Hello. My name is LG Alfonso. We’re talking about The Princess Bride. Prepare for spoilers.
Is The Princess Bride still as good as it was in 1987? I’m probably going to get a lot of flak for even asking that question. Most who’ve seen the cult classic at least once hold it in high regard, and for good reason. The writing is memorable, the performances are iconic, and the themes are timeless. However, this blog affirms two things: no movie is perfect, and each work of art is worth re-examining at least once. And there’s been some online discussion about whether some aspects of The Princess Bride still hold up over time, with some leaning towards the negative. So, I decided to do some research myself and take a closer look.
Some of you may be thinking, “Now hold on, Leah. Princess Bride is a parody, you’re not supposed to take it seriously.” To which I say, “Don’t bother me with trifles.”
“Has it got any sports in it?”
We begin in the bedroom of one young and sick Fred Savage. His grandfather visits him and gives him a book as a gift, The Princess Bride by S. Morgenstern. The book follows the story of a girl named Buttercup who falls in love with a farm boy, Westley. Westley sets out to seek his fortune, but is attacked by the Dread Pirate Roberts. Buttercup falls into a deep depression, swearing to never love again.
Five years later, Prince Humperdinck announces his engagement to Buttercup, though Buttercup doesn’t love him. While she is out for a daily ride on her horse, she is abducted by three men, Vizzini, Inigo, and Fezzik. Vizzini plans to kill Buttercup as a means to start a war between the kingdoms Guilder and Florin, but Inigo and Fezzik have reservations. While sailing to Guilder, they are followed by a lone man in black. Catching up to them at the Cliffs of Insanity, the Man in Black faces off against the three kidnappers one by one—Inigo through swordplay, Fezzik through wrestling, and Vizzini through a battle of wits. He bests all three of them, sparing Inigo and Fezzik but killing Vizzini.
While taking Buttercup to the other side of the island where his ship waits, the Man in Black reveals himself to be Westley. They reunite as Humperdinck and his army track them down, and they escape into the Fire Swamp. Westley rescues Buttercup from the many dangers of the Fire Swamp—fire spurts, quicksand, and Rodents Of Unusual Size. However, on the other side of the Swamp they are ambushed by Humperdinck and his men. Buttercup surrenders and makes Humperdinck promise to spare Westley and bring him back to his ship. As the prince rides off with Buttercup, his right-hand man—Count Rugan—captures Westley and knocks him out.
Westley is taken to the Pit of Despair, to be healed of his injuries and then tortured by “the machine.” Buttercup realizes that she will always love Westley, and begs Humperdinck not to force her to marry him. They strike a deal: Humperdinck will send copies of love letters to Westley, and if he wants her she will leave with him, if not she will marry the prince. Humperdinck does not tell her that Westley is being held captive in the Pit, and he admits in private that he was the one who hired Vizzini to kill Buttercup and start a war.
In the meantime, Inigo and Fezzik figure out what to do with their boss gone. Inigo has spent twenty years studying fencing and hunting down the six-fingered man who killed his father, and after being bested by the Man in Black he hits rock bottom. Fezzik finds out that Count Rugan is the six-fingered man. He relays this to Inigo, also telling him that the castle gate is guarded by more men than the two of them can fight. Inigo realizes they need the Man in Black, and they set out to find him.
On the day of the wedding, Buttercup realizes that Humperdinck has been lying to her, and she calls him out, insulting him. His ego bruised, Humperdinck locks her in her room and murders Westley. Westley’s cries lead Inigo and Fezzik to his body, and they take him to Miracle Max. Max is reluctant to help, arguing that Westley is only “mostly dead,” but promptly agrees after realizing his healing will lead to Humperdinck’s humiliation.
Inigo and Fezzik wake Westley and bring him up to speed. The three of them hatch a plan and make it through the gate, but are seemingly too late to stop the wedding. Inigo chases after and kills Rugan. Westley stops Buttercup from killing herself, and assures her that she didn’t marry Humperdinck after all because she didn’t say “I do.” They have a final confrontation with Humperdinck, the four protagonists escape the castle, and Westley and Buttercup are forever united. Back in the real world, Fred Savage realizes he enjoyed the story after all, and asks Grandpa to come over and read the story again. To which Grandpa replies, “As you wish.”
The Princess Bride is playfully ridiculous, which a lot of people latch onto. It’s a self-aware comedy that pokes fun at the genre, but there’s also a sincerity in who the characters are and how they speak to us. When Inigo swears vengeance against his father’s killer, we laugh and root for him at the same time. When Fred reacts to Westley’s death, we understand his uncertainty of a happy ending. And when we realize how sadistic Humperdinck and Rugan are, we share the heroes’ disgust for them. By all counts, The Princess Bride is a great story with timeless ideas.
