Fairy Tale and Film

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 

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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 

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Wealth through Stealth 
85
wits about you and get what you can. Sometimes, however, such 
attempts end very badly indeed. In