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"I AIN'T NO TRICK BABY" OR PRINCESS IN DISGUISE: GENDER
BOUNDARIES AND FEMALE MOBILITY IN FREEWAY, SNOW WHITE: A TALE
OF TERROR, AND EVER AFTER: A CINDERELLA STORY
JULIE A. SINN
A THESIS PRESENTED TO THE GRADUATE SCHOOL
OF THE UNIVERSITY OF FLORIDA IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT
OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF
MASTER OF ARTS
UNIVERSITY OF FLORIDA
Julie A. Sinn
For the cute red-headed Irish boy who used to smile at me every morning on my way to
class at University College Cork.
First of all, I would like to thank Dr. Kenneth Kidd and Dr. John Cech. Without
their help and guidance, I might still be gyring and gambling in the thesis wabe.
Secondly, I want to thank my mom who made me finish my homework before I could
watch any television, my dad who supported my academic choices, and my sister who
only threatened to beat me up but never actually did. A "thank you" also goes to Todd
Reynolds who has now heard more about fairy tales than he probably ever wanted to
know, to Lisa Hager who had to continually read and reread various sections of my work
instead of watching Buffy reruns, to Jason Matteson who kept me grounded, and to
Janusz Jaworski who nudged my creativity. Finally, a big 50-11 goes to my Fort Scott
friends who are currently scattered all over the world and a big hug goes to all the rest of
my friends and family who have loved and supported me throughout my life.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
ACKNOW LEDGM ENTS ....................... .... ............................ .....................iv
A B ST R A C T ................................... ......... ..... ... .... ........................................ vi
1 GO INTO THE W OODS.............................................................. 1
2 STAND UP TO THE WOLF................................... .................. 5
3 AVOID GROW ING OLD ............................................. .. .......... ..................... 15
4 FIND A VOICE ........... ...... ................. ............................... 24
5 LIVE HAPPILY EVER AFTER ................. ....... ............................... 30
LIST O F REFEREN CES ................................................................ .................... 32
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH ....................... ......... ............................ ................... 33
Abstract of Thesis Presented to the Graduate School
of the University of Florida in Partial Fulfillment of the
Requirements for the Degree of Master of Arts
"I AIN'T NO TRICK BABY" OR PRINCESS IN DISGUISE: GENDER
BOUNDARIES AND FEMALE MOBILITY IN FREEWAY, SNOW WHITE: A TALE
OF TERROR, AND EVER AFTER: A CINDERELLA STORY
Julie A. Sinn
Chairperson: Dr. Kenneth Kidd
Major Department: English
The 1990s witnessed a resurgence of the fairy tale in literary and film form as
well as in feminist and cultural criticism. In the thick of these texts and collections that
question the complexities of feminine agency, the following three big budget fairy tale
films emerged: Freeway (1996), Snow White: A Tale of Terror (1997), and Ever After: A
Cinderella Story (1998). While each of these films has its own distinct narrative and
cinemagraphic style, they all share the common plot element of a female protagonist who
does not fit neatly into the presupposed gender and class definitions that are generally
prevalent in traditional, literary fairy tales from anthologists such as the Brothers Grimm,
Charles Perrault, or Hans Christian Andersen. These three films are a part of the 1990s
deluge of feminist fairy tale production and feminist and/or Marxist criticism that focuses
on re-examining, rebuilding, and/or reclassifying the mobility and gender boundaries of
women in fairy tales. In Freeway, we watch as Vanessa, a lower class girl whose cultural
literacy extends beyond her reading ability, outwits and survives a wolfish Freeway
Killer in bourgeois clothing. Then, in Snow White: A Tale of Terror we watch as the
focus of the film shifts from Lilliana, the Snow White character, to the stepmother's
descent into a mid-life madness where she tries to consume Lilliana's youth and beauty.
Finally, in Ever After: A Cinderella Story, we watch as Danielle transforms from a dirt-
spattered young girl into a clean, boundary crossing young woman whose quick wit and
wisdom saves her servant (and friend) from being exiled to the Americas, her dead
father's land from bankruptcy, and the Crown Prince of France from gypsies as well as
from his own careless self-destruction. Since the female characters within these films are
pushing the boundaries of how a fairy tale heroine may or may not fit traditional gender
roles, not only do the these three postmodern films utilize the stylized form often seen in
traditional literary fairy tales, but they also approximate oral narrative traditions that
include preliterate/innocent characters, a multiplicity of voices and/or storytellers, and a
shift in the main focus of the story-as if these film versions of traditional fairy tales are
giving a bit of a wink and a nudge to oral tradition through each narrative's stylized
GO INTO THE WOODS
The 1990s witnessed a resurgence of the fairy tale in literary and film form as
well as in feminist and cultural criticism. From 1993 to 2000, editors Ellen Datlow and
Terri Windling published Snow White, Blood Red; Black Thorn, White Rose; Ruby
Slippers, Golden Tears; Silver Birch, Blood Moon; and Black Heart, Ivory Bones, five
anthologies of short stories drawn from authors such as Tanith Lee, Patricia Wrede, and
Jane Yolan who re-examine and re-vision familiar fairy tale tropes. Also in 1993, The
Bloody Chamber, Angela Carter's collection of dark, sensual, and witty feminist fairy
tales, was reissued. Traversing the boundary between academic criticism and pop
culture, works like Clarissa Pinkola Estes's Women Who Run with the Wolves: Myths and
Stories of the Wild Woman Archetype (1992), Jacqueline M. Schectman's The Stepmother
in Fairy Tales: Bereavement and the Feminine Shar, II- (1993), and Marina Warner's
From the Beast to the Blonde (1994) connect contemporary constructions of femininity to
their popular feminine counterparts often found in folklore, legends, myths, and fairy
tales. Moreover, in Kate Bernheimer's Mirror, Mirror on the Wall (1998) women writers
such as Margaret Atwood, bell hooks, and Joyce Carol Oates comment upon and/or
rewrite their favorite childhood fairy tales in order to explore the impact of these tales on
their lives. As if in anticipation of the multiple fairy tale films to come, Jack Zipes
published his essay "Towards a Theory of Fairy Tale Film" in which he promotes the
self-contained genre of fairy tale film while at the same time marking film's place in the
dissemination of the fairy tale meta-narrative. Zipes's promotion of "a theory of the
fairy-tale film as genre" not only links animated, fairy tale films to their oral and literary
predecessors, but also provides the groundwork for connecting oral and literary fairy tales
to contemporary versions of fairy tales created through hypertext media, videogames, and
live-action films ("Towards" 1).
In the thick of these texts and collections that question the complexities of
feminine agency, the following three big budget fairy tale films emerged: Freeway
(1996), Snow White: A Tale of Terror (1997), and Ever After: A Cinderella Story (1998).
