Fairies and Fantasy: Labyrinth
For a new project I’ve taken on, it devolves upon me to watch movies dealing wih dwarfs and goblins, fairies and ogres, wizards and witches, spells and enchantments. To begin this journey into wonderment, I chose to begin with Labyrinth, Jim Henson’s 1986 fantasy project starring a young Jennifer Connelly as The Maiden and a not-so-young David Bowie as the Goblin King. I have not seen the movie since its release 22 years ago.
Ho. Lee. Crap.
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puts it, “once you’re on the cover of Time, your career is officially over”). I own both Tin Machine albums, plus the ultra-rare live Tin Machine album Oy Vey, Baby. So I think my cred as a David Bowie fan is pretty high. And the casting of David Bowie as the Goblin King sounds perfect. Bowie is at his best when playing enigmatic, otherworldly creatures — space aliens, Andy Warhol, Nicolai Tesla.
But Oh. My. Freakin’. God.
I could look past the Tina Turner wig and the overwrought kabuki eyeshadow. I could sort of look past the Mad-Max-goes-gay-Nazi wardrobe. I could even, if pressed, look past the fact that the writer (Terry Jones!) hasn’t given the Goblin King anything in particular to do. But I find I cannot look past the aspect of David Bowie’s performance in Labyrinth that should have been the strongest: the songs.
I spent far too muchof the running time of Labyrinth wondering what the hell happened. Bowie has a rich understanding of song forms, why didn’t he write anything remotely appropriate to the narrative of the movie he was appearing in? It honestly sounds as though the Henson people approached him to star in their movie and then, as an afterthought, said “oh, and will you come up with a few songs?” and Bowie, the ink not yet dry on the contract, looked up and blinked and said “uh, yeah, sure, why not?” and then, as the shoot date loomed, hastily scraped together some scraps of unfinished jams from the Tonight album and gussied them up in the studio.
In a great musical, the songs advance the plot. In a middling musical, the songs entertain. In Labyrinth, the songs neither advance the plot nor entertain. They are, in fact, obstacles to overcome. Labyrinth repeatedly says “We’ve got some more movie coming up folks, but in the meantime we’ve got to get this woefully misbegotten song out of the way.” Harold Arlen this is not.
The lack of a plot doesn’t help matters (how can a song advance a plot if there is no plot to advance?). Labyrinth is about a maiden, Sarah, whose step-brother is kidnapped by the Goblin King. What does the Goblin King want? Good question. The Goblin King, for some reason, wants Sarah’s infant step-brother. But wait — the Goblin King, immediately after snatching Sarah’s step-brother, sets her a challenge — 13 hours to negotiate his fiendish labyrinth and rescue the boy. So, wait, does he want the kid or not? If he wanted the kid, why would he give Sarah the opportunity to get him? Why would he cut her any kind of deal at all? She has nothing on him, she has no leverage. If he wants her infant step-brother, he would just take him and be done with it. And, as he is the Goblin King, “fair play” cannot be the answer. No, obviously the Goblin King wants Sarah to negotiate the Labyrinth for some other reason. What might that reason be?
Sarah, the viewer will note, is a spoiled brat, a snotty princess with a room full of tchotchkes who considers an evening of babysitting to be the Spanish Inquistion (hey, don’t look at me, I’m not the one who brought Terry Jones into this). Maybe the Goblin King wants to force the rash Maiden into growing up a little, maybe he wants to teach her a lesson. Well okay, but then he’s not a very good bad guy, is he? The Wicked Witch of the West doesn’t want to “teach Dorothy a lesson,” she wants to kill the little bitch — the “teaching a lesson” part of the story falls to Glinda, who gives Dorothy the ruby slippers to protect the maiden on her journey to self-actualization.
So the Goblin King doesn’t want Sarah’s brother, and he doesn’t want to kill her, and “to teach her a lesson” makes absolutely no sense. Why is he doing this then? The reasoning the Goblin King gives at the end of the movie was that the Labyrinth is meant to be a kind of seduction of Sarah — he put her through the test of the labyrinth in order to break her down, erase her ego, and then make her suseptible to his gobliny predations.
