Tag Archives: fairy tale

Cinderella’s Revenge (2025) – A Pumpkin-Sized Misfire

05 Wednesday Feb 2025

Posted by in Movie review

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Riding the dubious wave of horror-fied childhood classics, Cinderella’s Revenge arrives with the promise of twisted fairy tale carnage. With Winnie the Pooh: Blood and Honey and its ilk paving the way, director Andy Edwards attempts to bring a slasher spin to the beloved tale of glass slippers and midnight transformations. Unfortunately, this grim retelling is more of a rotten pumpkin than a blood-soaked ball, failing to capitalise on its premise in any meaningful way.

The film follows Cinderella, who, after years of torment at the hands of her wicked stepmother, is granted freedom and power through her Fairy Godmother (played by Species star Natasha Henstridge). But instead of attending a magical ball, Cinderella embarks on a quest for vengeance, carving a path of bloodshed through her stepfamily and anyone else unfortunate enough to cross her.

It’s a fun idea on paper—turning the rags-to-riches fairy tale into a horror-tinged revenge flick—but Cinderella’s Revenge fumbles its execution at every turn. Rather than fully embracing the absurdity of its concept or delivering the kind of gleeful grindhouse thrills it desperately needs, the film lands in a no-man’s-land of weak gore, limp action, and half-hearted humour. Even the kills, which should be the film’s main draw, feel uninspired and rushed, as if the filmmakers ran out of ideas before they even got started.

The presence of Natasha Henstridge as the Fairy Godmother initially seems like a potential saving grace. Given the right material, she could have delivered a delightfully wicked performance, perhaps something akin to Maleficent by way of Evil Dead. But the script gives her little to work with, reducing her to a glorified exposition machine with occasional flashes of menace. Likewise, Cinderella herself lacks the charisma or depth to make her transformation into a bloodthirsty avenger compelling.

Perhaps the biggest problem is that the film never figures out what it wants to be. Is it a straight horror movie? A tongue-in-cheek slasher? A dark fantasy revenge tale? Instead of committing to any one tone, Cinderella’s Revenge awkwardly lurches between them, resulting in a film that feels both tedious and lifeless.

While the trend of turning public domain fairy tales into horror movies isn’t inherently a bad idea, Cinderella’s Revenge serves as a cautionary tale of how not to do it. Lacking style, wit, or even the basic competence to deliver enjoyable schlock, this is one fairy tale that should have stayed on the shelf.

  • Saul Muerte

Unleashing the Forbidden: La Bête (1975) Dismantles Fairytales with Dark Desire

06 Monday Jan 2025

Posted by in retrospective

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La Bête (1975), directed by Walerian Borowczyk, remains one of the most controversial films in the history of French cinema, and for good reason. An unsettling blend of horror, fantasy, and eroticism, the film challenged societal norms by confronting the taboo subject of bestiality, while also exploring themes of sexual repression and the dark recesses of human desire. While its provocative subject matter may have shocked audiences at the time, La Bête‘s impact on the fairytale genre is undeniable, as it distorts and dismantles the traditional, innocent imagery typically associated with fables.

The film’s plot centres on a young woman, played by Sirpa Lane, who is sent to an isolated mansion to care for a family member, only to discover that the house’s bizarre and sexually charged atmosphere hides a deeply unsettling secret. It is there that she finds herself drawn into a surreal and grotesque relationship with a monstrous beast, played by the infamous animal actor, the titular “beast.” The beast’s primal instincts are interwoven with the protagonist’s sexual awakening, creating a narrative that is both disturbing and strangely hypnotic.

One of La Bête‘s most striking features is how it blends the fantastical with the grotesque, challenging the audience’s expectations of what a fairytale is supposed to represent. In a genre traditionally known for its innocence, purity, and moral lessons, La Bête flips the narrative on its head, replacing magical creatures and romantic ideals with sexual depravity and psychological torment. The fairytale-like setting—lush, lavish, and seemingly enchanted—becomes a place of perverse fantasy, where innocence is stripped away, and dark, hidden desires come to light. The sexualization of the beast and the protagonist’s complex relationship with it force the viewer to confront uncomfortable questions about the nature of desire, fantasy, and the human psyche.

At the heart of the film is its exploration of sexual repression. The characters, both human and animal, seem locked in a struggle with their desires, attempting to navigate the constraints imposed by society, and by their own identities. The beast, though monstrous in form, is portrayed as a creature driven by raw, unfiltered lust, a force of nature beyond human control. The woman, in contrast, is initially portrayed as a character torn between fear and fascination, unable to suppress her own desires, despite the taboo nature of the relationship. In its own strange way, La Bête highlights the violence inherent in both human and animal instinct, suggesting that society’s repression of such instincts can lead to horrifying outcomes.

However, it is this very subject matter that also invites criticism. The film’s depiction of bestiality, while artfully filmed and purposefully provocative, can be difficult to watch. The boundary-pushing nature of the film has drawn its fair share of ire over the years, with some arguing that it borders on exploitation. Whether La Bête’s treatment of its controversial subject matter is exploitative or merely an exploration of human sexuality’s most forbidden corners is open to interpretation, but what remains clear is that Borowczyk’s approach was undeniably daring.

The film’s visuals are haunting and surreal, filled with long, lingering shots of the beast, the protagonist’s vulnerable expressions, and the haunting, otherworldly beauty of the mansion. The lavish, often dreamlike atmosphere creates an intoxicating mood, one that’s simultaneously erotic and nightmarish, as if the fairytale itself is slowly being suffocated by darker forces. The performances, particularly from Sirpa Lane, manage to convey both the fragility and complexity of her character, even in the most uncomfortable of situations.

