Fairy Tale and Film

Introduction 
9
commended is the Czech film, Vaclav Vorlicek’s 
Three Wishes for 
Cinderella
(1973),
5
in which the heroine, Popelka, is refreshingly asser-
tive, adept at riding and hunting, and even manages to outshoot the 
prince while disguised as a forester. Zipes is not alone in commend-
ing it, with David Butler similarly noting its active and empowered 
heroine who ‘does not swoon and sing at the first sign of the Prince 
but must be pursued and won’ (2009: 53). Although Zipes attributes 
the source of Vorlicek’s film to Czech folklorist Bezena Nemcova, and 
aligns its feminist features with the changing role of women in post-
war Czechoslovakia, its heroine bears an interesting resemblance to 
a narrative (and geographic) kinswoman, the heroine of Russian folk 
tale ‘Vasilisa the Priest’s Daughter’, ‘who rode horseback, was a good 
shot, and did everything in a quite unmaidenly way’ (Carter 2012: 61). 
We might additionally consider another crossbow-wielding princess, 
Merida – the defiant young heroine in 
Brave
(Mark Andrews, Brenda 
Chapman and Steve Purcell, 2012)
 
– who uses her skill at archery to 
prove herself better than any of the three princes competing for her 
hand, thus sending an even more defiant note against expectation – 
and in a narrative that is much better known. It is in making this kind 
of connection, realising how much stories and their protagonists may 
have in common, and affirming how specific impulses in contemporary 
cinema often have much deeper roots that makes the examination of 
fairy tales and film so fascinating. It is also in acknowledging that a film 
owned by the much derided Disney Corporation can create a heroine of 
equivalent – if not greater – feminist interest (Merida does not marry in 
the end, after all) that we are given good grounds for dispensing with a 
number of preconceptions – including where a radically revised heroine 
may be found. 
Greenhill and Matrix attest to the disproportionate influence some 
fairy tales have had over others, asserting that ‘statistically, a familiar 
tale like “Cinderella” stands a much greater chance of being retold for 
the nth time than a less well-known example’ (2010: 16). The point is 
apposite, yet despite its familiarity this does not mean it will always 
be told in the same way, and I discuss a number of Cinderella-inspired 
rom-coms in which humour undercuts romanticism, arguably, as much 
as a crack archer is able to pierce the restrictive conventions of her day, 
while updated heroines pursuing college courses and careers suggest 
widening aspirations, in line with a more egalitarian age. Although 
Zipes (along with a number of other critics) is dismissive of ‘modern 
remakes with a faux feminist touch’ (2011: 174), accusing them of 
co-opting radical ideas for revisionary purpose, I invite readers to 

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10 
Fairy Tale and Film
appraise what I have to say on the matter, watch these films for them-
selves and make up their own minds.
This brings us to another potential dilemma, for if discerning what 
constitutes a fairy tale film poses ample difficulties in itself, differentiat-
ing between those deemed of merit or otherwise is equally contestable – 
and likely to yield considerable differences of opinion. Terming fairy tale 
films ‘visions of ambiguity’ – as alluded to in the subtitle to Greenhill 
and Matrix’s collection – highlights the differing approach adopted by 
films in referencing fairy tales, perceiving a distinction between what 
are considered to be conservative and more questioning examples. 
Zipes makes a fairly frank distinction in the book’s foreword between 
films that seek either to titillate or to teach us (2010: xii), later amended 
in his