The Princess Bride

Last year The Girl and I were at the Rex Cinema, Berkhamstead, when a trailer came on for The Princess Bride. At the end of it The Girl turned to me and said, “That looks shit.” (She has a legendary potty-mouth. Joe Pesci in Casino has nothing on her.) I said to her, “It’s meant to be a cult classic. Maybe it’s the trailer that’s shit and not the film.” (My sense of perception is legendary. I thought Noel Fielding would be good on the Bake Off from the start.)

Somehow – I don’t remember how – I discovered there was a book of The Princess Bride. I always prefer to read the book before watching the film; I think it’s the best way round. You’re welcome to disagree, it’s a free country after all– except for car parks. The book is incredibly funny. It's not often I can say that about a book. Generally, I’m distrustful of any book that has ‘hilarious’ written on it - normally they contain one joke that requires a classical education to understand. The authors I find genuinely hilarious are P.G. Woodhouse, Sue Townsend and Joseph Heller; others may reach ha, but rarely achieve ha-ha.

Catch-22 is a comic masterpiece.

The Princess Bride is ‘written’ by William Goldman, the screenwriter for Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and All The President’s Men. He is something of a renaissance man when it comes to the pen, as he’s written across mediums in theatre, film, fiction and non-fiction. The reason I put ‘written’ is because Goldman has created a framing device for The Princess Bride, alleging he is only responsible for the abridgement, that the story truly belongs to S. Morgenstern.

Goldman is a cheeky scamp. He has created the author of Morgenstern to allow him to interrupt the novel at various points to explain why certain edits have been made. In a past interview Goldman cited Tolstoy as one of his inspirations; a writer famous for his longeurs on farming methods: are Goldman’s edits then a dig at authorial indulgence? Whatever the intent it’s smart and funny.

He begins the ruse by telling us about where he first heard the story. He was a child, off school, suffering from pneumonia when his dad read him A Princess Bride, the classic tale of true love and high adventure by S. Morgenstern. As a boy he was enthralled by his dad’s reading. This enthrallment stayed with him into adulthood when he set about sourcing it for his own child. Excited by the thought of his son’s reaction, he was disappointed to find that his boy wasn’t interested. Goldman could not understand why. It was inconceivable that anyone could find the story boring or uninteresting. This was a story of no other, ‘of fencing, fighting, torture, poison, true love, hate, revenge, giants, hunters, bad men, good men, beautifulest ladies, snakes, spiders, beasts, chases, escapes, lies, truths, passion and miracles.’ Look at all those commas: there had to be something in it for everyone. On reading the book, Goldman begins to understand his son. There are indeed long, tedious passages. Why did he not know about it? His dad must have skipped those bits. The reason why Goldman had such a fondness for it was because his dad acted as unpaid editor and chopped out the bits he didn’t like. This gets Goldman thinking: why don’t I abridge the book in the same way my dad did, so others can enjoy it too? The end product is The Princess Bride.

The 'good parts' version abridged by William Goldman. Funny bastard!

The story begins with a meditation on beauty. A reflection on who is the fairest of them all. Soon we’re being told about Buttercup, a milkmaid, whose beauty is well … inconceivable. Her looks should have been the result of a union between pre-snakes Medusa and post-reunion Gary Barlow; as it is Buttercup’s parents weren’t much to look at. In chapter one we learn how she beguiles every man she meets, ostracising her in the community for ‘stealing away’ the boys. Unbeknownst to her, news of her beauty has made the royal court. The Prince’s father nears death, which puts the heir in need of a wife. Soon the count is at the milkmaid’s door, sizing her up for palace clothes. Buttercup is unaware of this; the only thing she pays heed to is the count’s wife eyeing of Westley, the family farm boy. At night Buttercup goes to bed and has terrible dreams about the pair in love The next morning everything has changed. The boy she used to scorn, she now loves. She goes to him and confesses all: 

“There is no room in my body for anything but you. My arms love you, my ears adore you, my knees shake with blind affection. My mind begs you to ask it something so it can obey. Do you want me to follow you for the rest of your days? I will do that. Do you want me to crawl? I will crawl. I will be quiet for you or sing for you, or if you are hungry, let me bring you food, or if you have thirst and nothing will quench it but Arabian wine, I will go to Araby, even though it is across the world, and bring a bottle back for your lunch. Anything there is that I can do for you, I will do for you; anything there is that I cannot do, I will learn to do.”

This passage is so beautiful I was close to having it as one of our wedding readings. I love the bit on Arabian wine. The passage is indicative of the book. Melodrama undercut by humour. It’s all sounding slushy and syrupy until you get to that bit. The specificity of ‘bring a bottle back for your lunch’ is so good – the stuff comedy is made on. I even love the over-the-top exaltation of arms, ears and knees. Love does make you feel giddy, so why shouldn’t you exaggerate it.

Westley, in response, slams the door in her face. The expected kiss does not happen. Buttercup gets on her mope-ped and rides home. But fear not. The next day Westley returns the knock and confesses all: 

“I have not known a moment in years when the sight of you did not send my heart careering against my rib cage. I have not known a night when your visage did not accompany me to sleep. There has not been a morning when you did not flutter behind my waking eyelids.”  

For a parody on the fairy tale genre, it’s seriously romantic.

The kiss between Westley and Buttercup doesn’t lead to the relationship we hope. As soon as their lips wave hello, their mouths sigh ‘goodbye.’ Westley seeks his fortune abroad to provide Buttercup with the life she deserves. Unfortunately, the letters sustaining the relationship stop. Westley’s boat was taken over by a famous pirate – the result? Death. Consumed by grief, Buttercup accepts the Prince’s offer of marriage on the condition they never love.

From here, romance turns into fairy tale. The princess-to-be is kidnapped by a gang of thieves. The nation of Guilder, rival to Florin, is suspected. With the Prince being a renowned hunter, the chase is on. A man in black is also on the tail: who is he and what does he want? The three kidnappers are a wonderful work of comic invention. A Sicilian mastermind, a Turkish brute, a Spanish swordsman; all three characterised with brio and zaniness. There are twists and turns along the way with risk, rhyme and redemption all featuring.  

The three villains. Yes, Andre The Giant is in the film.

The Princess Bride achieves a really difficult feat in being both ridiculous and romantic. Throughout the novel Goldman plays oxymoron with the reader, achieving serious silliness and daft intelligence all the way. 

This week, I bought the film off eBay. We’re going to watch it tonight. I’ve got a good feeling it’s better than the trailer suggests. Maybe the trailer was Morgenstern’s doing. Because with Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and All the President’s Men, Goldman clearly has the gift for writing.

The Princess Bride is available in all good bookshops.