The Trap (1966)
Director: Sidney Hayers
Writer: David D. Osborn
Stars: Rita Tushingham, Oliver Reed
Short Review, no spoilers
The Trap is a roughly hewn gem, a fairy tale stripped of decadence and magic and instead brought to life through the glorious natural beauty of 19th century British Columbia. The film is equal parts love story, thrilling adventure, and fascinating period drama imbued with the rustic aesthetics of a wintery western. The central performances by Oliver Reed and Rita Tushingham are also a delight with both at their best in this earthy take on the Beauty and the Beast myth.
Full Review (spoilers)
In the reviews that can be found of it, The Trap is often described as an unusual love story, although it has a more than uncanny resemblance to ‘tale as old as time’, Beauty and the Beast. What seems like the clearest allusion to the French-born myth - in which a young girl is imprisoned by a beastly man because of a paternal figure’s debt, is first appalled by her animalistic captor then gradually learns to love him - is the naming of Québécois animal trapper Labete, literally ‘the beast’ in French. Like Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre, The Trap is a reimagining of the fairy tale in a ‘real world’ context to explore the same themes: the possibilities of romance - and within that personal freedom - in a society that systematically traps women in to functional, loveless marriages. There are, however, differing approaches to class and also the feminist ideas identified in other versions of the story.
Opening in a small harbour town in 19th century British Columbia, The Trap sets the scene of a generally rough time and place to be a woman, where jailbirds and broken women are bought by local men as wives and brought over from afar by boat. One particularly unfortunate individual, whose prospective ‘husband’ has died while she was in transit, is auctioned off to the highest bidder upon her arrival. This depressing scene is observed through the horrified eyes of Eve, a mute young servant to a trader who was orphaned by the massacre of her family by a native tribe, during which she witnessed the rape of her mother. Like the heroine of Bronte’s novel, options are limited to a young woman with no money or family connections, and both earn their keep by serving wealthy families.
Just as Eve seems particularly vulnerable in this brutal world, Labete appears to be the worst of all men – intimidating, aggressive, and apparently intent on taking women by force if necessary. Although his physical appearance is clearly part of the overall threat he poses (large frame and black beard), it is ugly and antisocial behaviour that really identifies him as the Beast here. Bowling in drunk to claim the money the trader had been keeping from him, like the Beast of the original tale Labete demands recompense as a result of a patriarchal figure’s mistake. The callous wife and spoiled daughter of the trader take the place of the jealous sisters, although in The Trap it is the wife who instigates her own trade – that of Eve as ‘wife’ for Labete in place of the precious money needed to relocate to the more civilised San Francisco.
From the first sight of Labete laughing madly as he navigates the wild river in his canoe to his violent reaction at a refused bid in the wife auction on the docks, one fears for all women’s safety, let alone Eve’s. Eve in fact laughs when she first sees Labete as he rolls up in the little canoe, laden with fur and greeted with acclaim by his friends. However, others quietly observe his return with concern, having believed him dead and unable to collect his debts. As his abrasive character becomes apparent, Eve’s selling off to this seemingly monstrous man fills us with dread at what kind of life with him awaits her. Unlike the more commonly told versions of Beauty and the Beast however, in which an impossibly dutiful daughter willingly sacrifices herself for the sake of her father, we have instead the savage reality of capitalism, whereby the lowly status of a servant girl is exploited by her employer. The Trap is also frank about the sexual undercurrents alluded to in the original myth – it is not being eaten by the Beast that Eve fears, but being raped by him, compounded by the trauma of seeing her own mother succumb to that very fate. However, in keeping with the original moral - that looks can deceive - Eve is tougher than her mouse-like appearance would suggest. In her comparison of Beauty and the Beast and Jane Eyre, Vanessa Hodja writes of the two heroines: ‘while both are small in frame, with no status attached to their names, they manage to defy every convention expected of their station’*. While all else cower in the presence of Labete, it is Eve’s lowly servant girl that defiantly tilts her face at him as he sweeps out the door of the trader’s house. She holds her own in the harsh conditions she finds herself in, and fends Labete’s less than delicate advances off with his own hunting knife.