La Bête is a deeply unsettling film that works on multiple levels—visually, emotionally, and intellectually. Its exploration of taboo desires and its subversion of the traditional fairytale makes it an unforgettable piece of cinema, though one that is not for the faint of heart. While its controversial content may overshadow its artistic merits for some viewers, there’s no denying that Borowczyk’s audacious approach remains a unique entry in the genre. La Bête is both disturbing and beautiful, and it forces the audience to confront the darker aspects of human sexuality in a way few films have ever dared to do.

Ultimately, La Bête is a bold, fascinating work that demands a careful, critical eye. It may not be for everyone, but for those willing to engage with its challenging themes, it remains a haunting exploration of desire and the grotesque.

  • Saul Muerte

A Company of Wolves (1984) – A Gothic Dreamscape of Mysticism and Repressed Desires

15 Sunday Sep 2024

Posted by in retrospective

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Neil Jordan’s A Company of Wolves, released in 1984, stands as one of the most hauntingly atmospheric and uniquely crafted films of the 1980s. A dark and layered reimagining of classic fairy tales, the film uses the framework of Little Red Riding Hood as its narrative core, but with a heavy infusion of gothic mysticism, repressed sexuality, and lycanthropy. On its 40th anniversary, the film remains a surreal and potent exploration of the dangers lurking beneath the surface of our childhood fantasies—where innocent fairy tales are transformed into symbols of desire, fear, and transformation.

Based on Angela Carter’s short story collection The Bloody Chamber, A Company of Wolves is much more than a simple retelling of familiar folklore. The film serves as an allegorical dreamscape where the lines between reality and fantasy are constantly blurred. Its story unfolds within the dream of a young girl, Rosaleen (Sarah Patterson), whose journey into womanhood is marked by her encounters with predatory wolves and seductive strangers. The film uses its dream logic to create a fragmented yet intensely symbolic narrative, one that intertwines fairy tale elements with horror, sexuality, and coming-of-age anxieties.

At the heart of A Company of Wolves is its hypnotic and lush mystical imagery. Jordan’s direction, paired with Anton Furst’s stunning production design, creates a world that feels untethered from time and space. The forests are dark and ominous, filled with twisted trees and fog, while the wolves themselves are both terrifying and strangely alluring. The cinematography casts a dreamlike haze over the film, with colors bleeding into one another and light shifting between warm and cold hues, as though the entire world is in flux, teetering between waking and dreaming. Each frame is imbued with a deep sense of mystery and danger, a visual representation of the latent desires and fears that simmer beneath the surface.

One of the film’s most intriguing aspects is its exploration of repressed sexuality. The wolves in the film are not merely monsters but representations of carnal desire and the dangerous allure of the unknown. Throughout the film, Rosaleen’s encounters with these wolves serve as metaphors for her sexual awakening. From the early warning from her grandmother (played by the ever-formidable Angela Lansbury) to “never stray from the path” to her later seduction by a mysterious huntsman, the narrative suggests that the wolves are not to be feared solely for their physical danger but also for the way they symbolize forbidden temptation. The film’s most iconic transformation scenes, where men morph into wolves, often in grotesque and visceral ways, can be seen as representations of the animalistic instincts that lurk beneath the human facade—instincts tied directly to the body and its desires.

The casting of Sarah Patterson as Rosaleen was a masterstroke. Patterson embodies the wide-eyed innocence of a young girl on the cusp of womanhood, but as the film progresses, her performance reveals a deeper understanding of the conflicting emotions Rosaleen experiences. Her transformation from naive child to a woman who willingly faces the wolf, unafraid of the consequences, is subtle but profound. Angela Lansbury, in her role as the grandmother, offers a voice of caution and tradition, representing the old-world view of sexuality as something dangerous and to be avoided. Yet even her warnings carry a sense of intrigue and danger, as though she herself understands the power of what she fears.

The Company of Wolves is also notable for how it subverts the traditional fairy tale. Jordan and Carter’s screenplay takes the familiar story of Little Red Riding Hood and turns it on its head, using it to explore the psychological underpinnings of fear, desire, and power. In this version, the wolf is not merely a symbol of male predation but also of liberation from societal constraints. By the film’s end, Rosaleen no longer fears the wolf but embraces her connection to it, suggesting a merging of the human and animalistic, the conscious and unconscious. This twist transforms the film into something far more complex than a simple tale of good versus evil—it becomes an exploration of the dualities within us all, particularly in the realm of sexuality and identity.

The fusion of lycanthropy with the fairy tale genre is one of the film’s most original and striking features. While werewolves had been a staple of horror cinema for decades by 1984, A Company of Wolves does not treat lycanthropy as merely a monstrous affliction. Instead, it is a deeply symbolic and transformative process, one tied to the anxieties of growing up and the inherent fear of losing control over one’s body and desires. In the film, becoming a wolf is not only a curse but also a means of shedding societal expectations and embracing the primal aspects of one’s nature. This inversion of the traditional werewolf mythos adds to the film’s richness and depth, making it a standout in both the horror and fantasy genres.

Forty years on, A Company of Wolves remains an enchanting, thought-provoking, and visually stunning film that delves deep into the psyche, exploring themes that are as relevant today as they were in 1984. It may not have the universal appeal of mainstream fairy tale adaptations, but its power lies in its ability to challenge and unsettle, asking the audience to confront the darkness within themselves. Its mystical imagery, potent symbolism, and daring take on repressed sexuality make it a film that still resonates, even after all these years.

For those looking for a fairy tale that isn’t afraid to reveal its teeth, A Company of Wolves is an unforgettable cinematic experience—a journey into the dark heart of human desire wrapped in a chilling yet beautiful package.

  • Saul Muerte