Excuse me while I get a little meta about the flowers in Strange Magic.
Purple roses:
We see a LOT of daisies in the beginning of the film. They’re all over the Light Fields and Marianne’s corsage is even made out of them. Daisies are largely associated with innocence and it’s so symbolic to me that the sprites put a daisy in Marianne’s hair after she sees Roland cheating on her, and she pulls it out of her hair. It’s the loss of her own innocence and blindness and love. I also think it’s a commentary on the fairies themselves, as all the other flowers in the fields seem to be.
While we’re talking about Marianne at the beginning of the film, let’s discuss the lavender rose shall we? It’s literally her bed and the petals are scattered all over her room, which we also never see again because guess what lavender roses symbolize? “... enchantment and love at first sight. Those who have been enraptured by feelings of love and adoration have used lavender roses to express their romantic feelings and intentions. The color purple also has a traditional association with royalty. In this regard, shades of lavender roses can suggest an air of regal majesty and splendor.” Fitting considering how blind with love she is for Roland huh?
The flowers I remember seeing in the fields were poppies and gladiolus as well as possibly foxglove? Which would make sense considering they’re often associated with fairies.
Poppies are symbols of sleep, peace, and death. It makes me think of idleness and ignorance as well as laziness. All things that actually remind me of Dagda considering he’s the only overweight fairy and is horrified to find out his daughters are in love with an elf and a goblin. Seems a little judgemental. There seems to be quite the divide between the fairies and the elves, a kind of sleepiness of the mind that refuses to be taught.
The Gladiolus symbolizes strength, moral integrity, and infatuation. And if I remember correctly they can also be a symbol of danger? Which makes sense because as much as they like to think of the Fields as “good” and the Forest as “evil”, there’s danger everywhere, even in the Fields. The gladiolus reminds me of Marianne and the hope that she can bring with her own strength and integrity both of which wind up hidden beneath her infatuation with Roland.
I find it interesting Roland calls Marianne buttercup. They tend to be associated with humility, neatness, and childishness, all things Roland either WANTS Marianne to be, or how he sees her. Which is, honestly, depressing.
And then there’s Bog, giving Marianne a fucking Chinese bell flower. This romantic idiot gives her a flower symbolizing Unchanging Love, Honesty, and Obedience. Like really? Could you be more subtle?
The obedience kind of bothers me, but considering Bog, he really does LISTEN to Marianne. He does what she says and that blows my mind. The Bog King, listening to this little fairy when he refuses to listen to anyone else. At all. It’s adorable and it’s a promise he’s given her. IT MIGHT AS WELL BE A BLOODY MARRIAGE PROPOSAL OKAY!?
tl;dr all the flowers in the film seem to have been chose for specific reasons based on their meanings and I can’t.
for my beloved friends @endorathewitchwriter, @humanityinahandbag, @abutterflyobsession, @artbymaureen, @pereprinthings, and so many more!
Don’t come back, he said. Those very words rolled off his tongue, not said for once in anger, in yelling–just calmly.
All Marianne remembers is the way the sun–because yes, for once there was sun in the Dark Forest–shined on his shell and it glowed. The afternoon rays warmed the soil and the scent spring and life gravitated upwards instead of down.
Don’t come back, The Bog King said, his eyes focused on the bark of a dead tree instead of the life being squeezed out of their relationship.
He took two steps forward and she took two steps back.
And then another and another and another…until neither of her two feet remained in the dark forest.
She didn’t say anything, he recalls. Not a sound for a fairy’s whose words were always more scolding than fire. She was silent–nonexistent–and sometimes he wonders if she was actually ever real.
It happens the most when he wakes in the middle of the night, a claw trying to dig into his chest plate from dreams about falling, falling, and falling and there is no light. Because of course, he’s caught in his own castle, being dragged down into the trench in what he used to call home, and all he can think about is how he wouldn’t see her again.
On reflex, he goes to hold her, feel her warm flesh pressed against his, but she’s not there.
Because she didn’t say anything at all.
