For a film inundated with beautiful, exquisitely shot imagery, it was almost impossible to pin down just one frame from Blancanieves to comment upon. As a modern adaptation of Snow White, told through the stylistic model of a silent film, Blancanieves is built upon its visuals, emphasising the power of the image to communicate meaning and emotion without the benefit (or detriment) of sound. The film’s strength lies in its conviction to show rather than to simply tell. One frame which particularly resonates in this sense is the one seen above. It is a moment of triumph – of a father and daughter reunited after suffering incredible loss. To look at the frame in isolation, one would never guess that this is the story of Snow White. Yet, in its simplicity, it expresses a world of meaning.

The near-symmetrically composed frame, places the young Carmencita and her father, Antonio Villalta, at the centre of the spectator’s gaze: its high contrast lighting reducing the image to an almost two-dimensional space. For a film which calls back to the technology of the silent era, this frame seems to venture back even further towards the art of shadow puppetry. All focus is given to the moment shared between father and daughter, framed by the grand balcony window which once offered Villalta the only sights of the outside world which he could take pleasure in from the confinement of the room his new wife, Encarna, had trapped him within. Now, with the daughter he never knew sitting on his lap, a new life and happiness is injected into the character.

But despite the film’s basis, this is no fairy-tale in the conventional sense, and the image of father and daughter seen above would suggest as much itself. Yes, it’s a joyful interlude, but tragedy has befallen both Carmencita and Antonio before, and it will again. It can’t help but escape our attention that Antonio’s wheelchair is in full view in this shot, a painful reminder of the fatal incident which begins the film. It further reminds us of the stress of this incident that resulted in the loss of Antonio’s wife during childbirth. More prominently, however, is the particular emphasis of the colour black. Of course, the film is completely black and white. But perhaps no where else in the film is it as prevalent, stripping the features of both characters away and leaving them in the midst of an almost all-encompassing abyss, ready to snatch them up at any moment. The present may offer peace of mind for Carmencita, but her future happiness is no guarantee.