This makes a certain amount of sense, and it is perfectly satisfying in fantasy-movie terms. The Maiden’s job in a fantasy scenario is often to be seduced by the corruptions of adulthood before regaining her senses. But here the notion is utterly undeveloped. If the Goblin King’s intent is to seduce Sarah, why doesn’t he do anything to achieve that end? Indeed, the Goblin King, once he’s set Sarah on her course, barely stops to think about her again. Once he gives her his challenge, you know what the Goblin King does? He goes back to his lair with his goblin puppet buddies and waits. He lounges on his Goblin King throne, he plays with the infant step-brother, he sings excruciating 80s pop to him, he shows off his grey tights with their penis-enhancing cut (David Bowie’s Penis should really have its own credit in this movie — there’s a shot where he thrusts it, in close-up, into the face of a dwarf, that literally snapped my head back in revulsion). When he learns that Sarah is successfully negotiating the labyrinth, the Goblin King is startled and enraged, and then goes and throws a monkey-wrench in her path, but otherwise he pretty much just sits around, stares out of windows and sings his clattering, tuneless crap. The Goblin King, apparently, has nothing to do, and yet he can’t be bothered to actually participate in the narrative he has set into motion; when he does act, it’s with petulance and impatience. Some villain! It’s as though we’ve caught the Goblin King on a bad day; what he’d really like is to be in another movie, but this one will have to make do for the time being. It’s as though the Wicked Witch of the West, once her sister is killed, were to threaten Dorothy’s life and then go back to her castle and sit around bored for a while. Yeah, yeah, ruby slippers, okay, um, how about flying monkeys?
Imagine the worst Bond villain in the series. Imagine Scaramanga in The Man with the Golden Gun. Imagine Scaramanga, with his third nipple and his midget sidekick and his stupid fucking plan to somehow corner the energy market and, oh yes, develop a death ray, and, you know, as long as we’re at it, kill James Bond. Scaramanga is one of the worst villains in the history of motion pictures, but his story arc is the goddamn Dark Knight compared to the Goblin King in Labyrinth.
As I’ve said, the plotting of Labyrinth is, essentially, nonexistent. The movie has a setup and a finale, and then “a bunch of stuff” in the middle. I can hear the story meetings quite well — a group of talented designers and puppeteers — no, but really quite talented — sitting around a table saying “Oh! And you know what would be great?!” without any sense of plot, theme or character. Hey, you know what would be great? A dance number where the puppets’ heads come off! Hey, you know what would be great? A big drill contraption! Hey, you know what would be great? A big orange beast thing! etc. And let it be said that the design, apart from the horror of Bowie’s costumes, is quite excellent indeed. The optical effects have not aged well, but the practical effects are all charming and wonderful, the talking doorknobs and the snakes that turn into feather boas and the walls that seem to be there but aren’t. There is real imagination making its way through Labyrinth, but almost no sense of structure. Or, to put it another way, it has a Gilliamesque approach to design, and a Gilliamesque approach to structure as well.
Sarah meets a handful of characters. There is Hoggle the Dwarf, Ludo the Beast or Ogre or Something, and Didymus the Creature Who Both My Wife And I Thought Was a Fox But Turned Out To Be a Yorkie. The purpose of these characters is, or should be anyway, to reflect some aspect of Sarah’s problem. And I guess in some vague way they do. Hoggle kind of but not really teaches her something about friendship, Ludo teaches her the value of kindness to strangers, and Didymus teaches her about chivalry. Then, none of these lessons turn out to have any value whatsoever in Sarah’s goal of “retrieving the baby.”
And let’s look at that goal again. Sarah is 16 or so and, in spite of the fact that she looks exactly like a teenage Jennifer Connelly, we are told that she has never had a date. And, as far as the narrative is concerned, she doesn’t seem to want any dates. Is she “saving herself”, somehow, for the Goblin King? If she is she doesn’t demonstrate that desire — she just pouts and whines and refuses to take care of the baby. When the baby is taken away however, she instantly regrets her actions and feels compelled to rescue it. So Sarah goes, in one plot point, from “maiden” to “mother” without having the pleasure and/or terror of any of the steps in between — no courtship, no romance, no wedding, no initiation. You’ve never had a date? Boom! Too late, you’re a mother now — deal with it!
