{"id":135857,"date":"2018-06-24T09:25:36","date_gmt":"2018-06-24T13:25:36","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/?p=135857"},"modified":"2025-09-23T11:32:40","modified_gmt":"2025-09-23T15:32:40","slug":"supernatural-season-3-episode-5-bedtime-stories","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/?p=135857","title":{"rendered":"Supernatural<\/i>: Season 3, Episode 5; \u201cBedtime Stories\u201d"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"b30\"<\/a><\/p>\n

\nDirected by Mike Rohl
\nWritten by Cathryn Humphris<\/em><\/p>\n

One of the most extraordinary things about the truncated Season 3 is that there isn’t a hurry-up-we’re-running-out-of-time vibe. In many ways, the shorter length intensifies the conflict so much it’s a nearly unbearable presence in every episode. The resistance on Dean’s part to invest even just a little bit in his own future – in his own life – is the REAL conflict of the season. The PLOT may be “let’s get Dean out of the deal” but that’s not the conflict. <\/p>\n

In the triptych of episodes “Bedtime Stories,” “Red Sky at Morning” and “Fresh Blood” (leading up to the catharsis that is “A Very Supernatural Christmas,”) the show hammers away at this conflict, coming at it from different angles, highlighting Sam’s isolation, Dean’s self-destructive Burlesque (no other word for it: he rubs Sam’s nose in it), and Sam’s desperation to get Dean to at LEAST admit he’s scared. <\/p>\n

“A Very Supernatural Christmas” wouldn’t be the catharsis it is without all of the episodes leading up to it, where Dean sashays around courting death and Sam loses his patience. It’s perfectly constructed.<\/p>\n

\n<\/p>\n

Arc-Building, The Importance of the Entelechy<\/h1>\n

There is enormous patience on display on the part of showrunner\/writers\/everyone in exploring this arc. This was what was so devastating about the lack of ANY exploration of Mary returning – because when you draw it out, like they do here, like they did with Soulless Sam, etc. – you get so many opportunities to explore all the underlying relationship issues in the show. The writing team acts as if they have all the time in the world in Season 3. They make us WAIT for the moment when Dean finally admits he doesn’t want to die. We’ve known it from episode 1, when he was busy having a threesome and pretending everything was okay. We knew it the second he got a glimpse of Ben exclaiming “AC\/DC rules”! First two episodes of the season and it’s obvious. But Dean is so slow to acknowledge it, so slow to share with Sam, that the show becomes a Sibling Relationship Melodrama, and that’s really the heart of the show anyway. Monsters are okay but if we’re not exploring THAT then what the hell are we all doing here?<\/p>\n

The entelechy is present from the start. (This is one of my issues with the recent seasons. There is no entelechy at all. And this, my friends, is the showrunner’s job. Establishing an Entelechy is in the Job Description.) <\/p>\n

I did a quick search to see if I had discussed the concept of the entelechy<\/em> in my Supernatural<\/i> writings and found a couple of references, mostly early on, in an opening salvo called Thoughts on TV Pilots, including the Supernatural Pilot: What Works, Story Arcs, Starting Out Confidently, Working Blind<\/a>. TV pilots are all about establishing an entelechy. The really great ones move forward – episode by episode – fulfilling the promise. (If you watch The Sopranos<\/i> pilot and the final episode, back to back, it’s the clearest example I can think of.) Ellen Burstyn used the concept of entelechy in the acting workshop I took with her<\/a> – it was my introduction to the concept, which she laid out very simply: “The entelechy of an acorn is a giant oak.” <\/p>\n

The entelechy of Dean in the pilot is Dean strapped over Hell’s abyss. Or Dean staring at Castiel striding towards him in that crazy barn. The entelechy of Sam in the pilot is him falling backwards into the Pit. Or him sucking blood out of Ruby’s arm. These are rich rich characters, and Kripke established them with potential to grow and develop, acorns with the space to become oaks.<\/p>\n

