard to its subtle sexism towards women.

Much of The Baker’s Wife’s story is still the same as in the stage musical, with one major change – that of her death. Disney’s interpretation of her death has everything to do with the scene beforehand. Cinderella’s Prince uses his power as a nobleman, and the charm he has been taught to use, to seduce The Baker’s Wife. The Baker’s Wife is star-struck by The Prince, having even told Cinderella earlier that “[she] wouldn’t run if a prince was chasing [her].” However, when Cinderella’s Prince starts attempting to seduce The Baker’s Wife, she at first protests and even says “no.” He follows her protestations with “right and wrong don’t matter in the woods,” and continues to kiss her. While certainly attracted to him and star-struck, the question must be asked – What if she had continued to protest instead giving in and allowing herself to enjoy something that seemed inevitable? Would he have forcibly raped her? Would he have had her arrested on a trumped up charge? Did her consent matter at all? Certainly, he is more culpable in their affair, since he is an authority figure.

Cinderella’s Prince (Chris Pine) comes on to The Baker’s Wife (Emily Blunt)

After the brief affair, The Baker’s Wife sings “Moments in the Woods,” as a way of coming to terms with what has happened and to bring herself to return to the beauty of everyday life with her husband and child. In the stage version, as the Giantess walks by and her large feet make the ground tremble, a tree falls on The Baker’s Wife and kills her. The stage musical leaves the meaning of these events open to interpretation. I personally never interpreted The Baker’s Wife’s death as some sort of punishment. It seemed fitting to me that The Giant, who is avenging the murder of her husband and asserting her role as a wife, should accidentally damage/condemn the life of a woman who slept with a man other than her husband. However, while the stage musical leaves interpretations up to the audience, the film makes a firm judgment call. In the film, as the ground shakes, The Baker’s Wife falls off a cliff and dies.

It seems Disney is saying that The Baker’s Wife is a “fallen woman,” and that it is making a firm decision on how it wants the audience to interpret the affair that occurred. This is made more problematic by how the affair was shot and choreographed. In the film, Cinderella’s Prince pins The Baker’s Wife against a tree and kisses her. There is nowhere for her to escape, even if she wanted to. After some kissing, the affair seems over and the prince leaves (which is very different from most stage adaptations, where a lot more than kissing is implied). So The Baker’s Wife is condemned by Disney and made into a literally “fallen woman,” just because a prince kissed her? And even after she decides to return to her husband and child, content not to have another affair ever again?

While only one major change is made to The Baker’s Wife’s story, half of Rapunzel’s story arc is cut, which in turn takes away from the character development of The Witch. Unlike in the stage musical, Rapunzel does not have a mental breakdown, and she does not get squashed and killed by the giantess (who was annoyed by her raving and screaming) in front of her mother and husband. In Disney’s film, the only consequence of Rapunzel having lived a sheltered childhood is that she runs away from her mother with the first guy she has ever met. The film even cut the fact that she becomes a mother to twins, something that would change anyone’s outlook on life, and certainly take a lot of responsibility – a responsibility for which Rapunzel is not ready. These cuts in the story take away entire conversations that are important for us to have as a culture. The Witch was trying to protect her daughter by sheltering her, but it is the fact that Rapunzel was so heavily sheltered that leads to her undoing, and ultimately leads to her death. Not only that, but Rapunzel develops a mental illness, something that still (and wrongfully) induces a terrible stigma in our society.

In addition, Rapunzel’s and The Witch’s story in the stage musical shows how our most well-intended actions can negatively affect those we care for most. Rapunzel was damaged by her upbringing in a way that made it impossible for her to be a functional human being in society. Not even her prince can help her. The Witch’s song “Witch’s Lament,” in which she sings about how “children won’t listen,” comes after Rapunzel’s death in the stage musical, but in the film it comes after Rapunzel and her prince gallop off into the sunset.

