The Fairy Tales Area of the Popular Culture Association invites submissions on any topic involving Fairy Tales for the 2010 Popular Culture Association/American Culture Association Convention, to be held March 31-April 3 in St. Louis.

The Fairy Tales Area covers original fairy tales, (i.e. Straparola, Perrault and Grimm, etc.), contemporary/ re-envisioned Fairy Tales (Datlow & Windling anthologies, The Fairy Tale series, etc.), and Jack Tales as well as films and TV series based on Fairy Tales or using Fairy Tales motifs. Thus, the interests are broad and inclusive; one topic always of interest is how Fairy tales work in contemporary culture.

Topics can include but are not limited to studies on the morphology of Fairy tales; presentations using Structuralist, Feminist, Marxist, Reader Response/ Reception Theory and Cultural Studies criticism; Fairy Tales as Children’s Literature; the history and evolution of Fairy Tales; the cause and effects of the “Disneyfication” of Fairy Tales; the use and value of Fairy Tales. I am interested in as wide an array of papers as possible, so please do not hesitate to send a submission on any Fairy Tale related subject.

Please send a 150-word abstract, with title and contact information included, via email at the address listed below.

Emailed submissions can be sent either as a Word attachment or in the body of the email.

Please don’t hesitate to get in touch via email or phone if you have any questions.

Linda J. Holland-Toll
Area Chair Fairy Tales
Department of Language and Literature
Mount Olive College
(919) 658-7845
lholland-toll@moc.edu

Texas Chainsaw Massacre

I recently discovered an interesting academic source that explores horror and which I have included in my Exploring the Fantastic links, the Irish Gothic Horror Journal. This is a publication available in totality on the Internet, and as I reviewed the contents for various issues one of the items that caught my attention was an article by Finn Ballard titled “No Trespassing: The Post-Millennial Road-Horror Movie.”

In this article Ballard explores contemporary road-horror films and contrasts them with their origins in road-horror from the 1970s in films like The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974) and The Hills Have Eyes (1977). The characteristics of this subgenre of film involve “the centralisation of a group of generally young protagonists; the journey of this group into an unknown and hostile location, and its resulting encounter with a murderous, perverse and often interrelated clan of killers, preceding vile and gory consequence.” Ballard attributes the post-millennial revival of road-horror to Jeepers Creepers (2001), which in turn spawned films like Wrong Turn (2003), House of 1,000 Corpses (2003), and The Devil’s Rejects (2005).

One of the more interesting facets of Ballard’s discussion is the connection of road-horror to the folklore of the European Middle Ages, particularly in the the fairytale known as Warnmarchen, “which encompasses those stories that involved an act of transgression followed by a delineation of consequences.” With these origins, contemporary road-horror films are similar to another aspect of folklore studies, that of legend-tripping. Folklorist Bill Ellis discusses this in his helpful book Lucifer Ascending: The Occult in Folklore and Popular Culture (University Press of Kentucky, 2004) when he mentions the legend-trip as “a set of cautionary legends that both warn of the danger of a site, and then functions as a dare to visit the very place and carry out the ritual that leads to danger.” When we consider that the primary audience for road-horror films are youth, as acknowledged by Ballard, then it is clear that road-horror functions in folklorish fashion both in an expression of warning related to the “dire consequences of straying from the path,” and also as a rite of passage for youth to undertake symbolically in conquering the trip through forbidden places by the act of viewing of such films.

Overall I greatly appreciate Ballard’s discussion of the topic, but I do have one disagreement. As previously mentioned he considers Jeepers Creepers the first of the post-millennial road-horror films. In my view Jeepers Creepers is better classified as either a modern monster movie connected to teen travels, or perhaps a combination of the traditional monster film with elements of road-horror. This would seem the best interpretation or classification in light of Ballard’s own discussion, not only in the characteristics of the sub-genre as noted above, but also where he contrasts teen slasher films and torture porn with road-horror and states that, “the villain of the road-horror is motivated primiarly by bloodust, and enacts the logic of the teen horror by dispatching those victims who commit misdemeanors by initiating sexual contact, consuming alcohol or drugs.” The creature of Jeepers Creepers does not fit this definition of the road-horror villain, and in light of other aspects of Jeepers Creepers and the road-horror sub-genre, is probably best understood as a postmodern treatment of older monster figures such as the demon or gargoyle.

