By Chris Cotter

Trends are undoubtedly a Hollywood affair, and recent productions make it clear that re-envisioned fairytales is one that has been plucked and embraced whole-heartedly. With two Snow White theatrical releases on the horizon — and one red-headed step-child going straight to video — two fairytale-rooted television shows, and the announcement of a pair of Beauty and the Beast projects, it’s evident that the time is ripe for the reign of princesses, the sweeping romanticism of happy endings. But the creative trend is not to satisfy the wistful child’s spirit in all of us, as instead a second pattern has formed: the ‘dark’ retelling.

Tracing back most famously to the Brothers Grimm – the people, not the 2005 flick –  fairytales were already beginning to be rigorously edited in order to tone down the most gruesome and cruel natures of the tales, until most of the wickedness was phased out, resulting in sweet puff pieces about magnificent castles and girls in beautiful dresses triumphing for love. It’s these roots that filmmakers claim they are returning to when they churn out these recent editions of classic stories.

It’s somewhat timely in that these showings are coming in alongside Disney’s new golden ticket of re-releasing their prized movies in glorious 3D. After the success of The Lion King, Beauty and The Beast will be the next, followed by The Little Mermaid, and a myriad of likely others. What these animated features lack in gut-spilling gore and outright sex, they make up in artful storytelling and memorable characters. Also– absurdly catchy music, but that’s beside the point. Probably.

Their live-action counterparts, these touting a fantastical new vision of gothic splendor, may have lost a bit in translation on their trek back to the capricious roots. While fairytales have come to be associated with an event that ends too blissfully – a “fairytale ending” – or one involving creatures such as goblins, fairies, and elves, there’s a sense of bitterly dark humor to a large chunk of the stories in their original form. Though not as explicit as moral tales and fables, fairytales carry with them a particular message: a lesson, or a catch. Their dark natures make an ideal way to frighten young children into keeping to those lessons, while others serve as brutally efficient commentary on the fickle nature of life, disguised by otherworldly elements which, when stripped, prove only to be a backdrop to expose the truth of human action.

Let’s start not too far back: 2010, Tim Burton releases Alice In Wonderland, starring Mia Wasikowska as an older Alice and Johnny Depp as the peculiarly rational Mad Hatter (and Helena Bonham Carter, because, well, it’s a Burton film). Claiming to follow years after events similar to the first book, the movie picks up as Alice returns to find Wonderland – Underland? – taken over by the tyrannical Red Queen. Unaware of her first venture to the world, Alice recalls nothing of it, calling on the film to reenacts so much of the original story that the ‘return’ plot is rendered unnecessary. Secondly, in believing that she is inside of a dream, Alice cannot immerse herself within the events happening, causing her to lifelessly float along for a better part of the film, intermittently un-invested and startlingly emotionally attached. When she finally does commit, what she takes out of her adventures in Wonderland appears to be that pushing the boundaries of the possible translates as behaving like a brat. Nowhere is there the notion that Alice, as a sensible child, and in recognizing the inane behavior of Wonderland’s residents, becomes increasingly frustrated with their nonsense until she is unable to maintain her logical attitude. Having lived with an imaginative father, she professes even before entering the colorful realm to have a penchant for daydreaming and thinking impossible things. Her quest within Wonderland is the classic hero’s one, as she stumbles into an adventure thanks to the call of the White Rabbit, is reluctant to fulfill her role, and eventually comes to accept it and assume her place. This affirms Alice In Wonderland as a hero’s arc, the stuff of legends, not of its source material.

Previous movies following the same arc of child immersed in a fantasy escapist world include the discovery that he/she must accept responsibility and in choosing to leave the escape becomes a more mature person able to deal with the real world with sound mind, but child’s heart intact. For example, The Chronicles Of Narnia, and even the heavily derivative Labyrinth, which is as good as a remake of Alice’s tale as anything. In this, Alice In Wonderland becomes too enamored with its own visual effects and world-building to keep to its message.

This is a recurring problem within fantasy movies, with the visuals and the beautifully rendered landscapes often considered enough to make a quality genre piece. It’s too often forgotten that it is not the look of the world which makes the tale, but what is encased inside it — the symbolism, and the meaning. This world is only a platform. Following Alice In Wonderland, was Red Riding Hood in 2011, starring Amanda Seyfried as the titular girl in the red cloak, caught between two love interests trying their best to appeal to the Twilight fanbase. This ‘gothic’ retelling relies heavily on its werewolf and forbidden love theme to reel in the teenage viewers, and setting aside the tale’s point. Whether she is eaten or rescued by the huntsman, Red is tricked by the dark allure of the wolf – a mysterious stranger, drawing an easy line to sexual predators and a girl’s naivety – she doesn’t obey her orders to stay on the path, resulting in punishment: the loss of innocence. And, you know. Being eaten. 2011′s Red Riding Hood is never tempted by the wolf. The wolf is no stranger, but someone from the village, and is widely feared and understood to be a dangerous creature whose encounter means death. Though Red strays– into the arms of a man other than the one she’s set to marry– there’s really no consequence, seeing as her intended mutually agrees that they call the thing off after catching the lovebirds. The wolf is used to lure in werewolf fans, and as a plot twist.

