We, the film loving audience, have become inured to startlingly detailed animation. Whether we’re watching the latest product from Pixar or a completely CGI character like lead ape Caesar bound about in an …of the Apes extravaganza, we are now accustomed to the minute level with which animators can render. The amazing has become standard, and we consume it lazily.
From its opening frame, The Girl Without Hands by French animator Sébastien Laudenbach seems intent on challenging this standard. Hand painted and wildly impressionistic, it is like watching a Monet painting given dimension and movement. The lightest etching suggests landscapes, castles and ominous forests. Characters emerge and retreat from small details on a monochromatic frame between huffs of their breaths. Every image vibrates from a literal editing effect and a figurative sense of invention. Characters convey emotion, though their bodies are only hinted at, their faces often limited to eyes and mouths. Purposefully spartan, the visuals demand consistent attention. To drift would mean to miss something important, as the film pulsates like it is being created in front of you.
Based on the fairy tale by the Brothers Grimm of the same title, the story concerns a miller who makes a deal with the devil to end a drought and become wealthy. For compensation, the devil wants what stands behind the mill. The miller mistakenly thinks that the only object of value there is an apple tree, but that is the place his young daughter goes to climb and dream. She is there when the miller makes his bargain. When the devil comes to collect years later, the girl is too pure for him to take. She must be unclean, so the devil demands that she cannot bathe.
The miller keeps her in the apple tree, unwashed and filthy. Demonic dogs guard her and devour her mother when the old woman comes with a bucket full of water to clean her daughter. Her body sullied, the devil is ready to take her, but she cries into her hands. Her tears maintain her purity, and the devil orders the miller to cut off her shimmering hands. The girl offers them to her father willingly, and the old man takes her hands with a swing of his axe. The devil still can’t take the girl because her wholesome tears have stained her body and vows to come for her again at another time, planning to collect interest on his wares. The girl abandons her father, leaving him alone in his resplendent mill.
Mutilated, she fumbles through the dark forest and nearly drowns in a river. A goddess dwells in the depths and asks the girl if she wants to live or die. The girl adamantly wants to live. The goddess saves her and shows her the castle she is near. She tells the girl that she is blessed and the prince who lives in the castle waits for her. Drawn by the glow of the goddess, the prince and his gardener find the girl. The prince and the girl fall in love in an instant, but are years away from a happily ever after. There’s a child to bear, a war to wage and the devil always lingering on the outskirts, waiting to collect his due.
Disney has been making some of it billions recently by focusing on the agency of its princesses. Anna rescues Elsa from the evil prince. Moana restores Te Ka’s lost heart. Princesses are proving more than capable of saving themselves and the world. The Girl Without Hands is very far removed from being a polished Disney film but treads some of the same thematic ground. It is ultimately the story of a girl who is victimized by patriarchy (her father, the devil) and is then rescued by a prince who binds her with golden hands. When the prince proves incapable of protecting her and her child, the princess must find the will to do so within herself. She must stop being handless and become differently abled.
“I like the idea to propose a film for kids that is not for them, but they can reach it,” explains Laudenbach. “A film for kids, for me, should not be at the same level, but a little bit higher. Because kids need to understand and to learn.” As with all children’s films, The Girl Without Hands has a lesson to teach: the journey to empowerment is grueling and painful. It is the perfect moral for this gorgeous, untidy work of art.
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