Ballard’s article represents an interesting exploration of a sub-genre of horror. I have never been a fan of road-horror, either in the 1970s or the present. Nevertheless, this sub-genre is worth understanding, and Ballard suggests that these films are “the last remaining constitutor of ‘otherness’ in post-millennial America. The ultimate fear for contemporary cinemagoers is not that of discovering a refined psychopath living next door, but of being utterly isolated in an unnavigable environment, without recourse to rationality and to the tenets of modernity.”

Dr. Rankin is Deputy Associate Dean and an affiliate associate professor of English and German at George Mason University in Fairfax, Virginia. He made some time recently to talk about issues related to the thesis of his fascinating book.

TheoFantastique: Dr. Rankin, when I came across your intriguing book the title and thesis caught my eye. As the description in the masthead of this blog indicates, an exploration of archetypes in popular culture such as horror and suspense films is in keeping with the areas of interest for this forum. Before we discuss your book, can you tell me how you came to be involved with such interests? How does your work as a professor of English and German intersect with an exploration of archetype in horror?

Walter Rankin: The Grimm Fairy Tales have been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. My mother used to read the original tales to me as good-night stories, and she had no problems with the violence and horror in them. There’s a nice simplicity to most of the tales that everyone can relate to, especially children: Good people go through a tough trial against a worthy foe and emerge victorious. And despite their fantastic elements, the tales have real-life themes. For example, Hansel and Gretel are starving children in a poor home, while both Snow White and Cinderella have to face the loss of their beloved mothers and then deal with their scheming stepmothers. As a professor, I’ve found that works of horror and suspense – and certainly popular culture – do not always get the respect that they are due. The truth is, it’s hard to construct a good, scary story with compelling characters with whom your audience can identify. The Grimm Fairy Tales do this is a way that has allowed them to remain popular and to serve as archetypes for other works of horror and suspense.

TheoFantastique: I think most adults would not associate Grimm’s Fairy Tales and its archetypes with horror and suspense. How did you make this connection?

Walter Rankin: Whenever I teach the Grimm Fairy Tales, my students are always surprised at the level of horror and suspense maintained in the tales. The canonical tales (like Cinderella, Snow White, Rapunzel, Hansel and Gretel, Red Riding Hood, and Rumpelstilskin) have been sanitized and watered down quite a bit in modern retellings and children’s books. In Disney’s Cinderella, for example, we see the heroine communing with nature and singing to little birds. In the Grimm version, Cinderella still talks to birds, but this time she has them peck out the eyes of her stepsisters. Similarly, Rapunzel doesn’t just wake up to a handsome prince in the Grimm tale; rather, while she sleeps for a hundred years, we learn that many other princes have endured agonizing deaths in the thorny brier surrounding her castle. My favorite is dear Snow White who invites her stepmother to her wedding so that she can have red-hot iron boots strapped to her legs. The wicked queen is then forced to dance to death in them.

TheoFantastique: So in some senses then would you consider the various archetypes that surface in horror as functioning as a form of fairy tales for adults?

Walter Rankin: Absolutely – I think these archetypes become a part of our shared, subliminal consciousness that informs how we – as adults – then view horror and suspense films. The Grimm Fairy Tales include strong messages for adults as well as for children, and these translate easily to modern horror. A lot of the tales are about really bad parents, for example. In “Hansel and Gretel,” the father takes his children into the forest twice and leaves them for dead so that he and his wife will have enough food; in “Rapunzel,” the parents essentially sell their daughter to the neighboring sorceress in exchange for a good salad; in “Cinderella,” the stepmother has her own daughters cut off their toes and heels so that they can fit their bloody feet into the famed slipper. We can identify with these tales, because these parents really exist in our own world – babies get left in dumpsters, mothers drown their own children, and child abuse exists in all levels of society.

TheoFantastique: What types of archetypal images, themes and symbols have you identified from Grimm that you see surfacing in contemporary films?

Walter Rankin: Films like Halloween, Friday the 13th, and, more recently, Scream, all give us the archetypical Grimm version of Sleeping Beauty. The heroine feels safe and secure in her home environment only to discover that a male “suitor” is determined to get her. Like the suitors in the Grimm tale, they are relentless stalkers who will stop at nothing to get their prize. Films like Single White Female and The Talented Mr. Ripley hit upon the Snow White themes of same-sex jealousy and obsession, as the popular characters find themselves losing their lives to their rivals. The central theme in these works is that there really is only one fairest in the land. Perhaps the most enduring archetype is that of the disguised wolf. In the Grimms’ “Little Red Cap,” our heroine is tricked by a smooth-talking wolf who then impersonates her grandmother and eats her. The best example of the disguised wolf comes from The Silence of the Lambs (both the novel and, my primary focus, the Oscar-winning film starring Jodie Foster and Anthony Hopkins).