And so the movie actually ends with Sarah, having (spoiler alert) rescued the baby and abjured the Goblin King, going to her room and putting away all her dolls and games and fairy tales and tchotckes. In Labyrinth, you’re either a child or an adult, there is no in between.
As always, I invite my faithful readers to submit their favorites of the genre under discussion. What should a screenwriter well-versed in the Fantasy genre see?
Girl in the Ashes part 2
FATHER.
I have returned from the fair! For my beautiful step-daughter, the most beautiful dress in the kingdom!
STEPSISTER 1.
Oh thank you Step-Father!
FATHER.
And for my other beautiful step-daughter, a string of pearls fit for Neptune’s Wife!
STEPSISTER 2.
Oh they’re lovely! Thank you!
FATHER.
And for my beautiful – Christ, what happened to you?
CINDERELLA.
Father, I –
STEPMOTHER.
The child has turned against us, husband. No doubt from prolonged grief over the death of her beloved mother.
STEPSISTER 1.
She won’t sleep in our room any more!
STEPSISTER 2.
She thinks she’s better than us!
STEPSISTER 1.
She thinks she’s a princess!
STEPSISTER 2.
She’s a sickening little twerp!
STEPSISTER 1.
She sleeps in the fireplace, Step-Father! She sleeps in the ashes!
STEPSISTER 2.
She calls herself Cinderella!
FATHER.
Dear Lord. Wife, is this true?
STEPMOTHER.
I’m afraid it is dear Husband, my daughters do not lie.
FATHER.
Well then, Cinderella, since that is now your name, here is your present: a stick. Funny, I don’t remember you being such a strange, conceited, perverse little girl before. Good thing I have other daughters now. Come embrace me, daughters!
(The STEPSISTERS embrace him.)
STEPSISTER 1.
We love you, Step-Father!
STEPSISTER 2.
Oh so very much, Step-Father!
STEPMOTHER.
Husband, you must be so thirsty after your long ride. How about a nice draft of grog for the Great Provider?
FATHER.
Well, I’m not one to turn down a nice draft of grog. Thank you Wife. To Upward Mobility!
(He drinks, chokes, dies.)
CINDERELLA.
Father! No! Father!
STEPMOTHER.
Oh dear, he’s dead. What a terrible tragedy. Daughters, don’t touch the dead body. Cinderella, see if you can’t get him in the ground before dinner. And for God’s sake, wash up before you touch our food.
(They exit. CINDERELLA takes the stick to her mother’s grave.)
CINDERELLA.
Mother, oh Mother, help me please! You’ve got to help me! I don’t think I can go on any longer! They’ve killed your husband now; I’m condemned to a life of slavery! You said you would watch over me; where are you! All I have left in this world is a STICK. If it will make you help me, I now give it to you.
(She thrusts the stick into the ground and collapses in tears. Unseen by CINDERELLA, the stick grows into a tree.)
Please, Mother, please. HELP me. HELP me. I can’t do this by myself.
(STEPMOTHER enters.)
STEPMOTHER.
Cinderella! Cinderella! Wonderful news! — Zounds, I don’t remember that tree being there before. Oh well – Wonderful news, Cinderella!
CINDERELLA.
My father isn’t dead? My mother has heard my prayers?
STEPMOTHER.
Uh…no. No, the King is giving a Grand Ball! And we are all invited!
CINDERELLA.
A, a Grand Ball? What holiday is it?
STEPMOTHER.
That’s just it, it isn’t one! I hear that the real reason for the Grand Ball is so that the Prince can choose himself a bride!
CINDERELLA.
Oh, that is wonderful news! Then we must get all dressed up, and look our best, and –
STEPMOTHER.
Yes we must, and so we’re going to need your help. After you bury your father and serve us our dinner, you must start in on making us the most beautiful dresses you can think of. And we’ll have to sell off all your father’s possessions so that we can buy some decent jewelry. That is the way to catch a man; you must look as though you don’t need the money, then he will shower you with riches. Packaging is everything. Imagine me: the mother of a princess! And once the King is out of the way, QUEEN MOTHER. ME.
CINDERELLA.
But Step-Mother, what am I going to wear?
STEPMOTHER.
Wear? When?
CINDERELLA.
To, to the Grand Ball.
STEPMOTHER.
