Fairy Tales – Bitch Flicks

‘The Lure’ Fills the Mermaid Shaped Hole in My Heart

Closer to sirens than friendly flounders these creatures lure men to their deaths and feast on their flesh. … Deadly mermaids, Eastern European pop music, and crushing dreams may not initially seem like a wonderful combination, but The Lure mixes these elements together beautifully.

This guest post written by Deirdre Crimmins originally appeared at Film Thrills and appears here as part of our theme week on Women in Horror. It is cross-posted with permission.

This will be no surprise to readers who know my taste in film, but I like it weird. I like violence intersecting art. I like burlesque mashing-up with David Bowie. And now, thanks to the opening film of the Boston Underground Film Festival, I now know that I like fantastical creatures breaking out into song. Mermaids and musicals: Where have you been all of my life?

Directed by Agnieszka Smoczynska, The Lure is a film that can be easily summarized, but not easily understood because it is far greater than the sum of its parts. The Polish film is a mermaid tale (or tail — get it?) wherein two mermaid sisters wander onto land to become nightclub singers. Silver (Marta Mazurek) and Golden (Michalina Olszanska) are minding their own business in the ocean when they happen upon a trio of drunken swimmers, and rather than eating them right away, they agree to follow them to their discothèque.

The Lure builds comfortably upon the classic and violent roots of fairy tales. Like Disney, mermaids are great singers and impossibly beautiful, but unlike Disney traditional mer-people are deadly creatures. Closer to sirens than friendly flounders these creatures lure men to their deaths and feast on their flesh. When on land Golden and Silver are beautiful and playful young women, resembling eunuchs with great breasts. But splash a little water on them and their tails and vaginas emerge. The eel-like tails are not particularly sexy, but that does not stop them from being the object of desire from nearly every man they see.

While on land Silver falls in love, which causes a rift between her and Golden. Golden then turns to rebel against her fading relationship with her sister and seeks the company of another fantastical creature she happens upon one night. The story, and Silver’s blind love of a total loser, is heart breaking, but is overshadowed by the musical numbers in the film.

The musical trio who adopt the mermaid siblings are the featured act at their local dance club. Though there are women dancing, and stripping, during many of their numbers, often the music is enough to keep the crowds happy and drinking. Adding the mermaids and their siren’s songs to the act makes for mesmerizing interruptions to the film in high-concept musical numbers. We see them first singing back-up, before moving forward on stage and dominating the club. During one frenzied punk number the entire audience is gripped by their music and thrown into a manic state of debauchery. Strobing lights, pumping music, and outlandish costumes teeter this scene on the edge of celebratory and frightening chaos, and signal the shifting tide in the film from cute fairy tale to a much darker timeline.

Deadly mermaids, Eastern European pop music, and crushing dreams may not initially seem like a wonderful combination, but The Lure mixes these elements together beautifully. The film is outstandingly odd, and for that I love it.

Deirdre Crimmins is a Cleveland-based film critic who lives with two black cats, and her eternal optimism that the next film she watches might be her new favorite. She wrote her Master’s thesis on George Romero and still loves a good musical.

Sex, Silver Service, and Fairy Tales: ‘Sleeping Beauty’

In her debut feature, 2011’s ‘Sleeping Beauty,’ director Julia Leigh examines consent, voyeurism, and passivity through the character of Lucy, a beautiful college student who sleepwalks through life as if it doesn’t involve her. Lucy becomes a literal Sleeping Beauty when she takes a job that involves her being drugged to unconsciousness while men are allowed to do anything they please to her naked body, with the exception of penetration. She exists in an eroticized, dream-like landscape and the film often feels like a painting come to life.

In her debut feature, 2011’s Sleeping Beauty, director Julia Leigh examines consent, voyeurism, and passivity through the character of Lucy (Emily Browning), a beautiful college student who sleepwalks through life as if it doesn’t involve her. Lucy becomes a literal Sleeping Beauty when she takes a job that involves her being drugged to unconsciousness while men are allowed to do anything they please to her naked body, with the exception of penetration. She exists in an eroticized, dream-like landscape and the film often feels like a painting come to life.

As a character, Lucy is defined by what we as an audience don’t know about her, the blank spaces in her characterization that match those in her working life and it is as if we have slept through parts of the film along with Lucy. Her passivity in life mirrors her sleeping, as she moves around, distant from her surroundings and unattached to anyone. She is also indifferent to her job, in one scene she haphazardly applies lipstick and is told to take the work seriously, as “it is not a game.” Lucy’s narrative arc is her process of waking from the stupor she has existed in.

Lucy is shot several other times in silent, passive positions. There are prolonged sequences of her sleeping, both in her original student apartment and her luxury pad, blinded by her sleep mask, as well as sitting alone while waiting at the bar, and on her way to meet her boss, Clara (Rachael Blake). Much of the film actually happens around Lucy while she waits, listens, and sleeps. Even when she is awake, things are done to her and her body: she sleeps with strangers because of a coin toss, endures a painful bikini wax and a test where she is examined like an animal as part of her job interview, and has lipstick roughly applied to her mouth, meant to match her labia. There is a marked focus on Lucy’s mouth throughout the film, from the opening where a scientist puts a tube down her throat as an experiment to the end where she hides a camera in her mouth and is later awakened by mouth to mouth resuscitation.

Lucy’s only real connection is with her ailing friend Birdmann

However, there are moments of rare activity from Lucy, usually brought about by unfortunate circumstances, where is person beneath her icy shell is revealed. She tends to a sickly friend, Birdmann (Ewen Leslie) and gets into bed with him when he overdoses, though she makes no effort call for help. More crucially, she becomes active when she decides, without an provocation, that she wants to know what happens when she is asleep. Though she this would allow the men to be blackmailed, she purchases and smuggles in a small camera.

Early on, the men who will come to be Lucy’s clients are introduced as a dramatis personae at the silver service dinner which suggests they are members of a secret society. This suggests they are microcosms of different types of clients of sex workers, such as the one who is abusive and takes out his frustrations on her as a woman he is allowed to beat inside of a wife, and the one who falls in love with her and just wants to hold her.

At the silver service dinner, Lucy is set apart for her youth and beauty

Lucy is much younger than the other women in the film and her youth, beauty and pale coloring cause her to be placed on a pedestal. As the silver service dinner, she is covered up with virginal white lingerie while the other women wear black bras with cut outs that reveal their breasts. She is the sole women in white and the main attraction, and even when she makes clumsy mistakes, she is continuously praised.

Because of the value placed in Lucy’s beauty, there is a tension between her and Clara. She scoffs at Clara’s suggestion that her vagina is a temple worthy of respect and ignores her warning that the money earned from her work should be seen only as a temporary windfall not a permanent income she can depend on. These scenes suggest Clara may have been in Lucy’s position one day and aged out of the role. In light at the story’s fairy tale connections, it is interesting that a woman, Clara, is the one who puts her to sleep and looks at her as a commodity.

Lucy is examined by Clara before given the job

In the film’s extended and graphic nude scenes, Lucy’s passive, often sedated body can also be examined by aroused audiences, a notion that suggests audiences use nude star as Lucy’s clients do, as she can never know what they do with her image. Once the nude image is out there, it, like Lucy’s consent to be used by the men while sedated, cannot be controlled and consent cannot be rescinded.

In addition, her motivations for agreeing to this work are left unexamined. Unlike films like Belle De Jour, where a bored woman turns to sex work without seeming financial need, it is never suggested that anything Lucy enters into is her fantasy. Instead, it seems to be something she does without thinking, a path she enters down because she cannot think of anything else to do, and only late into it, when she realizes she is making good money, does she begin to live in the luxury it affords her.

Lucy burns her earnings: is the money unneeded or is she unstable?