TheoFantastique: One of the films you look at is the 1968 film Rosemary’s Baby directed by Roman Polanski. Can you discuss the fairy tale aspects you see in this film and how this is portrayed for a contemporary audience?

Walter Rankin: I tie this film directly to “Rumpelstiltskin,” in which a young woman sells her first-born child to the strange little man so that he will spin straw into gold. By doing this, she gets to marry the king. Then the only way that she gets to keep her baby is by guessing his name (which she does by having servants spy on him). We know nothing about Rumpelstilskin really, other than he wants a living child. He’s considered devilish, but he is not specifically labeled a devil in the tale. In Rosemary’s Baby, we get another young woman (Mia Farrow) whose baby is sold by her husband to a group of devil-worshippers. As in the fairy tale, her husband benefits greatly by this bargain. Like the fairy tale queen, Rosemary can only figure out what has happened by deciphering a name (in this case, her neighbor, Roman Castevet). Both the film and the tale also have amazingly ambiguous endings that leave their audience guessing. Most fairy tales end happily ever after. In “Rumpelstilskin,” however, the queen has kept all of her dealings with the little man a secret from the king. If he ever asks her to spin gold again, her lies would be discovered, and she would be killed. As Rosemary’s Baby concludes, the initially horrified mother comes to accept her baby and love it. The camera pans out over the city as a lullaby plays, and we’re left wondering what will happen to her, the baby, and the world itself.

TheoFantastique: The cover of your book includes images from a fairy tale illustration and one of my favorite contemporary horror films The Ring. What connections do you make between these two?

Walter Rankin: This film hits a number of archetypes found in the story of “Rapunzel.” Let’s start with the main image in both – flowing tendrils of hair define Samara in the film and Rapunzel herself. Both characters are isolated from the outside world in remarkably similar settings. Rapunzel is hidden away in a tower with only a small opening at the top; likewise, Samara is kept hidden first in a barn attic with a tiny ladder leading up to a loft and then, most strikingly, in a well that has just the one entrance. Both of these tales focus on extreme isolation and lonliness as well as parental betrayal. In “Rapunzel,” the parents have sold their daughter to the neighboring sorceress, while Samara’s own (adopted) mother is the one who plunges her into the well.

TheoFantastique: You also discuss parallels between the fairy tale story of “Little Red Cap” and the 1991 film The Silence of the Lambs. Can you touch on some of this?

Walter Rankin: The Silence of the Lambs has so many incredible images and themes that tie it to “Little Red Cap,” in my opinion. Right from the beginning of the film, the audience sees a lone, red-haired woman (Clarice Starling) running down a forest path. Thus, we are plunged immediately into an archetypal fairy tale realm. Once here, we learn of two wolves: Hannibal Lecter and Buffalo Bill. Hannibal acts like the charming wolf on the path who sweet-talks the young girl so that he can get information. He also seems to feed off of Clarice, particularly her painful childhood memories. Buffalo Bill gives us an even more direct link, since he’s making a dress out of real women. In the famous tale, of course, the wolf eats the grandmother and puts on her clothes and nightcap. The Grimm tale has a hunter come along to cut Little Red and her grandmother out of the belly of the wolf; however, the little girl doesn’t just run home. She gathers stones and sews them back into the dozing wolf’s stomach. When he wakes up, he topples over and dies from the weight. She’s also learned a valuable lesson, and the next time she visits her grandmother she avoids another wolf and manages to bring about his downfall as well. The moral is clear: Dangerous wolves can be disguised anywhere and are ready to pounce, so be on your guard. Starling, too, must learn this lesson, which is beautfully realized at the end of the film. She encounters Buffalo Bill in his home alone, and he retreats to the basement. Here, he turns out the lights and puts on his own night-vision goggles. This is, metaphorically, the dark belly of the wolf. Despite his physical advantages, Starling is shown to be smart and thorough. When she almost instinctively turns and kills him, a bullet breaks through the darkened basement window and light streams in. Thus, she is like Little Red emerging from the fairy tale wolf’s stomach into the clear daylight. She graduates from the FBI academy and Dr. Lecter calls her, letting her know that even with one wolf gone, another one is always nearby.

TheoFantastique: In my view some of our most popular stories like Harry Potter also draw upon archetype and myth and function as fairy tales for young and old alike. Would you agree with this sentiment?