You? Dear, you’ll have so much to do with getting your sisters ready, I doubt you’ll have the time or energy to go to any Grand Ball. Now what is that dead man still doing in the kitchen? Are you going to mourn him all day?
INTERPRETER. (to AUDIENCE)
The Grand Ball. The Grand Ball. At the Grand Ball, the Prince will choose his bride. Well, where I grew up, we didn’t have Grand Balls. We had School Dances, but the School Dance was an event for which I was singularly ill-suited. I could not dance, I would not dance, my clothes were ugly and years behind the fashions, I was funny-looking and asexual and incompetent. I was one of the army of geeks and clowns who stood at the edge of the gymnasium and sneered at the others, the Farrah-haired cheerleaders and the blow-dried jocks, who fooled themselves into thinking they were having a good time. No, these were not the Grand Ball. The Grand Ball, for me, took place in a much larger arena. The Grand Ball was the complicated superstructure of society, the innumerable transactions and negotiations with teachers and girls and parents and friends and enemies. This is the Grand Ball to which I was not invited. The World. The World was the Grand Ball to which I was not invited.
(The Day of the Grand Ball. CINDERELLA, STEPMOTHER, STEPISTERS.)
CINDERELLA.
Step-Mother, the Grand Ball is tonight. Are you all satisfied with your dresses?
STEPMOTHER.
Girls, are you satisfied with your dresses?
STEPSISTER 1.
Oh yes! Mine is more beautiful than the sun!
STEPSISTER 2.
And mine glitters and sparkles like the stars!
STEPSISTER 1.
We’re sure to catch the Prince’s eye with these outfits!
STEPSISTER 2.
Yes, it seems that, that girl over there is quite talented, for a monkey anyway.
STEPSISTER 1.
Oh you mean that girl in the ashes? Our Princess?!
(They laugh.)
STEPMOTHER.
Oh you little golliwogs, you do make me laugh! Yes, Cinderella, it appears we are satisfied.
CINDERELLA.
Then, since I’ve made the dresses, and you have your jewelry, and my chores are all done for the day, would it be all right if I went to the Grand Ball?
STEPSISTER 1.
Go to the Grand Ball? YOU?!
STEPSISTER 2.
Yeah, you’re a disgusting little mudskipper, what would you do at the Grand Ball?
STEPMOTHER.
Now girls, remember what I told you, excessive cruelty is unladylike. Cinderella, you can’t go to the Grand Ball, you’re unclean.
CINDERELLA.
Oh, I can wash up in no time!
STEPMOTHER.
But you have nothing to wear.
CINDERELLA.
Well I thought maybe I could borrow one of my step-sisters old dresses. If-if it’s all right with them.
STEPSISTER 1.
Oh sure you could – in your dreams!
STEPSISTER 2.
Cooties! Cooties! Cooties!
(They exit laughing.)
CINDERELLA.
Or I could make a dress, you know, out of leftover scraps. And things. It won’t take me long.
STEPMOTHER.
Really. Well. Yes, well I suppose, if you can get yourself cleaned up and make yourself a presentable dress, I suppose –
(She suddenly hurls a cup of linseeds into the fireplace.)
Oh drat, look what I’ve done, clumsy me, I’ve spilled a cup of tiny linseeds into the ashes. We can’t have that, can we? All right Cinderella, look: if you can pick every one of those linseeds out of the ashes in an hour, then you may go to the Grand Ball. Okay? Wonderful.
(She exits. CINDERELLA, despondent, goes to her mother’s grave.)
CINDERELLA.
Mother, where are you?! This is my only chance for happiness and I’m all alone! You’ve forsaken me! You’ve abandoned me! You’ve –
(MOTHER enters in the guise of a bird.)
BIRD.
No I haven’t, Cinderella. I’m right here in the form of this bird. I will never forsake you. I will never abandon you. Here: follow me.
(They go into the kitchen.)
Watch: I will pick up those seeds by myself in no time at all. You just watch.
(And she does. It takes no time at all.)
There: here is your cup of seed. Call your step-mother.
(BIRD flies off away from the action.)
CINDERELLA.
Step-Mother! Step-Mother!
(STEPMOTHER enters.)
STEPMOTHER.
What is it, you urchin? I haven’t got all day.
CINDERELLA.