Beastly (2011) is an honorable mention only, as it is a modern retelling, rather than a strictly dark one, although it does plenty to undermine itself and its message. Alex Pettyfer’s Kyle teases a goth who – surprise, surprise – turns out to be a witch. Because that’s not cliche. He undergoes a transformation into a monster, described in this feature as a bald kid with tattoos and several scars. Neither Kyle nor his beauty Lindy (Vanessa Hudgens) need much encouraging to foster their relationship, one based on keeping Lindy safe rather than fear. Not the recalcitrant Beast, Kyle already appears to be repenting, so that his budding romance with Lindy has no better road-bump than some self-esteem issues. As a story epitomizing the awkward uncertainty of being a teenager, it works. But as a tale about being able to look past outer beauty to reach the inner maturity to understand the self-sacrificing depths of love? Misses the mark.

Hollywood’s penchant for scenery over substance in fantasy and fairytale pieces is yet to be challenged in the upcoming Snow White pictures, Mirror Mirror and Snow White And The Huntsman, both with 2012 release dates. The interesting catch about both these interpretations, as well as that of Snow White in ABC’s Once Upon A Time, is that they each have opted for a more proactive title character — not a surprising choice, considering the many female driven stories today, and an image to maintain — but not a leg they should rely on. Updating a tale requires more than putting its heroine in pants and handing her a sword.

In Mirror Mirror’s action-comedy trailer, Snow White claims that she’s done with the stories about princes who rescue princesses. Her giant-leg wearing dwarf friends are robbers all – indeed, a suggestion of connection to some of Snow White’s origins – and teach the previously passive Snow White to fend for herself. Her innocence for the outside world is transformed overnight (or over-montage) to an offensive stance as she claims a proactive role in her own life, somewhat shaking a finger at princesses of old for not taking care of themselves. In the end, however, she does it for love – of her kingdom, her father, and her prince – and it is unlikely that the final credits will roll on anything but smiles.

In Huntsman, Snow White is seen donning knightly armor and quite possibly riding into battle; the website description says that she has been “training in the art of war”, a far cry, too, from the domesticity of an earlier era’s Snow White, whose position of staying at home made her continuously vulnerable to the Queen’s disguises as she never learned what the world could be like. Is the lesson we are going to learn that nothing can remain pure when faced with the vicious onslaught of a force like the Queen? Even the one who is famously known for her porcelain looks and untouchable goodness caves to the demands of living by dirtying her hands.

Goodwin’s Snow White on Once Upon A Time carries a back-story as a robber – yet notably lacking in short sidekicks – who, upon first meeting the prince, bests him in combat and rides off with all his jewels — and a blow to a couple of other ones. When caught up with, she trades witty barbs and continues to hold her own. Her attraction to the prince, forged more likely in the heat of their witty banter than in first impressions, first has to compete with her vicious self-preservation and a mistrust for others that the Queen’s betrayal has forced on her. Kitsis, a producer and creator of the show, is quoted as saying “I could be wrong, but I think this is the first time anyone’s shown Snow White with a sword…” And not a moment too soon. Yet, there is another less innocent burden suggested on Snow White’s shoulder, when she does not deny being the agent of the Queen’s misery. Once Upon A Time takes things a step further by giving Snow a hand in her own fate, perhaps, rather than a mere target for nothing she could control – her looks.

These three features’ creative choices – and a slew before them – ensure that handing your princess a sword does not a bold retelling make. Their effect relies now on storytelling, whose history with Hollywood fantasy films is shaky. The meat and potatoes of the story is what needs to remain intact, a lesson – sometimes a dark, almost cheeky one – needs to be as ingrained in the world as the CGI. When that is lost sight of, fairytales become frivolous spectacles instead of the dark vision they report themselves as, and fantasy movies get another bad rap. It’s certain, at least, that these very different sword-wielding Snow Whites will set the tone, and the bar, for ABC’s development of a Beauty and the Beast hourlong drama, and Guillermo del Toro’s own Beauty and the Beast rendition which – if Pan’s Labyrinth is any indication – has the highest likelihood to remain bitterly, darkly faithful.