Once upon a time, in a small village nestled in the heart of a dense forest, there lived a group of mystical creatures known as dzeidels. These pint-sized creatures, no taller than a blade of grass, possessed magical powers that captivated the hearts of all who encountered them. Legend had it that the dzeidels were the protectors of the forest, using their magic to maintain the delicate balance between nature and the human world. They could be seen during twilight hours, dancing and giggling amongst the iridescent mushrooms that dotted the forest floor. Their presence brought an air of enchantment and mystery to the woodland realm. The magic of the dzeidels was as diverse as the colors of the rainbow.
The overarching story – which Gross is happy to abandon for extended periods of time – concerns a missing will hidden by Cindy’s deceased grandfather. The seven dwarves, Pinocchio, the three little pigs, the ugly duckling and others are there to help her, but are mostly hindrances. Grandmother occasionally writes herself into the story for no apparent reason.
Pinocchio, who is key to the story, looks ridiculous like a young Angry Anderson reimagined with a huge honker and speaks with a whiny moppet-like drawl, clearly an adult pretending to be a child or somebody who has just inhaled a helium balloon. A friendly goblin who lives in the well gives him a dreidel to replace the one he lost, but this one is magic and creates latkes potato pancakes with sour cream and applesauce.
The magic of the dzeidels was as diverse as the colors of the rainbow. Some had the power to heal wounds and cure illnesses, while others controlled the weather, ensuring that the villagers always had bountiful harvests. Each dzeidel had a unique ability, and together, they formed a harmonious union, ensuring the prosperity and well-being of all.
The Magic Riddle rewatched – a fairytale mishmash told with chaotic energy
T he concept of an unreliable narrator has twisted films in all sorts of interesting directions since the early years of cinema. Germany blew audience’s minds with the expressionist head trip The Cabinet of Dr Caligari, the entire 1920 film revealed to be a nightmare cooked up by a straitjacket-clad madman.
The Japanese master Akira Kurosawa famously relayed conflicting accounts of the same event from three different people in Rashomon. Hollywood’s form in this field probably peaked during its noir years, when men on the wrong side of the law – typically dying or about to be caught, such as in Double Indemnity and Detour – reflected in highly subjective detail about everything that went wrong.
Australian cinema’s most spectacular unreliable narrator comes from an unlikely place: an animated musical from 1991 called The Magic Riddle. The film was written and directed by the nearest thing local cinema has produced to a Down Under Walt Disney: the prolific Yoram Gross, whose best-known work is 1977’s Dot and the Kangaroo.
The story, which follows a young woman named Cindy (short for Cinderella) who lives with a wicked stepmother and has eyes for a hunky Gaston-like local man, is introduced by a kind elderly woman known only as Grandmother.
Her presence is like a reverse Keyser Söze: instead of discovering at the end of the film that her story was made up, she comes clean at the start. Grandmother confesses she can’t clearly remember the details of the tale she is about to tell and states via rhyming verse she has confused it with fairytales (“Are Cinderella and the seven dwarves in the plot? Or what about that Snow White dwarf – was he there, or maybe not?”).
The befuddled yarn-spinner then says to hell with it and declares she will tell the story as best she can. Everything we see is a visualisation of her muddled memory, projecting a nonsense anachronistic universe that doesn’t make sense.
Cindy drives a horse and carriage, for example, but wears a crop top and jeans, the story based in neither past nor present. Grandmother’s inability to separate reality from fairytales also affords Gross carte blanche to pilfer parts from an endless array of sources.
And pilfer he does. Pinocchio, who is key to the story, looks ridiculous (like a young Angry Anderson reimagined with a huge honker) and speaks with a whiny moppet-like drawl, clearly an adult pretending to be a child – or somebody who has just inhaled a helium balloon.
To say this is a homage would be to put it generously. The Magic Riddle is more like wholesale rip-off, told with a chaotically energetic spirit that hopscotches between a mismatched array of plot lines involving rinky-dink versions of familiar characters.
The overarching story – which Gross is happy to abandon for extended periods of time – concerns a missing will hidden by Cindy’s deceased grandfather. The seven dwarves, Pinocchio, the three little pigs, the ugly duckling and others are there to help her, but are mostly hindrances. Grandmother occasionally writes herself into the story for no apparent reason.