As impressive as Eve’s demonstrations of self-defence are, it is also notable that Labete could likely still have overpowered her but doesn’t. Like Eve, the actions of Labete also gradually reveal that there is more to what had initially met the eye. As savage as he is and as primal as his instincts are, Labete is seen to save Eve from danger, look after her, and even court her in his own bullish and drunkenly exuberant way. As in the Disney adaptation of Beauty and the Beast, music and dance bring the two closer together, but in The Trap it takes place in a humble cabin rather than a lavish ballroom, the music provided by Labete himself as he rasps away on a mouth organ. After getting carried away and blowing it, Labete’s efforts become increasingly less aggressive to the point of simple clumsiness, and Eve gradually overcomes her fear to see it as such. In another comparison of Beauty and the Beast and Jane Eyre, Christine Butterworth-Mcdermott argues it is as much Beauty and Jane’s ability to perceive that the Beast and Rochester are capable of change, as any actual transformation that occurs.*
Unlike the tortured and neurotic souls of the traditional Beast and Rochester however, Labete is brazen and shameless in every way - there is no curse or baggage of a mad wife in the attic. In both Jean Cocteau’s magical adaptation and the Disney version, the Beast is seen eating in an animalistic fashion before displaying embarrassment in front of Beauty. In The Trap, Labete displays no such shame, eating like a pig and discarding bones on to the floor. Not for shame but necessity, Eve has crafted a bin in to which she discreetly deposits the beastly man’s rubbish. As Labete’s attention is drawn to this, he begins to do it on purpose, it becomes a game and even Eve can’t help but laugh. Although Labete’s complete disregard for decorum is liberating, there is need for some containment of his more slovenly urges now that he has a companion to share his environment with. The bin is just one amongst other items of furniture that Eve immediately sets to work on building upon entering Labete’s rat-infested den, and it is a practical move on Eve’s part that asserts her place in the home. The stereotype of woman as civiliser is treated light-heartedly here, but the often-demeaned duty of housework as ‘woman’s work’ only reinforces the assumption that traditionally feminine-associated roles are lowly and not important. The Trap turns the tables on traditional assumptions of domestic work and also offers a critical spin on the original tale – it is Eve’s domestic assertiveness that prevents her from becoming a prisoner in the new home she finds herself in and, without the luxury of being waited on by magical servants, she displays a no-nonsense work ethic that ensures the home is now as much hers as the man that would be her captor.
Labete also differs from the fairy-tale Beast in his relationship to his environment, in that he lives out in the open and nowhere is off limits to him. Although his realm is isolated, he doesn’t hide away in a castle once decadent and now decaying but resides in a cabin practical for his occupation of hunting and trapping. This also enables him power in a grudging but necessary relationship with the nearby townsfolk, unlike the victimhood of the original Beast, who is driven off with pitchforks. No idle aristocrat, Labete’s home is where he works, in a habitat that is in harmony with nature rather than a barrier to it. An article from the Smithsonian describes the story of Beauty and the Beast as one which underscores ‘the vital connection between human beings and nature’.** However, although the traditional tale does trouble the boundaries between humans and animals, The Trap embraces the relationship more fully with an absence of the angst displayed by the Beast. The naming of Eve and also of Labete’s grizzly nemesis, Old Bear Adam, alludes to Labete’s domain representing a kind of return to Eden, but one in which humankind is not so distinct from animals. Beasts, both gentle and dangerous, roam everywhere in Labete’s Garden, symbolising a yin and yang sense of balance between fragile beauty and frightening brutality inherent in nature. Both Eve and Labete are seen to engage closely with animals in ways that vividly realise this dichotomous relationship: Labete is an aggressive survivalist and hunter while Eve is seen to demonstrate gentleness in the way she cares for animals, and agonises at the prospect of killing them so that she may live. Unlike the fairy tale Beast’s denial of his animalism, as he continues to adorn himself with the clothes and manners of a gentleman, our heroes in The Trap embrace their integral relationship with animals. Labete’s recognition of Eve as animal herself – calling her ‘Little Rabbit’ upon his first encounter with her and throughout – resembles Rochester’s identification of Jane as ‘imp’ and ‘fairy’. In both cases, this linkage with something distinct from the human world unites our couple as fellow outsiders, both compounding the bond between them and their liberation from a civilisation that seeks to deny its natural origins.
