Fairy Tale and Film

Old Tales with a New Spin

S. Short

• Publisher: Palgrave Macmillan
• Year: 2014
• Print ISBN: 9781137020161
• eBook ISBN: 9781137020178
• Topic: History
• Subtopic: Art General
• Index: History

Sue Short examines how fairy tale tropes have been reworked in contemporary film, identifying familiar themes in a range of genres – including rom coms, crime films and horror – and noting key similarities and differences between the source narratives and their offspring.

1

Finding Love and Fulfilling Dreams: Aspiring Underdogs and Humbled Heroines

The romantic aspects of fairy tales are perhaps their most familiar (and most criticised) feature. After all, the heroine who rises above misfortune and marries a prince is a plot that distinguishes many of the best-known tales, with the protagonists of ‘Cinderella’ (ATU 510A), ‘Snow White’ (ATU 709) and ‘Sleeping Beauty’ (ATU 410) all decisively putting an end to their woes by marrying Prince Charming. Criticism ranges from the fact that such heroines are largely characterised by passivity and prettiness, threatened by vindictive female counterparts and ultimately ‘saved’ by a well-heeled partner – making their potential lesson for female audiences somewhat suspect. Of course, this depends on how literally we take such tales, and how negatively we view their perceived influence, with a number of conflicting ideas raised about this point over the years. While fairy tales frequently came under attack with the emergence of the women’s movement, an important detractor asked us to think again. In two articles published in the early 1970s, Alison Lurie contended that such tales have a great deal to offer feminist thinking in terms of the powerful females at their centre, pointing out that a wider variety of heroines exist – beyond the usual suspects – and attributed the limited range of ‘classic’ tales to male editorial policies. Marcia Lieberman’s response, ‘Someday My Prince Will Come: Female Acculturation Through the Fairy Tale’ (1972), denied any progressive features. Ignoring Lurie’s remarks about the part gender has played in selecting and shaping fairy tales (claiming this to be ‘beside the point’), she affirmed it is the most popular tales we should concern ourselves with and accused them of exerting a detrimental socialising effect, encouraging female docility and dependence on men.¹ These critics thus sounded the opening salvos of a debate that has raged on ever since in seeking to determine whether fairy tales set good or bad examples for women, asking how they might be deployed as a means of interrogating gender roles, and questioning whether they shore up patriarchal concerns – or might potentially undermine them. Writers have been inspired by such thinking to rewrite heroines in some interesting ways, and a number of cinematic variations provide the opportunity to question the extent to which archetypes have altered, with ‘Cinderella’ proving especially influential as a source text for contemporary romantic comedies. The rom-com is a genre that is often either overlooked or critically derided, without adequate attention paid to its capacity to surprise us – much like Cinderella herself in some ways. Is romance idealised in the genre, or comically undermined? In what way has feminist criticism – and accompanying socio-cultural changes – impacted on narratives and the differing aspirations shown? Are modern-day Cinderellas still waiting for a prince, or making their own way in the world via college courses and careers? And why have apparently progressive features been either ignored, or otherwise accused of being insincere to feminist aims?

In his account of the Lurie–Lieberman debate, Jack Zipes gives Lurie remarkably short shrift, claiming ‘most feminist critics tend to agree with Lieberman’ (1984: 5), yet in retrospect Lieberman arguably fares worst – demonstrating an extremely limited knowledge of fairy tales, using questionable means to support her argument (evaluating tales from a century-old collection) and simplistically assuming a direct influence on audiences without a shred of evidence.² While Lurie’s claims largely met with a hostile reception they have since been corroborated by scholastic research into the transition fairy tales have undergone (from oral to print form) as well as further exploration of differing tales – and heroines – around the world. Her landmark article, ‘Fairy Tale Liberation’ (1970), may have made a bold claim in contending that fairy tales ‘suggest a society in which women are as competent and active as men, at every age, and in every class’ (1970: 42)³ – yet presents an important case for the defence that was integral to reinvigorating feminist interest in fairy tales. Where Lieberman flatly refuted Lurie’s ideas, others tested and elaborated them. For example, in her follow-up article, ‘Witches and Fairies’ (1971), Lurie asserted that fairy tales may constitute the first women’s literature – with female figures often the main focus of their content and the main gender responsible for their dissemination – an idea subsequently developed by feminist scholars,⁴ while her point that fairy tales underwent an editing process largely conducted by men would be further explored by Zipes (ironically enough) similarly asserting that a matrilineal past, reflected in oral tales, became obscured by male collectors. Lieberman was uninterested in either the history or the range of fairy tales, emphasising instead what a select number are perceived to do, yet makes a number of assumptions about their negative effect, claiming they ‘reward submissive, meek and passive behaviour’ in females and reflect a bias against ‘the active assertive “pushy” woman’, arguing that those ‘who have power, or seek it, are nearly always portrayed as repulsive’. Her final point is that marriage is the sole approved ambition for females, likening fairy tales to ‘training manuals for girls’.⁵

