Scarface
–
‘the world is yours’ – is taken to heart by Montana, evidently believing
that success is assured for a man like himself in the land of opportunity.
Like his forebear, he pays for his transgressions in a hail of bullets.
Other cinematic excursions in crime allow their protagonists much
happier endings, and notably give females a bigger part to play. It is
84
Fairy Tale and Film
Deedee, former pornstar-turned-moll, in
Sexy Beast
who shoots the
tyrannical Don intruding on their retirement.
Bound
(Andy and Larry
Wachowski, 1996) plays with gangster tropes in delightful fashion when
a seemingly incidental character – a lesbian plumber no less – takes
the money stashed by her mob employer, along with his moll, in a
bravura twist on ‘Ali Baba’, as well as ‘The Robber Bridegroom’: exam-
ples that extend Morgiana’s legacy in allowing an apparently marginal
female character to turn the tables.
The Last Seduction
(John Dahl, 1994)
similarly bends established rules. Its central protagonist is a revamped
femme fatale who triumphs over men through sexual manipulation and
an ice-cold demeanour. She may not be admirable, or even likeable, but
is a born survivor who proves more than able to stand up to her crimi-
nal husband. Significantly, her former role as the ball-breaking bitch in
a telephone insurance company reveals her as a monstrous product of
the corporate world in which she has trained.
10
In contemporary narratives the corporation is often set up as the
equivalent of the fairy tale’s giant, a mighty oppressive force that
exploits, consumes and negatively alters people. Confronting an unfair
boss updates the wish-fulfilment fantasy of usurping power, evening
the odds and perhaps initiating a fairer system, although cinematic
variations tend to suggest that tyrannical kings and despotic ogres will
invariably be replaced by similar types. In
Swimming with Sharks
(George
Huang, 1992) – a scornful satire of the film business – the ‘ogre’ is a
merciless producer (pithily played by Kevin Spacey) who may get a scare
when his assistant, Guy (Frank Whaley), confronts him, yet triumphs
by making him a carbon copy of his own ruthless and malevolent self.
Cruelly humiliated by his boss, Guy seeks to get the upper hand by kid-
napping and abusing him, yet finally opts to sacrifice his own girlfriend
to climb the corporate ladder. His protest at his employer may secure
a few minor privileges (and newfound respect) but he finally becomes
his protégé, similarly motivated by unfettered self-interest. Although
amorality seemingly reigns in the modern age, such narratives affirm a
continued interest in discerning flaws, not only in human nature, but
in a ‘system’ that functions to bring out the worst in people.
Glengarry
Glen Ross
(James Foley, 1992) offers another scathing indictment of cap-
italism, upping the ante on Arthur Miller’s
Death of a Salesman
with its
roomful of desperate real-estate salesmen harangued by a vicious boss to
either close their deals or lose their jobs, eliciting our sympathy for men
prepared to sell anything to get a result, including any sense of integrity.
In all such narratives the same coda as fairy tales of old is under-
written: life is unfair and the best way to get ahead is to keep your
Wealth through Stealth
85
wits about you and get what you can. Sometimes, however, such
attempts end very badly indeed. In
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