As a bond is being tentatively built, the crucial turning point in the story comes when Labete stumbles in to one of his own traps while under attack from a mountain lion. The trapper becomes hunted animal himself when he is then chased by a pack of wolves, and a long, tense and genuinely frightening sequence cross-cuts Labete’s desperate attempt to escape and Eve’s hesitance at the sound of howls back at the cabin. Labete eventually makes it back and Eve fires shots at the wolves, but the trapper has been horribly wounded. The two swap roles, Labete learning what it means to be vulnerable, and Eve forced to harden herself in order to preserve the lives of both herself and her maimed companion. The comparable development in Disney’s version is when the Beast is also attacked by wolves, but suffers injuries needing no more treatment than Belle dabbing him delicately with a hankie. In The Trap, Eve is first required to journey through a blizzard to retrieve a remedy from a medicine man, only to find he and the entire tribe dead, before the battle back to the cabin and the astonishing moment when she has to amputate and then cauterise Labete’s gangrenous leg. She is then further forced to overcome her gentle nature and kill the animals she had previously nurtured, in order to provide food in the midst of an isolated snow-bound winter and save both her and Labete’s lives.
When Eve sets out for the tribe encampment, it is the first of two times she leaves Labete. Reminiscent of the moment Beauty is told by the Beast that he will die if she does not return to him, Eve’s burden is gruelling and literal, but we see that both heroines make a choice which says something about themselves and also about how they have come to feel about the one they return to. At this point, both could leave the Beast to die and make good their escape, but choose not to. Not insignificantly, it is rabbit skins that Eve is instructed by Labete to use for binding his wound – the nickname Labete graces her with is inextricably linked with her power to heal. Eve becomes saviour, subverting the infamous original sin of her namesake, and symbolically redeeming the original woman and all those punished thereafter who have been systematically subordinated to men. For his part, Labete’s faith in her potential as a survivalist is rewarded, and Eve also discovers the strength in being depended upon through trust rather than exploitation.
According to the previously mentioned Smithsonian article, one of the lessons of Beauty and the Beast is that love is stronger than death - when Labete recovers, he has discovered tenderness and gratitude: “If it were not for Eve, Jean Labete would be dead.” The moment leads to a consummation of their ‘marriage’, however Eve cannot disassociate sex from violence after witnessing the rape of her mother, and she flees in horror from a howling Labete. Here is the second time Eve leaves, this time embarking on the last part of her journey toward overcoming the trauma of her past, from which she must make a crucial decision for her future. Drifting away in the canoe, she runs in to trouble in the form of a waterfall and, not insignificantly, is saved by Indians (another step toward reconciliation with the past) and returned to the town from whence she came. From the voice of the trader, we learn that she had a miscarriage, and that she is about to be married to the young, blonde-haired shop clerk we saw her childishly flirting with before Labete arrived on the scene.
As Eve is prepared for the wedding by the woman who sold her off in the first place (still not made it to San Fran, bad luck), the woman’s daughter questions her with a strangely increasing hysteria about her experiences with Labete. ‘Did you kill him?!’ Sarah shrieks with both fear and fascination. Like the jealous sisters, the trader’s wife and daughter act as foils for Eve: what the mother covets – wealth and social standing - is not rewarded, and her attempts at bringing up a well-bred daughter has produced a repressed and frustrated brat, regarding with envy Eve’s comparable liberty and experience of sex. Sarah probably recalls that it could have been her Labete took as his wife if her mother hadn’t stepped in. From the beginning of the film, we see that one benefit of Eve’s lowly status is that she is allowed to roam freely unlike Sarah. After Sarah’s mother forbids her to go down to the docks and ‘mix with those people’, she asks where Eve is – she’s outside, and free to go where Sarah is not allowed. It is when comparisons are made between Eve and Labete’s life and that of the trader’s household that the true trap is revealed. Again, it is perceptive skills that are needed to look beyond what would seem to be the obvious oppression to recognise the false promise of freedom in the civilised world’s doctrine of respectable aspiration.
The Beast is a controversial figure, troublesome link as he is between the civilised world and the world of nature. In The Trap, the trader’s wife cries out in protest when Labete bursts in to their home - ”He’s an animal! A wild animal!” That he may be, but his hard, humble life with daily challenges out in the wilds is ultimately shown to be preferable to the staid and loveless strictures of a comfortable but empty existence in the trader’s household. The trader’s wife is seen to make the mistake of coveting the finer things in life at the expense of true happiness, something she inflicts on her spoiled daughter. As servant to her employer’s high-minded ideals, the mute Eve’s silence and subordinate status in fact liberates her, whereas Sarah’s noise and movements are repeatedly contained by her mother in order to refine her for a ‘decent’ marriage. Before the scene of Labete’s intrusion in to their home, Sarah throws a tantrum while trying to learn the piano, to which her mother suggests they bring a teacher over on the next boat. A glance is exchanged between trader and wife, the trader looking uncomfortable in the knowledge that he is already in debt because of his wife’s expensive demands. Sarah reads from the Bible - ‘Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass or a tinkling cymbal…’ – at which point she is interrupted by the arrival of Labete. This is not an arbitrary passage but one which alludes to the irony that for all of Sarah’s noisy ‘talents’ that are funded by her wealthy family, it will be the voiceless and uneducated orphan Eve that will find true love and with that, freedom from the trappings of the civilised world.