Kay Stone’s ‘Things Walt Disney Never Told Us’ (1975) offered an interesting middle ground in some respects. Affirming Lurie’s claim that alternatives to the ‘passive’ heroine exist, she particularly commends the lead characters in British tales ‘Kate Crackernuts’ (ATU 306/711) and ‘Molly Whuppie’ (ATU 327B), whose chief attributes are courageousness and cleverness.⁶ As Stone argues, ‘active heroines are not victims of hostile forces beyond their control but are instead challengers who confront the world rather than waiting for success to fall at their pretty feet’, only to add ‘unfortunately, heroines of this sort are not numerous in oral tales and do not exist at all in any of the Grimm tales or the Disney films’ (1975: 46). Stone ultimately corroborates Lieberman’s claims – stating ‘it does not seem like an exaggeration’ to consider fairy tales ‘training manuals in passive behaviour’ – and to ‘prove’ this point she assesses 40 women (of ‘varying ages and backgrounds’) to gauge which characters they most identify with. Her own perspective is most apparent, however, noting that some respondents ‘performed a fascinating feat of selective memory by transforming relatively passive heroines into active ones’ (48). Decades later, Stone would concede that tales were open to interpretation, admitting that her former distinction between female figures regarded as ‘persecuted, trapped, tamed, or heroic’ was vastly oversimplified. What matters most, she concludes, is a means of moving beyond the dichotomy between ‘negatively passive and positively active heroines’ (2004: 125). Assessments made by her respondents, and formerly disparaged as ‘misremembering’ heroines, would subsequently be acknowledged as a key ideological tool, affirming that rewriting tales is a powerful means of reclaiming them.⁷ This is exactly what feminist writers and critics turned their attention to in the latter part of the seventies as dissatisfaction with popular heroines resulted in two main options: rewrite these roles to reflect more progressive qualities, or find new heroines.

Despite this creative work, many critics confined themselves to restating the Lieberman case. Karen E. Rowe’s ‘Feminism and Fairy Tales’ (1979) complains that marriage functions as the sole approved means of social and financial security for female characters – claiming that ‘status and fortune never result from the female’s self-exertion’ – and berates ‘the fairy tale’s potency as a purveyor of romantic archetypes’ (1984: 217–18). Like Lieberman, Rowe makes a number of assumptions about negative influence, without providing any supporting data. Lucie Armitt reiterates the standard argument. Objecting to the limitations offered to female characters (and, by extension, female audiences), she asserts ‘as feminists argue, one can reduce the role played by women here to “mother, witch or princess: bad, mad, or invisible”’ (1996: 28).⁸ With the first two roles invariably demonised in the best-known fairy tales – good mothers tending to die soon after childbirth and thereby leaving their daughters at the mercy of villainous stepmothers and witches – the princess is left in an obvious quandary. Powerless and threatened (with fathers who are either absent or who also threaten the heroine in some way), Armitt affirms that ‘the only way “out” for the female protagonist is by winning her prince and embracing the enclosures of the “happily ever after”. The political dangers of this are that if we are seduced into believing the fairy-tale world to be one of order and harmony, we may end up following the rules of these stories ourselves’ (1996: 28). Armitt voices a familiar criticism here, yet a great deal depends on how much we are genuinely ‘seduced’ by fairy tales, or believe their contents to be credible. As well as being wary of assuming any direct sociological influences we need to consider such tales with appropriate understanding of the circumstances that shaped them.

Angela Carter reminds us that marriage signified a form of wish-fulfilment in times when lives were precarious, affirming that

Most fairy and folk tales are structured around the relations between men and women, whether in terms of magical romance or of coarse domestic realism. The common unspoken goal is fertility and continuance. In the context of societies from which most of these stories spring, their goal is not a conservative one but a Utopian one, indeed a form of heroic optimism – as if to say, one day we might be happy, even if it won’t last. (1990: xviii)

Within this context marriage functions as a simple desire to claim a stake on the future, and Carter’s distinction between ‘magical romance’ and domestic realism is equally pertinent, with differing stories presenting contrasting relationships – including examples where women have the upper hand. Rowe’s hyperbolic view of marriage ‘as the victory of patriarchal culture itself’ (1984: 221) exemplifies a need to be cautious about making critical evaluations solely through contemporary mores. We also need to consider the diversity of responses that have been made to such tales and the impact feminist criticism has had in generating alternatives.