Walter Rankin: I definitely agree – what’s fun about Harry Potter and similar tales is how they take familiar archetypes and images (witches and wizards, wands and spells) and update them in unique ways while keeping the heart of a good story. Harry Potter is similar to any number of fairy tale heroes – his parents are dead, his caregivers, such as they are, are cruel – who have to go through great trials to become fully developed adults. While many readers were sorry to see Rowling bring the story to a close, I think she made the best artistic decision, giving the story the kind of closure found in most fairy tales.

TheoFantastique: Dr. Rankin, thanks again for these thoughts. I hope this interview helps generate interest in your book among its readers.

There are a few of his films that I have never seen, but have heard quite a bit about. One of them is A.I.: Artificial Intelligence. I had heard that it did not do well at the box office, and I was curious as to why. This weekend while channel surfing I was fortunate to come across this film just as it started and I decided to give it a viewing. I’m glad I did, but after doing so it is easy to see why it was not a box office smash as this science fiction adventure is very different from anything previously done by Spielberg, whether the light-hearted E.T. or the more serious Minority Report.

A.I. tells the story of a young couple with a son who is suffering from some type of terrible disease. His illness appears to be incurable, and while he is in cryogenic suspension his father, who works for a cyber-technology company, decides to bring home an experimental piece of artificial intelligence in the form of a young boy named David. The family eventually decides to activate his software that bonds him to the family in love, but this turns out to be problematic in that the couple’s natural son (an “organic”) soon recovers from his illness and returns home. Now the couple is faced with their real son and David (the “mecha”), and everyone’s adjustment to this situation turns out poorly, eventually resulting in the mother deciding to abandon David in the forest rather than returning him to the production company for destruction. This abandonment sets the stage for David’s journey through the rest of the film which echoes Pinocchio in that David believes if he can find the blue fairy and she turns him into a real boy his mother will love him once again.

This film is complex and intriguing on a number of levels. Not only does it address the ethical issues surrounding artificial intelligence and the questions surrounding the issues of mind and personhood, but it also raises serious questions that relate to spirituality and the interpretation of reality. After viewing this film and desiring more critical reflection on it I pulled an article from my research files by Frances Flannery-Dailey titled “Robot Heavens and Robot Dreams: Ultimate Reality in A.I. and Other Recent Films” from the Journal of Religion and Film 7/2 (October 2003). Flannery-Dailey’s article focuses on “A.I. as an illustration of intelligent, postmodern myth-making that constructs a multi-layered reality by interweaving dreaming, technology, ontological confusion, non-linear time, religion and myth.” And as if this wasn’t multi-layered and complex enough for a film, Flannery-Dailey’s article goes on to consider nine possible endings for it that are possible through consideration of various interpretive possibilities that engage the film’s symbolism and cinematic devices.

After surveying the possible endings and interpretive possibilities Flannery-Daily offers some final reflections.

“A.I. is a paradigm of the postmodern allegory in that signs/signifiers (objects the viewer sees) point to multiple significations (meanings the viewer construes from this viewing). Each strand of possibility points the audience not only in clever but also in meaningful ways towards important questions worthy of deep consideration regarding technology, ontology, the nature of the real, and morality. It would be impossible for me to delineate all interpretations of the film, since each viewer actively and repeatedly participates, if only unconsciously, in constructing the narratival flow of the film as well as its meaning. In my subjectivity, A.I. is a supremely intelligent film that successfully articulates the theme of ultimate reality as a nested, multi-layered one by using the language of hypertexts: religion, myths and dreams.”

The author continutes with a mention of the film’s lack of critical and popular acclaim and suggests possible reasons for it and the unease that viewers likewise experience with the film:

“The film draws on ancient traditions such as Genesis and on mythic artchetypes, but recasts them in a postmodern way: there is no God that watches over us once we are expelled from the garden and the moon is not really the mother of the world. We are left only with our own psyches as the transcendent referent to repair profound loss, with a pastiche of possible interpretations of our past at hand. I believe many people find this message unsettling, and A.I. further exacerbates the tension by falsely casting this complexity in a fairy-tale ending. That is, postmodern films that wrestle with ultimate reality have succeeded in deconstructing reality for us, in turn also deconstructing many of the religious and mythic referents on which they draw.”

Regardless of whether this film makes you feel uneasy as you watch it critically, or whether you are content to accept the simple fairytale interpretion ending suggestion in the first of Flannery-Dailey’s interpretive options, this film is rewarding as a piece of art and cinema that wrestles with some of the key issues of the Western world in late modernity. Perhaps Spielberg might be considered not only a gifted filmmaker and storyteller, but also a budding armchair philosopher.