Amid the tidal wave of criticisms both aesthetic and politicized that got lobbed at Disney’s recent live-action “Snow White,” one cry notably unheard was “Needs more gore, nudity and F-bombs.” Yet apparently someone heard that call, because now there is “The Death of Snow White,” which provides those missing factors in bulk.
While horror-adjacent, and most definitely low-budget by mainstream standards, Jason Brooks’ film isn’t exactly what you’d expect — another cheap, jokey slasher cashing in on a copyright expiration and/or major-studio release, as recently befell the likes of Mickey Mouse, Peter Pan and Winnie-the-Pooh. Instead, it’s a sort of fan-film magnum opus, impressively ambitious on limited means (purportedly around 1/200th the estimated Disney budget) yet still not quite ready for prime time, feeling more like an especially elaborate amateur cosplay than a honed vision with its own distinctive style and ideas.
The result is a passably diverting curio that remains on the level of juvenile fantasy adventure, but with gratuitous elements inappropriate for younger viewers. Its ideal audience may well be the folks who made it, since behind-the-scenes glimpses under the closing credits suggest a very good time was had by all. Atlas Entertainment is distributing to a small number of U.S. theaters starting May 2, with the Horror Collective handling its release to digital platforms later this year.
Brooks’ prior directorial feature was 2022’s fan film “Friday the 13th Vengeance 2: Bloodlines.” He played Jason Voorhees in that as well as similar enterprises, plus monster roles in other indie horror movies. He’s also done special effects for those and additional productions, nearly all made in the vicinity of Seattle. “The Death of Snow White” feels like a big hands-on party for local genre enthusiasts, something that has its own charm but limits the extent to which viewers can make a full imaginative leap. Particularly toward the beginning here, we too often feel like horror buffs have taken over a Renaissance Faire. While their goofing around in costume is fun, it is not exactly transporting.
A prologue finds a vaguely medieval castle’s security breached by a witch, who manages to slay guards and access the heavily pregnant Queen (Kelly Tappan), to her immediate grief. Some years later, she and the King (Tyler McKenna) are long dead, albeit survived by womb-rescued Snow White (Sanae Loutsis). She has not assumed the throne, however — that seat is occupied by her wicked stepmother, aka the Evil Queen (Chelsea Edmundson). That lady is really the aforementioned murderous hag (Meredith Binder), her false veneer of youthful beauty reinforced by a magic mirror’s flattering (if also caustic) topless female spirits, and sustained via grisly methods seemingly inspired by Elizabeth Bathory. Bathing in the blood of virgins is just one such regime, and god help the flunky who dares displease milady.
She secretly despises oblivious Snow White for the usual reasons, yet must keep that lass alive for now in order to fulfill some convoluted ultimate path to power. When she sends her ruthless huntsmen (led by Brooks) to abduct one of Snow’s girl-pal posse, however, our heroine awakens to the peril in the palace. She flees into the “Dark Woods,” where she’s saved from devouring tree monsters by seven dwarfs banished there by the Evil Queen after loyally serving the King. One of them is, in fact, more of a giant (Eric Pope as Tiny); another, Arsta, is played by Ali Chapman, who was among the louder voices protesting Disney’s use of CGI rather than actual little people in their version.
They reluctantly accept the princess into protective charge, as the Prince with whom she’d been flirting (Tristan Nokes) enters these same woods with a search party. Needless to say, the witch schemes to reach Snow first, fateful apple in hand. A lengthy action climax has good guys storming the castle, where the bad queenie is nearing the fruition of all her nefarious plans — at high bodily cost to her handmaidens, huntsmen, any available virgins and sundry. As is invariably the case with this story, it is the scenery-chewing of that villainess which provides primary entertainment value here, with Edmundson dutifully going over the top in the most flamboyant of the costume department’s otherwise routine creations.
While there’s an inevitable making-the-best-of-available-resources tenor to its overall aesthetic, “The Death of Snow White” looks pretty good under the circumstances. It has decent enough visual effects and production design, attractive widescreen cinematography from Kody Newton and a brisk editorial pace courtesy of the director and consultants, which props up the somewhat clumsily episodic storytelling.
The script by Brooks and Naomi Mechem-Miller treads an uncertain tonal line that his execution can’t quite cohere, as it has humor without real wit, and the generally adequate performers seem unclear how seriously to take it. The outright comedy relief (notably Milo Mechem-Miller and Christopher Burnside as Bill-and-Ted-like sidekicks to the Prince) doesn’t quite work; ditto the attempt to paint Snow, the Prince and their friends in flippant modern-youth terms, while simultaneously selling classic fairy-tale romance. Landing in between is the stock “olden times” Celtic flavor of Andrew Scott Bell’s original score.
Then there’s all the gore, from beheadings to dismemberings to disembowelings, not to mention a fair amount of unclad flesh (all female, of course) and liberal helpings of verbal profanity. These ingredients are amusing as far as they go, but they add to the sense that the project is a pile of fan-favored ideas from other sources, rather than its own imaginative entity. Sometimes the nods are blatant enough to constitute homage, as in a late lift from “Romeo and Juliet.” Elsewhere, the whole feels like a game but patchwork construct.
It plays like an updated equivalent to those bargain-basement kiddie fables (sometimes dubbed mutilations of imported features) that played suburban matinees in the 1960s, while also recalling the cheesier 1980s sword-and-sorcery knockoffs that followed “Excalibur” and “Conan the Barbarian.” To the credit of Brooks and company, his results are less plodding than many such Z-grade fantasies were. But there’s still a community-theater edge to it that prevents full viewer engagement.
#Budget #Fairy #Tale #Gorehounds
