Number of user reviews: 6
User score: 6.5
Is there a more repulsive phrase in the history of storytelling than "happily ever after"? It is no accident that it is associated with the monarchist circlejerks that are fairy tales; it implies stasis, assures that its idyllic view of social hierarchy will not be disturbed or challenged, that magic is real after all. For magic, that basis of all fantasy, is anti-intellectual by definition: it is simply a force that makes things happen, and no science or reason can explain it. That is not to say that film does not already fetishize science, since that is the whole point of science fiction, but rather that fantasy proves the perfect inverse to sci-fi in its staunch refusal to think about what makes the world work. In a way, this is actually wiser than the naive technological determinism endemic to sci-fi, since fantasy accepts that no one single paradigm (i.e., science) can explain everything, but it is also the root of what makes fantasy so disturbing: that it is so relished by smart and experienced people. It is a rejection of learning, a right-wing Hail Mary to reclaim the "innocence" of a childhood in which nothing made sense, a time before the creator got older, everything started changing, and the grasp they thought they had on the world as a young adult slipped away. This is why fantasy usually models itself on the past, its gaze centered on some mythical notion of chivalry or what-have-you--and I emphasize the mythical part, for it so often disguises its traditionalist view of our world by inventing a new world altogether. This is perhaps the most honest aspect of fantasy, a tacit admission that a real Golden Age has never existed and that a new world must be invented to contain it. It is not, of course, ambitious to argue that magic does not exist. Most would counter-argue that, duh, they know magic isn't real, but they like to pretend it is, because the real world is "boring" (and there will be more to say on the acute narcissism of this viewpoint.) But those people have it backwards: magic is indeed real, in the sense of stage magic, for every fantasy novel is a series of distractions, of sleight-of-hand tricks, built upon the social relations of the present even as it pretends those relations don't exist. To consume fantasy is not to pretend that magic exists, but to decontextualize reality until it becomes magic.
Cinderella is an intensely reactionary tale. The only problem it has with aristocrats is that Cinderella is not one of them; she alone deserves, with her noble heart and pure love and (retch), to be plucked from the misery of poverty, having earned the privilege to conspicuously consume for "happily ever after". The film makes a simple equivalence between luxury and happiness, as it marks Cinderella's visual and emotional transformation by her wearing of ornate clothing. But ideology has never been the focus of criticism of any of Georges Melies' works, Cinderella being no exception; film histories instead discuss his technical expertise. I could go on and on about the various innovations of form he displays here; his use of cross-fading, his multi-scene storytelling, his ornate production design--anything to distract from the actual message conveyed with that form, which is among the most misguided ever put to film. If Melies' ambition was to unlock the magic of film, he succeeded; this is, after all, practically the first narrative film that has ever existed, a true advance for the craft. The problem with this line of criticism is that it uncritically invokes "magic" as a positive end in and of itself, a sterile and uncontingent sentiment that fits perfectly with the dreadful politics behind Cinderella (and which probably explains why it was chosen as one of the first film narratives.)
Melies demonstrates better than any other that the "magic" of film is to reify a profoundly unjust social order. If the medium is the message, then Cinderella indicates beyond any doubt film's allegiance to traditionalism, its allergy to change, its revulsion of thought. Film is little more than a tool to divide the world into good and bad, to defend the current social order, and to tell its audiences that they are common, unexceptional, and deservedly miserable. For no viewer can ever be as hard-working or as gracious as Cinderella; to watch her is to be reminded of one's inferiority, one's unworthiness to happiness. Cinderella, as with almost every fairy tale, is a twisted meritocracy that selects one perfect peasant to ascend to a world of comfort. The film takes its ideology to its logical conclusion, ending with a tableaux showing Cinderella's ascension to godhood, bathed in angelic light, frozen in time for all eternity. The almost-cryonic stasis in which the film ends reflects its earlier preoccupation with clocks: what torments Cinderella even more than her evil stepfamily, or even the social mores that make her debased servitude possible, is time (hallucinations of clocks everywhere, evil gnomes banging on bells, etc.) Whatever it is she needs to do, she's running out of time to do it--but don't worry, she'll have plenty more time not to do it now, because she's happy ever after. And the film isn't quite sure what that entails, because one isn't actually supposed to do anything when one is happy ever after; it's just supposed to stay that way forever. And ever. And ever. Melies' Cinderella is a perfect demonstration that "happily ever after" is not so much a celebration as a desperate plea, a plaintive cry to the fourth dimension to please, God, stop! But perhaps it is the nature of film (another medium-as-message thing) to freeze time in an idealized state, to ignore the future, to cling to the past. Whether this aligns the whole medium with reactionary politics, or just the fairy tale genre, is a question that will grow only more pressing as narrative films become the norm.
Other connections: Cinderella is one of the most frequently-filmed stories in existence, with Wikipedia listing at least 57 different adaptations. though this is its only appearance in the Canon. Also, this version was one of the first color films, each frame being painted by hand. And for what it's worth, two of the actors in this film, Jeanne D'Alcy (Melies' wife) and Bleuette Bernon, also appear in Melies' more famous A Trip to the Moon. D'Alcy, in particular, is notable for being possibly the first career film actor.
Other most-voted titles of 1899:
2. A Kiss in the Tunnel (Gorge Albert Smith | 863 votes)
3. A Turn of the Century Illusionist (Georges Melies | 684 votes)
4. The Devil's Castle (Georges Melies | 540 votes)
5. The Sign of the Cross (Georges Melies | 506 votes)
6. L'affaire Dreyfus (Georges Melies | 317 votes)
7. King John (Walter Pfeffer Dando, William K. Dickson, and Herbert Beerbohm Tree | 306 votes)
8. Haggard's She: The Pillar of Fire (Georges Melies | 306 votes)
9. Louis petite fils et son chat (Louis Lumiere | 281 votes)
10. A Mysterious Portrait (Georges Melies | 281 votes)
IMDB lists 1,792 titles for the year altogether.
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