The trader’s household is typical of human civilisation’s efforts to distance itself from its inherent links to the natural, animal world as a mark of progress. Unlike Labete’s habitat, which is abundant with living, free-roaming animal life, the only evidence of animals in the town are the skins brought by the trapper, and a caged bird briefly glimpsed behind Eve when she exits a room in the trader’s house. The caged bird is one of many hints throughout the film that play with the irony of traps actually signalling Eve’s potential access to freedom. Against the seemingly inevitable outcome that all trapped animals will die, the caged bird can be understood as a sign of the potential of living and being freed, just as Eve eventually discovers. Another ironically used object in the film is a rope - the same rope used to tether Eve to Labete is also used to pull her up the cliff from which she falls, in the first of several instances of him literally saving her life. Later, Eve is again tied with a rope, this time by two ne’er do wells, Yellow Dog and No Name, who seek to kill Labete and steal his money. Labete, too crafty for his would-be assassins, spots the signs of intruders and again rescues Eve. A glance is shared between the two as he unties her binds for the second time, giving significance to this physical act of freeing her as well as further laying the groundwork for the trust that is beginning to be built.
A sign of her childhood trauma, Eve displays alarm when she sees Indigenous people before she leaves the town, and the assault by Yellow Dog and No Name might have confirmed her worst fears. However, her rescue from the same fate as her mother offers hope and belief in Labete’s protection. Furthermore, subsequent events and revelations in the course of her journey with Labete may seem incidental, but are in fact significant as challenges to Eve’s perception of these people as enemies. First are Labete’s stories of the Indians who took him in as an orphaned child and taught him all he knows about hunting and trapping, the same valuable knowledge he passes on to her; second is the tribe he sends her to when he is injured, because he knows they have medicinal skills and will help; and the most direct encounter is when Eve is rescued by the community living on the banks of the river and is delivered by them safely back to the town. Butterworth-Mcdermott describes the common trope of fairy-tale heroes going out in to dangerous worlds where they do battle with monsters that are in fact standing in for the internal demons the hero must overcome. The real monsters are in Eve’s mind and the true battle is a fight with herself, her own inner fears and trauma, something she may never have had the opportunity to confront and defeat had she not embarked upon her journey with Labete. Here again the irony that her capture presents the possibility of freeing herself, psychically as well as physically.
Before skipping out on her wedding, we see Eve looking up at an animal trap hanging from the ceiling. As in the original tale and Bronte’s novel, our heroine leaves her beast to go away and learn lessons in order to make an informed decision about her future. Eve witnesses the hysteria of Sarah, herself like a caged animal, and realises that the life she had left behind with Labete was actually the one of freedom – again, it is her perceptive skills that are put to the test. It is what seemed to be a trap that opens her eyes to the freedom that was always potentially available to her. Her fear needed to be tested and she needed to be exposed to danger to realise how strong she actually is. Taking in all that she has seen and experienced, Eve makes the choice to abandon her fiancé at the altar, leaving her wedding dress on the bed. She heads off again in the little canoe, this time directing her own journey rather than drifting powerlessly through a sea of fear.
