Ryan McNeil
A moviegoer could be pardoned if they were suffering from “Snow White Fatigue”. Considering that the last year has already brought viewers two films about the beleaguered princess and her selfish maternal unit, one wouldn’t be out of line if they wondered what there could possibly be left to tell.
To those, I would say to keep their fork, and leave room for dessert.
BLANCANIEVES is a silent film from Spain that is the latest to adapt faery tale. In this iteration, “the king” is a matador. His name is Antonio Villalta (Daniel Giménez Cacho), and he is the most famous matador in all of early 20th century Spain. As the film begins, he takes to the ring on a celebrated afternoon to do battle with the beast. He works with the level of aplomb all have become accustomed to, but as he moves in for the kill, a photographer’s flashbulb causes Antonio to become distracted, and the bull to gore his opponent.
The same moment that this carnage unfolds, Villalta’s wife goes into labour in the stands. Both are rushed to hospital where emotions are about to run the gamut.
The bad news is that Villalta has been left paralyzed from the bullfight.
The good news is that his daughter, Carmen, is born into the world happy and healthy.
The further bad news is that Villalta’s wife and Carmen’s mother dies in childbirth.
It’s there at the hospital that the plot thickens. Knowing just how rich and famous Villalta is, an opportunistic nurse named Encarna (Maribel Verdú) latches on to him. As she guides him back to health, she selfishly wedges herself into his life…eventually becoming his second wife.
Mercifully, Carmen is spared from Encara’s influence at first. She is raised for her first thirteen years by her guardian Doña Concha. Under her guidance, young Carmen (Sofía Oria) is taught to love life and live it to the fullest. While there is no discussion of bullfighting or the fame her parents enjoyed, she is constantly reminded of who they were as people – losing herself in photos of her father, or recordings of her mother’s voice.
However, the tragedy of the story isn’t over yet. When Doña Concha suddenly passes away, Carmen is sent to live with Encarna – now a fully fledged Evil Stepmother. Encarna does what she can to stifle young Carmen’s spirit – at first not even telling her that her father is even alive. However, as Carmen eventually discovers the truth. So she begins to emit the courage her father was known for, and grows into a strong young woman (eventually portrayed by Macarena García).
The strong woman she grows into knows what it takes to stare down a bull…so an evil stepmother should pose no problem.
This is the third time in twelve months that movie audiences have been treated to an adaptation of the Snow White faery tale, and it’s this third time that feels the most true of spirit. Its decision to play as a silent feature draws deeper emphasis to the actors’ expressions. It’s there that we get the best portrayal of Carmen’s spirited nature, of her father’s warmth, and of her stepmother’s vanity. The stunning black and white imagery doesn’t evoke a storybook – it prompts our own memory. Few of us lived a tale anything like this, of course, that’s not what I’m suggesting.
What I am suggesting is that many if us remember moments where we saw our parents bathed in sun-soaked joy. We may remember moments where we looked at our parents as wicked kings and queens. Even if we don’t, we all certainly remember moments when we pretended to be heroes…when we picked up make-believe swords to slay make-believe beasts.
These memories exist in our brains in nostalgic black & white, so watching something this fanciful depicted as such makes it all more tangible – a quality rarely found in such stories.
Snow White (or “Blancanieves” as she is eventually called) is once again portrayed in a manner we are unaccustomed to. This time out, the emphasis is away from her being a princess (aided by the fact that she isn’t actual royalty), instead underlining how inquisitive and adventurous she is. There’s no sign of the chipper housekeeper who is waiting for her prince to come, and the film is all the better for it. Inma Cuesta and Macarena Garcia both embody the character’s bravery along with her sadness in equal measure. If anything, the film suffers in the late-going when it does dust off a trope from the original story, since it seems ill-fitting with the Blancanieves we’ve come to know over one hundred minutes. While it leads to a beautiful moment, it takes away from what is, up until then, truly bold film making.
What’s amazing about BLANCANIEVES is how fresh it all feels. While some influences can be clearly identified, it never feels as though it is trying to pay homage or play as pastiche. Everything feels so natural and crisp, especially the photography and the editing. Every shot within the film has been so well composed and executed, leaving many moments indelibly burned into our brains. At times the film feels like one is flipping through a coffee table book of the most beautiful black & white photography – with every image carefully edited to tell the tale.
BLANCANIEVES proves that there are still ideas that suit the silent film medium; ideas that are more than just wistful looks to our past.
The timeless nature of the story is where this film really earns its stripes. While it is specifically set in the late twenties, so much about its staging feels both classic and chic. It just as easily could be a story taking place 100 years earlier, and it just as easily could be taking place last year. By pulling the focus to one girl’s coming-of-age, and her relationship with her father, BLANCANIEVES transcends its genre, and even its chosen medium.
In the end it finds a way to evolve beyond the hokey stories many of us grew up with, and turns itself into a tale we’d be proud to impart upon the next generation.
Loved this just as much the second time, and am pretty convinced it will be a solid blu-ray purchase sometime soon. Every image is so beautiful, and every face so interesting to look at. I also loved the sly joke about there being only six dwarves. All in all, an enchantingly great film.
That was such a great joke!
This might be my choice of the best modern b&w film – every image looked like a carefully crafted black and white photo that had been brought to life. My only regret towards this film is that its Toronto release feels like something of an afterthought!
Pity – this movie really deserved better.