Most of Dean’s “revelations” in Season 3 are private; he doggedly hides them from Sam and – in some cases – from us. He feels he’s got to be strong for Sam, but its manifestation in Season 3 is fascinating and infuriating. Instead of reassuring Sam “You’ll be okay” or “Let’s do what we have to do to make this right, okay, Sammy?” he shuts Sam out. It is anathema to Dean to prioritize himself, and when Sam expresses worry, Dean puts up a fortress of unconcern – and this is done AT Sam. It’s aggressive. He gets a look on his face I call “Dean’s Season 3 Look.” I’ll get into that. It’s a look designed to not only shut Sam out but to call into question Sam’s version of reality. It’s gaslighting. Sam is grieving about Dean’s impending death, and Dean looks at him with the “Season 3 Look”, and there is literally no way INto Dean with that look – and this is startling, this is different, considering Dean’s penetrability. In shutting Sam out, Dean shuts out everything. (Loving is easy. Dean does it naturally. It often happens instantly. But BEING loved is another matter altogether.)<\/p>\n

Let’s break down the Trajectory of the Dean-Sam conflict: <\/h1>\n

\n\"\"<\/p>\n

\nFirst up, there’s The Magnificent Seven (recap here<\/a>), starting with Dean’s sex romp and ending with what I called “the scene beneath the scene,” a confrontation between Sam and Dean. This is where “Dean’s Season 3 Look” shows up for the first time.<\/p>\n

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\n“The Kids Are All Right” (recap here<\/a>) introduce Lisa and Ben into the mix, hinting at a possible alternate future and speculation that Dean has actually fathered a child. Through this, he confronts his lack of a “legacy”. It is really important that Dean’s softness and openness to Lisa and Ben takes place without Sam present<\/em>. This will be a Season 3 theme. <\/p>\n

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\n“Bad Day at Black Rock” (recap here<\/a>) starts mid-argument (just like “Bedtime Stories” does, just like “Red Sky at Morning” does – it’s been one long dreary argument.) Tangent: This is my main issue with the Bunker. They’re too comfortable there. Now episodes start with Dean and Sam having breakfast, while re-capping the plot for us: “Okay, so we’ve got Jack in the wind, we don’t know where Cas is, and Mom is gone …” All as they eat leftovers from the fridge. UGH. BURN THE BUNKER DOWN. The Impala – the privacy of the atmosphere but also the sense of speed, rootlessness – leads to an intensity of relationship I often miss now that the Bunker has become home base. In “Bad Day at Black Rock”, Sam’s bad-luck takes center stage, but still, we start OFF with the Demon-Deal arc: nobody in the audience is allowed to lose sight of the entelechy, you catch my drift?<\/p>\n

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\nThe revelatory “Sin City” (recap here<\/a>) is a nothing episode EXCEPT for the show-stopping scene between Dean and demon Casey, one of my favorites in the entire series. As with Dean’s conversation with Lisa at the end of “The Kids Are All Right,” Dean’s speaking-out of and vulnerability TO his situation only comes out when Sam is not there. This is strangely touching, the more I think about it. <\/p>\n

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\n“Bedtime Stories” features a big ol’ “Dean’s Season 3 Look” in the penultimate scene in the hospital followed by Dean’s The Searchers<\/i>-esque solitary walk down the hallway, away from the grief-struck Sam. Whatever Dean shared with Lisa and Casey, he will NOT share with Sam. Sam then summons a crossroads demon, demands she let Dean out of his deal, and when she refuses, he kills her, using the newly-refurbished Colt. This is how desperate Sam has become.<\/p>\n

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\n“Red Sky at Morning” (which I am really looking forward to recapping – at the rate I’m going it’ll be in 2020) starts with a huge argument about the missing bullet in the Colt and Sam “disobeying” Dean’s orders to not go to a crossroads demon. Bela gloriously re-enters the story. Bela is very important. What is interesting about Bela is – without us knowing it yet – her quest over the season is exactly the same as Sam’s quest – and, implicitly, Dean’s too. She is trying to get out of a crossroads deal she made. So she’s Sam AND Dean. The sparks of hostility and lust between Dean and Bela come out of recognition<\/i> – on both sides, although Dean doesn’t even KNOW he recognizes her – but he DOES. Dean continues to put on a happy-go-lucky face in “Red Sky”, suggesting a trip to Atlantic City. Sam has had it. <\/p>\n

