An early adaptation of the Hans Christian Andersen tale about a soldier and the enchanted tinderbox that summons large-eyed dogs, which proves more useful than one might imagine when one is hoping to woo a princess.
Home Media Availability: Stream courtesy of the Danish Film Institute.
Strike it rich
Fairy tales were big business during the early years of film. They provided family friendly entertainment at a time when the public was getting antsy about the influence of film and the potential for children to imitate criminals they saw onscreen. They also provided an opportunity to test out the new special effects, which were growing more elaborate by the year.
Over in Denmark, pioneering director Viggo Larsen was working in every genre imaginable at the time, from comedy to social satire to biopics to action-adventure to throbbing melodrama and even an adaptation of the popular operetta The Merry Widow. A fairy tale film was inevitable, given his rapid output and versatility. This time, Larsen also takes on the leading role as the romantic lead, so that’s double Larsen for your money.
While Larsen’s other films from this period are quite easy to follow for the modern viewer, The Tinderbox, being based on a popular tale from that most famous of Danish authors, Hans Christian Andersen, is rather opaque if you are not already familiar with the tale. Therefore, if you can’t recall The Tinderbox off the top of your head, I recommend a quick re-read so you will be able to watch it as Larsen’s original audience did. This is a high context film, in short, and expects the audience to need no handholding.
(Here is a public domain translation on Project Gutenberg.)
The film opens with a soldier (Larsen) meeting a witch (Petrine Sonne) under a giant tree. She has an unusual offer: if he will go inside the hollow tree, he can be a wealthy man. Inside, there are dogs with giant eyes guarding sacks of copper, silver and gold. It’s guarded by magical dogs but they can be calmed with her magic apron, which she will give him. All she asks is that he bring her the little tinderbox that she forgot there.
The soldier agrees and climbs in (and, as is the case with all good JRPGs, the inside of the tree is far larger than the inside). The dogs are sitting by the treasure but the apron works and they do not attack. He takes as much as he can carry and also grabs the tinderbox before climbing out. However, he is suspicious and asks the witch why she wanted it. She refuses to answer, he slashes at her and she disappears into a puff of smoke.
The soldier heads to the capital, where he lives the high life and makes many friends. The money doesn’t last and he is soon friendless and living in a shabby room. He tries to relax with a pipe and strikes the tinderbox– and those big-eyed dogs appear to grant his wishes. He wishes for more money and he is back on top.
But money isn’t everything and he has fallen in love with the princess of the nation (Oda Alstrup) based on her portrait. The dogs help again, carrying the princess to him. She is utterly delighted by this turn of events and the soldier is more in love than before. He asks the dogs to send him to the palace, to the delight of the princess, but he is found and arrested.
Separated from his tinderbox and sentenced to hang, things look dire but the soldier is able to bribe a boy into fetching his treasure. The noose is around his neck when he asks for a final smoke, summons the dogs, shows off his endless source of wealth and is welcomed into the family.
While The Tinderbox clearly had a lower budget than French extravaganzas like The Kingdom of the Fairies, Larsen and his team compensate with enthusiasm. Some elements of the original Andersen story are downright unfilmable in live-action anyway, especially the dogs, which are described as having eyes as big as teacups, mill wheels and towers, respectively. The 1946 Danish animated film probably gets the closest but even then tones down the eyes a bit. The 1985 Czech puppet short ignores the massive eyes, as does the 1959 East German live-action version.
The Larsen version keept the eyes big but limited to the “big as teacups” size and played by guys in leotards and dog masks, which I respect. I always like a bit of stage costuming to filter into fairy tales, it adds to the charm. And Larsen sells it as the lead, constantly giddy with delight at his strange new friends and the riches they bring. In fact, the entire picture is quite cheerful.
This film is interesting in the context of Larsen’s other work as director because it is probably the most timid regarding violence. Larsen’s pictures were anarchic and frequently violent, from one character blowing up the other with a homemade bomb in The Anarchist’s Mother-in-Law to a husband being skewered for the honor of his wife’s chapeau in A New Hat for the Madam to women engaging in a duel to the death in The Other Woman.
In The Tinderbox, however, Larsen softens the original Andersen material. In the Anderson story, after refusing to tell the soldier what she wants the tinderbox for, the witch meets a gisly fate. “The soldier immediately cut off her head, and there she lay on the ground.” In the film, she is dispatched bloodlessly in a Méliès-esque puff of smoke.
Later, after the dogs are summoned from the gallows, things turn violent again: “And the dogs fell upon the judges and all the councilors; seized one by the legs, and another by the nose, and tossed them many feet high in the air, so that they fell down and were dashed to pieces.” The king and queen quickly get the same treatment. In the film, the soldier uses the dogs to present the king and queen with wealth and they immediately see the light and accept him as a son-in-law.
The courtship of the princess is likewise changed. Rather than being imprisoned in a copper palace and never let out, she lives with her parents and has a normal, princessy life. In the story, she is whisked away asleep and barely remembers being kissed by the soldier, which obviously is not going to play as well to modern audiences. In the Larsen film, she is both conscious and an enthusiastic participant in all romantic overatures, a big improvement.
Why this softening was done, I cannot say, but I know American filmmakers of the same period were eager to capture the attention and nickels of schoolchildren. Shows of fairy tale films and other family-friendly material were a strong draw during holidays, so that may have been Larsen’s motivation as well. After all, why not? If kids wanted to spend their allowances at the movies, give them what they want: giant hopping dogs.
Again, this isn’t as lavish as the productions being made in at the time in France but the Danes had humor and playfulness to spare and Larsen’s cast is lively and enthusiastic. There are ways the story could go very dark indeed but Larsen eschews suspense and gothic sensibilities in favor of a good time being had by all, which is refreshing to the modern viewer as we live in the age of unrelenting grimdark and adult reboots.
The sets and costumes are cohesive rather than authentic, not fitting properly into any particular time period but working well together as a whole package. The special effects mostly consist of simple substitution splices but they are smooth and done well. All in all, this picture delivers on its promise, even if we are done out of a dog with eyes as big as towers.
Where can I see it?
Stream courtesy of the Danish Film Institute. The movie does not have intertitles, I am not sure if this was by design or due to decay. In any case, you will want to read the fairy tale first and then there will be no confusion.
☙❦❧
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