Fairy Tale and Film

Postmodern Revisions 
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be destroyed and replaced by a virtuous young rival.
9
Sandra M. Gilbert 
and Susan Gubar analysed this duality in their landmark work, ‘The 
Queen’s Looking Glass’, using ‘Snow White’ as a paradigm of the way 
women are ideologically divided by patriarchy – the true force behind 
the magic mirror. As they contend: 
the central action of the tale – indeed, its only real action – arises 
from the relationship between these two women: the one fair, young, 
pale, the other just as fair, but older, fiercer; the one a daughter, the 
other a mother; the one sweet, ignorant, passive, the other both art-
ful and active; the one a sort of angel, the other an undeniable witch. 
(2000: 36)
Although Charlize Theron claimed her interest in playing the queen 
was that her character was given some depth, the backstory provided 
simply entrenches misogyny. Ravenna’s villainy is attributed to her 
mother, a sorceress who raised her to believe that ‘beauty is power’, fuel-
ling the queen’s murderous ambition and insecurity. Repudiating femi-
nist critique, a woman is thus disingenuously instated as the malign 
force behind the mirror, making her daughter into a monster. Ravenna 
refers to men’s fleeting interest in women whilst stabbing her husband 
to death on their wedding night, yet even as she claims the throne for 
herself she remains convinced her looks are paramount. Refuting any 
potential sympathy, she sucks the beauty from female subjects, causing 
some to disfigure themselves to deter her interest and enable them to 
raise children (maternal sacrifice again signalling how to recognise a 
good woman). Death and decay are the result of Ravenna’s rule, and 
Snow White – cloyingly innocent and caring – is evidently needed to 
restore the blighted kingdom. The huntsman scarcely seems to merit 
a name-check in the title. Arrogant and selfish, he has little sympathy 
with Snow White’s cause, yet in reviving her with a kiss (when she falls 
for the old poisoned apple ruse) he secures her deference, and when she 
finally takes her place on the throne, having destroyed Ravenna, she 
wistfully eyes her saviour at the ceremony (her devotion a testimony of 
her ‘normality’ compared to her rival’s ruthless self-interest).
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Mirror Mirror
(Tarsem Singh, 2012) is, in some ways, the more innova-
tive rewrite. Camp, parodic, inviting us to laugh, rather than seeking 
to be taken seriously, this postmodern pantomime may retain female 
rivalry as its chief plot (Julia Roberts camping up the role of vain queen) 
yet also amusingly reworks convention. The narrative borrows from 
various sources, including pseudo-political concerns akin to 
Ever After

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Fairy Tale and Film
(the queen similarly levying hefty taxes on her poverty-stricken 
subjects); an incarcerated heroine (see ‘Rapunzel’ (ATU 310)); and a 
romantic encounter at a masked ball (‘Cinderella’). It also offers a twist 
akin to Caroline Thompson’s 
Snow White
(2001) in which, rather than 
vying for the affections of the king, a younger man becomes the con-
tested object of desire. The queen puts the somewhat charmless prince 
(Arnie Hammer) under her spell, only for him to be disenchanted by 
true love’s kiss from Snow (Lily Collins). Refreshingly, the heroine 
announces her familiarity with this kind of story, repudiating her need 
for a hero, and says it’s time for a new ending, leading the dwarves in 
battle to regain her kingdom. ‘Beauty and the Beast’ is referenced in the 
last act: the king having been cursed to roam the woods as a beast until 
his daughter’s love returns him to human form – just in time to approve 
her new boyfriend and lead her up the aisle. While the final marriage 
scene suggests a capitulation to romance, we are assured Snow still has 
her wits about her. Rather than being the ‘dumb bunny’ Anne Sexton 
describes her counterpart as, she recognises the crone offering an apple 
as a gift, and responds by cutting a slice with her dagger and presenting 
it to the old woman, cattily stating ‘age before beauty’. It’s the ultimate 
put-down, made all the nastier as we realise that the queen’s wrinkles are 
no disguise, but the cost of having misused magic. Taking the proffered 
slice, we can only assume she poisons herself. 
The ending parallels the intimation in Anne Sexton’s poem ‘Snow 
White and the Seven Dwarves’ (from her collection