As with Eve, Jane Eyre’s literal orphan status and Beauty’s ‘orphaning’ via separation from her family ensure the singularity of these heroines and the space to make up their own minds, subverting any expectations that an individual is powerless without reliable family support. Nevertheless, Jane and Beauty are both subjected to a substantial amount of manipulation, either at the hands of other characters or through various plot machinations. Both of their stories are littered with duplicity, trickery, secrets and lies, not least as perpetuated by their respective ‘beasts’. In contrast, there are no such cobwebs to fight through with Labete who, although aggressive and rude, is ultimately honest and straightforward. He speaks frankly about his colourful past, explaining rather than excusing his behaviour. Even more interesting is to compare what gifts each Beast offers his Beauty. In the original tale, Beauty is lavished with luxuriant chambers, good food and is constantly entertained. In Cocteau’s version, we see Beauty awarded jewels and finery that she can’t give away even if she wants to. And in Jane Eyre, Rochester strives to obtain acceptance in to high society for himself and his new bride. Early on in The Trap however, even before he has gained her trust, Labete’s gift to Eve is to teach her the invaluable skills of survival, how to hunt and look after herself in the wild without having to rely on anyone else. Labete himself acknowledges: ‘so you won’t need Labete no more’, but does so regardless. As such, Labete’s honestly delivered gift to Eve demonstrates the potential for an unselfish love that empowers his partner as opposed to one that encourages dependence or spoiling. Although Beauty and the Beast and other incarnations are subversive in their ways, they often arguably return to the fold whereby Beauty is rewarded by a Beast who turns out to be a handsome and refined human prince, with the added bonus of all the riches and stability that a good girl should want and deserve. The Trap on the other hand asserts from the outset and sees out the transgressive possibilities of the tale’s moral through less decadent rewards, and as such more fully challenges capitalist and sexist values which so often go hand in hand.
Before Eve is taken by Labete, there is a scene in which the shop clerk earnestly appeals to Eve to become his bride, promising her a house on Knob Hill with a chandelier in every room. Living in ‘a house on the hill’ is echoed in Labete’s song, along with the lyric: ‘And she will have diamonds and pearls.’ From the beginning of the film, we have seen the chandelier as an object of amused fascination to Labete, admiring one in the house of the trader. The similarities between what the shop clerk offers and how it is ironically referenced by Labete invite comparisons between them as prospective partners for Eve and, although a life with the shop clerk would appear to present an easier, more comfortable existence, the irony with which the same symbols of supposed happiness are tinged by in relation to Labete points up the misguided faith in materialistic ambitions.
Eve makes her own informed choice and returns to ‘Eden,’ in an ending that is fittingly touching but understated and unsentimental, and more powerful for it. In the tense first moments of their reunion, we wonder: will they run in to each other’s arms? Will Eve speak her first words to him? Will Labete weep with joy like a transformed gentle animal, backed by soaring orchestral soundtrack? Not so for this humble re-telling, where we instead see Little Rabbit return to her beast tentatively but without fear, while Labete merely touches her face in an unshowy but tender motion of affection. Most poignantly of all is when Eve enters the house and sees not an animal trap hanging from the ceiling but a wooden, roughly handcrafted chandelier, made by Labete even without the certainty that she would return. At the beginning of the film, he laughed cruelly as he mused on buying a chandelier along with the wife he would acquire, but now we have a man who has learnt to work and build for what he desires rather than just brutally taking it. Labete’s offering may be rustically put together, but it is a symbol of a life that is more genuine, wholesome and heartfelt than the standardised ambitions for comfort and happiness. As Eve regards Labete’s creation, the Beast strides off singing the song his mother taught him, a humble tune that forms the theme of a beautifully orchestrated score, which closes out the film.
Ultimately, Eve not only survives, but tames the Beast and her own fear, ending up in a relationship that is mutually beneficial, respectful and even loving after enduring severe hardships. Her challenge is to defend herself bravely in such a brutal time and place, where women and goods are traded in equal measure, but also to draw upon her natural kindness and emotional intelligence to discern that Labete has a good soul himself underneath an abrasive exterior. Fairy tales often serve to illuminate the limited choices women have traditionally had - in being expected to marry for stability, the necessity to choose wisely becomes paramount. What writers have proposed about Beauty and the Beast is the notion that it promotes an active rather than passive journey towards true love, and the possibility of learning as much about oneself as one’s partner in the process. The Trap follows this ethos and exemplifies the empowering and liberating narratives that are possible in the genre of romance, and within them the opportunity for women to play some active role in their destinies, even within limiting social contexts. These stories revolve around the issue of choice - the possibility of women having some opportunity to choose in a life that would otherwise seem decided for them. Eve finds herself in just such a situation and, like Beauty, her decision to return to Labete saves herself as well as the Beast.
See – *‘Grains of Truth in the Wildest Fable: “Beauty and the Beast” Retold as Jane Eyre’ by Christine Butterworth-Mcdermott, Chapter 10 in Twice-Told Children’s Tales: The Influence of Childhood Reading on Writers for Adults ed. Betty Greenway (2005) Routledge
**Reference to an article introducing a screening of Jean Cocteau’s version at the Toronto Film Festival, previously available online.
***‘The Storied, International Folk History of Beauty and The Beast’ by James Deutsch, smithsonianmag.com, March 15 2017