However, the constant suggestions of traumas in Lucy’s life: her relationship with Birdmann, mentions of her mother, and of the absence of family or friends, as well as her casual proposal to an acquaintance who alludes to parts of her character he finds flawed, may suggest a conflicted or even ailing mental status. In some scenes, Lucy, as a college student, appears to have great need for money, as she allows herself to be used for science experiments, works in an office doing filing and photocopies and lives in grotty apartment with roommates who are openly apprehensive to her about her failure to pay rent. In one scene where she burns the money she has earned from silver service waitressing, suggesting she either feels no need for the money or has become mired in the surreal sort of magic in the film and barely registers the experience was real. Because she stares at the burning money as if it has cast a spell over her, the second possibility seems most likely.

Lucy consents to be used for science experiments

Sleeping Beauty also raises questions of whether sex work is unfairly stigmatized and separated from other menial work. It is suggested that Lucy, highly confident and assured of her attractiveness as she is, has taken her looks into account and believes sex work would be easier and more lucrative than her other jobs. It is also posed as not dissimilar to consenting to be a guinea pig for science experiments with uncertain results, as she had previously done.

Though she has consented to the sexual nature of her sleep work, Lucy is not even given an opportunity to consent to her involvement in her final client’s suicide, plans which were clearly known to Clara as she appears unsurprised he is dead. In this final scene, Lucy realizes that her actions have weight, even if she doesn’t remember them, as she becomes part of these men’s lives. By signing over her body and memory, she allows them ownership of her and knowledge of her as well as agreeing to trust they will not penetrate her. Many of our most beloved fairy tales romanticize passive, sleeping women, such as the original version of Sleeping Beauty, where the prince rapes the unconscious girl. Though Lucy gives her consent, it is unclear whether person can ever consent to something that would happen while they were unconscious as there is no way she can object if she changes her mind or it crosses the line.

It is questionable whether Lucy can consent to things that would happen while she is not conscious

Depending on one’s interpretation of Lucy’s mental state throughout the film, its ending can be taken one of two ways. Either it suggests, Lucy, a literal Sleeping Beauty is waking up to the reality of her life and can begin to live a “normal life” or she is entering into a mental breakdown she has been staving off with her detachment. In addition, the dead man lying in beside her may remind her of Birdmann, whose death she did not fully grieve over and suggests she has been forcing herself not to become attached to him either. With either interpretation, Lucy regains her autonomy and awareness of reality only after negative events, which casts her sex work and her sexual encounters in a wholly negative light. She awakens into the film’s stark reality, where there are no happily ever afters even when the cinematography is this lovely.

As Lucy awakes, not with a kiss but with a slap to the face, it becomes clear that Leigh’s tale of detachment is no fairy tale.

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Elizabeth Kiy is a Canadian writer and freelance journalist living in Toronto, Ontario. is a Canadian writer and freelance journalist living in Toronto, Ontario.

Father Archetypes in Guillermo Del Toro’s Films

There are patterns in Guillermo del Toro’s dark fairy tales, one of the obvious ones being the ease with which he puts children in harm’s way, some of their trials being so painfully harsh that one can’t help suspecting that he puts them in his stories just to tear at our heartstrings. Thankfully, the stories of childhood loss are balanced with protective Nurturer figures, some women, some men, but I’ll be focussing purely on the men because of the clichéd figure of the female nurturer.

This is a guest post by Rhea Daniel.

The Father archetype takes the form of king, tyrant, judge, doctor, executioner, devil, god, priest, take your pick, anything that traditional male roles offer. In real life as on reel, if their characters slip into the feminine role of nurturer (which should not be mistaken for saviour) we gush with praise, because he’s done something so contrary to his nature. On the other hand, we hold up the Mother to some very exacting standards, and are less likely to let her deviate from her primary role. While I’ve examined women’s roles in movies (because I felt there was such a dearth of complex ones), it jumped out at me how many men in Guillermo del Toro’s movies fit into archetypal Fatherhood roles, their characters too being complex, sometimes contradictory.

: : : SPOILERS AHEAD!! : : :

Vidal and Ofelia in Pan's Labyrinth — Vidal and Ofelia in *Pan’s Labyrinth*

The Tyrant

Captain Vidal from Pan’s Labyrinth (2006)

Vidal fits perfectly into the role of The Tyrant. Part of Ofelia’s trial is escaping his oppressive clutches and trying to save her mother at the same time. The Tyrant is your model patriarch; as a fascist, he represents the worst of the Patriarchy. He values sons over daughters, females are only valued as hosts to create the next generation of tyrants. In fact, the entire movie is ridden with imagery and subtexts of the oppressed feminine battling the militaristic autocracy of the despotic tyrant. While he was willing to allow his wife to die if it allowed his son to live, his Nurturer side, though selective, surfaces when the child is born.

A patriarch deigns to give his name only to those he prizes as legitimate offspring, the age-old system of the patriarchy wields its power as long as its descendants hold its dynastic title, and by being denied the right to perpetuate his name just before his death, The Tyrant is truly defeated.

The Faun and Ofelia in Pan's Labyrinth — The Faun and Ofelia in *Pan’s Labyrinth*

The Mage

The Faun in Pan’s Labyrinth (2006)

The Faun’s role is significant because his character displays the duality of the Mage/Trickster archetype. As an ancient being, with “old names that only the wind and the trees can pronounce,” he occupies the noble archetypal roles of the Mage– a Magician, for he is capable of magic; Holy Man for his ancient wisdom; Guide–because he helps Ofelia find her way home; Nurturer–for the advice, comfort and help he gives her when she needs it.

When Ofelia bungles at her tasks, however, he shows his ugly side by turning into Tyrant, and finally when the time arrives for the final test, he turns Trickster by posing a moral dilemma to Ofelia: if she allows her brother to be harmed she would gain entry to her father’s kingdom, if she doesn’t she will lose that chance forever.

Ofelia proves her worth and gains access to the fairy kingdom through unintentional sacrifice. In the real world children might be rewarded for their bravery but not for their innocence, and the director sure rubs that in.

Trevor Bruttenholm and Hellboy in Hellboy II: The Golden Army — Trevor Bruttenholm and Hellboy in *Hellboy II: The Golden Army*

The Alchemist*

Trevor Bruttenholm in Hellboy (2004)

The Alchemist can be wizard or scientist, he represents transformation and change. In a negative context, he nurses an destructive ambition to exploit the natural world for profit. Trevor Bruttenholm as the occultist is the positive Father-Nurturer, transforming a demon child, a monstrous thing born of another dimension, into a force for good. Rasputin on the other hand represents the other side of the Alchemist’s persona, destruction and change for the sake of personal gain.

Dr Casares and Carlos in The Devil's Backbone — Dr Casares and Carlos in *The Devil’s Backbone*

The Sage

Dr. Casares in The Devil’s Backbone (2001)

This movie is also set in a militaristic background, the orphan children are again victims of tyrants. Dr. Casares plays a true Nurturer figure in The Devil’s Backbone. As a man of science, he is a rationalist who denies the existence of Santi, the ghost child that tries to warn them of a coming disaster, emphasized by the unexploded bomb in the courtyard of the school.

His impotency might portray him as half a man, since virility is a necessary part of the Patriarchy, as it symbolizes power and regeneration. Casares is anything but a cold rationalist. When he takes a sip of the panacean Devil’s Backbone elixir, at first glance it’s a half-hearted attempt to cure his impotency, but by being teacher, guide and saviour to the fatherless children, he ultimately sacrifices his life while performing the role of Father-Nurturer, a role that requires the strength and willingness to put oneself in harms way to make sure one’s progeny survives.