So…what’s the problem here? Well, if there is an aspect of the story that did not get better with time, it might be in the two star-crossed lovers themselves.
“I died that day!”
The main criticism of our leading lady is perhaps the most obvious: She doesn’t do anything. And that’s mostly true. In the beginning, Buttercup is a high-strung, horse-loving young woman who does what she wants, bosses people around, and doesn’t need no man. But after falling in love with Westley, her personality seems to do a complete one eighty. She bemoans the thought of losing him, she shuts down when she learns of his supposed murder, she passively agrees to marry Humperdinck, she doesn’t resist her captors apart from one escape attempt, she lets Westley do all the work in the Fire Swamp, and the rest of her story arc is waiting for Westley to come and take her from the castle. Before working on this post, I used to think you could replace the actress with a horse and nothing would change.
In re-examining the movie, I realized a couple of things. One, for much of the story, Buttercup is trapped by her grief. “True love is the greatest thing in the world,” according to the story, and she spent five years thinking she had lost hers when it barely began to bloom. She found someone she could open her heart to, only to lose him in the blink of an eye. And while it is strange she didn’t move on after five years, everyone grieves differently. This may also be one reason she doesn’t recognize Westley under his disguise; she has grown bitter from her grief, and her bitterness clouds her judgment.
And two, Buttercup is powerless. When the reigning monarch wants to marry you, how do you refuse without fearing for your safety? She does try to escape her captors as they’re sailing to the Cliffs of Insanity, but her efforts are fruitless. And she stands up to Humperdinck when she realizes what kind of man he really is, and he kills Westley in retaliation.
But for all people’s griping over Buttercup’s arc (or lack thereof), there’s one other aspect that’s surprisingly under-discussed. And that’s Westley’s character.
“Life is pain, Highness!”
For the most part, Westley is fun to follow through the story. He gets the most adventures, he has many of the one-liners, and he thwarts the villains at every turn. Plus, his lines are fun to recite on long car rides.
Where he gets problematic is when he’s taken Buttercup but she hasn’t realized who he is yet. While he was suave, mysterious, and respectful when talking to the captors, here he becomes cold and bitter, talking down to her because of her gender and then accusing her of never actually loving him.
“And what is that worth? The promise of a woman! You’re very funny, Highness.”
“(After threatening to hit her) That was a warning, Highness. Next time my hand flies on its own. Where I come from, there are penalties when a woman lies.”
“Faithfulness he talked of, Madam! Your enduring faithfulness! Now tell me truly, when you found out he was gone, did you get engaged to your prince that same hour, or did you wait a whole week out of respect for the dead?”
Now, this isn’t to say I blame Westley for his anger. He spent five years trying to come home to her with enough money for a stable life, only to find out she was marrying someone else. I’d be more concerned if he didn’t feel anything after that. However, his anger doesn’t justify his venom, and he fails to see Buttercup’s perspective. How could she have known he was alive after all that time when the evidence suggested otherwise? How does she refuse a sadistic prince who always gets what he wants? How can he expect her to put her hopes in true love when it crushed her the first time?
To be fair, he seems to redeem himself when they’re reunited in the finale. He doesn’t get angry with her when she confesses to marrying Humperdinck, but rather he asks if she chose to participate by saying “I do,” and assures her she didn’t marry Humperdinck after all. He recognizes that she never fully consented to the marriage before, and she did not do so here.
That said, I noticed something strange about him upon rewatch.
Westley’s character was based on the Errol Flynn archetype, a romantic swashbuckling hero who saves the day and gets the girl. In the book he admits to spending every spare minute bettering himself to get Buttercup’s attention, and while he doesn’t say it outright in the movie, we still see that image of swashbuckling masculinity played out. He’s the best at everything–wits, fencing, strength. He makes himself immune to poison. He saves Buttercup time and time again in the Fire Swamp. He gets the girl in the end. By all counts, Westley is an image of what traditional white masculinity looks like. He’s exactly the kind of man John Eldredge would’ve written about. And by extension, it explains why Buttercup has such a small role in the story. She is the damsel in distress, a symbol of white female purity whose only job is to look pretty, scream in terror at the right times, and gaze lovingly at the hero.
But that’s not the weird thing. The weird thing is, no one on the left or the right talks about Westley in regard to traditional masculinity. Based on the Fire Swamp scene and his pursuit of Buttercup alone, you would think Westley would be touted as an example of ideal masculinity by the likes of pundits like Jordan Peterson or John Eldredge. But he isn’t. Why is that?