Please note how long Supernatural draws out the worry\/anxiety about Dean. Please note how willing they are to let us get frustrated with him. It trips some fans’ motherly tendencies, they want to baby him, comfort him. That’s not my bag at all, BUT it’s a POWERFUL fan identification and investment for those who go that way. And for those who DON’T go that way, it’s a fascinating exploration of the tensions and contradictions fighting it out inside one human being.<\/p>\n

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“Fresh Blood” is a vampire episode, which – in Supernatural<\/i>-ese – means sick, abusive and codependent families. In the opening scene, Dean offers himself as bait to a vampire, flaunting his recklessness for Sam. It’s all part of the “Dean Season 3 Look,” rubbing his brother’s nose in how much he DOESN’T care. (It’s awful. Talk about wanting to mother\/baby\/nurture. What about SAM in this scenario?) Gordon is the main player of the episode, but the conflict between Sam and Dean in the first scene continues through the whole episode, culminating with Sam killing Gordon in one of the grisliest murders in the series’ history. But it’s not over yet: “Fresh Blood” ends with a heart-breaker scene, showing the first crack in Dean’s armor (at least while Sam is in the room): he teaches Sam about the Impala. But it’s impossible to ignore that the moment is still once removed, because Dean is basically saying “I am going to die, nothing will stop it, and so you need to know how to fix the Impala.” <\/p>\n

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\nThis scene pours into “A Very Supernatural Christmas”: we’ve been primed by the Impala scene. Dean’s nostalgia – for a Christmas they never had – takes over the episode, and Sam’s resistance to the whole thing is so fascinating (this will come into play again in “Dark Side of the Moon”). Now Dean wants to open up and bond. Sam’s not having it. Interspersed with flashbacks to a lonely Christmas the boys spent locked up in a motel room, the episode provides context to Dean’s protective worry over Sam, and also shows how tragic Dean’s nostalgia really is. He pretends it’s one thing (“remember the fun we had at Christmas?”) for almost the entire episode – and finally reveals it’s coming from somewhere deeper (“this is probably the last holiday we’ll be together”). This is the start of him mourning himself. FINALLY. But still. BUT STILL, PEOPLE: what Dean doesn’t<\/em> say is, “Okay, Sammy, I want to live, let’s figure it out.” <\/p>\n

\n\"\"<\/p>\n

\n“Malleus Maleficarum” represents a step backwards in the progress they’ve made. Sometimes vulnerability – like what emerged in “A Very Supernatural Christmas” – is followed by a retreat. The vulnerability of “Christmas” is certainly not sustainable, not for these tormented two (nor would it be dramatically interesting). “Malleus” feels a bit like “filler” but there’s an interesting aspect to it: Sam suggests they kill the witches and Dean is shocked. The witches are human. Sam’s heartlessness\/coldness – the concern that he came back from death “different” – raises its pesky head. Sam is trying to prepare for the inevitable: he will be left alone, and he had better toughen up, be more like Dean. But Dean experiences this as a shocking betrayal. This is so realistic! So codependent! <\/p>\n

\n\"\"<\/p>\n

\nFinally, FINALLY, we get to episode 10, in my Top 5 in the whole series, “Dream a Little Dream of Me”, where Dean finally opens up to Sam and tells him he’s scared and wants to live.<\/p>\n

The conflict percolates, retreats, is pushed back for episodes upon episodes. We must sweat it out. They make us WAIT for Dean’s confession to Sam. When you’re forced to wait for something, the payoff is better.<\/p>\n

Fairy Tales: Children In Peril<\/h1>\n

This is Mike Rohl’s third episode, and he directs with humor and aplomb. There are multiple settings, each of which require a non-generic environment (except for the hospital, and even there he puts a fairy-tale “spin” on it). “Bedtime Stories” has a lot of fun with its initial idea: Grimms Brothers fairy tales come to life. Casting this must have been so much fun! <\/p>\n