Stacker Pentecost and Mako Mori in Pacific Rim — Stacker Pentecost and Mako Mori in *Pacific Rim*

The Knight

Stacker Pentecost in Pacific Rim (2013)

The Knight is a warrior with a code. He fights for justice, for the innocent, for the weak. He is chivalrous and stoic and that chivalry contributes to his sexism. While the argument between blind obedience and freeing oneself of the Father-Tyrant is shown several times, there are two fathers who let go of their children in the story. The ability of the Knight is limited, he can’t always protect his children, so to avoid becoming the hated archetypal Tyrant, the Knight has to free himself of the glory of his saviour role and acknowledge his limitations. Stacker Pentecost learns to let go, his eventual acknowledgment of Mako’s maturity shows his growth. He does not have to let go of his gallantry however, to “clear a path for the lady,” so she can make her own choice whether to risk her life in the battle.

* Going purely by the movie.

Rhea Daniel got to see a lot of movies as a kid because her family members were obsessive movie-watchers. She frequently finds herself in a bind between her love for art and her feminist conscience. Meanwhile she is trying to be a better writer and artist and you can find her at rheadaniel(dot)tumblr(dot)com.

‘Grimm’ Season 3 and the Darkness In Between

But the fairytale redux is also a hugely modern fascination, and a substantial moneymaker for TV and movies. To steep this article in some timely context, consider these popular and recent remakes of fairytale stories: Once Upon A Time, Once Upon A Time In Wonderland (save yourself and evening and don’t watch), and Sleepy Hollow. In film, there is Snow White and the Huntsman, Mirror Mirror, Hanna, Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters, The Brothers Grimm, and Jack and the Giant Killer (among others). There’s even a fabulous book of Politically Correct Bedtime Stories and a great series of photographs from Dina Goldstein called Fallen Princesses.

Little-Red-Riding-Hood-Parody-fairy-tales-and-fables-5123622-1280-800 — What a fairy tale is really trying to tell you

Written by Rachel Redfern

This Friday, October 25, just a few days before Halloween, is a timely beginning for the season 3 premiere of NBC’s Grimm, the crime drama with a dark fairy tale twist. The twist being that Detective Nick Burkhardt (David Guintoli) is a Grimm, a man who can see beyond the human masks of “Wessen,” the dark monsters who often peopled the Brothers’ Grimm fairy tales.

Fairytales and princess stories have come under fire the past 20 years because of the blatant sexism in so many of the stories. Most modern day retellings of these fairytales have reinforced narratives of beautiful, weak women waiting for men to save them, and over-ambitious wicked stepmothers (which is a stereotype rife with hatred of older women, women of power, and extends the “witch/harlot” conundrum).

But the fairytale redux is also a hugely modern fascination, and a substantial moneymaker for TV and movies. To steep this article in some timely context, consider these popular and recent remakes of fairytale stories: Once Upon A Time, Once Upon A Time In Wonderland (save yourself and evening and don’t watch), and Sleepy Hollow. In film, there is Snow White and the Huntsman, Mirror Mirror, Hanna, Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters, The Brothers Grimm, and Jack and the Giant Killer (among others). There’s even a fabulous book of Politically Correct Bedtime Stories and a great series of photographs from Dina Goldstein called Fallen Princesses.

But beyond the Hollywood blockbuster is the rich storytelling and deeply human morals that these ancient fairy tales often portrayed. These stories are just as relevant in today’s world, and we’re obviously still searching for answers about our own humanity and problems in the same places.

The original fairy tales were often disturbing with a straightforward moral: happy endings don’t always happen. Also, they included a lot of death. Grimm, while usually solving its episodic murder mystery, does still delve into the darkness inherent in many of these stories. And in doing so, exposes the continuation of many of the mythic themes that made the original stories so enduring.

Quote_203 — Irony? (Intro frame from *Grimm*.)

One of the biggest themes in fairy tales? Women’s sexuality. Consider the young little red riding hood being gobbled up by an aggressively large, male wolf. The beautiful Snow White (with her obviously virginal name) is literally poisoned by her stepmother; and of course, the overwhelming exquisite Sleeping Beauty is locked away until marriageable age. The whole thing reeks of repressed sexuality,

Since most of the fairy tales were about a deep fear of women’s sexuality, Grimm seems to echoes those. Again, this makes a lot of sense with all the insanity in the United States about abortion, the slut-shaming of Sandra Fluke, the pearl-clutching Victorianism towards Miley Cyrus, and the entire blessed cornucopia of society that thinks the world will implode into a steaming orgy should a women’s libido exist.

But Grimm does a good job of playing with and displaying that fear back at us.

**Beware: Spoilers ahead

The main female protagonist, Juliette (Bitsie Tulloch) falls under the witches’ spell (Sleeping Beauty story), but then becomes physically, chemically, lustfully obsessed with the man who wakes her. So much so, that the obsession, and the subsequent attempts to become physically intimate, become destructive and violent. This unbridled emotion towards each other is so dangerous that it must end in death, seeming to imply that consummation is a darker, more powerful act than dying.

It was a surprisingly meta-fictive moment for a network TV show, and I was startled to see the writers and producers playing so freely with the darker, sexual presence from the Sleeping Beauty fairytale.

In the hexenbeast Adalind Schade (Claire Coffee) plotline we see the scheming and vindictive side of a female nature as she brazenly seduces Detective Hank Griffin (Russel Hornsby) Captain Renard (Sasha Roiz) and his royal brother and then after she becomes pregnant, in her willingness to use her baby to regain her power. Maternity is often how we define female characters, so I always find it fascinating when mothers are cast in anti-maternal roles. Obviously in the case of Adalind (and even in the case with her own mother), the witches (or hexenbeast) are seen as intensely anti-mother, but not unfeminine. I suppose it’s an easy way to cast her as a villain, but I enjoy it regardless.

Of course, the power-hungry female “Wessen,” called “Musei” (meaning Muse), is a natural addition to this list. In the show she is not only the archetypal prostitute, her kind have literally been prostitutes in the past, but she draws power and pleasure from first creatively building up artists and then destroying them with obsessive sexual desire. This willfully enticing creature sets her sights upon the protagonist, needing him to fill the spot of her next plaything, until in a reversal of the Sleeping Beauty myth, true love’s kiss must awaken him from the spell.

It was a very circular moment for the show, since it mirrored an earlier plotline from the season, but with reversed genders. Instead of the female being the helpless one, the male “prince” must wait to be rescued.

Even in season one, the early episode “Lonely Hearts” is provocative in its dealings with rape and sexual assault since the women in question are literally begging to be kissed because of the rapist’s intense pheromones; but in spite of the “begging,” it was a situation still cast as absolute rape within the show, a plot device that seemed intent upon revealing the ridiculousness of that stupid phrase, “she was asking for it.”

Grimm’s awareness of the fear of female sexuality ties into the more general fear and exploration of the inner animal in all of us: the darker urges, manipulations, aggression, obsessions, temptations, and desires that religion and societal mores have been fighting against for ages. And strangely, that works very well within the framework of a police drama—the rule of law attempting balance and come to terms with the more volatile aspects of humanity.

So, besides an entirely ridiculous second season opening credits sequence, Grimm is exploring some provocative reversals and thematic elements.

In the end though, the show is also about transformation within the search for balance. Nick is transformed into a Grimm, slowly developing in a new kind of law-man, and Juliette, Adalind, Rosalee, and Monroe all show that development as well as they try to find this balance between light and dark for themselves.

[youtube_sc url=”http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JUWivHe3bjY”]

Do you find the stories in Grimm intriguing and unique? Or is it merely replaying tired old stories? How does it stack up against shows like Once Upon A Time?

No, ‘Oz the Great and Powerful,’ We Don’t Need More Male-Centric Fairy Tales

Written by Megan Kearns.

After seeing Oz the Great and Powerful, I was annoyed. And angry.

Everything in the film revolves around one dude: James Franco as Oscar Diggs aka Oz. Bleh. It’s a patriarchal dream come true.

