Fairy Tale and Film

Beasts of the Southern Wild
(Benh Zeitlin, 2012), reiterates an affinity 
with nature, as opposed to ‘civilisation’, taming the imaginary beasts 
that stalk her world. In a gesture similar to that shown to Max, the hero 
of Maurice Sendak’s 
Where the Wild Things Are
(1963), these beasts bow 
down before the small girl, effectively making her queen of all the wild 
things, before departing. Although the film might be accused of too 
idealised a portrait of those struggling to live on the margins of civilisa-
tion, defiance among the dispossessed ‘bathtub’ residents is affirmed 

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Fairy Tale and Film
as a necessary strategy for those who survived hurricane Katrina, and 
the film’s astonishingly resilient heroine, in imagining her story being 
retold to others, leaves us with a powerful affirmation of the need to 
construct fables to mark one’s place in the world. Although left without 
any parents to take care of her, the film champions Hushpuppy’s self-
belief, fully aware that she is a survivor, raised to flex her muscles and 
roar. Like the wild-child in 
Hanna
(Joe Wright, 2011) a fellow creature of 
the wilderness, she may be orphaned and alone in the end, yet imbues 
us with confidence about her ability to survive. These girls’ key attrib-
utes are their defiance and drive, their refusal to be defeated, with fables 
and fairy tales crucially influencing their worldview. Zipes may criticise 
happy endings and empowered children, yet protagonists who mould 
reality to their will, refusing to let convention or naysayers dictate what 
they believe about the world, its potential, and their capacity to make 
a difference, are infinitely more positive and inspiring than narratives 
that simply kill their dreamers off.
A comparison with 
The Selfi sh Giant
(Clio Barnard, 2013) makes the 
point clear, a film in which the difficulties of struggling to survive are 
given a sharp realist edge. A young boy dies foraging for scrap metal, 
replacing Wilde’s sentimental religious allegory with a comment on the 
desperation of hard times.
3
A child’s death brings pathos certainly, yet 
we might also consider this the most cynical means of manipulating an 
audience, whether it is intended as a sobering message about seeking 
to grow up too fast or a queasy paean to enduring innocence, enabling 
a perpetual childhood, untainted by the adult world.
4
Personally, 
I like my heroes to be empowered and alive, and my stories to provide 
something to believe in. Seeing the world as it is may provide needed 
insight at times, but seeing the world anew hinges on a conceptual 
re-visioning which is equally imperative. Wish-fulfilment is as crucial 
a part of contemporary storytelling as it was when stories were first 
exchanged, in even darker times, and we need fairy tale films that we 
can identify with, that comment in some way on recognisable human 
experiences, yet which also suggest the possibility of a better life, giv-
ing us something to believe in. As Tolkien argues, critics should not 
‘confound the escape of the prisoner with the flight of the deserter’, 
explicitly praising the ‘escapist’ for not succumbing to ‘acquiescence’ or 
fatalism (1991: 299). 
The capacity to dream, to use one’s imagination, is not simply the 
preserve of child protagonists, and we might note some instances where 
films have celebrated childlike adults. In 
The
City of Lost Children 
(Jean-
Pierre Jeunet, 1995) the villain has grown prematurely old because he is 

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Epilogue 
169
not able to dream, while the hero is approved for his childlike nature. 
The heroine in 
Amelie
(Jean-Pierre Jeunet, 2001) is also an adult-sized 
child, whose kindness and quirkiness have not been tempered by age, 
drawing her to help others and to see the world differently. The hero 
of 
Le Havre
(Aki Kaurismäki, 2011) is similarly represented, described 
as ‘an overgrown child’ whose good heart and simple faith unite vari-
ous people in a common cause (helping a young African boy evade the 
authorities and find his mother), and he is duly rewarded with a miracle 
cure for his wife. It scarcely matters that the events are not necessarily 
credible; they are charming, inspiring and seek to bring out the best in 
us. Tolkien used the term ‘recovery’ to describe this unbridled enthusi-
asm and openness, contending that a fundamental feature of fairy tales 
is the ability to grant a ‘childlike’ perspective of the world that enables 
us ‘to see beyond what has become trite and familiar’ (1991: 298). By 
giving adult characters this capacity, these films assert that cynicism 
and disillusionment are not inevitable. Their exuberance, their belief 
in making a difference and their altruism pay off, working an enchant-
ment of sorts.
Various ideals are often invested in critical interpretations of fairy 
tales, believing that they can offer us some insight into ourselves, pro-
vide ways to discuss covert subjects and perhaps reveal what unites us. 
The question of why so many similar stories have been told around the 
world is likely to be an endless debate, yet one answer that suggests 
itself is the idea that we are not so different, fundamentally, essentially 
drawn by the same wish to be enchanted and amused, to share familiar 
stories about extraordinary protagonists, and at the same time be chal-
lenged in our view of the world and its potential. Zipes may consign 
the most progressive inclinations to the past, arguing that folk tales 
served to ‘keep alive a certain hope that powerless folk could overcome 
obstacles, determine their own destinies, outwit giants, and prevent 
ogres and witches from eating them’ (2006: 239), yet there is no rea-
son to think that the same impulses are not present today, repeated 
in various cinematic incarnations that affirm the ability to transcend 
adversity, essentially providing us with larger-than-life survival stories. 
Enchantment can be considered a form of curse or trickery – deluding 
the unwary – or it can serve as a source of inspiration and pleasure. 
Tolkien responded to critical denigrations of escapism by asking ‘why 
should a man be scorned if, finding himself in a prison, he tries to get 
out?’ (1991: 298) and the point remains pertinent. Fairy stories enable 
a way to venture beyond the walls and envisage a preferable mode 
of existence. They might thus be considered aspirational, rather than 

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Fairy Tale and Film
evasive, and while there is always likely to be disagreement about the 
merits of wish-fulfilment, we should note that this is perhaps their most 
compelling draw. Film-makers have increasingly adopted an irreverent 
approach to retold tales, aware that viewers are likely to be familiar with 
the source and will be drawn to a new angle of some kind, yet whether 
we are shown a storybook past from a contemporary perspective, or 
witness magic at work in the modern world, our aim is little differ-
ent, arguably, to that of our forebears – wanting stories that fuel our 
imaginations and fill our lives with possibility. Contemporary audiences 
may be more sophisticated, in some ways, and perhaps more cynical 
about the realities of the world, yet what we seek from fairy tale films is 
much the same as the idealised ‘folk’ who once gathered at fields and fire-
sides to hear earlier versions of these tales: wanting stories of substance 
that allow the vicarious pleasure of triumph against the odds – without 
any qualms about the fantastical devices used to achieve a happy end. 
Angela Carter described fairy tales as narratives ‘with a relaxed attitude 
to the reality principle and plots constantly refurbished in the retelling’ 
(1990: xvii) and it seems somewhat misguided, given their patent 
lack of realism, to claim any need to be disenchanted. Their motive, 
as Carter states, is to entertain and provide pleasure, ‘one of the most 
ancient and honourable functions of art’, craftily adding ‘since there 
is no such thing as pure pleasure there is always more going on than 
meets the eye’ (xii). What we choose to take from them will invariably 
differ, certainly given the contrasting interests of folklorists, critics and 
audiences, yet they remain endlessly intriguing precisely because they 
cannot be easily contained or explained, belying those who would seek 
to discredit them, and thereby eliciting our continued attention.

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171
Notes