The metaphor itself is a really strong one, especially since it’s not really underlined, except for one moment with the “Little Pig” in the hospital. Sam and Dean do not make explicit verbal connections with the “metaphor” of the case, and it’s there for us to meditate upon. Fairy tales are often about children in peril. And more than that, they’re about SIBLINGS in peril. Children against monsters. Children threatened with death, separation from parents, from safety, or – even scarier – children being done wrong by their parents (or stepparents). We see all this play out in the episode – poor Cinderella chained up in the kitchen, poor Snow White dropping the apple at Dean’s feet, Hansel and Gretel (siblings in the original – now a couple – which is more interesting the more you think about it), Little Red Riding Hood realizing her beloved grandmother is a … huge scary man who abducts her and has clawed her face by the time Dean shows up (we don’t see that violence, but it happened). Sam and Dean are the saviors of children, but on a subtextual level, THEY are those children in peril, THEY are those siblings lost in the woods, threatened on every side, betrayed by the adults who were supposed to care for them. The mood of the episode is light, airy, fun, even with its horror. But underneath, you can’t get away from the fact that Sam and Dean WERE children in a fairy tale growing up, and as men they are doing the best they can but they are DEEPLY marked by that trauma. <\/p>\n

Teaser<\/h1>\n

\n\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

\nThe sign outside the construction site says ONCE UPON A TIME, and it’s like the first page flipping over in a book. <\/p>\n

The “Three Little Pigs” are construction-worker brothers (so funny), and played by Chris Cochrane, Michael Coleman, and Malcolm Scott (who played The Cook in Sucker Punch<\/i> – which I wrote about, indepth, for Oscilloscope<\/a>. That piece was about 6 years in the making.) As the episode starts, they are in the thick of an argument you sense they’ve had a million times. Only siblings yell at each other about the same damn thing over and over again and still remain in each other’s lives. Which leads to … <\/p>\n

1st scene<\/h1>\n

First, we see a huge green bullfrog, gleaming in the middle of the dark road. <\/p>\n

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\nAnd then the Impala roars by, splashing the frog with water. This is another “opening the fairy tale book” moment. A little “flourish,” a little “something extra,” which gives the episode its stylistic panache. These are directorial choices. Each episode has its own mood, its own vibe. What works for one wouldn’t work for another. The flattening out of all this is one of the catastrophes of the show in recent seasons. But this honking bullfrog having to leap out of the way of the Impala is a whimsical and thematically-consistent detail, putting us in the right mood.<\/p>\n

Mirroring the Three Little Pigs, Dean and Sam are arguing when we join up with them. It’s a hell of an argument, and it’s so huge you know it’s been building for weeks. Dean is being more obnoxious than usual (I say with love), pulling out the “Because I said so” and “I’m older.” There’s so much that’s wrong with this, and so much in his treatment of Sam – for the entire season – has been so painful to watch. I can’t imagine one of my siblings literally shrugging in my face or getting pissed off if I showed concern that they were about to die. Not to mention trying to completely remove Sam’s sense of agency. <\/p>\n

As always with these nighttime Impala scenes, there’s so much beauty, their gorgeous faces in the same frame, focus switches back and forth – fluid and easy, taking us through the conversation, with blurry lights zooming by … and the fact that the show doesn’t really feature these scenes anymore is a catastrophe. Of epic proportions. <\/p>\n

\n\"\"<\/p>\n

\nThere are some complexities at work here, stuff which will play out as we move forward. <\/p>\n

1. Sam working with Ruby. This is a long LONG arc, and once we know what she’s really been up to all along, the effects are devastating. We’re still in the beginning stages, but you can’t help but think about it, and think how “helpful” she’s being and what that really means. <\/p>\n

2. Dean’s long talk with Casey the demon about Hell, which, as far as we know, he hasn’t shared with Sam. She speaks of Lucifer. Lucifer wasn’t a concept that existed on the show until Casey said it. It’s all been about Yellow-Eyes. And Crowley will come up – unnamed – in the final scene with the crossroads demon. Someone is directing these crossroads demon, giving them orders. This is our first glimpse.<\/p>\n