Here are the linseeds. I picked them all up from the ashes. It didn’t take long at all.
STEPMOTHER.
Really? Let me see.
(She takes the cup.)
My God. They’re all here. How did you do this?
CINDERELLA.
Oh. Well, a little bird helped me.
STEPMOTHER.
A little bird indeed!
(She throws them into the fireplace again.)
Pick them up again!
(She throws in another cup as well.)
And pick up those as well! I’ll teach you to smart off to me! Little bird!
(STEPMOTHER exits. BIRD flies to the fireplace and picks out the seeds again while CINDERELLA bemoans her fate.)
CINDERELLA.
Oh no! Two cups! What a disaster! I could never pick up two cups! Not in a million years! Now I’ll never go to the Grand Ball! My life is ruined! Ruined! Ruined!
BIRD.
Daughter –
CINDERELLA.
Ruined!
BIRD.
Daughter –
CINDERELLA.
Ruined! What?
BIRD.
There are your seeds, back in their cups. Call your step-mother.
(BIRD flies away.)
CINDERELLA.
Step-Mother! Step-Mother!
(STEPMOTHER enters.)
STEPMOTHER.
Oh for Heaven’s sake, what is it now? I still have to put my face on, I can’t be traipsing back and forth on every whim –
(CINDERELLA holds out the cups.)
CINDERELLA.
Here they are, Step-Mother. All done. Surely now I can go to the Grand Ball.
(Pause. STEPMOTHER strikes CINDERELLA so hard that she falls to the floor. The cups of seed go flying.)
STEPMOTHER.
You stupid crustacean! This isn’t about seeds, this is about you. You will never be suitable company for me and my daughters no matter how skilled you are, no matter how fast you work, no matter how many Little Birds you have working for you! Don’t you get it? Don’t you GET it? You’re a freak, Cinderella! You’re not fit to walk the earth! You have no soul! You would be better off if you were born dead! Forget about the Grand Ball! Forget about it! YOU ARE NOT WORTHY.
(And she exits. Pause.)
BIRD.
Daughter –
CINDERELLA.
Oh my God.
BIRD.
Daughter –
CINDERELLA.
She’s – she’s –
BIRD.
Dear –
CINDERELLA.
She’s right. She’s right. How could I be so blind. She’s absolutely right. I am worthless. I am worthless. I’m a blot on the landscape. I’m a fifth wheel.
BIRD.
No, Daughter –
CINDERELLA.
I’m a slug. I’m a frog. I’m a worm.
(BIRD exits.)
I’m dirt. I’m mud. I’m slime. I’m scum.
(BIRD enters with dress and slippers.)
I don’t deserve a life What was I thinking? Did I think I was human? Did I think I was likable? Did I think I was –
BIRD.
Daughter!
(CINDERELLA looks up.)
This is your dress. You will wear this to the Grand Ball. These slippers are made of gold. No one will be able to take their eyes off you. You will be special. You will be so special. You will be the Belle of the Ball.
CINDERELLA.
Oh. Oh. Mother, it’s, it’s beautiful. It’s so beautiful.
INTERPRETER. (to AUDIENCE)
My mother tried to buy my clothes, but I had the worst taste in fashions imaginable. I had no sense of color or pattern or style. I wore stripes with spots with plaids. The clothes I liked looked horrible together. The clothes I wore made me look retarded. The only reason I never worried about it was that I assumed that no one ever looked at me. I assumed I was invisible. I assumed I went unnoticed. So no, clothing was not my ticket to the Grand Ball. Clothing was not my disguise. I could not use clothing to hide the fact that I was unworthy, that I was undeserving, that I was an interloper, that I was a party-crasher, that I did not belong at the Grand Ball. I had to use something else. But I didn’t know what.
And one night, quite late, when I was still young and my mother was not yet sick with cancer, the two of us were up late watching television together, as we did sometimes, and I got on some self-pitying kick, griping and moaning about how no one likes me, everybody hates me, think I’ll eat some worms, yada yada yada, and my mother says look at this guy. And I look at the TV, there is Sammy Davis Junior. He’s singing. In a Nehru jacket. And beads. With rings like huge blisters on his fingers. And my mother says “Look at THIS guy. He’s black, he’s Jewish, he’s short, he’s ugly, he’s got one eye. Have any of those things stopped him?” No. They had not. He was singing on our TV, if they could see me now, that old-time gang of mine.