While each of these films has its own distinct narrative and cinemagraphic style, they all
share the common plot element of a female protagonist who does not fit neatly into the
presupposed gender and class definitions that are generally prevalent in traditional,
literary fairy tales from anthologists such as the Brothers Grimm, Charles Perrault, or
Hans Christian Andersen. These three films are a part of the 1990s deluge of feminist
fairy tale production and feminist and/or Marxist criticism that focuses on re-examining,
rebuilding, and/or reclassifying the mobility and gender boundaries of women in fairy
tales. In Freeway, we watch as Vanessa, a lower class girl whose cultural literacy
extends beyond her reading ability, outwits and survives a wolfish Freeway Killer in
bourgeois clothing. Then, in Snow White: A Tale of Terror we watch as the focus of the
film shifts from Lilliana, the Snow White character, to the stepmother's descent into a
mid-life madness where she tries to consume Lilliana's youth and beauty. Finally, in
Ever After: A Cinderella Story, we watch as Danielle transforms from a dirt-spattered
young girl into a clean, boundary crossing young woman whose quick wit and wisdom
saves her servant (and friend) from being exiled to the Americas, her dead father's land
from bankruptcy, and the Crown Prince of France from gypsies as well as from his own
careless self-destruction. Since the female characters within these films are pushing the
boundaries of how a fairy tale heroine may or may not fit traditional gender roles, not
only do the these three postmodern films utilize the stylized form often seen in traditional
literary fairy tales, but they also approximate oral narrative traditions that include
preliterate/innocent characters, a multiplicity of voices and/or storytellers, and a shift in
the main focus of the story-as if these film versions of traditional fairy tales are giving a
bit of a wink and a nudge to oral tradition through each narrative's stylized opening.
In order for film to manipulate the rigid class and gender structures that exist
within fairy tale tradition, it must draw its stories from fairy tales with which the common
person-regardless of social class-is familiar. Even if that person has never read a
book, she or he has certainly had a fairy tale story read to her or him as a child at home or
been introduced to the structure of fairy tales while listening to music, watching
television, or walking down a street. For example, the rock musicians Green Jelly
(formerly Green Jello) have performed "Three Little Pigs," the classic tale of a wolf
verses house-building pigs. Moreover, the Rocky and Bullwinkle SiM'w introduced
television audiences to "Fractured Fairytales" and HBO is currently hosting a fairy tale
cartoon hour that attempts to rewrite traditional fairy tales in a multicultural way. As
Zipes points out, it is almost "natural that there be fairy-tale film since fairy tales are so
much part of our cultural heritage as oral and literary tales" ("Towards" 1). If the basic
fairy tale is coupled with a film format, then that version of the tale is one step closer to
returning to oral tradition rather than a printed text which may or not be considered
progressive by modem standards.
The relatively current influx of the live-action, fairy tale film brings with it a
return to oral traditions where the taletellerr" or film director is "highly regarded within a
community," no matter the community's size or social makeup-where "listeners" or
watchers "could be placed under a spell, as if in awe" ("Towards" 2). Even as Zipes
describes the "awe" that a talented taletellerr" can establish within a community of
listeners, his words are applicable to the fairy tale film tradition in which we, the
audience, identify with the actresses and actors moving about the screen in distant, yet
somehow familiar, settings. They are able to question the boundaries of mobility in
situations that we in the audience might only partake in by watching the film.
Furthermore, Zipes states that "to be in awe is to be in a special place linked with the
teller and other members of the group, transcending reality for a brief moment, to be
transported to extraordinary regions of experience" ("Towards" 2). This statement is not
applicable solely to oral tales. Who would argue, when watching a particularly
wonderful film in a darkened theater, that she or he did not "transcend reality" if only for
a "brief moment" ("Towards" 2)? Moreover, whether watching a film on the big screen
or in the privacy of the home, as soon as a film begins the spectator instantly becomes a
member of the film's communal audience, becomes "linked" to "other members of the
group." Here we see that the importance that Zipes places on the oral transference of a
story easily applies to a visual variant of that story. By creating a communal audience,
film is also creating a space in which to explore current questions of female mobility.
STAND UP TO THE WOLF
Live-action, fairy tale film returns to oral fairy tale tradition in a way that Zipes
does not consider in "Towards a Theory of the Fairy-Tale Film." On the one hand, I
agree with Zipes when he writes that fairy tale films "silenced the personal and
communal voice" of oral tales, especially since he is basing his judgement on the
multitude of animated fairy tale films that Disney has produced as well as other earlier
live-action films whose sole content resided in tricks of the camera ("Towards" 6). Yet,
while these earlier, visual-effects driven films do squelch the variable voice of the oral
narrator, Zipes oversimplifies the multiple voices that are heard within oral tradition-the
mix of storyteller and audience. The dissemination of an oral tale relied not only on the
wandering storyteller, but also on the women who shared the tale while quilting, the men
who retold the tale while farming, and the children who whispered the "naughty" parts of
the tale while playing-all of whom both retold and recreated the tale to fit their own
personal desires or the desires of those around them.
Not only does Zipes oversimplify the oral tale's multiple voices, but he also
overlooks the way in which a film fairy tale diminishes the audience's need for a
traditional reading literacy in the same manner that an oral tales does. The ability to read
is not important when listening to a storyteller, nor is it important when watching a film.
This lack of literacy in oral tradition and fairy tale film is particularly exemplified in the
Little Red Riding Hood characterization of Freeway's Vanessa. The first time the
audience sees Vanessa, she is in school struggling to read the sentence, "The cat drinks
milk." Even though we later find out that she has an amazingly large vocabulary, in
school she is practically illiterate; thus providing evidence that Vanessa is actually
innocent and virtuous like her traditional fairy tale counterpart because she has not
received the full advantage of a school-based education. As the film progresses, we find
that Vanessa is certainly not the good little girl who takes a basket of wine, cheese, and
bread to her grandmother's house in order to feed and comfort her sick grandmother.
Rather, she is a young woman on the run from social services who wants to live with her
grandmother in order to avoid being placed back into foster care. Yet, anyone who is
familiar with any version of the Little Red Riding Hood story-excluding Perrault's
version-expects that this illiterate but street smart girl will triumph in the end.
Although, for that matter, we know that Vanessa will triumph simply because her role as
the heroine implies that she must.