3. In connection with 2: the conversation Dean had with Casey freaked him out. Badly. But he can’t deal with his own fear, so he roars against it, or burlesques his way into bed with some tootsie. Sam will call him on this in the great scene in the motel in “Fresh Blood.” If you watch Ackles’ work in this scene, he’s being so loud, so … John Winchester-y … it took me some time to dig in and look at what Ackles is really<\/em> playing. And he’s not playing anger. Not really. Dean’s anger doesn’t usually look like this. Ackles is playing fear<\/em>. He’s such a smart actor. <\/p>\n

Great choice from Rohl and Serge Ladouceur: Right after Sam yells the ultimate insult, “You’re not Dad!” we get a huge side closeup of Dean, looking over at Sam, and at the same moment the screen floods to red. (Not sure what angle another car’s taillights would have to be at to get this effect – zooming right towards the Impala? In reverse? – but never mind.)<\/p>\n

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\nThis is a perfect example of what the show did so well at its best. Its visuals were connected to emotions\/themes\/moods. They were not afraid to be dramatic. This is cinematic filmmaking – or, if you like, “prestige TV” filmmaking. Supernatural<\/i> was never perceived as a “prestige” show but that’s just because it didn’t get the press or the audience that it would have if it had been on HBO or whatever. <\/p>\n

The flood of red works on multiple levels. I know I’m all about “multiple levels.” Sometimes I do a “find and replace” on those two words to try to cut some of them out. But it’s part of the appeal of the show for me!<\/p>\n

One level is the red is reflective of the flush of anger and hurt that comes at being compared to John. But the next level is deeper, less conscious. The flames of Hell. They’re already there, they’re IN the scene already, flickering in his mind’s eye. Sam sees it. Dean refuses to acknowledge it. But there it is. Visualized in that flood of red light. Gorgeous. <\/p>\n

When Dean forcibly changes the subject, he’s not angry. What’s in his energy is panic, upset, the freakout inside bubbling up to the surface. When he asks Sam to tell him about their next case, he’s not just ordering Sam to keep focused on the job. That’s not the tone I hear. The tone I hear is … begging. Please change the subject. I’m so freaked out. Come on. Please. I need to work.<\/i> All the things he can’t say.<\/p>\n

This is the subtle nuances he always finds in almost every moment.<\/p>\n

One word on Sam. Well, more than one word. <\/h1>\n

I love him always but there’s something about him in “Bedtime Stories” that gets my motor running and I’ll try to explain what it is. In the opening scene, he’s had it up to HERE with Dean. Once they start working the case, that dissipates and he loses himself in his work. When he says to Dean in the old lady’s cottage, “Actually … I have a theory” … and it turns out he basically has a Ph.D in fairy tale lore … It’s so attractive! He has a head full of knowledge, much of which he will never use. He probably studies lore in his spare time, just in case it will come in handy some day. Also, he is a literate and curious man. He has looked around the landscape of horrors, and has thought, “Huh … these stories all have a familiar ring …” He withstands Dean’s teasing (the “Could you BE more gay” comment is clearly from the Mesozoic era – they’d never throw a line like that in now, and it’s a good thing – although Jensen’s line reading is very funny). And as the episode goes on, he gets stronger and stronger. Dean is more all over the place, and looking to Sam for his larger base of knowledge. Sam is not charge-ahead-active here. He is deeply thoughtful. You can SEE his brain working. <\/p>\n

“Bedtime Stories” plays around with Dean = Brawn and Sam = Brains, which of course isn’t totally true, but it’s enough true that they play out those roles, almost unconsciously: Dean gets the shit kicked out of him by the Big Bad Wolf, and Sam turns into Family Grief Therapist – and he does an incredible<\/i> job. He is FIRM with the doctor, but never contemptuous. He is patient, and yet always firm:, he’s like a rock (with a sorrowful face): I’m sorry but it’s true. Here’s what you need to do. I know it’s hard. But you have to blah blah blah.<\/i>” <\/p>\n