So that is what my mother gave me instead of a glittering dress and golden slippers. She gave me show business. She loved movies, loved movie stars, loved theater, loved musicals. She showed me that show business is the natural haven for losers like me, the natural disguise for all the humpback dwarfs, the two-headed girls, the freaks, the ninnies, the feebs, the dweebs, the screwheads. Show business could be my disguise for crashing the Grand Ball.
Girl in the Ashes, part 1
MOTHER.
Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.
CINDERELLA.
Are, are you, are you going to, to get better?
MOTHER.
You don’t need to cry.
CINDERELLA.
Are, are you still going to take care of me?
MOTHER.
Don’t be sad.
CINDERELLA.
Are, are you and Father going to still love each other?
MOTHER.
Sh, baby, shhh.
CINDERELLA.
I’m scared. I’m so scared.
MOTHER.
Listen to me. Listen: I am very, very sick. And I’m not going to get any better.
CINDERELLA.
No.
MOTHER.
Sh, now listen. The world has just taken too much out of me. I just don’t think I can go on any more. And it isn’t you, and it isn’t your father, and it isn’t any one thing. It’s just time for me to go. I love you, more than you know, more than anything in the world. But I’m too weak to go on.
CINDERELLA.
No! I’m scared.
MOTHER.
Don’t be scared. Everything will be fine, and you have to trust that. Have faith. Listen: when I go, you have to promise to be good. Be good. Do you hear me? And if you are good, every day, as good as you can be, heaven will help you out of trouble, and I will be your guardian angel. Okay?
CINDERELLA.
But –
MOTHER.
No but. Be good. Okay?
CINDERELLA.
Mother –
MOTHER.
Sh. Tell me you’ll be good. Will you be good?
CINDERELLA.
Yes. I’ll, I’ll try.
MOTHER.
That’s all I can ask. Come here baby.
(They embrace. INTERPRETER addresses the audience.)
INTERPRETER.
My mother died of intestinal cancer when I was sixteen years old. Cinderella lost her mother at a similar age.
I can’t remember the first time I was ever told “Cinderella.” It was just always around, with Hey Diddle Diddle and the Cat in the Hat. But I always liked “Cinderella,” and since everybody else liked it too, I never really thought too much about it, just a fairy tale with a happy ending. But it spoke to me in a very specific way which I didn’t understand for years and years. Somewhere back in my early childhood, I found in “Cinderella” nothing less than a blueprint for my life.
(CINDERELLA at her mother’s grave.)
CINDERELLA.
Mother, I’ve tried so hard to be good. I, I really have, but it’s so hard. Father has married again and the woman is so, is so mean to me. I, I know that it’s wrong to judge other people, and I know it’s wrong to think bad thoughts about other people, and she and her daughters are very, very beautiful, but it’s so, so hard to keep loving them and loving life when they are so mean to me. They think they’re so much better than me, and they’re not. And if you’re watching me, then you know they’re not. It, it makes me so, so confused, to be so good and to be treated so bad. If I could just, if I could just, if I could, could just –
(In the kitchen, the STEPMOTHER and STEPSISTERS.)
STEPSISTER 1.
Uh huh, she’s out back talking to the dead mother again.
STEPSISTER 2.
What a drip. She’s disgusting.
STEPSISTER 1.
Mom, do we have to live with this obnoxious little toad?
STEPMOTHER.
Now sweethearts, her father is very wealthy and soon I hope to be his grieving widow. Be patient with her: at least we don’t have to waste money on a maid.
STEPSISTER 2.
Yeah, but she’s so annoying!
STEPSISTER 1.
Yeah, she really makes me sick! Can’t we do anything about her?
STEPSISTER 2.
Yeah mom, please? It’s agony just living in the same room with her.
STEPSISTER 1.
Yeah mom, don’t you love us?
STEPSISTER 2.
Pleeeease?
STEPSISTER 1.
Pleeeeeeeease?
STEPMOTHER.
All right my darlings, all right. I’ll see what I can do.
(CINDERELLA enters.)
CINDERELLA.
Stepmother dear, I’ve finished cleaning out the septic tank.