The Freeway Killer, whose real name is Bob Wolverton, is a psychologist at an
all-boys school. Judging by his outward appearance, Bob looks like a decent enough
fellow. His clean cut appearance/persona, respectful mannerisms, and SUV mark him as
someone of affluence who can be trusted. Incidentally, Bob's neighbors would probably
say, "Bob was such a nice, quiet man. We never would have expected him to be a serial
killer." Also, since Bob's job is to listen to people, to be submissive/passive, he initially
portrays the characteristics expected in a fairy tale heroine. However, he uses these
characteristics against women in order to gain their trust before killing them. As his
name suggests, Bob is a generic-a white-skinned, blue-eyed mixture of every wolf from
every fairy tale, every evil that would want to harm a woman. But, what makes him even
more frightful is that he is a well-bred, moneyed member of privileged society, and not
some random, classless nobody. When Vanessa initially shoots him, the news footage
and interviews about the tragedy and horror that struck Bob are indications of Bob's
affluence and social status.
Ultimately, Vanessa's lack of literacy and the lack of education that being nearly
illiterate implies are celebrated when she denounces Bob, the Freeway Killer, for his
VANESSA. You know maybe I ain't smart like you, maybe I haven't
finished school, but at least I ain't a fucking hypocrite.
BOB. Vanessa, please indulge me. Please tell me why I am a hypocrite.
VANESSA. You act like you's all on some sort of mission, but all you
want to do is get off in a sex-type way.
Though she lacks the power of traditional literacy, Vanessa refuses to remain a silent
object who is gazed upon. Even in this short exchange, the difference in education
between Bob and Vanessa is exemplified not only in Bob's lack of contractions, but also
in Vanessa's use of ungrammatical contractions such as "ain't" and "you's." Moreover,
Bob likes to tell himself that he is on a mission to rid the world of unwed mothers, crack
whores, and Lolitas. He essentially tells his young victims that they are blights on
society that must be eradicated, and he is just the man-the educated, well-bred, white
man-to wipe them out. In contrast to Bob, "I ain't smart like you" Vanessa proves that
a traditional education is not necessarily a demarcation of intelligence. She sees through
Bob's outer facade of breeding and into his need to "get off in a sex-type way." This
short exchange between Vanessa and Bob that highlights their educational differences
also indicates the differences in class and the different social norms within those classes.
Since Bob's job is to listen to young people's problems, he spends most of the
afternoon gaining Vanessa's trust and asking her questions about her
childhood-particularly about her stepfather Larry and their sexual relations. Bob claims
he is trying a new, experimental therapy with Vanessa; but when his line of questioning
starts to blame her for her stepfather's inappropriate actions, Vanessa demands her
freedom from the vehicle:
BOB. Vanessa, did you like it when Larry fucked you?
VANESSA. You piece of shit.
BOB. Vanessa, I told you that this can get very, very uncomfortable...
VANESSA. Pull on over, right now!
BOB. We are not finished yet.
VANESSA. Oh, yes we are! We are definitely finished! Now, you pull
Until this moment, Bob had been extremely professional in his choice of words. Not
once had he used a slang term like fuckk," rather he spoke professionally using words
such as "perform oral sex" or "ejaculation." Even though Vanessa raises her voice with
each sentence she speaks, Bob remains calm since his professional identity as both
psychologist and psycho-killer demands it. Once Vanessa's demands are not met, she
gains control of the situation by taking the keys out of the ignition and throwing them on
the floor, which causes Bob to pull onto the shoulder of the highway. Unfortunately,
Vanessa quickly loses control of this situation when she realizes that Bob has already
removed the door's handle. Hence, they are back to where they first met-on the side of
the freeway-and in this moment Vanessa realizes that clean-cut, married Bob is the
Freeway Killer. In her innocence, she is taken by surprise.
Yet, even before Bob reveals himself as the Freeway Killer, street savvy Vanessa
willingly climbs into a stranger's vehicle, instantly breaking the "never get into a car with
a person you don't know" rule that most children learn at the age of three. Vanessa did
not mean for her car to breakdown, and she certainly did not know Bob before he picked
her up; however, her lack of wariness in this situation might lead an audience to wonder
whether or not Vanessa is asking for trouble. What audiences are probably unaware of
while watching this scene is that Vanessa's lack of fear when meeting the "wolf' parallels
almost every children's book illustration of this scene. According to Zipes's study of the
illustrations of Little Red Riding Hood in Don't Bet on the Prince, "the girl is rarely
afraid of the wolf, despite his large size and animal appearance" ("Second Gaze" 235).
Rather, in the illustrations the girl looks intently into the wolf's eyes, suggesting further
the notion that she is familiar with the wolf and that she is looking forward to his sexual
advances. Zipes points out that the girl in the illustrations appears to want to be raped by
"a male creature" with a "voracious appetite" who desires to "dominate and violate
women" ("Second Gaze" 242). At least that is what the male illustrator wants his viewers
to imagine about the young girl. She is portrayed as the innocent who knows more than
we give her credit for knowing. In this same way, the scenes leading up to Vanessa
meeting Bob initially indicates that Vanessa wants sex-wants to be raped-by Bob or
any other "male creature," but her words and actions disprove this initial connotation. In
order for a girl such as Little Red or Vanessa to remain unfrightened by a monstrous
wolf, she must be innocent of that wolf's intentions. Yet, in her innocence she is blamed:
BOB. Look at you. You're already a master at the manipulation of men.
VANESSA. I didn't run nothing' on you.
BOB. It's so intrinsic to your fucking nature you're not even aware of it
when you do it.
Not only do we blame Little Red for telling a wolfish stranger that she is on her way to
grandmother's house, but we also blame Vanessa for getting into Bob's SUV. If this
blame goes unchecked, then we, too, fall into the same pattern as Bob, who thinks
Vanessa's innocence is a contrived trick to capture men, or the illustrators mentioned
above, who portray Little Red's innocence as a familiarity.
The traditional story elements of "Little Red Riding Hood" dictate that there must
be two seduction scenes: an initial scene that mimics the pictorial representations of Little
Red meeting the Wolf, and a secondary scene when the Wolf dons the Grandmother's
clothing and coaxes Little Red into the house and/or into the bed. Yet, when Vanessa
reaches her grandmother's trailer, she is not easily fooled by Bob's outer grandmother-
like lineaments. Not only does Vanessa not wait for an invitation to enter the house, but
she also is not seduced into taking her clothes off and climbing into bed. Rather than fly
out of the room, her fight reflexes take over as soon as Vanessa sees through Bob's
disguise. Unlike other versions of Little Red Riding Hood, Vanessa will not receive the
kind help of a woodsman nor will she simply flee grandmother's house. (Earlier in the
film, Vanessa's boyfriend and fiance Chopper, whose name indicates that he is a
potential woodsman and savior, was caught and killed in a premeditated drive-by
shooting.) Vanessa clearly dominates within this situation as she brutally beats Bob with
a table lamp and then strangles him until he is undeniably dead. Basically, she destroys
Bob because she knows that if she does not, he will gobble her up and then go on to
murder and rape other female victims. Help, in the form of police protection, does not
arrive until after Bob is dead and Vanessa is covered in blood.