Women in the film fawn over Oz, swoon over him, make googly eyes at him, get enraged by him and arguably wreck their lives because of him. Glinda (Michelle Williams), Evanora (Rachel Weisz) and Theodora (Mila Kunis) all repeat throughout the film that Oz is there to save them. Even after Glinda who’s wise to his shenanigans, knows he’s not really a wizard, she still perpetuates the façade that he’s a savior, the one person who will bring the land salvation. Oz literally puts a female character, the broken China Girl, back together. Oz catalyzes Theodora’s destructive transformation from naïve and sweet, albeit with a quick temper, to heartless and wicked. Oh and of course we get women pitted against each other. Just for funsies.

The film is boring and vapid. The tissue-thin characters lack depth, wasting the tremendous talents of Rachel Weisz, Michelle Williams and Mila Kunis. Hideous gender stereotypes get tossed around. In her fantastic review, Natalie Wilson points out the film’s many weaknesses, including reinforcing the trope that women are wicked and erasing the feminism of the books.

One of the reasons that made Wicked and The Wizard of Ozso special — they focus on the women for a change. As Bitch Flicks writer Myrna Waldron astutely points out, the Oz series boasts powerful women in leadership roles. The women aren’t princesses (aside from Princess Ozma in the books of course). The women are either “ordinary” or witches, dismantling the “all witches are evil” trope. The women in Oz lead, give advice, scheme, make decisions on their own, go on journeys, forge friendships. They may work cooperatively with men but they don’t sit around and wait for men to save them.

So how did this happen? How did a female-centric, feminist series devolve into male pandering? It comes down to an aspect of the film’s production that to the best of my knowledge I haven’t seen anyone else raise: the need for “a fairy tale with a good strong male protagonist.”

Producer Joe Roth — who didn’t realize The Wizard of Oz was just the first in a series of 14 books, — shares what drew him to develop Oz the Great and Powerful:

“When [screenwriter] Mitchell [Kapner] starts talking about that man behind the curtain and how he got there, this storyline immediately strikes me as a great idea for a movie for a couple of reasons. One was because I love The Wizard of Oz. But this character is only in the last few minutes of that film and we have no idea who he is.

“And the second reason was — during the years that I spent running Walt Disney Studios — I learned about how hard it was to find a fairy tale with a good strong male protagonist. You’ve got your Sleeping Beauties, your Cinderellas and your Alices. But a fairy tale with a male protagonist is very hard to come by. But with the origin story of the Wizard of Oz, here was a fairy tale story with a natural male protagonist. Which is why I knew that this was an idea for a movie that was genuinely worth pursuing.”

So only films with a “natural male protagonist” are worth pursuing? Roth has also produced Alice in Wonderland, Snow White and the Huntsman and the upcoming Angelina Jolie film Maleficent – all female-centric fairy-tale films. So maybe he’s tired of all the ladies. And of course he can personally pursue any story he wants. But to take such an iconic series with a plucky female protagonist, full of complex female characters and a female ruler (Ozma) and then strip it of its female empowerment and nuance all to focus on a dude?? Stop. Just stop.

What’s great about Dorothy is she’s not a princess. She’s a “regular” girl on a quest and an emotional journey, something we too often see men and boys embark on. Now I understand if they didn’t want to rival the Judy Garland classic. But why not film one of the other books in the series? Or why not film the musical Wicked, a story revolving around the bonds of female friendship?

So what about Roth’s assertion, that it’s difficult to find male leads in fairy tale films? Nope, it’s really not that hard. Jack the Giant Slayer, Shrek, Aladdin, Mickey and the Beanstalk, Pinocchio, Peter Pan, The Sword in the Stone, Hercules, hell even Beauty and the Beast all feature male leads in fairy tale films.

As I’ve written before when I wrote about my excitement for Brave, too many children’s films, particularly animated films, don’t feature girls and women in leading roles. “Originally titled Rapunzel, Disney’s Tangled, the most recent animated film featuring a girl, was renamed a gender-neutral title to be less girl-centric. Its marketing didn’t just focus on Rapunzel but featured “bad-boy” thief Flynn Ryder in order to lure a male audience. Male characters dominate animated films.” Wreck-It Ralph, Ice Age, Rango, Kung Fu Panda and aside from Bravethe entire pantheon of Pixar’s films (Toy Story, Up, Wall-E, etc.), put male roles front and center.

As of 2010, “family films exhibited a gender disparity as only 29% of speaking roles belonged to female characters in the top grossing films within the past few years.” Superhero films (Spiderman, Iron Man, Batman, The Avengers aside from Black Widow), and swashbuckling adventures (Pirates of the Caribbean, Star Wars) — all with huge audiences of children — also feature male protagonists. Most movies for kids are just sexism in training.

In fairy tale films, the female characters we do see are princesses (Brave, Snow White and the Huntsman, The Little Mermaid, The Princess and the Frog, Cinderella, Beauty and the Beast, Sleeping Beauty). While there’s nothing wrong with having characters as princesses — and with Brave we got a huge step for female empowerment — as a collective they contribute to princess culture. Princess culture typically celebrates female objectification, reifying the stereotype that women’s and girls’ worth should be tied to their beauty. It also perpetuates the pressure of perfection — women and girls must be everything to everyone. And princess culture follows girls into womanhood with wedding obsessions and the fairy tale myth of finding Prince Charming.

In too many films for both children and adults, female characters’ fall into tropes of damsels in distress, femme fatales, and manic pixie dream girls. Their stories often revolve around men, just like in Oz. The women talk about men. They wax about finding love. They yearn to be rescued, looking to men to fix their lives.

With the pervasive lack of female protagonists, media implies that girls and women don’t matter. It teaches girls they should serve as supporting roles in real life, rather than lead themselves. In a film with three powerful sorceresses, the message shouldn’t be that a “good man” can save us all.

So no, we don’t need any more films, fairy-tale or otherwise, revolving around men.

Bitch Slapped: Female Violence in ‘Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters’

Written by: Rachel Redfern

Jeremy Renner and Gemma Arterton in Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters

Watching the trailer for this year’s latest fairy tale redux, Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters it, wasn’t a difficult thing to judge the film as a clichéd action movie with a bad plot and a ridiculous title: we were not wrong to do so. However, the large amount of female characters makes it at least an interesting movie to review. While the world of Hansel and Gretel does feature men, few of the main characters are and in an interesting twist for an action movie, female characters outnumber the male ones. The movie even passes the Bechdel test ironically.

So, here’s a quick breakdown of the film, which probably isn’t necessary except for the sake of a well-organized essay. Hansel (Jeremy Renner) and Gretel (Gemma Arterton) are siblings who are led out into the forest by their parents where they are promptly abandoned. Hansel and Gretel kill the evil witch who tries to eat Hansel and become famous witch hunters, until they end up in a town where multiple children have been taken by a trio of witches to be used for an evil ritual. Violence and one-liners ensue and Hansel and Gretel come to understand themselves and their own history better.

The film plays out like a video game: it’s violence graphic and exaggerated. Personally, I haven’t seen this many heads blown off of bodies since an ill-fated viewing of Rambo IV (2008). People are ripped to shreds, brutally beaten, squished to death, explode and any number of implausible and gory ways to die.

Jeremy Renner taking part in an improbable action scene

But again, despite Hansel and his overwhelming hatred of witches (of which there seem to be only women—no evil warlocks in this franchise), the only other men featured are a simple mayor, an abusive sheriff (Peter Stormare), a pleasant troll and an overzealous fan of Hansel and Gretel’s work (Thomas Mann).

Gemma Arterton is the other side of the bad-ass Hansel and Gretel team, starring as an appropriately aggressive Gretel. I like a spunky heroine and while Hansel does have to save her towards the end of the movie, she does drive home the final killing blow, so overall I suppose there was great equality in their violent slaughter of the witches.

On to the point, I am not opposed to female villains: I support equal-opportunity in my evil masterminds and if you’re going to have a lot of classic male villains (Lex Luther in Superman, Scar from The Lion King, Batman’s Joker), there should also be some equally evil females running around (Ursula in The Little Mermaid, the Borg Queen from Star Trek, Poison Ivy for Batman).