Sam, who is so worried about Dean, so frustrated with Dean, ends up being so COMPLETE as a man in “Bedtime Stories.” Dean is the Bossypants but this is Sam’s episode, from the second he shares his theory. It’s subtle, but the point of view is always Sam’s here (except for the one scene where we see Dean getting beaten up, and even there, Sam’s side of the scene is prioritized). We aren’t “let in” to Dean’s experience the way we were in “Sin City” or “The Kids Are All Right.” I don’t think it’s a coincidence, then, that Sam is so beautifully confident here, following his instincts (and brain), owning his power, his larger knowledge-base, his lack of embarrassment at knowing about Cinderella … He’s sexy as hell. <\/p>\n

2nd scene<\/h1>\n

Detectives Plant and Page. Subtle. I love when they move in unison. Also they’re both filmed like they’re 10 feet tall. <\/p>\n

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\nMixing it up a bit, the “pig” doesn’t say “I already talked to the cops.” Instead he says, “I’ve been expecting you. You’re the sketch artist, right?” which allows for some nice schtick where Dean throws Sam under the bus. Because he’s older. And then he ruins it, as he so often does, by going too far and making a joke which sounds sexual about “the things he can do with a pen.” He’s so awkward! He brings sex into inappropriate contexts all the time and I never get sick of it. And everyone looks at him like, “Ew.” <\/p>\n

The torment this guy feels – over losing his brothers – is highlighted, underlined by his line readings and the hint of music underneath. It may be a joke that he’s one of the Three Little Pigs, but his pain is real, and his slight frustration at these two boobs showing up – one who makes a sexual comment about the other’s drawing abilities, and the supposed artist drawing a wacky cartoon instead of a sketch – seems real. <\/p>\n

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\nThey ask question after question about “animal eyes” and teeth and fingernails and it just seems to Pig that these guys aren’t really on top of their game, and this is a huge traumatic event in his life and would they please just shut it? It points up that this is a man who has two brothers, brothers who are now dead. The connections with Sam’s experience (and all those big closeups of his beautiful listening face) is quite clear. <\/p>\n

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\nThe moment is intense. Sam is very upset. Dean, looking very short, is upset too, but it’s also almost like he’s embarrassed<\/i> that he’s going to die, and that’s a big part of this. He’s the one who made the dumb deal. John Winchester taught them tough truths, you make a mistake you live with the consequences. You make a mistake you die. Dean’s not worth fighting for. And the idea that Sam will be sad, as sad as “Pig” is in the bed, is unbearable. He’s embarrassed. It’s a very intense moment, and in the closeup shot of Dean that follows, he looks … exhausted. And freckled. And shadows-under-eyes. And glamorous. <\/p>\n

\n\"\"<\/p>\n

\nDean bounces back though, excited to be able to provide “Wyle E. Coyote” in answer to one of the Pig’s questions, and again, Dean makes things so awkward, giving the Pig a little wink and thumbs up, proud of identifying the cartoon. Dean, his brothers were just killed! This isn’t Trivia Night!<\/p>\n

We meet Dr. Garrison (Christopher Cousins), a nice metaphoric name there. Right out of a storybook where people are named for their qualities. Right out of Southpark<\/i> too. Those multiple levels again. <\/p>\n

Humorous button to the scene, which is all part of Sam’s devastating charm: the Little Pig asks to see the sketch, and Sam, who has drawn an Abominable Snowman with a tattoo, is busted, almost frightened, and says “Yeah” twice<\/em>, the second one with a little eye-close (a “tell”) and shrug like, “Of course, why WOULDN’T I show you this cartoon, what a silly question” and it’s details like this that give me oxygen to make it through the day. <\/p>\n

Talk about “sketch”. Sam and Dean both seem so sketchy!<\/p>\n

3rd scene<\/h1>\n

Huge foreground shot of that honking bullfrog again, before the camera focuses in on Sam and Dean walking toward the camera. They’re seen from far away. I love it when they do this, because it makes them out in the world<\/i>, they are walking around out in OUR world<\/i>, with people walking by, things interfering our sight of them, we glimpse them from afar. I love it. They don’t choose to do this very often. Difficulties with location shoots? Closing down parks for half the day? Whatever the case, they look gorgeous in their suits strolling toward us. Being beckoned down a path by a bullfrog, although they don’t know it. <\/p>\n