In Vanessa, we see the triumph of cultural literacy over reading literacy, yet even
this is not enough to initially outsmart a bourgeois wolf like Bob. Bob's class standing
ultimately strangles Vanessa's cultural awareness while at the same time forcing Vanessa
into restructuring her cultural views. He knows that he will not go to jail-not when the
courts view Vanessa's previous jail record. In the world according to Bob, people like
him-people with money-can do whatever to whomever they please. His wife is
beautiful, charming, rigidly faithful, and incredibly shallow-an index to Bob's mental
disjunctures. Her faith in her husband does not waiver until his stash of S & M adult and
kiddie porn is recovered from a shed in the back yard. Similar to his wife, his huge,
immaculately clean, and pristinely white house is a showpiece, a mask to conceal his
inward intentions from the outside world. Moreover, since Bob is well respected in his
work and well educated, his particular type of wolfishness stems from upper class. He
imagines that society's laws do not directly apply to him since he is part of the upper
bourgeois who establishes social norms; yet this film, particularly its ending, would
indicate otherwise. Initially, his philosophy may seem false since we were raised to
believe that justice is blind, but the police system is in place simply to keep the working
class in check. Bob is completely aware of these class politics; therefore he feels he has
every right to take matters into his own hands when ridding the world of lowest type of
working class people:
VANESSA. Why're you killing' all them girls, Bob?
BOB. Because I've absolutely reached my fucking limit with people like
VANESSA. What kind of people am I suppose to be?
BOB. Alcoholics, the drug addicts, the fathers who fuck their daughters,
the drug addicted motherfuckin' whores with their bastard fuckin'
VANESSA. Hey, I ain't no trick baby.
BOB. Vanessa, I call them garbage people and I assure you, you are one
In this exchange, not only do we learn the motives behind Bob's murders, but we
also learn about his shortsightedness. He might be able to see the social problems that
exist outside of his own class, but he is not able to see the problems that exist within his
class boundaries. Here, Bob falsely assumes that only working class people, a class in
which he places Vanessa, are alcoholics and drug addicts. Thus he ignores the alcohol,
drugs, incest cases, and "bastard fuckin' offspring" that exist at all social levels. Rather
than see these issues as critical problems that need to be corrected within all of society,
Bob relegates them to a position of class standing.
As soon as Vanessa realizes that her life is in danger, she gains control over Bob
by brandishing the gun she was planning to sell in order to make some money for her trip.
Even though Vanessa does not hold the police in the highest esteem, since they have
taken her mother and stepfather away on numerous occasions, she does think that they
are her only choice in this situation since it is their duty to prosecute those people who
break the law:
VANESSA. I'm gonna turn you in to the fuckin' pigs that's what I'm
BOB. Well, you know what will happen then don't you?
VANESSA. Yeah, you'll end up suckin' gas at San Quentin.
BOB. Vanessa, Vanessa, people like me, we don't go to the gas chamber.
If Bob is convicted of multiple murders, he will, as Vanessa says, "end up suckin' gas at
San Quentin." But, while Bob is afraid of Vanessa's gun and therefore Vanessa, he is not
afraid of the police. He knows that murdering innocents is against the law, but he still
trusts the legal system to keep him out of jail since in his mind he not low-class scum:
VANESSA. Then you'll go the penitentiary where the Mighty Aryan
Brotherhood will make you wish you'd never been born.
BOB. Vanessa the likelihood of someone like me going to prison is
VANESSA. You think they're just gonna just let you walk?
BOB. They won't take me for a killer. They'll let me go free. They'll
send you to some new foster home.
Once again, Bob knows that in the courts it will be his word against hers. He also knows
that his class status and clean personal record gives him the upper hand over Vanessa's
criminal past. Since he does not have the markings of a criminal, let alone the markings a
killer who rapes his dead victims, he knows that he will walk out of the courtroom a free
man. This possible truth ultimately leads Vanessa to liquidate Bob. Thus, she initially
shoots Bob several times in the back the first time that she uncovers his secret life, and
then she finally succeeds when she strangles him to death in her grandmother's
trailer-the classic space of "white trash." Vanessa would rather live with the
consequences of murdering a psycho-killer masquerading as high class, than live with the
knowledge that Bob could and would kill other innocent women.
AVOID GROWING OLD
Even as the fairy tale film pushes against the edges of social boundaries, it also
conforms to certain preconceived gender roles established specifically for women in fairy
tales. Not only must a heroine keep her voice in check while at the same time finding it,
she must also wait for her prince to come and save her from a life of toil and drudgery.
Witnessing the growth and formation of a young girl within a fairy tale is fairly common,
and, as expected, the girl will prick her finger, run away, or be locked up as soon as
puberty starts. In the literary fairy tales of Perrault and the Brothers Grimm, the good girl
remained silent while passively waiting in a tree to be rescued or comfortably sleeping
for thousands of years. In contrast, the wicked girl did not pause for breath and had
nothing nice to say. Even in the Disney feature-length version of Snow White and the
Seven Dwarfs, Snow White is remembered for her songs, not for what she says. Her
voice is only for providing the audience and the dwarves with pleasure in the same way
that a pet bird's singing provides pleasure for its owner. The opposite of the voiceless
heroine is found in Vanessa, Lilliana, and Danielle -two of whom utilize their ability to
speak boldly from childhood on and one of whom discovers her voice along the way to
adulthood. In these cases, finding a voice of one's own is an extension of finding one's
self. When a fairy tale film deviates from these norms, it also deviates from the social
expectation that fairy tales are strictly meant to provide didactic lessons for children.
Since the production of live-action fairy tale films has made room for the exploration of
topics deemed by the consuming society as not suitable for young children, it perpetuates
and rewrites oral tradition by struggling with society's class and gender expectations.
Snow White: A Tale of Terror returns to oral tradition through the film's shift in
focus from a young girl to a seemingly innocuous stepmother who refuses to age
gracefully. In the same way that a storyteller is able to change the focus of the story in
response to audience expectations, film is also able to change the focus of the story in
order to draw in its desired audience. Few adults would be willing to pay money to see a
film titled something like "Snow White: A Tale of Feelings, Family, and Female
Bonding." Unless they mistake "bonding" for "bondage," then a slew of people might
show up. Even though the title of the film-Snow White: A Tale of Terror-upholds the
traditional importance of the role of Snow White, little is known of the actress who plays
Lilliana, the Snow White character. Her name is not even mentioned in the blurb on the
back of the video's jacket. Instead, the film's star is Sigourney Weaver, and thus the
film's focus is on Weaver's portrayal of the wicked stepmother, Lady Claudia. Within
the same blurb that ignores Lilliana, we read that "the real tale of Snow White, starring
Sigourney Weaver and Sam Neill, is a tale of relentless terror and unimaginable horror."