STEPMOTHER.
That’s nice dear. Now you need to mend my dresses, cut ribbons for your sisters’ hair, feed the animals, milk the cow and I think we’d like dinner at six.
CINDERELLA.
Yes ma’am. Of course ma’am.
STEPSISTER 1. (aside to 2, mimicking)
(Yes, ma’am, of course ma’am.)
STEPSISTER 2.
(What a jerk.)
(They crack up. Father enters.)
FATHER.
Good morning wife, good morning step-daughters, good morning my darling child! I’m off to the fair! Is there anything I can get for you?
STEPSISTERS. (ad lib)
Oh yes! Yes! Oh yes please!
FATHER.
Hold on, kids! One at a time!
STEPSISTER 1.
I want a beautiful dress!
STEPSISTER 2.
I want a string of pearls!
FATHER. (to CINDERELLA)
And you, my sweet one, what would you like?
CINDERELLA.
I –
STEPSISTER 1.
Oh, she’s too shy to ask for anything.
STEPSISTER 2.
She did say earlier that she wanted a, a –
STEPSISTER 1.
A stick.
STEPSISTER 2.
Yes, a stick.
STEPSISTER 1.
A stick.
FATHER.
A stick? You mean, like, from a tree?
STEPSISTER 1.
Yes, just a stick.
STEPSISTER 2.
A plain old stick.
FATHER.
Huh. Okay. So: dress, pearls, stick. Got it. All right, I’m going, be good!
(He exits. STEPSISTERS laugh. CINDERELLA begins to exit.)
STEPMOTHER.
Oh, dear, don’t leave quite yet. There are going to be a few changes in the house you should know about. I’m, mm, getting a new wardrobe tomorrow, and I’m afraid the only place to put it is where your bed is now. And you’re such a good girl, I assume you won’t mind sleeping, mm, somewhere, mm, else.
(STEPSISTERS giggle.)
CINDERELLA.
But, but where?
STEPMOTHER.
Well child, since you’re, since you spend so much time here in the kitchen, perhaps it would be more efficient if you were to sleep down here. And look! You’ll have the whole room to yourself, won’t that be nice?
STEPSISTER 1.
Wow, the whole room to herself.
STEPSISTER 2.
Just like a princess.
CINDERELLA.
Um, um, I’m sorry Stepmother, maybe, um, maybe I’m just, um, stupid or something, but um, there’s, um, there’s no place to, to sleep. In the kitchen. There’s no place to sleep.
STEPMOTHER.
Nonsense. That’s just not true. Why, there’s a bench, and a, there are cupboards –
STEPSISTER 1.
And the fireplace –
STEPMOTHER.
Why yes of course, the fireplace, that’s a wonderful idea! You can sleep in the fireplace, it’s always so nice and warm there.
STEPSISTER 2.
Wow, she gets to sleep in the fireplace.
STEPSISTER 1.
I wish I could sleep in the fireplace.
STEPMOTHER.
Now girls, you know that I will not allow jealousy in my household. Now go and give your step-sister a hug.
STEPSISTER 1.
Yes Mother dear.
STEPSISTER 2.
Of course Mother.
(They run to CINDERELLA.)
STEPSISTER 1.
Oh Step-sister!
STEPSISTER 2.
We love you!
(But instead of hugging her, they shove her into the fireplace and laugh.)
STEPSISTER 1.
Ah hahahahahahahaha! Look at her!
STEPSISTER 2.
She’s all covered with cinders and ashes!
STEPSISTER 1.
We should call her – Cinderella!
(They laugh.)
STEPMOTHER.
Oh my clever children, come let’s go make ourselves beautiful for your step-father’s return.
STEPSISTER 1.
Oh boy!
STEPSISTER 2.
Yipee! I can’t wait!
(They exit.)
INTERPRETER. (to AUDIENCE)
Of course, everyone hates their siblings. It’s only natural. I was the youngest of four children and I always knew there was some diabolical conspiracy against me. My siblings worked tirelessly, night and day, to make me feel worthless and disgusting. In direct contradiction to all the things my mother did to make me feel special and useful. I spent far too much of my childhood feeling untouchable. It was hell. It was hell. I felt like I had been born into a world that had already ended. I was living in ashes.