So I went to see Snow White and the Huntsman last weekend despite its 46% rating on Rotten Tomatoes and the frequently scathing reviews. Actually I went to see it partly because of the scathing reviews. (And because in the trailer menacing soldiers burst into showers of black shards when struck with swords. That seemed worth watching on a large screen.)
I liked it. I liked the cinematography, I liked the acting and, contrary to received critical wisdom, I liked the story. At least, I liked the story I constructed.
(*spoiler warning* plot details about Snow White and the Huntsman ahead)
“Snow White.” The syllables spun forth from the king’s lips and onto her shoulders like an unwanted mantle as he stepped from his sleigh. Well, she wouldn’t have to wear it long. Regicide was a capital crime in the realm; if she were taken she could expect little more of her brief free life than a few weeks in chains and the executioner’s axe. “So this is how it ends.”
The woods woman hated winter. Game was scarce and shy. Chill winds skittered beneath the door and seeped between the windowpanes. And though she cherished her solitude, weeks cooped up in a tiny cottage as blizzard after blizzard howled outside could drive anyone a little around the bend.
There was another reason she despised the season, buried so deep in her psyche she scarcely thought about it anymore. Three drops of blood fallen in the snow and a mother’s heartfelt wish. Would that my little daughter may be as white as that snow, as red as the blood, and as black as the ebony window-frame!