However, in this respect Hansel and Gretel is over the top, just as it is in pretty much every other way. But it is interesting, the violence committed by these female villains and against them is jarring and explicit, however, the filmmakers obviously did everything that they could to distance the witches from being thought of as women. Physically every witch is monstrous, with scaly skin and pointed teeth, unrecognizable as women for the most part.

So not only do they not look like women, they don’t act like maternal loving women, again making it hard to identify with them and I suppose on some level, making it easier to stomach the horrific amount of beating they all seem to receive. There are dozens of evil female witches running around dragging children from their beds in order to sacrifice them for immortality and literally consume them.

Famke Janssen as her monstrous self in Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters

There is one woman though who isn’t the same as the rest of the witches; Famke Janssen (X-Men) is a grand-witch and therefore able to change her appearance. She can appear as a normal human woman or can shift into her more natural, monstrous self. Interestingly enough, at one point of the movie she is, of course, being beaten up by Hansel and to try and stop him from strangling her she shifts into her beautiful human self and begins to beg Hansel for mercy. Hansel knows that she is still evil and that the beauty is just an act and so finishes her off. The moment is almost meta, as if the filmmaker was acknowledging the fact that had the women been human-looking, such gratuitously violent acts against them would have perhaps been unacceptable to audiences.

There are good witches in the film however, maternal loving women who are healers and sacrifice for their children, and are of course, physically beautiful. Though this doesn’t prevent them from getting the shit beat out of them either, just in a more socially acceptable way and one where there is swift retribution from one of the nice males in the film.

One thing that was interesting though, the film is based off the classic fairy tale of Hansel and Gretel in which Hansel and Gretel are abandoned in the forest because their evil stepmother doesn’t want to take care of them anymore. However, in this film version, Hansel and Gretel hate their mother (no stepmother) for abandoning them, only to realize later in the film that the only reason she abandoned them was to save them. It was a moment of explanation for a character who’s been demonized as a bad mother for years, but instead of playing into that, the film actually gave her a reason and a cause, humanizing her for once.

For the most part the whole film is a travesty of plot and character and feminism; it’s one redeeming feature being the amazing soundtrack, but I suppose that at the end of the day, the movie is at least honest since it never pretended to be anything other than what it was: a clichéd Hollywood action movie.

Rachel Redfern has an MA in English literature, where she conducted research on modern American literature and film and its intersection, however she spends most of her time watching HBO shows, traveling, and blogging and reading about feminism.

Classic Literature Film Adaptations Week: The Depiction of Women in Three Films Based on the Fairy Tales of Hans Christian Andersen

This is a guest review by Alisande Fitzsimons.

Danish author Hans Christian Andersen is one of those writers whose stories—like those by the Brothers Grimm and Scheherazade (the Persian Queen who spun the stories that make up A Thousand and One Arabian Nights)—are so much a part of our culture that you undoubtedly heard them, and watched film adaptations of them, as a child.

Andersen had an unfortunate habit of falling in love with unobtainable women and later unobtainable men. The theme of lost love, and of the thing we love the most coming to destroy us is repeated throughout his fiction, much of which features a woman or female character in a lead role.

This essay will look at some adaptations of his most famous stories, and examine the role of the female protagonist in them.

Moira Shearer as Vicky in The Red Shoes

The Red Shoes (1948)

The film of the The Red Shoes differs slightly from HCA’s original tale. Rather than using it as a template for the whole film, the story is used as the basis for a fifteen-minute ballet that is performed in the movie. The composing and performing of the ballet is a crucial plot point within the movie.

The film revolves around Vicky (Moira Shearer), a prima ballerina, whose love for dance destroys her, the same way that the girl in HCA’s original story is destroyed by her beloved red shoes which eventually force her to dance herself to death.

The female protagonist Vicky is presented on-screen as flame-haired and beautiful. Less sympathetic though is the character’s passion for dance, and for The Red Shoes ballet in particular. Her obsession with it is such that she leaves her husband so that she can dance it once more, only to realise she’s made a mistake. She follows him to the train station and ends up being injured by an on-coming train, while wearing the red shoes she used to perform in.

Though the girl in HCA’s story is vain and wished for shoes that would let her dance forever, you’re aware that she’s also desperate to get out of the situation. In the film, it is Vicky who is possessed. She’s so obsessed with her career, and in particular the ballet that made her famous, that she cannot pass up a chance to dance it. Even when running after her husband, she does not remove her performance shoes.

It’s basically another film where a woman who’s career-focused is depicted as mentally ill because of it, and duly punished. No wonder it’s one of Courtney Love’s favourite films.

Bridget Fonda’s Snow Queen makes her romantic rivalry with Gerda clear

The Snow Queen (2002)

There have been many adaptations of The Snow Queen over the years (she’s a consistently scary bitch) but I’m talking about the 2002 made-for-TV adaptation starring Bridget Fonda as the eponymous villain of the piece. (It falls on me here, for no reason other than the fact that I’m immature and enjoy this kind of thing that “Bridget” rhymes with “frigid,” and to be frigid is to be icy and so on. Anyway…)

The most striking difference between HCA’s story and the film is that when it was made for TV the producers opted to make the story’s heroine, Gerda, into a love rival for the queen. In the fairy tale, Gerda and Kai—the boy the queen wants to own/seduce depending on the version—are best friends rather than girlfriend and boyfriend.

In the film, they are romantically involved, and so a story about friendship and sacrifice becomes one about a love triangle in which two women fight over a man. So far, so typical a Hollywood adaptation. But bearing in mind that HCA’s original story was about two children, and the sacrifices one was willing to make to save the other’s soul, isn’t that a bit sad?

It’s not just that two women can’t see each other as anything other than rivals for a man (even when one of them is a supernatural being with the power to control winter). By making the story “more accessible to modern audiences,” which producers love to do by reducing women to the sum of our ancestors’ parts (because once-upon-a-time we would have had to fight each other in order to make the best marriage we possibly could) they’ve actually made it a lot more boring. Sigh.

Disney’s Little Mermaid Ariel gets her fairytale ending

Splash (1984) and The Little Mermaid (1989) based on The Little Mermaid

The fact of the matter is that, if you’re looking for an accurate rendering of The Little Mermaid on-screen, you probably won’t find one. The animated Disney version of the story, complete with singing lobsters and a best friend called “Flounder the fish,” sticks closely to the majority of the story but leaves out the fairy tale’s violence, pain and death in favour of a good inter-species marriage at the end.

It’s hard to overstate how violent HCA’s original story is. The mermaid’s tongue is cut out, she dances for the human prince despite being in excruciating pain, having never quite gotten her landlegs, and—after she realizes he will never love her—she has to decide whether or not to shed his blood using a massive knife. It’s no wonder that the man who received this story in the form of a love letter from HCA turned down his affections.

Directed by Ron Howard, Splash is one of the more enjoyable romantic comedies of the eighties, possibly because of the fairy tale elements it contains. Like the little mermaid of the fairy tale, Daryl Hannah’s gorgeous mermaid Madison first catches sight of her prince as a child.

Years later, when she washes up on the shores of Manhattan, the two are re-united and romantic and comedic chaos ensues until he decides he loves her so much that he will follow her to the sea, from where he can never return (although he will live for 300 years which might be some compensation).

Although Splash is very loosely based on HCA’s story The Little Mermaid, the decision of the male protagonist to follow his love into the sea is a direct contradiction of it. For one thing, in HCA’s story the mermaid does not get her man. He marries a more suitable human instead, and the mermaid perishes before becoming a spirit (it’s a bit complicated but very spiritual).

Daryl Hannah as Madison in Splash

I rather like this ending to a film because despite not sticking to the original story, it offers viewers a chance to see something that is still relatively unusual on-screen: a successful male character giving up his life for the woman (mermaid) he loves. He sacrifices everything for her, with no real guarantee that he’ll be happy, and absolutely no way back. In that way, the male lead (Tom Hanks) is more like the little mermaid of HCA’s original story, who gave up her life below the sea for the human she loved, than Daryl Hannah’s character.