Here we see that the real tale of Snow White is not at all about a young girl's struggle to
come of age while her stepmother literally talks to a mirror, but rather it is about horrors
that we cannot even imagine. Horrors that spawn from Lady Claudia's refusal to accept
the inevitability of aging and lead Lilliana to young-adult independence. Horrors that
exacerbate the image of the hysterical, menopausal woman struggling to retain her youth
and beauty. All the while, Lady Claudia is talking to a magical mirror that remains
hidden within a standing wooden wardrobe behind two doors that are shaped to resemble
the body of a woman in long robes. Her clasped hands hold a lily, the namesake of
Lilliana -also the symbol of resurrection, rebirth, and the Virgin Mary. A
transformation of character and a magic mirror sufficiently fulfills an audience's fairy
tale expectations of a wicked stepmother, but this film pushes the importance of these
characteristics by shifting the focus of the story from Lilliana to Lady Claudia. Thus, a
film's director, like a talented storyteller, can anticipate what an audience will respond to
and tweak the story accordingly.
The "tale of terror" begins in a snow-covered forest full of folkloric symbols of
evil and/or death-dead trees, voracious wolves, and a squawking crow. Not only has
the snow caused dead tree limbs to fall across the only navigable path through the forest,
but the hungry wolves and the black crow are also focusing their attention on the path.
As the credits begin, the carriage containing Lilliana's pregnant mother and solicitous
father, Lady Lilliana and Lord Fredrick Hoffman, tumbles down a snow-covered
embankment after the horses pulling the carriage towards home are spooked by a pack of
hungry wolves with glowing eyes. The coachman and the horses instantly fall prey to the
desires of the carnivorous wolves, while Lady Lilliana and Fredrick appear to be
unharmed by the carriage's roll down the hill, until Lady Lilliana says that she cannot
breath. Fredrick pulls back Lady Lilliana's cloak to reveal a large chunk of wood
piercing her chest. Since she knows she is going to die, she hands Fredrick a sharp, dark
knife and demands that Fredrick "must save the baby" because "she is coming." In the
same way that Lady Lilliana's blood is initially shed when she accidentally pricks her
finger while stitching a wintercap and wishing for a little girl, Lady Lilliana's blood is
shed again in the midst of winter at the birth of her baby girl. Even though we do not see
Fredrick slice open the uterus of his wife, we do witness the rush of deep red blood
flowing across the cold, white snow. Over this image is the title of the film, Snow White:
A Tale of Terror, and the faint sound of a baby crying. Thus, amongst the portents of
death and blood, baby Lilliana is born and the opening credits continue.
However, this dark setting changes to a pleasantly bright look at Lilliana as a
young child. When we first witness young Lilliana, she is trying to hide her giggles in
her hands while crouching down behind a statue of a praying angel, because Lilliana's
nanny, Nano, is looking for her. Even though Lilliana is hiding in a cemetery, she is
crouched behind her mother's headstone and appears to be in no danger. The fall day is
sunshiny bright and a light breeze rustles the leaves in the trees. Once Nano finds
Lilliana and they are walking back towards the castle, Lilliana asks Nano to "tell [her] the
story." This is when we learn from Nano that "one day, not so long ago" Lady Lilliana
pricked her finger while stitching a wintercap and wishing for a girl. Even though Nano
begins her retelling of the tale with a traditional storyteller-like opening that parallels the
version of "Snow White" published by the Brothers Grimm, the Queen does not specify
the gender of the child in the Grimm version like she supposedly did in this version.
When Nano teasingly changes the gender of the wished for child from a girl to a boy,
Lilliana laughs and corrects her. Obviously, Lilliana knows this tale of her birth by heart
since she then finishes telling the story herself: "a little girl with hair as black as the
ebony window frame and skin as pale as the snow and lips as red as blood." As outside
viewers, we cannot know if the Queen actually wished for a little girl or if the various
adults who have passed the story down to Lilliana added that small bit of information in
order to comfort a motherless girl-child. Moreover, we do not hear the rest of the story as
the two of them continue to walk towards the castle because the tale of terror is not yet
over. For the audience, this tranquil moment is only an interlude in the expected horror
that is to come. Thus through the course of the opening credits the archetype of the
storyteller in oral tradition is evoked twice. The first time is in the very title of the film;
through the use of the word "tale" in "A Tale of Terror," we know that we are about to be
told a story. The second time is in the oral tradition of passing a story down from an
older generation to a younger one, creating a narrative within the narrative of the film that
can shift according to the whims of the storyteller or the listener. In order for this story to
further approximate these forms of oral tradition, the focus of the story shifts from
Lilliana to her stepmother, Lady Claudia.
This shift in the film's focus is enticing to a culture that spends uncountable
amounts of money on anti-aging cream and plastic surgery, a culture obsessed with youth
and physical beauty. In The Stepmother in Fairy Tales: Bereavement and the Feminine
Slihahl/, Schectman notes that "extracts of embryonic cells, imagined to have
rejuvenating qualities, are sold at great cost to the credulous" (34). The absorption of
these embryonic cells as a way to regain youth parallels the cannibalistic consumption of
youthful flesh in fairy tales. Even as we watch Lady Claudia consume a stew that she
thinks is prepared from the flesh of Lilliana, we realize that Lady Claudia is not simply
trying to keep Lilliana from maturing; rather, Lady Claudia wants to recapture and
consume the very youth and vitality that Lilliana possesses. Unlike the "mothers, [who]
bereaved of their youth, borrow their daughters' clothes, hair styles [sic] and music, in
the belief, perhaps, that they've borrowed their bodies, their lungs and livers, their
endless adolescent energy," Lady Claudia is not interested in "borrowing" Lilliana's
physical accouterments (Schectman 34). Instead, after months or even years of requiring
Lilliana to wear Lady Claudia's hand-me-down dresses to public balls and
gatherings-essentially requiring Lilliana to continually remain in her adolescent years
by publicly living within the fit and tuck of Lady Claudia's idealized youthful
fabric-Lady Claudia desires the destruction of Lilliana in order to completely envelop
her endless energy. Removing Lilliana from the Hoffman household is not enough, she
must be completely objectified, destroyed, and consumed in order for Lady Claudia to be
rejuvenated, in order for Lilliana's youthfulness to become manifest within Lady Claudia.