The song is still emotional, as her daughter has rejected her and left her forever. However, the pain within the song is incredibly undermined by the change in circumstances. The Witch then does not have as much justification for her breakdown in “The Last Midnight.” In the song, The Witch rages against all the “nice” people who have brought ruin upon her, her daughter, and the kingdom itself. She is fed up with the world, others’ treatment of her, and possibly of herself. The Witch then vaguely kills herself by goading the spirit(?) of her own mother, challenging her to curse her. Without the death of the person whom she loved most in the world, The Witch is denied what is arguably the most essential part of her character arc, and the story of Into The Woods is deprived of some of its most important themes.

The Witch (Meryl Streep) watches as Rapunzel (Mackenzie Mauzy) rides into the distance with Rapunzel’s Prince (Billy Magnussen).

To make matters worse, the way the special effects were designed during The Witch’s death reminds one of images of Hell, as if to imply that The Witch was sucked down into Hell by the spirit of her mother. This most definitely goes against the messages of the story, and in fact even some of the lyrics in “The Last Midnight.” The Witch is not “good or bad,” but she is “right” about many things (though not about how she raised her daughter). It is the fact that she is “right,” and yet an older and powerful woman (a “witch”) that has drawn condemnation from the other characters, many of whom don’t even know about (most of) the drama between her and Rapunzel. The Witch not only has had a large part of her character arc taken away from her, but she is then metaphorically sent to Hell. For what? For being a complicated human being? By the same line of thinking, what about The Wolf whose only crime was doing what wolves do? What about the adulterous princes who were raised “to be charming, not sincere,” and therefore abuse their power and influence? No, none of them are sent to Hell. The older woman is. Not only is there sexism in this, but there is also ageism. After her death in the film, The Witch’s body is swallowed up by a bubbling tar pit. Women are already overly punished in this film, and it’s no small matter that one of the greatest examples of it is for an older and powerful woman. The stage adaptation took a character that is the villain in fairy tales, and focused on her as a human being, making her into one of the main characters and a complicated human being to be played by a leading actress. The audience is invited to sympathize with her and her intentions, despite the fact that some of them backfire on her and her daughter. To take away so much of her arc undermines what makes the story powerful, and it is a disservice to the role, to the actress (Meryl Streep), and to the audience.

Into The Woods is a complicated story about complicated people, ending with the understanding that no one is completely good or evil, and we all must love and support each other as best we can. It saddens me that the female characters’ stories were altered in the way they were. I can only hope that this newer generation of film-goers is inspired by the film to seek out the many adaptations of the stage version and appreciate the story for what it is – one of community and caring, and not judgment and debasement.

Jackson Adler is a transguy with a BA in Theatre, and is a writer, activist, director, teacher, dramaturge, cartoon lover, and vegan boba drinker. You can follow him on twitter @JacksonAdler, and see more of his writing on the blog The Windowsill at http://windowsillblog.com.

Monsters and Morality in ‘Maleficent’

At its core, ‘Maleficent’ rewrites the morality tale that we all know. Instead of showing us that there is good and there is evil and never the twain shall meet, it tells us that sometimes people do bad things because they are hurt or scared but if they show remorse, realize the error of their ways, and act in ways that show love or kindness–they can be redeemed.

Spoiler Warning

Maleficent seems to be part of a growing trend to retell fairy tales in a way that complicate their morality lessons. For those that don’t know, the character of Maleficent is based on a classic Disney villain that first appeared in Sleeping Beauty. The original depiction of Maleficent is monstrous; in my opinion she was one of the most terrifying villains aimed at young children that Disney has produced. In the original she is an extraordinarily powerful evil fairy. She takes offense at not having been invited to Aurora’s christening and so as her birth gift curses the child to prick her finger on a spindle and die. The three good fairies are only to mitigate the curse so that Aurora would fall into everlasting sleep instead of dying.