Both Splash and Disney’s The Little Mermaid stick to HCA’s premise that once a mermaid is on shore, she will be rendered mute. Feminists have had a field day with this part of the story but bearing in mind HCA’s sexuality, it’s also possible to read their silence as a manifestation of his desperation to be loved.

Rather than forcing his female characters into silence as a nod to the social roles enforced by the patriarchy of the era, might this be HCA’s way of telling his love that he will silence himself for them?

Conclusion

The adaptation of works from previous centuries is, if sometimes undesirable, inevitable. The fairy tales of Hans Christian Andersen, though still accessible to readers today, often shock with the violence and victimization that occurs to his lead characters, many of whom are, yes, female.

What strikes the modern reader, especially in light of what we know about HCA’s sexuality and relationships, is that many of these characters, though written as female are likely to be the writer consciously or unconsciously expressing parts of himself.

It’s curious then to see a character such as the Little Mermaid, who in literature sacrificed everything for the man she loved, pursued by a man who willingly sacrifices everything for her in one film version of the story, and happily married in another.

The film versions of The Red Shoes and The Snow Queen offer up more interesting re-interpretations of HCA and his characters’ psyches. In The Red Shoes, a character is destroyed by her mental illness and vanity—qualities the homophobic are very quick to attribute to gay men.

In the film version of The Snow Queen, the love of a good woman (Gerda) turns the character of Kai from a jealous, spiteful, mean young man (again qualities that homophobes love to attribute to young gay men) into the caring, loving, definitively heterosexual boy the filmmakers want him to be.

While it’s nothing new to argue that books and fairy tales reinforce the heteronormative, it’s interesting to think that HCA might once have been trying to do something quite different, and to imagine what a queer filmmaker might be able to come up with.

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Alisande Fitzsimons likes to eat. She blogs regularly at xoJane.co.uk and tweets about it @AlisandeF.

The Four Mothers of ‘Hanna’

Saoirse Ronan as Hanna

This independent film came and went and while a few friends mentioned it, I didn’t seem to read too much about it, a shame because the film offers a lot for a feminist viewers (Bechdel win!) in it’s portrayal of female friendship, Hanna’s coming of age, a female action hero and an interesting Cate Blanchette as the villain. While the story revolves around a familiar plot of revenge and CIA subterfuge, the screenwriter, Seth Lochhead, always intended for the film to feature elements of fairy tales, specifically the darkness that is featured in any morality tale.

Hanna is certainly suited to a Grimm fairytale ambiance; Saoirse Ronan (Hanna) is cursed with special gifts and raised by her vengeance-fueled father in a faraway land. There is a wicked witch (Cate Blanchette) who cursed her with her special abilities and who must be destroyed, Hanna’s father (Eric Bana) must then push his daughter out into the world to fulfill her cursed destiny, during which time Hanna will ultimately grow up and discover the truth about her mother.

Specifically, it was the portrayal of parents, mothers especially, that I found really interesting in the film. There are three mothers portrayed, Hanna’s mother, Hanna’s grandmother, and the mother of Hanna’s friend (Olivia Williams), all of which are shown to be absent mothers to their daughters.

Motherhood is tricky in Hollywood; films about the subject usually involve a lot of tears and yelling and misunderstandings. It’s understandable, this confusion over the topic, since there is no definitive model of what a perfect mother would look like; however, there is usually one characteristic that we do all seem to seek in our perfect mother: her presence. I can name dozens of films that feature the absent mother: perhaps she is dead, or ill, or a drug addict, or even (gasp) the clichéd, power-hungry career woman.

In the case of Hanna, there are other forces that drive mothers and daughters apart; for Hanna’s mother, it’s her unwanted pregnancy and then later, her involvement in a top-secret government program (which is just a more complicated version of the guilty mother trying to give her kid a better life plot). Hanna’s mother ultimately fails in this task though; all her attempts to “make her baby special” (enter fairytale queen asking the witch for some special gifts for her kid) leads to Hanna’s cursed nature (abnormal abilities) and itinerant loneliness. Hanna is so lonely that she follows around a traveling family, amazed at their family life and obviously longing for the things she cannot understand.

Olivia Williams plays the ultimate bohemian mother; her fifteen year-old daughter is given leave to run around Europe on the back of a moped with a few boys she met at the pool. This sentence alone would probably give my mother a heart attack. Williams believes so wholly in the purity of independence that she allows her entitled daughter complete and total rein, even allowing her to engage in activities, which could be harmful. Yet Williams still considers herself to be a maternal protective figure in her choice to take in Hanna, believing her to need some parenting (of which she doesn’t seem to do much). In the end however, despite her daughters friendship with Hanna and her own desire to help her, William’s character closes off their family to Hanna, pushing her away yet again from another mother figure.

Hanna’s grandmother is a different kind of woman, solid and gentle, who longs to know where her granddaughter is and whether she is safe. She is so pure and innocent in her serene motherhood that she allows herself to be killed, rather than reveal any information about her granddaughter’s whereabouts. It’s a powerful scene of what I imagine we think of for ideal motherhood: self-sacrifice and love.

Cate Blanchette as Marissa Weigler

Cate Blanchette, who plays the villain, in a way even struck me as a type of mother, which could be read in one of two ways. Either she’s no mother at all—the anti-mother if you will, the woman who is negative mother space in that she considers the progeny which she helped to create to be disposable tools. Or perhaps she is instead the great mother figure who tries so hard to control her children, to mold them into her image that she ultimately destroys them or must be destroyed.

Startlingly, in order for Hanna to thrive, all of her mothers must die, forcing her to experience extreme independence. After which she crosses over into her own womanhood, freed from the four women whose influence has controlled her life.

The intended morality of this dark fairy tale was not that mothers should be killed, however the intersection of independence, self-discovery and loneliness was pivotal for Hanna to grow up and discover her self.

This is only one facet of the film though; the film almost reads like a backpackers love song to Europe, exploring the little known and “off the track” places in much of Southern Europe. As a bonus, look for Tom Hollander (of the Pirates of the Caribbean trilogy) as a brilliantly creepy, Eurotrash thugs, all whilst wearing absurdly small shorts.

Guest Writer Wednesday: A Feminist Review of ‘Snow White and the Huntsman’

Guest post written by Rachel Redfern originally published at Not Another Wave. Cross-posted with permission.

The fairy tale redux is the latest vogue in Hollywood and poor Snow White has been remixed and redone twice in the past year. I didn’t see the Julia Roberts and Nathan Lane adaptation, about which I heard unpleasant things (I wonder though, can anything with the brilliant Nathan Lane ever be that bad?), but the trailer looked promising, despite the presence of Kristin Stewart.

I’m going to go off on a tangent here about Kristin Stewart: really, Hollywood? You like Kristen Stewart that much that you’ve decided to continue to feed her roles? Can’t you just admit that she’s a horrifically, terrible actress? She has literally one expression she uses: surprised fear. I have stuffed animals with a greater range of displayed emotion.

That tepid, surprised fear bleeds its unfortunate paralysis into the rest of the film, which had an otherwise legitimately promising cast and a script with some real potential. The film, and most notably Stewart, fails to commit to anything. Is Snow White a herald of action hero bad-assery intent on her destiny to kill the wicked witch? Or is she an angelic innocent saint, so pure that her goodness can overcome the queen’s toxic, kingdom-killing evil? Stewart definitely has no idea and so neither do the characters who interact with her, making her role (the title one) the most boring and confusing part of the film.

