Mark Reviews Movies: GRETEL & HANSEL

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Review by Mark Dujsik | January 30, 2020

The old stories, such as the one about the lost siblings who are held captive by a witch in her cabin in the woods, are almost too familiar for any straightforward adaptation. Whenever filmmakers decide to tackle one of these folk stories or fairy tales, they often change the characters or revamp the plot or otherwise subvert our expectations to such an extreme that the original story is almost unrecognizable.

Here, though, is Gretel & Hansel, a new version of that old story about two mislaid children, who feed themselves at a witch's bountiful dinner table, only to discover that they are to be the witch's dinner. It's a different take, for sure, but only because screenwriter Rob Hayes gets to take more time with the simple tale.

The siblings' circumstances are dire, on account of a famine that has spread through their small town. Their family has been devastated. Hansel (Samuel J. Leakey) doesn't get top billing, because he's the younger one, filled with, perhaps, misplaced optimism about the kids' future. Gretel (Sophia Lillis) is the star here, because she knows the old tales, wonders if she ever will feature in one (and dreads what could happen to her to become a legend), and sees the "big, bad world" for the worst it could be. That's the lesson she has taken from the fairy tales: For everything given, something else must be taken.

Unlike so many re-imagined folk stories of recent cinema, the film, directed by Osgood Perkins, takes itself quite seriously and is more concerned with the basics—of storytelling and of its production. There are special effects here, although they're kept to a minimum, only being utilized when they're absolutely necessary for the story. Perkins would rather create this semi-fantastical realm the old-fashioned way.

The witch's house is an actual edifice, with its doorway placed at the base of a large triangle, which comes down about halfway for the rest of the cabin's rectangular construction. The shape suggests some ancient symbol that means nothing to us but clearly means everything to the witch. A candlestick in the hidden basement, where all of the copious food on the table is produced in a twisted kind of recycling, mirrors that shape. In the film's prologue, which tells the story as our protagonist has known it through the years, we see a young girl, granted foresight after magically having an illness taken away, framed in triangles.

In the woods, filling the gaps between trees are silhouettes of mysterious figures—their dress both a disguise and an echo of the clothing of that girl from the opening sequence. Gretel either sees them or imagines them, just as she either dreams of leaving or does leave her brother behind in the forest one night after staying in the cabin. A brilliant red light emanates behind a cluster of trees, and when the children's mother (played by Fiona O'Shaughnessy), suffering from maddening grief, tells the children to leave near the start of the story, a chilly blue light floods the interior of the house.

Such techniques and imagery register in that primal part of the brain that can recall the basics and the morals of these old tales, even though we might not have heard them for years or decades. They don't need to be explained, because they exist within and for the story alone. That's the inherent power in Perkins' simple approach. It's also what keeps the film from being more than a beautifully haunting yet superficial tale, but when it comes to fairy tales, maybe beautiful and haunting are and, for that matter, should be enough.

The biggest change in this version is the witch, played with unnerving quiet and straightforwardness by Alice Krige, made up with wrinkled lines straight up and down her face, as if she is aging like a tree. The character is fleshed out more—at least in that she isn't a cackling villain whose motives are obvious from the very start.

Of course, we know her plan, because we've known this story since childhood. Even so, Hayes does provide a mystery surrounding the witch—the same kind that Gretel and Hansel have had about her since the beginnings of the folk tale's existence (There's a moment in which Gretel's narration is interrupted, adding another layer of some suspense, because her story is being formed in the moment). She's authentically kind to the children and even takes Gretel, who is on the cusp of womanhood, under her wing. There's some connection between the two—something that Hansel, a boy who wants to become a man as soon as possible, could never think to understand.

There are some ideas here about growing up and a women's perceived role in society conflicting against the nature of each woman as an independent entity. Whatever Hayes may have had in mind for the moral here, though, is muddled by trying to fit it into this pre-existing story. It's also overtaken by Perkins' complete control of the design and atmosphere of this world.

There are staggering images here, from everything mentioned before to a chilling moment in which the smoke of a chimney turns red with the blood of a sacrifice. It doesn't have to make logical sense, of course, because stories like the ones that serve as the foundation of Gretel & Hansel are akin to collectively shared dreams. This film understands that and gives us a new, bold take on an old nightmare.

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