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Lawn Dogs
plays on a particular strand of Southern Gothic popular-
ised by the likes of Carson McCullers – featuring isolated hillbilly heroes,
68
Fairy Tale and Film
tragically misunderstood by those around them, with any friendships
proving lamentably short-lived –
Sling Blade
(Billy Bob Thornton, 1996)
ups the ante on a similar motif. Originating as a 25-minute short entitled
Some Folks Call It a Sling Blade
(1993), the film presents a backward drifter,
Karl Childers (played by writer and director Billy Bob Thornton), who is
akin to Steinbeck’s Lenny in
Of Mice and Men
(1937) – a man-child who
might be characterised as an accident waiting to happen (or, in this case,
to happen again). Convicted for killing his mother and her lover with
the titular sling blade, he has spent the past 25 of his 37 years locked up
in a ‘nervous hospital’. We join him shortly after his release, returning
to his hometown in Arkansas, yet his liberty seems doomed from the
outset, with trouble easily finding Karl. His friendship with a young boy,
Frank (Lucas Black), and his mother soon turns to tragedy when he tries
to protect them from her intimidating boyfriend. Using his favoured
weapon in a pre-emptive strike, he finally returns to the hospital – where
his isolation is suggested, like Edward’s castle, to be a sanctuary of sorts.
Unlike the fools that prosper in many fairy tales due to a good heart,
this is a kind-hearted simpleton without any reward or redemption. As
Richard Corliss wrote in his
Time
review of the film, ‘
Sling Blade
is about
the difficulty good folks have living with rotten ones ... Karl is a memo-
rable affecting creature – so gentle he daren’t sleep on an offered bed for
fear of spoiling the room’s perfect primness, so righteous he will consider
killing to protect his adoptive family’ (qtd in Merritt, 2000: 407). Unable
to function in a cruel world, Karl’s eventual return to an institution is
suggested to be a form of protection rather than punishment. His sur-
name – Childers – denotes his mental state and returns us to Peter Pan
allusions. Edward, Trent and Karl are not quite men, and in some ways
all the better for it. Guileless innocents, estranged and isolated from the
adult world, and befriended largely by children, the conventional route
to maturity is denied to them. Seemingly unable to find a place in this
world they are displaced instead. Unjustly persecuted, they are forced to
leave ‘normal’ society, consequently skewing our understanding of what
normality truly means. Unlike the protagonists discussed in male com-
ing-of-age comedies – figures who grow up in some way and ultimately
benefit from their relationship with women and children to achieve
happiness – these childlike men are unable to form such ties and thus
remain in a figurative Never Land, unable to mature in a conventionally
accepted manner. Ironically, in terms of the character tests discussed, all
three display overt humility, as well as kindness, yet fail to be narratively
rewarded for such traits. Like
The Fisher King
’s Parry, who undergoes a
radical shift in persona and social status following his wife’s murder
Transformations and Male Maturation
69
and ensuing mental breakdown (and remains childlike even after he is
romantically redeemed), these men stake a vulnerable existence on the
edges of society, without any position or permanence, affirming that
true love and fatherhood are not necessarily all that is needed to make
one’s way in the world as a man.
If the comedies discussed affirm the need for men to change, to
become more caring and kind-hearted in order to win themselves a lov-
ing partner and find contentment with a family, these last three films
attest to a world that needs transforming instead. Naïve men, unable
to find a place in the world, economically marginalised and socially
isolated, find themselves unfairly targeted by meaner examples of
masculinity, and forced to flee. These narratives prove that ‘maleness’
is multifaceted and no guarantee of privilege. They also attest to the
difficulties of male rivalry (a common feature in fairy tales, with tales
of three sons often featuring murderous antagonism displayed by older
arrogant siblings towards the youngest brother) just as these films pit
aggressive macho figures against more sensitive counterparts. Violent
conflict is not presented as a test of manhood in these films, but a
lamentable feature of life as a man.
Increasingly, contemporary narratives evince a similar aim to forfeit
conventional notions of masculinity. In contrast to the materialism
exhibited by male heroes of the fairy tale, which is generally equated
with romantic reward, many of the films assessed here suggest that
ambition, material success and privilege are likely to create egotistical
and unloving men who need to relinquish everything they have taken
for granted to become better people. Phil’s celebrity status as a TV
weatherman does nothing for his ego and he needs to put his cynicism
aside, and realise the value of life, before he can become lovable. Bruce’s
unfettered career ambitions may get a divine boost yet this is intended
to kick him back to base, eventually acquiring sufficient hubris to put
his girlfriend first. Jack needs to face the tragic outcome of his egomania
and help a tortured soul to get any measure of peace himself (forfeiting
his former career as a measure of his integrity), and Mike needs to focus
on his family, and stop blaming them for his frustrations (mainly work-
related), if he’s ever going to grow up. These protagonists may lose their
former jobs but gain a new sense of perspective, reassessing what they
want from life and what successful masculinity really means.
This chapter began by asking what transformations male characters
are required to undergo in fantasy-inflected coming-of-age comedies,
and what changes are evident when it comes to gender roles. In con-
trast to female-led rom-coms, careers are made secondary, or forfeited
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