This leads into one of my main feminist concerns with the film, the fact that Stewart’s Snow White is supposedly only powerful because of her “innocence and purity.” Again we have to go back to ideas of innocence and purity for women, without which, we can apparently accomplish nothing, nor be of any value. This is, of course, in direct opposition to the male characters in the film who are drunk, unethical and constantly killing something. This kind of clichéd, stereotype reinforcing portrayal of the wounded, nasty, albeit powerful warrior, who falls in love with the gentle, sweet maiden (always pure), is without a doubt the most annoying thing ever.

In a supposedly “enlightened” society, why do we insist upon returning to Victorian ideals of female purity and a demeaning “innocence” (meaning lacking in life experience and child-like)? I am neither pure nor innocent, yet I manage to hold my own in life and (hopefully) do some good.

However, that doesn’t mean that the film is wholly without any redeeming qualities; the film has a strong focus on the evil queen and gives her a powerful back-story, one that explains her obsession with youth and beauty. The reason she’s so obsessed with beauty? It has been her only means of gaining power and protecting herself from men. This plotline made a great parallel to our own rich and famous and their fascination with cosmetic surgery: in order to stay powerful and current, they must stay young and beautiful or be eviscerated by the media and potentially lose their jobs.

The plotline can be taken even further though. Not only is she conscripted into a life of damaging narcissism because of her beauty, but other women are similarly used. Recognizing that their beauty is both their power and their undoing, we meet a commune of women who have scarred their faces in order to protect themselves from the queen, a plot line that reminded me of the current situation in the Middle East where rules governing women and their clothing have reached new heights. There, some people believe that women should hide their tempting eyes as a way to save men from being forced to ravish them in the streets.

Instead of exploring that plotline further however, the filmmakers decided to move on to another nonsense scene of Stewart looking scared and confused while running through a field.

However, the costume design was amazing, the sets inspiring, the music beautiful (I can say with absolutely certainty that the new Florence and the Machine song, “Breath of Life,” which was created for the film, is awesome), and the cinematography inspiring.

Charlize Theron did a good job as the tortured queen and Sam Spruell as her creepy brother was excellent; their relationship was one of the best parts of the film in my mind. Chris Hemsworth was fairly bland, but nice to look at, so I personally forgive him for being a bit boring.

All in all, the film was a gold mine of good-filmmaking and feminist potential, but which came up short because of it’s inability to either fully embrace its traditional fairy tale values or its modern ones.

Rachel Redfern has an MA in English literature, where she conducted research on modern American literature and film and it’s intersection, however she spends most of her time watching HBO shows, traveling, and blogging and reading about feminism.

Trailers for ‘Snow White & the Huntsman’ and ‘Mirror, Mirror’ Perpetuate Stereotypes of Women, Beauty & Aging and Pit Women Against Each Other

Charlize Theron as Queen Ravenna and Kristen Stewart as Snow White in ‘Snow White and the Huntsman’

Woman obsessed with aging fights her fading beauty. Older woman jealous of younger woman. Younger woman rescued by a prince. Yep, it’s a tale as old as time that Hollywood keeps churning out. With fairy tales ingrained in our collective psyche, it’s no surprise we now have two Snow White films looming on the horizon.

In the hyped Snow White and the Huntsman, the infamous fairy tale transforms into a macabre Lord of the Rings-esqe action-adventure epic. Charlize Theron (love her!), a phenomenal actor who imbues her nuanced characters with depth, based her performance of the obsessive queen on Jack Nicholson in The Shining. Sounds interesting so far, right?

The intriguing trailer focuses heavily on Queen Ravenna (Charlize Theron), who narrates or speaks almost exclusively. Okay, I kinda like that. But why doesn’t Snow White (Kristen Stewart) say anything? Why does it seem in every trailer for one of her films (ahem, Twilight series) Stewart’s character mute?? And why the fuck did they have to add “The Huntsman” in the title?! Why couldn’t it have just been “Snow White?” Or “Snow White and the Queen?” Heaven forbid a film focuses on multiple women…without a dude.

In the Snow White fairy tale, the Queen rules the kingdom she stole from heiress Snow White. But as Rebecca Cohen points out, in film versions like Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, we never see the Queen actually do anything regarding political machinations other than obsess over maintaining her fading beauty and plot to kill her stepdaughter. She possesses no ambitions beyond eternal beauty. Sadly, this film seems no different.

Queen Ravenna (Charlize Theron); ‘Snow White and the Huntsman’

We see the powerful sorceress engage in beauty treatments, like bathing in milk and sucking out the souls of young maidens to rejuvenate her striking appearance. Wait, she’s got all this power and she’s wasting it on looking young?? Oh you know us women; all we care about is our looks! In the trailer, Queen Ravenna says:

“Do you hear that? It’s the sound of battles fought and lives lost. It once pained me to know I am the cause of such despair. But now, their cries give me strength. Beauty is my power.”

Sigh. The defense for every person who thinks feminism is unnecessary. Women aren’t oppressed; they derive power from their beauty and sexuality! Too many films try to prop up this tired myth. Yes, when you feel good about your outer appearance, it can bolster your inner self-confidence. But I’m here to tell you ladies, there is NO power in beauty. It’s a ruse, a sham. No power exists in the objectification of women’s bodies.

Not to be outdone, the family-friendly comedy Mirror, Mirror is also tackling Snow White. While Snow White at least speaks in this trailer, Mirror, Mirror again puts the spotlight on the Queen, this time played by Julia Roberts. In this version, the Queen isn’t envisioned as evil, just insecure. All throughout the trailer, Queen Clementianna (Julia Roberts) makes snide comments about Snow White (Lily Collins)’s beauty and how she herself isn’t getting wrinkles but “crinkles.” We see her girdle getting cinched. She uses a love potion on the rich prince, whom she wants to marry to cure her “financial troubles.” So Roberts’ Queen doesn’t even seem faux empowered like Theron. Instead she’s reduced to a shallow, insecure, bitter woman. How funny!

Now, the original Snow White isn’t an enlightened, gender equitable, female empowerment tale. Young woman plays housekeeper, cooking and cleaning for a bunch of dudes after her stepmother banishes her to the woods, who then falls into a coma after eating a poisoned apple by said stepmother, awakened with a kiss by a prince with whom she rides off into the sunset – not exactly screaming feminism. If Hollywood wanted to retell this story, why not put a twist on it?

And that’s what Snow White and the Huntsman attempts to do. In this version, Snow White (Kristen Stewart) is an armor-wearing, sword-wielding badass. Screenwriter Evan Daugherty wanted to update the fairy tale:

“What if, instead of saving Snow White, the Huntsman teaches Snow White to save herself?”

Oooh a warrior Snow White! Potentially promising. And I like the idea of her saving herself. Except that Snow White (Kristen Stewart) is trained by…you guessed it, a dude. The Huntsman, initially ordered by Queen Ravenna to kill Snow White and cut out her heart so the Queen can consume it and live forever, decides to protect Snow White and train her for combat.

Even Lily Collins plays a perky, fencing Snow White in Mirror, Mirror. In the trailer, she says:

“I’ve read so many stories where the prince saves the princess. It’s time we changed that.”

I wholeheartedly agree with that sentiment. And I love a badass female warrior as much as the next cinephile. But in both Snow White and the Huntsman and Mirror, Mirror, Snow White has no female friends, no maternal figure for guidance, nurturance and support. Women are pitted against each other. It’s all men, men, men.

Snow White may be more of a badass in these retellings. But that doesn’t mean she’s feminist. The trailers for upcoming Snow White and the Huntsman and Mirror, Mirror spread a message of women, beauty and aging. They pit women against each other, particularly older women against younger women. They tell us that older women obsess over their looks, forever jealous of innocent younger women’s youth and vitality. They reinforce cattiness and competition, tossing aside the importance of female friendship and camaraderie. Oh silly ladies, you don’t need to rely on other women or even yourself. You just need a strong man to rescue you.

Really, Hollywood, haven’t we seen enough of these tired tropes? How about a truly empowered woman. Or better yet, a film with several strong female characters, who are friends, not foes. Now that, not a woman swinging a sword, would be truly radical.