In some respects there seems to be a vested critical interest in not seeking alternatives, largely in order to repeat the same negative assertions. The inordinate degree of attention given to a handful of fairy tale heroines – namely Cinderella, Snow White and Sleeping Beauty – is attributable to one main factor: they are consistently targeted by critics for the same reasons that they were initially selected and shaped by collectors and editors – because they fit a particular stereotype, or, rather, they have been made to fit one. In each tale the central female character is said to typify the ‘innocent persecuted heroine’ (ATU 510), relying on a heroic male to transform her life, yet these tales were subject to quite radical transformations prior to reaching their ‘canonical’ status, and have been imbued with renewed significance ever since.⁹ As a number of critics have noted, stories underwent a considerable process of alteration and refinement prior to being published.¹⁰ A male bias is apparent in the gender of those most closely affiliated to the burgeoning fairy tale industry – such as Charles Perrault and Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm – who may have been inspired by a variety of influences yet filtered ideas through their own particular values and concerns, including what was perceived to be appropriate conduct for females. The result was not only a tendency to endorse monogamous relations via the institution of marriage, but a number of accompanying narrative interventions. As well as alienating women from one another through an emphasis on female rivalry, negative male characters were conspicuously replaced by the heroic prince that ‘saves’ the heroine. From unnatural fathers intent on ‘marrying’ their daughters to male intruders who take advantage of incumbent women, fairy tales once included a host of unsavoury male figures and their erasure is not solely attributable to having a newly conceived child audience in mind, particularly given the way in which female villainy was not only retained, but distinctly amplified.¹¹ Maria Tatar argues that a primary intention behind fairy tales includes female socialisation, affirming that they set out ‘models of successful acculturation while supplying women with what conventional wisdom perceived as the correct program for making and preserving a good marriage’ (1992: 96), yet she also points out that many contrary examples exist around the world, including tales where female curiosity and resourcefulness are championed rather than censured, while male versions of ‘Cinderella’ and ‘Sleeping Beauty’ further warn us against applying too narrow an interpretation. As Tatar argues ‘we must show caution in drawing generalizations about female developmental patterns on the basis of ... plot. And we are obliged to think twice about male hero patterns when we come across a collection of tales depicting heroines who carry out tasks normally put to male heroes alone’ (2003: 47). We should additionally note that heroes of both genders undergo ‘persecution’ of some kind, prior to being rewarded through marriage, and that even tales that supposedly reflect a matrilineal society share the same goal. Clearly, the history of fairy tales, their transition from oral to print culture and their alleged influence on gender roles are a complex matter. A variety of tales have been told over the years, as Lurie and others have pointed out, including stories where women depend on other qualities than their looks, and any romance (where it occurs) is conducted on their terms. Not only have scholars and folklorists taken an active interest in examining these tales, writers and film-makers have also drawn upon such examples in creating new depictions. Acknowledgement is gradually being made of the extent to which fairy tales have served to inspire the female imagination, including writers with a particular interest in revising fairy tale motifs – a phenomenon that has proved to be increasingly popular, both in print and on screen.¹²

In the 40-plus years since Lurie and Lieberman first drew scholarly attention to fairy tales, motivating discussions about their potential usefulness in re-evaluating norms and expectations concerning gender, related ideas have permeated popular culture, including cinematic reworkings. Romantic comedies conspicuously reprise fairy tale motifs, with the ‘Cinderella’ story encapsulating the standard rom-com plot in charting a heroine’s struggle to overcome specific obstacles before being united with her love.¹³ Placing the plot in a humorous context does interesting things to the tale, and the fact that modern variations tend to keep the makeover, but dispense with the marriage, affirms a response to contemporary audiences and their view of romance. What changes can be discerned in the roles played by women, their relations with men and the aspirations they hold? Does the wish-fulfilment fantasy suggested by Carter still apply to marriage as a means of staking a claim on the future, or are different ideals evident? To what extent are male/female relations tested, rather than cemented, in these films, and is Zipes right to object that any seemingly progressive gestures are simply paying ‘lip service’ to feminism? (2009: 129).¹⁴

The rom-com provides an interesting means of interrogating romantic fantasies and accompanying socio-political ramifications. Notably, just as fairy tales have earned criticism for the presumed values endorsed, romantic comedies are generally treated with critical derision, pejoratively labelled ‘chick flicks’ and either considered to have little substance or deemed ideologically suspect. Again, we need to remind ourselves of the variety of stories told, the differing female characters featured and the options presented for revising established ideas. There is a tendency to regard popular cinema as inherently reactionary – generally seen to be peddling escapist nonsense to the masses – an equation that affirms an overwhelmingly negative, snobbish and simplistic idea. If many people like it, the logic goes, the film must surely be worthless – and if it appeals to women, in particular, this assertion is seemingly compounded. Yet the sheer fact that the rom-com is generally marketed at women provides good reason for taking it seriously, providing as it does, like the fairy tales noted above, narratives where women take centre stage – and often containing some interesting surprises, particularly in terms of the relationships depicted, the way they contrast to those found in classic fairy tales, the wider ambitions motivating heroines and an acknowledgement (at the very least) of contemporary gender politics.