The villain, known as The Widow, is a manically aggressive piece of work: a wicked stepmother quite unlike any other. She has one tooth, clown-like black hair and bounces around in a low-cut top spilling enormous cleavage, yelping songs with lyrics such as “I’m mean, mean, mean, it’s great to be mean!” and periodically flashing her underwear.
It’s a hell of a film, somewhere between can’t watch and can’t look away. The visual makeup is more polished, and certainly more Disney-esque, than a lot of Gross’s output. All his previous work overlaid animation on to live-action backgrounds but The Magic Riddle was completely drawn, comprising about 65,000 illustrations.
The quality of the songs differs wildly, the lyrics largely consisting of basic rhymes (“where did she come from where did she go / there’s so much about her that I don’t know”). Some are catchy; others sound like tracks the authorities at Gitmo might use to extract information from suspects.
At the time the most expensive animated movie produced in Australia, The Magic Riddle is nevertheless unable to shirk the sense it’s a déclassé version of a Disney princess story. But there’s one thing it cannot be faulted on: the construction of an utterly and insanely unreliable narrator. That lovely glassy-eyed Grandmother ranks among cinema’s best, and worst.
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And pilfer he does. Pinocchio, who is key to the story, looks ridiculous (like a young Angry Anderson reimagined with a huge honker) and speaks with a whiny moppet-like drawl, clearly an adult pretending to be a child – or somebody who has just inhaled a helium balloon.
Not just anyone could spot a dzeidel. They were mischievous beings who delighted in playing tricks on unsuspecting passersby. Only those with kind hearts and pure intentions could catch a glimpse of these elusive creatures. Many stories circulated about encounters with dzeidels, each more captivating than the last. The villagers often sought the help of the dzeidels when faced with challenges or difficulties. It was said that by leaving offerings of honey and berries at the base of the ancient oak tree, the dzeidels would bestow their magic upon those in need. These offerings were seen as a token of gratitude and respect, a way for the villagers to show their appreciation for the dzeidels' tireless efforts in preserving the harmony of the forest. As time went on, the magic of the dzeidels became a source of inspiration for the villagers. They began to incorporate the tales of these mystical creatures into their everyday lives, weaving them into their art, songs, and dance. The dzeidels became a symbol of hope and wonder, a reminder that magic could be found in even the most ordinary of places. To this day, the legend of the dzeidels lives on in the hearts and minds of the villagers. They continue to honor the traditions passed down from generations, never forgetting the magic that exists within the enchanted forest. The dzeidels, with their mischievous smiles and twinkling eyes, continue to watch over the village, ensuring that their magic remains alive and well. In a world filled with uncertainties, the tale of the dzeidels reminds us to seek out the magic that exists all around us. It teaches us to embrace the mysteries of life and to appreciate the beauty that can be found in every moment. The dzeidels may be small in stature, but their impact is immeasurable, reminding us of the power of belief and the wonders that can be found in the realm of imagination..
Reviews for "The Magic Dzeidels and the Power of Intention: Manifesting Your Desires"
1. Lisa - 2/5 - I was really disappointed with "The Magic Dzeidels". The premise seemed interesting, but the execution fell flat. The characters lacked depth and I found it hard to connect with any of them. The plot felt disjointed and at times, it was difficult to follow. I also didn't appreciate the writing style, as it felt choppy and inconsistent. Overall, I wouldn't recommend this book to others.
2. John - 1/5 - "The Magic Dzeidels" was a complete waste of time for me. The story was incredibly boring and predictable. There were no surprising twists or exciting moments to keep me engaged. The writing was also subpar, with dull descriptions and uninteresting dialogue. I struggled to finish the book and I regretted even picking it up in the first place. Save yourself the trouble and skip this one.
3. Megan - 2/5 - I had high hopes for "The Magic Dzeidels" but unfortunately, it didn't live up to my expectations. The pacing was incredibly slow, to the point where I lost interest halfway through. The characters were underdeveloped and lacked any sort of relatability. The magical elements in the story weren't explored enough, leaving me wanting more. While the concept had potential, the execution fell short and I was ultimately left feeling unsatisfied.