In contrast, when we initially meet Lady Claudia, she is an object to be looked
upon through the eyes of young Lilliana, who ascribes meaning to her. Even though we
initially see Lady Claudia at the same time that the servants of the Hoffman household
meet her, we do not immediately glimpse her face. Rather we see Lady Claudia through
a series of fragmented close-ups. First, we see her hand in a carriage, then the back of
her coiffured hair. We even have a momentary view of her profile, but we do not look
upon the face of Lady Claudia until young Lilliana does. Thus, Lady Claudia is not
recognized or is not fully accepted by the household until we see her through Lilliana's
eyes. If Lilliana accepts her, then everyone else will. (Fredrick Hoffman's opinion in
this matter is of little bearing.) The test of acceptance occurs when young Lilliana,
instead of saying hello to Lady Claudia, says, "Look what I found. It will be a butterfly
someday," while opening her hand to reveal a caterpillar. She then asks if she can keep it
in a box. Instead of acting slighted when Lilliana does not return her greeting or
recoiling from the harmless creature, Lady Claudia kneels down to young Lilliana's level,
looks at the caterpillar, and asks her what she will do with it when it grows wings. To
which young Lilliana replies, "I'll let her go." As a testament to her present and future
goodness, Lilliana is willing to release the caterpillar when it reaches its full potential as a
butterfly. Unlike Lady Claudia who holds on to the physical body of her dead child with
the same obsessiveness that she holds on to her fleeing youth, Lilliana knows when to let
go. Within this moment of acceptance, the power of the gaze is transferred from young
Lilliana to Lady Claudia.
Within this culture that is fascinated with youth and beauty, the character that is
Lilliana becomes a pawn to be admired or gazed upon. According to Laura Mulvey in
her article "Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema," one key element that film or any
visual medium cannot escape from is the objectification of the female figure, since the
"pleasure in looking has been split between active/male and passive/female" (19). In this
notion, not only are the male characters within the screen actively objectifying the female
form, but all members of the audience are also actively participating through the male's
eyes. His gaze is our gaze. Thus, the active/male places meaning on the female form,
causing her to be a bearer-rather than a maker-of meaning. Yet, Lilliana's
objectification does not stem solely from a male gaze; rather, even though she initially
bears the meaning placed upon her by her father Fredrick Hoffman, the arrival of Lady
Claudia marks the beginning of Lilliana as bearer of yearned for youth and beauty.
Generally at the entrance of the second queen, all people and prospects outside of
the stepdaughter/stepmother dichotomy disappear, thus leaving the two women in a
struggle for the absent king's affection. In The Uses of Enchantment, Bruno Bettelheim
describes the stepmother's inward search as a "narcissism" whereby she is "seeking
reassurance about her beauty from the magic mirror" (Bettelheim 203). In "The Queen's
Looking Glass," Sandra Gilbert and Susan Gubar push the boundaries of Bettelheim's
initial assertion by stating that even though the king is absent, his voice is "the voice in
the mirror" ruling the queen with a "patriarchal voice of judgment" (Gilbert and Gubar
202). However, these statements do not aptly describe the mirror or the occurrence of the
gaze in Snow White: A Tale of Terror. Fredrick Hoffman is not absent from the story,
nor is he the patriarchal voice in the mirror since Lady' Claudia's mirror initially
belonged to her mother and the image reflected therein is her own. In the same way that
Lady Claudia is unable to identify herself outside of a direct relationship to her mother,
Lady Claudia is also unable to identify herself outside of a direct relationship to Lilliana.
Without Lilliana as competition, Lady Claudia has nothing on which to base her beauty
and self-worth. Even though much critical discourse been written about the gaze as it
exists between the wicked stepmother and her mirror, Snow White: A Tale of Terror is
one of the few fairy tale films that brings to the forefront this objectification of a woman
by a woman as opposed to the objectification of a woman by a man.
Even though the film focuses on Lady Claudia, it is Lilliana who finds her voice
in the midst of personal and family turmoil. Yet, before she can find herself and recreate
herself as a subject rather than an object, Lilliana must leave the civilization of her
father's household by traveling into the woods even though she does not leave on her
own accord. Like other females in other fairy tale stories, Lilliana cannot fully discover
her true nature until she disconnects herself from her friends, family, and servants-the
people who actively gaze at her. Even though Lilliana has been wandering lost through
the forest, falling down holes, and mucking up her outward appearance, her fine clothes
and proper manners mark her as a member of privileged society. After she stumbles her
way into a crumbling castle for the night, she is discovered by a band of area miners. Her
layer of grime stands in stark contrast to the dirt that envelopes the miner's daily,
underground lives. Within their gaze, she is a "princess" initially deserving no less than
to be respectfully mocked; yet, as time progresses, the miners realize that Lilliana is
worthy of a respect that is based on more than just outward appearance. Now that she has
traveled into the woods, Will, the leader of the miners, brings her identity into question:
WILL. I was just wondering what it would take to make a princess smile.
LILLIANA. I'm not a princess.
WILL. What are you then?
LILLIANA. I'm the daughter of Frederick Hoffman.
WILL. Ah, so you're nothing more than a name.
LILLIANA. What right do you have to say that? You know nothing about
When Will states that Lilliana is "nothing more than a name," he points to her lack of
agency, self-identity, and depth. Ironically, the male gaze of Will de-objectifies Lilliana
by questioning the meaning that she bears. Lilliana may reproach his comment with
indignation, but until this moment, she had only thought of herself in terms of her father.
Moreover, if this moment had not occurred, then she probably would have married Dr.
Peter Gutenberg and thought of herself in terms of him. As opposed to the gaze of Lady
Claudia, Will's gaze helps transform Lilliana from an object belonging to her father to a
subject belonging to herself.
FIND A VOICE
In Zipes's "Toward a Theory of Fairy-Tale Film," he divides the space in which
oral fairy tales operate from the space in which visual fairy tales operate. Yet, both forms
of tale telling require a malleable space in which interchangeable points of view can be
utilized. Depending on the make-up of the audience, a storyteller can change the focus of
the story to fit the desires and dreams required of the society in which it is told. Thus, if
the majority of the audience longs to hear about the recklessness of growing old, then the
storyteller can position the focus of the story on the stepmother or the not-yet-dead king.
If the majority of the audience is in need of a didactic lesson, then the story might focus
on the fortunes and foibles of a young princess or third son. Or, if the majority of the
audience craves a bawdy tale, then a simple undressing before crawling into bed can be
drawn out in to an innuendo-charged striptease act. The same holds true for the film
director whose job is to create a film that not only reestablishes the audience's
preconceived expectations about the story, but also explores the multiple voices that are
present within the story. If the mixing and variableness of these voices shaped the oral
tale's production before it was co-opted by the educated and produced as a permanent
literary fairy tale, then the mixing of voices should also shape the production of fairy tale
In Ever After: A Cinderella Story, the visual return to oral tradition is quite literal
in terms of the setting. In the scene before the film's opening credits, two distinguished
looking gentlemen step out of a black carriage in front of a large, medieval castle and are
immediately ushered into the presence of a regal, elderly lady who is referred to as "Your
Majesty." Even though she does not specifically identify herself or the region her family
once ruled, the tapestries, paintings, and servants that surround her are symbols of her
royal status. She asks the two men, the Brothers Grimm, if they are wondering why a
person of her age would "request an audience with the authors of children's stories." She
goes on to tell them that she finds their collection of folk tales "quite brilliant" but she
was "terribly disturbed" when she read their version of the "Little Cinder Girl." At this
juncture, the Brothers quickly relate all of the differences in the Cinderella tale that
modern scholars still point out, such as the shoe being made of fur instead of glass or that
Perrault's version, with its magic pumpkins and fairy godmother, is closer to the truth.