Although romantic comedies tend to be aimed at an adult or adolescent market, Disney – the company most responsible for mass-marketing fairy tales on screen – has conspicuously amplified the romantic elements of many tales, accordingly attracting feminist criticism due to the prominence and alleged power of their films. The Disney empire has made its name through popularising fairy tales yet also earned considerable scorn for its methods, dubbed a ‘paratext’ by Greenhill and Matrix due to the way in which its interpretations of the fairy tale ‘has so saturated mainstream Euro-North American culture and gained such legitimacy through market dominance and repetition’ (2010: 7). Disney’s proclivity at altering tales is a common criticism, as well as being accused of a patriarchal agenda. Zipes puts this point most clearly in response to Disney’s version of that troublesome trio, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937), Cinderella (1950) and Sleeping Beauty (1959), arguing that

The rugged male hero is, of course, daring, resourceful, polite, chaste, and the conqueror of evil. This evil is always associated with female nature out of control – two witches and a bitchy stepmother with her nasty daughters. The ultimate message of all three films is that if you are industrious, pure of heart, and keep your faith in a male god, you will be rewarded. He will find you and carry you off to the good kingdom that isn’t threatened by the wiles of female duplicity. (2002b: 60–1)

Why focus on such dated examples, we might ask, particularly as the female roles created in the last few decades suggest a response to such criticism? Belle, the heroine of Beauty and the Beast (Gary Trousdale and Kirk Wise, 1991), was one of the first female characters to affirm an overhaul of the Disney ideal: presented as a book-loving young woman who favours the Beast over an arrogant macho rival. A similar scenario is set up in Aladdin (Ron Clements and John Musker, 1992), with Princess Jasmine defying her father’s right to decide whom she will marry – and eventually forcing a change in the constitution. The Princess and the Frog (Ron Clements and John Musker, 2009) opens with a flashback showing the heroine sneering at the romantic impulse behind ‘classic’ fairy tales. As adulthood dawns she adheres to her father’s belief in getting ahead through hard work and although she falls in love over the course of the film this doesn’t deter her entrepreneurial aims, finally setting up a restaurant business with her new-found love. These more recent films feature assertive heroines who defy expectations in choosing their ‘princes’, while other examples eschew romance altogether. Mulan (Tony Bancroft and Barry Cook, 1998) tells the tale of a young girl who, far from simply aiming to be someone’s wife, poses as a man and becomes a successful warrior, while Brave (Mark Andrews, Brenda Chapman and Steve Purcell, 2012) kicks the passive princess firmly into the twenty-first century by taking issue with the whole marriage question: its heroine, Merida, competes for her own hand to maintain her independence. In Frozen (Jennifer Lee and Chris Buck, 2013) a princess finally takes her place on the throne without any need for a consort, aided by her loving sister, archly subverting Disney’s usual take on ‘true love’.

In sum, the corporation has provided heroines with greater ambition and interest than earlier incarnations, suggesting some response to feminist criticism.¹⁵ It is easy to be cynical about Disney’s reasons – recognising changing times and knowing they have to appeal to a new generation of mothers, as well as their children. Beauty and the Beast is claimed by Warner to be the first Disney film to reflect an awareness of contemporary sexual politics, explicitly designed for female approval, yet she also claims that it constitutes ‘Hollywood’s cunning domestication of feminism itself’ (1995: 313). A similar wariness has been exhibited by other critics, claiming any suggestion of emancipated heroines is a cynical co-optation of feminist thinking intended to disarm dissenters. For example, although Enchanted (Kevin Lima, 2007) sends up Disney’s patented idealism by exposing the rift between reality and fantasy, romance remains key. The wide-eyed Giselle (Amy Adams), who emerges from the animated world of fairy tales into modern-day New Yo...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title
• Copyright
• Dedication
• Contents
• Preface
• Introduction: Fairy Tale Films, Old Tales with a New Spin
• 1 Finding Love and Fulfilling Dreams: Aspiring Underdogs and Humbled Heroines
• 2 Curses, Wishes and Amazing Transformations: Male Maturation Tales
• 3 Wealth through Stealth: Evening the Odds, or Flirting with Disaster?
• 4 Dangerous Liaisons: Demon Lovers and Defiant Damsels
• 5 Houses of Horror: Domestic Dangers and Man-made Monsters
• 6 Postmodern Revisions: New Tales for Old?
• Epilogue: The Importance of Enchantment
• Notes
• Bibliography
• Filmography
• Index