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Trailers for Snow White and the Huntsman and Mirror, Mirror:

Guest Writer Wednesday: Fairy Tales and Female Sexuality

This guest post by Sarah Seltzer originally appeared at RH Reality Check.

Don’t go out into the woods. Beware ugly older women bearing strange gifts. Only a princely kiss can resurrect you.

The anti-feminist messages in fairy tales, both in their classic forms from the tales of Grimm, Anderson and Perrault, and their sanitized Disneyfied versions, abound. Heroines are frequently passive, resisting even Disney’s “spunkification” and lose their voices or fall into slumbers. They are rescued by princes or kindly huntsmen. Evil befalls them during puberty. Many fairy tales that have permeated the collective unconsciousness are known for these misogynist tropes and particularly for their warnings about female sexuality and its existence as both a threat and as threatened.

Red Riding Hood, which has just been remade into a (by all accounts mediocre) Twilight-esque tale of a dangerous teen love triangle by Catherine Hardwicke, draws on one of the more symbolically rich of these stories. As Hardwicke herself said, “When you have problems when you’re five years old, it’s just like ‘Red Riding Hood.’ ‘I’m scared to go in the woods’…Later on, when you’re 12 or 13, you really notice the sexual implications. The wolf is in bed, inviting her into bed. You start reading it on a different level, once you hit that sexual awakening.”

Charles Perrault, who popularized the “Little Red Riding Hood” story, made it pretty clear from the outset that the “wolf” is a seducer, and the story a metaphor for women staying away from sex.

From this story one learns that children, especially young lasses, pretty, courteous and well-bred, do very wrong to listen to strangers, And it is not an unheard thing if the Wolf is thereby provided with his dinner. I say Wolf, for all wolves are not of the same sort; there is one kind with an amenable disposition—neither noisy, nor hateful, nor angry, but tame, obliging and gentle, following the young maids in the streets, even into their homes. Alas! Who does not know that these gentle wolves are of all such creatures the most dangerous!

It’s quite explicit, isn’t it?

Susan Brownmiller goes even further in her seminal book Against Our Will, writing that “little Red Riding Hood is a parable of rape,” with the main character an utterly passive victim. The story serves as a warning to girls about the menace in the woods and is an early indicator of “rape culture.”

Indeed, as Paul Harris of the Guardian wrote in an article about Hollywood’s resurgent interest in fairy-stories, “Beneath the magical surface of a fairytale, with its castles and princesses, often lurk ideas around sexuality, the dangers of growing up and leaving home, relationships between children and parents, and the threat that adult strangers can pose.” And in particular, he notes, there’s a “conservative” streak about female sexuality in these stories which is one of the reasons they continue to get resurrected, retold and deconstructed.

Along with Red Riding Hood, archetypical tales like Beauty and the Beast, Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty and Bluebeard’s Castle all share concerns about female sexuality. In Beauty and the Beast, the chaste beauty can tame the male beast—even when she’s imprisoned against her will. In Sleeping Beauty a bitter old fairy punishes the heroine with slumber when she pricks her finger, a symbol for menstruation (as is Red Riding Hood’s cloak). In Snow White the lovely young queen also pricks her finger, becomes sexual and has a child. Then suddenly she “dies” and is replaced by a wicked queen, a witch. Every day this queen gets a talk from her mirror who feeds on her jealousy and her obsession with her youth and beauty until she feels compelled to kill the younger, more beautiful and more sexually alluring young woman. Both Snow White and Sleeping Beauty require resurrection by a man. Similar symbolism is at work in The Little Mermaid, in which a young woman, besotted by a handsome prince, goes to an older witch and exchanges her soul for a pair of legs that hurt her to use and even make her bleed.

Still, ever since there have been fairy tales, there has been feminist re-appropriation of fairy tales. As with the myths around creatures like vampires and werewolves which sometimes intersect with fairy tales, the moral of the story often shifts with the mores of the time. From Anne Sexton’s twisted fairy tale poems to Angela Carter’s brilliant stories to the new tumblr meme which turns Disney heroines into glasses-wearing, irony-spouting hipsters, fairy tales have been fertile ground for re-imaginings and inversions.

As Catherine Orenstein wrote in Ms. magazine about the re-appropriation of Red Riding Hood:

Storytellers from the women’s movement and beyond also reclaimed the heroine from male-dominated literary tradition, recasting her as the physical or sexual aggressor and questioning the machismo of the wolf. In the 1984 movie The Company of Wolves, inspired by playwright Angela Carter, the heroine claims a libido equal to that of her lascivious stalker and becomes a wolf herself. In the Internet tale “Red Riding Hood Redux,” the heroine unloads a 9mm Beretta into the wolf and, as tufts of wolf fur waft down, sends the hunter off to a self-help group, White Male Oppressors Anonymous.

Orenstein went to the origins of the “Riding Hood” myth and discovered that in its original incarnations, the heroine is much less passive and more of a trickster who ends up outwitting the wolf without the aid of any huntsman. She is just one of many writers who devote an entire book to analyzing Red Riding Hood from a gendered lens, while Carter is one of many artists to re-write the story with an entirely new agenda.

Fairy tales will always be with us, whether being sugarcoated and Disneyfied or fed to us as subversive fare. Feminists should continue to embrace the retelling and transformation of these tales as part of our ritual for contending with the myths and tropes of patriarchy. Even if Catherine Hardwicke sexualizes the story in a muddled way, she’s taking part in a proud tradition.

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Sarah Seltzer is an RH Reality Check staff writer and resident pop culture expert based in New York City. She’s an Associate Editor at AlterNet and her work has been published in The Washington Post, Publishers Weekly, and the LA Times and on the websites of The Nation, The Christian Science Monitor, The Wall Street Journal and Jezebel. She formerly taught English in a Bronx public school.

Quote of the Day: Jennifer L. Pozner


Reality Bites Back: the Troubling Truth about Guilty Pleasure TV by Jennifer L. Pozner (Seal Press)

While there are huge swaths of this book I’d like to quote, I’ve chosen a passage from the chapter “Unraveling Reality TV’s Twisted Fairytales: Cinderellas and Cautionary Tales,” which focuses on reality dating programs (such as The Bachelor). It’s often simple to dismiss such programming, but like all media, these programs do significant work in cultural norming, and we don’t always understand how powerful the messages are.

On fairytale imagery:

For women, these representations conjure our earliest memories–of the stories our parents read to us before bed, of the cartoons that danced in our imaginations, telling us what we could (and should) look forward to when we grew up. No matter how independent we might be as adults, how cynical we consider ourselves, or how hard we’ve worked to silence external cultural conditioning, decades of sheer repetition make it extremely difficult to fully purge societal standards from our psyches. Simply put, it’s damn near impossible to live completely outside the culture, no matter how well we try to shield ourselves from its impact.

[…]

Regardless of where we fall on this continuum–from conscious refusal to let childish notions inform our love lives to enthusiastic embrace of fantasies we’ve nursed since we were little girls–producers play on these deep-seated ideas about gender, love, and romance for ratings. This, in part, is what Mike Darnell was talking about when he told Entertainment Weekly that the secret to airing a successful reality TV show is to create a premise that is “steeped in some social belief.” And, as we’ll soon see, similar stereotypes about race, class, beauty, and sexual orientation are endemic, even necessary, to reality TV–in all its forms.

I believe that media literacy is the education issue of our time. While many people are cynically aware that they’re being sold products in television–through both traditional advertising and product placement–they’re less savvy about the ideas and cultural norms being sold to them. As Pozner points out, it’s the “sheer repetition” of the regressive ideas and images in reality TV that has a lasting effect on our views of women, in particular.

I highly recommend reading–and purchasing–Pozner’s Reality Bites Back. It’s a fantastic book, very teachable (if you’re a teacher-type), and published by Seal Press, which prints books by women and for women.