To the Brothers' amazement and delight, Her Majesty "sets the record straight" by telling
them the real story of Danielle, the little cinder girl, and producing a "glass" slipper. She
even starts her story off in true fairy tale fashion by mimicking a style of introduction that
the Brothers made famous: "Once upon a time, there lived a young girl who loved her
father very much." Without this royal character to set the record straight, we might
assume that the tales collected by the Brothers Grimm and other authors are closer to the
truth since they were derived directly from the "folk." Yet, as this film clearly shows, the
"true" story is related through a royal figure who is the great, great, great granddaughter
of Queen Danielle. Therefore, the social status of a person from whom a tale is derived is
not nearly as important as that person's relationship to the people involved in the tale.
This film also illuminates the importance of oral tradition by visually providing a narrator
who can either respond to the needs of her immediate audience, or fulfill her own needs
in relating the "truth" about the tale.
Since Danielle's story is filtered through Her Majesty, the audience is no longer
receiving a female-centered story from a male voice as in previous literary fairy tales.
Even though traditional authors like the Brothers Grimm often collected their initial
stories from female informants which would indicate a strong female voice, those
collected stories were not written down and published "as is" directly from the female
informant. Rather, those collected stories were adapted to fit the needs and ideals of the
authors. In Ever After an older female, much like the Sibyl of myth, is relating the story
to men from her royal, but darkened cave-like room. This parallel between Her Majesty
and the Sibyl should not be overlooked. According to Marina Warner in From the Beast
to the Blonde: "the Sibyl, as the figure of a storyteller, bridges divisions in history as well
as hierarchies of class. She offers the suggestion that sympathies can cross from different
places and languages, different peoples of varied status" (Warner 11). When Her Majesty
is speaking to the Brothers, she not only is bridging the gap between a royal occurrence
and the "folk" rendition of that occurrence, but she is also drawing the audience into
sympathy with the plight of these medieval characters who are part of her ancestry. In
her resides a tale that crosses social, class, and gender boundaries since she descends
from French royalty, while the Brothers are middle class, literate Germans, and the
film's audience is presumably a mix of nationalities, ages, and classes.
Like the storyteller who is equally at ease when relating tales and local news
among peasants as well as among the royal courts, Danielle is also able to move
gracefully among all social classes. Since her voice is strong and she is aware of her self-
agency, she continually molds and remolds her outer appearance in order to exact a
desired outcome. As Ever After progresses, Prince Henry's heart is captured through
Danielle's wit and charm. Unlike the numerous other women who are trying to win the
prince over, she does not spend her time cooing and fawning over him with cheap smiles
and compliments. Instead, she uses her own intelligence coupled with ideas from
Moore's Utopia to critique Prince Henry's aristocratic philosophy and apathetic attitude.
When Danielle is with the Prince, she is masquerading as a countess, but her
quick tongue is not in keeping with the usual mannerisms of a countess. Indeed, in
actuality Danielle, a servant playing dress-up as a countess, is stepping over two social
boundaries. First, a countess should never voice her opinion or disagree with a man,
particularly a prince. To do so is to be crude. Second, a servant should never critique
any person of upper class standing or even speak to a prince as if they are acquaintances.
To do so is not only insubordination, but it is also showing a familiarity that should not
be there. Yet, Danielle's self-sufficiency is ultimately tested when gypsies capture her
and Prince Henry, while they are trying to find their way home from a monastery. Since
she and Prince Henry are lost, Danielle removes her outer gown and climbs a tree in
order to locate the castle from a better vantagepoint. Even though his gender demands
that Prince Henry be the one who climbs a tree in this situation, his social status demands
otherwise. More often than not, Princes do not climb trees when they are lost because
that is what servants are for. Moreover, Danielle will not let him in case he should fall
and "break his royal neck." In this act, Danielle completely disregards the social graces
that are required-not of a woman of her servant status, but of a woman who is a
countess. Furthermore, even though this scene begins with Danielle in the tree, we can
safely infer from this situation that Prince Henry would have spent the entire day
wandering around lost and not asking for directions to his own castle since to do so
would imply that he is not completely familiar with the land that he rules and that he is
not in control.
As soon as Danielle spots the castle, a band of local gypsies surround Prince
Henry. The gypsy leader casually picks up Danielle's gown with his sword, sarcastically
thanks her for the new garment for his wife, and starts to walk away. By this time
Danielle is almost to the ground and is not about to let her gown be taken, since it was her
mother's. She politely but firmly states, "You will give me back my dress, sir." Not only
is she commanding him, but by calling this man of little or no status outside of his band
of cohorts "sir," Danielle is also treating him with a respect that is unexpected from a
woman of her class. He laughs at and ignores her request. Still not thwarted, Danielle
performs another unladylike move by leaping out of the tree onto his back and stealing
his sword. Yet another gypsy quickly captures her, but the Prince bravely requests her
release since the gypsy's quarrel is with him, not her. The familiarity with which the
leader of the gypsies and the Prince interact with each other would suggest that they have
had this type of run-in in the past. At this point, Danielle demands the use of a horse,
since she has been deprived of her escort. Won over by her tenacity, the lead gypsy
offers Danielle a bargain. Not only will she not be harmed, but she can also take with her
whatever she can carry:
DANIELLE. May I have your word on that, sir?
GYPSY. On my honor as a gypsy, whatever you can carry.
As predicted by her earlier concern with her mother's dress, Danielle starts to
walk toward her gown. Her move is predictable since as a woman of standing in outward
appearances she should be more interested in herself and her fine clothing than in the
problems of other people. But in mid-stride she changes her initial direction. Instead,
she picks the prince up across her back, nods in recognition at the gypsy leader, and
slowly walks away. All who are watching, the gypsies and the audience, are surprised by
this turn of events. Against all calculations, Danielle saves the prince and herself through
her quick wit and strength, at a moment when he is expected to save her.
Through the character of Danielle, Ever After not only functions as a modern
socializing agent but also as a civilizing agent. The audience sees her transform from a
young, dirt-spattered girl, to a woman who is perfectly at ease within a royal court. We
have seen this transformation before in familiar tales such as Pygmalion or My Fair Lady.