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\nEven Sam admitting “I got nothin'” is sexy. <\/p>\n

I would like my “Bedtime Story” to involve Sam. <\/p>\n

Ackles and Padalecki carry these exposition information-dump scenes on their charisma and relationship. They get the job done, but they give it an improvisational behavioral spin that makes it extremely watchable. This happens time and time again – and even more than the big emotional scenes, it’s these small “filler” scenes – so essential to getting information out – that make up the texture of the show’s success. You do a show like this, you have to deal with constant information dumps. How to make it interesting? How to do it without losing momentum? (You want to see a real master class in this, watch The X-Files<\/i>. Those two characters were much more verbose and articulate than Sam and Dean. They talked, in this daunting language, and because of how they were filmed – because of the pleasure of looking at them – because of the tension in their performances, you couldn’t look away, even if they were just re-capping what they just learned.) <\/p>\n

4th scene<\/h1>\n

Speaking of location shoots: A+ on the locations in “Bedtime Stories”. I will go into excruciating detail about my love of Cinderella’s house – that is ONE. WEIRD. HOUSE – was that planned?? Or did they just FIND a house with all this crazy decor inside? Or … did Jerry Wanek say, “I have a warehouse of weird shit, let’s just use IT ALL in this house”? You only see it in passing. It’s not there to be looked at. It’s pure background. <\/p>\n

But this location: <\/p>\n

\n\"\"<\/p>\n

\nIt’s perfect. Look at how they’ve tricked it out, down to smoke coming out of the chimney. <\/p>\n

The setup here is slightly different from the actual Hansel and Gretel, a story which absolutely terrified me as a child. Look at some of the illustrations for this story over the 200 years or whatever of its existence. This is some psychotic shit.<\/p>\n

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\nPatrick Gilmore and Kimberley Warnat play “Ken” and “Julie”, the Hansel and Gretel roles, although now they are not brother and sister, but an exhausted bickering couple. They’re not dropped off into the woods by their parents, with a “Good luck out there, kids. Hope you make it.” They are on a hike and they are lost. He refuses to admit they are lost and she is exasperated. They both look the part: milk-fed healthy Americans. A perfect meal for the grisly little old lady who comes out of the cottage, complete with crooked walking stick.<\/p>\n

\n\"\"<\/p>\n

\nThere are some nice details, like the zoom-in to the pie on the windowsill, the small bickering moments between the couple, the way “Hansel” slowly realizes something is wrong with them. Also that “Gretel’s” alarm bells go off about going inside. Because she is a woman and she knows instinctively not to trust people. She is overridden by “Hansel,” who is a man, and therefore somewhat dumb about keeping himself safe. Women know threats are everywhere. They rearrange their whole lives on avoiding POTENTIAL threats. I always have my keys out and ready when I get to my front door or my car. I don’t even think about it. <\/p>\n

And even though you don’t see the knife plunging into him over and over again, isn’t her stabbing of him just awful? It’s pretty out there. (One of the great things about Supernatural<\/i> is that it gives actresses like Maxine Miller – whose first credit on IMDB is in 1954 – “The Howdy Doody Show” – who was a regular on Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood<\/i> – Nurse Miller! – a chance to play a psycho killer. She has a lot of fun with it. <\/p>\n

\n\"\"<\/p>\n

5th scene<\/h1>\n

I have one thing to say about the opening moments in the following scene at the hospital: <\/p>\n

LEGS. <\/p>\n

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\nThere’s a fluidity to the camera work here, and Rohl makes some bold choices where he breaks the 180-degree line, repeatedly, which you’re “not supposed to do”, although directors of course do it all the time and sometimes to great terrifying effect. The scene in the washroom in The Shining<\/i><\/a> is probably the most famous example of breaking the 180-degree rule:<\/p>\n

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