DEFA's Rumpelstiltskin; co author: Jeff

It isn’t often that a literary work is afforded the opportunity to observe and review a cinematic translation of one of our most treasured styles of the medium, the Fairy Tale. Whilst the fairy tale as a specific type of short fiction has very direct characteristics which are difficult to modify to the cinematic screen, “Rumpelstiltskin” proved to be no exception. This film proved itself to be a sufferable version of one of the most beloved Grimm classics of the same name, failing mainly in its blunting of the mature, darker style of Grimm, and in its weak production value.

While most may not be familiar with the original tale of “Rumpelstiltskin”, the collective work of Jacob and Willem Grimm (better known as the Brothers Grimm) occupy a sizeable portion of the fairy tale canon; nary a child (or adult) can forget the magical whimsicality of “Little Red Riding Hood” or “Hansel and Gretel”. At the heart of any tale spun by the Brothers Grimm is usually a wry sense of sardonic humour, pomp and over-the-top exaggeration of the absurd: qualities that turn a witty eye upon the nature of man. One may well argue that the very value in the Brothers Grimm’s body of work was precisely this caustic presentation of tales that take no shame in representing the world in all its dirt. It is here where that the filmic version of “Rumpelstiltskin” decided to cut around the corners, trimming off the absurd fat that plagued the original tale with such delicious decadence. In pursuit of the presentable, the film became but a faded image of its former self: the film is safe; but much too safe for comfort. What resulted was a petty moral reminder, a knife without edge, and fable that seemed to drag its feet through the some seventy-minutes of its length, devoid of the wicked imagination it was born out of.

Without its former characteristic Grimm-bite, the production could have made amends in its faithful representation of fantasy. However, expectations fall short where production value is concerned. Grimm’s spacious Kingdom is conveniently compacted to occupy the humble dwellings of a sparsely furnished court and the castle dungeons, devoid of wealth in its cheeks. Hans’ journeys revolve around a claustrophobically small mill house, locking the panoramic angle of the camera to awkward, often disjoint positions. Scene transitions are accomplished by screening the camera lens with a translucent panel that swings annoyingly into view: it would have been better that the camera was submerged into a bowl of water. Overall, the fantastical land of an imagined Kingdom turned up flat, constructed, cold and sterile on screen. Words of black ink would have held grander facades than the film’s meagre attempts at pomp. Cinematography, as a result, is restricted to the basic elements of film-capturing. The vacillation between camera angles were ill-paced to momentum of onscreen narrative, resulting in jarring pacing irregularities that forfeited rather than salvaged any last attempts at slapstick.

Similarly, the characters crafted were lacklustre representatives of stereotypes. While the invention of Hans (the incipient use of his vantage point) and an exploration of Kunz and Marie as characters added another layer to the original tale, none of the characters were fleshed fully enough to trace a visible character-journey. Besides the Prince’s change of heart (a soporific “sea-change” heightened by his apparent onscreen indifference), all other characters adopted an incidental approach to their personalities, personalities dictated neither by motive nor by intention, but by the very audible voices of their scriptwriters.

What the film did achieve, however, was a laudable attempt to breathe life into “Rumpelstiltskin”, the tale’s most enigmatic character. While the Grimm’s tale paints him as a one-sided gnome (unpredictable nonetheless), who tears himself into two in the end, filmic “Rumpelstiltskin” carries the burden of the ‘rejected man’ from a society that fosters strong materialistic undertones. His reasons for rejecting mankind become entwined with pre-materialist notions of values, and this becomes his motivation for wanting Marie’s child: to raise him away from the materialistic derisions of the ‘real world’. Filmic “Rumpelstiltskin” was well played, and possibly saved the show from plunging into drudgery. “Rumpelstiltskin’s” final parting moments with mankind gives rise to the film’s saccharine ending, but leaves a bitter aftertaste in the mouth that longs for something with more zing in flavour.

Otherwise, filmic “Rumpelstiltskin” mostly trips on itself along the fabled journey of storytelling. Mostly lifeless, music-less and convincingly helpless, its cardboard characters and plot fail to truncate the misery of seventy-odd minutes misspent.