She is a reminder to the audience that all one really needs to succeed in life is civility
coupled with knowledge, because one's outward appearance and station in life is
malleable. Further evidence of how Danielle's outward appearance is deceptive is often
overlooked when analyzing Cinderella-type tales. What audience members, literary
critics, and her stepmother, the Baroness, seem to forget is that Danielle is the daughter of
a Baron. Through her father's position, she has the same right to attend aristocratic
functions that her stepsisters have. In fact she technically has even more right because
she is the daughter of a Baron by birthright. The Baroness and her two daughters are
only aristocracy through marriage to Danielle's father. Danielle's upward move to royal
power is not a classic rags-to-riches story; instead, she is simply regaining her rightful
aristocratic position. This unobtrusive but critical bit of information adds to the re-
inscription of bourgeoisie norms and maintains class boundaries.
LIVE HAPPILY EVER AFTER
And everyone lived happily ever after in their live-action fairy tale world where
heroines may or may not push the boundaries of traditional fairy tale gender roles. By
utilizing both the literary tale's stylized form and oral tradition's multiplicity of voices
and/or storytellers, fairy tale film is able to create a complex space in which to explore
the boundaries of female mobility in a patriarchal society. According to Zipes, when the
fairy tale was introduced into a free-market system, it also became a "commodity
designed to reinforce patriarchal notions of civilization" ("Towards" 4). The discourse of
fairy tales came to include debatable questions on topics such as "proper gender
behavior," "the employment of power," and societal "norms and values" ("Towards" 4).
Here, Zipes is specifically pointing to the commodification of fairy tales into a literary,
marketable format, but his observations are also applicable to visual fairy tales. As a
matter of fact, film with its posters, toys, soundtracks, and fast food endorsements might
be thriving in today's community simply because it is a packaged good that does
"reinforce patriarchal notions of civilization" ("Towards" 4). Also wrapped in a fairy tale
film's packaging is the expectation that the film version will conform to or struggle
against certain fairy tale norms in class structure. For example, if the main character is a
young woman, she must swiftly move up the social ladder from a pauper to royalty,
always skipping any middle class distinction. Moreover, the rise of a young man is
generally across familial boundaries rather than pecuniary boundaries, especially when
the third son of a king marries a beautiful princess and inherits the kingdom instead of the
eldest son. As a matter of fact, the middle class is rarely-if ever-portrayed in a fairy
tale. A middle class audience is all too familiar with its own social status; therefore, the
middle class grants itself the privilege of invisibility, especially since the familiar is not
interesting. In contrast, a heroine who is horribly poor and then horribly rich is
interesting. Even though she might be living on another continent, she is essentially and
completely fulfilling the American rags to riches dream.
This instantaneous ascent in class standing is intriguing to a predominately middle
class audience that was raised on the virtues of frugality and diligence. We sympathize
with those who are in a lower class, while fearing our own fall into poverty. At the same
time, royalty status is exotic yet unobtainable since queens and kings exist mainly in fairy
tales and England. Unless, of course, a person is a Kennedy or manages to get on that
game show "Who Wants to be a Princess?" Not only is this social order established in
oral and literary fairy tales, but it is also seen in fairy tale films. As a form of social
entertainment, fairy tale films provide an escape both into and away from social
distinctions we fear and admire. As a form of social re-inscription, fairy tale films
maintain social boundaries while providing a hope that those boundaries can be traversed.
Yet, one might be left wondering whether or not Freeway, Snow White: A Tale of Terror,
and Ever After: A Cinderella Story are a new form of empowerment for the women who
watch them or simply a reestablishment of previous gender traditions; since in reworking
oral tradition, fairy tale film both reinvents the tropes and conventions of oral narratives
and adopts them for a contemporary audience while at the same time keeping in place the
archaic fairy tale notions of gender and socioeconomic mobility.
LIST OF REFERENCES
Bettelheim, Bruno. The Uses ofEnchantment: The Meaning and Importance of Fairy
Tales. New York: Vintage Books, 1977.
Estes, Clarissa Pinkola. Women Who Run with the Wolves: Myths and Stories of the Wild
Woman Archetype. New York: Ballantine Books, 1992.
Ever After: A Cinderella Story. Dir. Andy Tennant. Perf. Drew Barrymore, Angelica
Houston, and Dougray Scott. Videocassette. Twentieth Century Fox, 1998.
Freeway. Dir. Matthew Bright. Perf. Keifer Sutherland and Reese Witherspoon.
Videocassette. Republic Pictures, 1996.
Gilbert, Sandra M., and Susan Gubar. "The Queen's Looking Glass." Don't Bet on the
Prince. Ed. Jack Zipes. New York: Routledge, 1986. 201-08.
Mulvey, Laura. "Visual Pleasure and the Narrative Cinema." Visual and Other
Pleasures. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1989. 14-26.
Schectman, Jacqueline M. The Stepmother in Fairy Tales: Bereavement and the
Feminine Sihal,,\. Boston: Sigo Press, 1993.
Snow White: A Tale of Terror. Dir. Michael Cohn. Perf. Sam Neill and Sigourney
Weaver. Videocassette. Polygram Video, 1997.
Warner, Marina. From the Beast to the Blonde: On Fairy Tales and their Tellers.
London: Chatto & Windus Limited, 1994.
Zipes, Jack. "A Second Gaze at Red Riding Hood's Trials and Tribulations." Don't Bet
on the Prince. New York: Routledge, 1987: 227-60.
- Fairy Tales and the Art ofSubversion. New York: Wildman Press, Inc., 1983.
S"Towards a Theory of the Fairy-Tale Film." The Lion and the Unicorn 20.1
-- When Dreams Came True: Classical Fairy Tales and Their Traditions. New
York: Routledge, 1999.
Born and raised in Fort Scott, Kansas, Julie A. Sinn moved to Manhattan, Kansas,
otherwise known as The Little Apple, to acquire a B.S. in secondary education with a
minor in English and journalism. After teaching classes in 8th grade English to junior
high students and Sophomore English, Yearbook, American Novels, and Short Stories to
high school students in Archie, Missouri, Julie decided to move to Florida in order to
pursue her interest in children's literature. This move also allowed her to flee from
freezing cold winds, Prom committee meetings, and junior high dances.
As soon as Julie completes her Master of Arts in English, she will send a copy of
the degree certificate to her mom, dad, and older sister as proof that she is actually
furthering her education while living in the sunny land of oranges, beaches, and palm
trees. Once the copies have been sent, Julie will go to dinner at a tasty Asian restaurant
and then continue the scholarly journey towards a Ph.D. at the University of Florida.