Movies like Maleficent and shows like Once Upon a Time have complicated the notions of good in evil. In these types of stories we are given a view that Evil is not simply birthed, it must be created and can come down to the different ways in which people react to trying circumstances. For example in Once Upon a Time, both Snow White and Regina face hardship from an early age. This shows us that what separates the two is that Snow is able to work through her pain and practice compassion, whereas Regina becomes fixated on vengeance and tallying up all the wrongs that have been done to her, further fueling her undying need for vengeance which creates a vicious cycle.

In Sleeping Beauty, we know nothing about Maleficent’s origins; she is just a proxy for the forces of evil. She does bad things because she is bad; there is no further analysis required. Her motivations are irrelevant–we are meant to think nothing could possibly justify the things she does. Maleficent serves to complicate what we know as evil. Instead of Maleficent simply being caricatured as the “mistress of all evil,” we are introduced to her as an innocent, young girl who is kind to strangers and and is concerned with looking after the other fairies. As she grows older, Maleficent becomes powerful and takes on the mantle of protector of her people–a role that she takes very seriously. She ends up leading the fairies into battle when the King of the humans comes to try and conquer them out of greed. In this version, Maleficent is portrayed as a woman with power who is also virtuous, at least until she is hurt very badly.

There is little development of Aurora the princess; she comes off as a very naive child, despite her circumstances, which force her to become somewhat self-reliant. In some ways while giving Maleficent her person-hood, the movie removes that from Aurora. She seems to be merely a plot device. While not ideal, I am OK with it in this context.

Generally, female fairy tale villains can be divided into two broad categories (obviously there are exceptions): vain sorceresses – think the Evil Queen in Snow White or women with power who are just evil for the sake of it. Aside from Maleficent, Ursula the sea witch also fits into this category as does the Queen of Hearts in Alice in Wonderland.

The subtext is of course that women with power are dangerous and cannot or should not be trusted. The hero or heroine of a fairy tale is often concerned with removing the evil woman from power and restoring the natural balance of things, so to speak. This is why reshaping these narratives is so necessary; it allows us to disrupt the common gendered tropes that exist in a way that has real power. It is nice that in this case the true evil is not a woman with power, but instead a man who has greed and ambition and is willing to do whatever it takes to get what he wants, even if it means hurting the only person who has shown him kindness.

Maleficent’s downfall is love or sentimentality; her old human friend uses his relationship against her for his own personal ambitions and she is left bereft. She becomes hard and un-trusting because the violation she suffered was so traumatic. Angelina Jolie’s portrayal of Maleficent’s pain and loss at this point is quite poignant. Maleficent believes that she is doing her best for her people but she can no longer relate to them as she is not the carefree young girl that she was. At the same time it is love that redeems Maleficent when she falls deeply in maternal love with the object of her curse. She realizes that her pain and isolation have stopped her from truly being who she wants to be, and she will no longer let the man who assaulted her have that power over her anymore. There is something quite lovely about this; it tells us that yes, love can sometimes lead to hurt and betrayal, but it can also bring out the best in us. Love is an overarching theme in Maleficent, and one of the best moments comes when Prince Philip, who has met Aurora once, is unable to wake her with true love’s kiss. The good fairies are highly disgruntled, and for it seems to prove that love cannot exist. However when her own kiss wakes Aurora, she realizes that love comes in many forms, and it is not always a lie.

At its core, Maleficent rewrites the morality tale that we all know. Instead of showing us that there is good and there is evil and never the twain shall meet, it tells us that sometimes people do bad things because they are hurt or scared but if they show remorse, realize the error of their ways, and act in ways that show love or kindness–they can be redeemed. The contrast between Maleificient and the king is quite clear. Whereas Maleficent has been able to move on from her hurt through love, the king becomes consumed by his desire for vengeance; it becomes the only in thing in his life and that ends up making him the real evil and leading to his downfall. As far as fairy tales go, Maleficent is the most feminist retelling of one that I have seen in a long time.

Gaayathri Nair is currently living and writing in Auckland, New Zealand. You can find more of her work at her blog A Human Story and tweet her @A_Gaayathri.