There is day and night, sun and moon, fairy and goblin.
Marianne wonders exactly where she fits because she’s neither here nor there, but only having two categories isn’t enough.
You are the twilight, Tough Girl.
And as tears prick her eyes, she still hates it when he’s right.
Are you sure? You said I had good ideas.
His mother doesn’t say anything about the ending. It wasn’t perfect, not her dreams, but she remains quiet too like the woman who also didn’t speak.
And when Bog asks her, a familiar passion rising from the depths of his soul, she doesn’t scream at him either. The plates on his shoulders are heckled, are higher as he stands hunched over his mother. There is a swirl, a tap of something he used to know knocking on the edges of his mind.
Griselda, the Goblin Mother, only smiles sadly, the gaps between her teeth seemingly like shadows of dreams now gone. “The heart can’t want what it doesn’t want,” she tells him.
Then she walks away, her wobbly steps echoing in the hall chambers, only to fade and be quiet like the words he wishes he heard.
“You wanted him, right?” Dawn asks as they lay staring at clouds. They’re a creamy white against a blue, blue sky and all she can see are his eyes.
But Marianne blinks, long lashes fluttering. “I thought I did.”
Her sister rolls over and peers at her, her blonde hair springy with every moment. “And what makes you think you don’t?”
To that, Marianne doesn’t know.
“It’s not that I didn’t want Marianne, you know,” The Bog King affirms, pacing in circles in this throne room.
“Totally, BK,” Stuff answers, playing some card game wit Thang.
(She’s cheating, but Bog doesn’t remind her that’s unfair.)
He pauses and stares through the ceiling glass, pale moonlight beating down on the warmth of his home. Scared wings buzz between him, preparing him for a battle, but no one ever crashes through.
“Because she–” he starts. “She was everything.”
I was just scared.
More often than not, Marianne finds herself hovering just outside the primroses, the pink in her wings like the pink in the petals of both kingdoms. It would be easy, she knows, to just fly over and be back in the Dark Forest. There purple and brows and bruises blend easily into the dark foliage.
It’s a place that feels like home, but home is what the heart makes of it.
And part of the problem is that she hasn’t had her heart in very long, long while.
The Bog King used to stay away from the primroses, destroy them, and pretend they never existed. But now the primroses are as close as he can get to her, the place where the Light Fields and his kingdom meet.
It is only the mixing and blending of the two boarders can his heart ache less for just a second, the warm scent of sun caught up on a breeze that reminds him of Marianne. For she was the sun that lit up his life if she didn’t know it. She was always the light he needed to guide him away from darkness
Because despite that Tough Girl exterior, she was always filling to the brim with love.
Marianne is about to go home, take the long way by walking to just linger closer, when a twig snaps and she twirls around on instinct, her hand at her hilt.
Amber eyes go wide as they stare into blue as The Bog King steps out from between the thorny stalks, his jaw dropped. “It’s you,” he whispers, so much in awe and in disbelief.
She swallows, her heart crawling up to her throat and begging to speak. I missed you, I missed you, I missed you! it screams, but instead she just presses her lips together and nods.
“Yeah, it’s me.”
The moment is staggered, strained as each remain frozen in place. For once she’s on her side and he’s on his.
She’s not sure if she likes it.
He takes one step forward and she doesn’t take one step back. “I’m sorry,” he tells her as he takes another and another and another. His blues eyes are clearer than the sky. “I’m sorry,” he repeats.
Marianne breathes deep, air at full capacity lining her lungs. “I’m sorry too.”
His mouth twists just as he does the same with his fingers. “But you didn’t do anything wrong.”
Now it feels like time is moving forward as she goes forward. “I honestly can’t remember what who did.”
Bog smiles weakly, hesitant but trying. “Me neither.”
There’s a beat between them before they both say, “Can we–”
And then both equally become embarrassed.
“No, no, you go first–” they say together again.
On the third try, it’s not successful either, but between the two of them manage to ask, “Can we start over?”
And as the twilight is stretching over the two kingdoms, there is a mutual agreement.