It turns out, there’s a crucial word to keep in mind when discussing The Princess Bride. A word that makes sense of the story, summarizes its themes and comedy, and ties everything together. And the word is irony.
“I’m not left-handed, either.”
You may recognize irony as a particular event happening that you didn’t expect, or occurring contrary to what was expected. For example, we expect Amber Ruffin to burst into a Broadway number when the music starts playing, but the moment becomes ironic when Seth Meyers interrupts her and tells her it’s not the time. It’s a narrative tool as old as Greek tragedy, though today it’s more commonly used as a punchline.
So let me explain how irony is embedded into every aspect of The Princess Bride—no. There is too much. Let me sum up.
Irony is a recurring theme in The Princess Bride’s comedy. The Man in Black revealing he isn’t left-handed during his fight scene with Inigo. Both the albino and the clergyman having funny voices. The heroes getting through sixty men at the castle gate with nothing more than a candle, a wheelbarrow, and a holocaust cloak.
But we also find irony within the narrative, and the result isn’t always a punchline. Fred Savage doesn’t expect to like the book, but he requests a reread when it’s over, showing how people sharing stories with each other can bring them together. Inigo gets the revenge he spent twenty years searching for, and while it gives him closure it doesn’t bring him satisfaction. Fezzik is sort of bumbling around and lacking in confidence, and he’s his companions’ greatest ally.
In the case of Westley’s traditional masculinity, the story builds it up as him fulfilling the melodramatic fantasy of slaying monsters, riding off into the sunset with his love, and living happily ever after. But here’s the irony: In the context of the story, Westley’s exceptionalism is not enough.
While his strength and wit help him with Buttercup’s captors and the dangers of the Fire Swamp, neither of those things get the girl or allow him to storm the castle. In the beginning, Buttercup doesn’t fall for Westley because he’s the strongest or the smartest. She simply realizes he loves her, and then realizes she loves him back. When they meet again five years later, once again it isn’t his strength or wit that wins her back. He’s acting like a completely different person here (again, being cruel and condescending to her), so it’s no wonder she doesn’t recognize him. Again, it’s her realizing he’s her true love that ultimately allows them to reunite after five years. Even then, the story isn’t over yet.
Our star-crossed lovers make it through the Fire Swamp, but they still have Humperdinck and Rugan to contend with. Here, Westley’s swashbuckling heroism can’t save them. Westley has sustained several injuries from the Swamp, Buttercup has no weapons or combat skills, and Humperdinck has an army surrounding them. If they go with Westley’s plan of “escape or die trying,” Humperdinck and Rugan would win. Fortunately, with Buttercup’s agreement to surrender, she saves both their lives and buys them more time. Though the lovers are separated, they have a chance to find each other again.
Even then, Westley can’t save himself from the Pit of Despair. Book Westley holds up against smaller forms of torture, having taught himself how to cope with it. Movie Westley merely shrugs and says, “I can cope with torture.” But neither of them can withstand the machine. In the book, nothing can distract him from the pain of having his life sucked away. And in the film, he whimpers when the first round is over. In both cases, when Humperdinck uses the machine to kill him, the experience is described as “ultimate suffering.” Both versions of Westley die as a result of the machine going to maximum capacity.
Ultimately, what saves Westley and Buttercup and allows them to be together is friendship and mutual respect. AKA: Inigo and Fezzik.
The only characters Westley holds in true contempt are those with evil intent: Humperdinck, Rugan, and Vizzini. The same can’t be said for Inigo and Fezzik because both are only following orders when they help kidnap Buttercup. Or, in Inigo’s words, “I just work for Vizzini to pay the bills.” Both of them could kill him in a heartbeat if they want, but neither of them do so. Inigo wants a good fencing match, and Fezzik wants to face him as God intended: sportsmanlike. Westley recognizes their sportsmanship and mercy, so he spares them both in return. Had he killed them like he did Vizzini, he would’ve destroyed any chances of being saved from the Pit and stopping Humperdinck. But he spares them instead. This allows Inigo and Fezzik to return to Florin, discover the six-fingered man’s identity, find Westley, bring him back from the mostly dead, storm the castle, break up the wedding, and escape with Buttercup (after Inigo kills Rugan).
In that same token, friendship and respect allow Inigo to achieve his goal of avenging his father. He and Fezzik have been close from the start, so of course Fezzik’s going to support Inigo in whatever way he can. But they recognize they cannot make it through the castle gate on their own. They need someone with a gift for strategy. And who better than the one who outsmarted Vizzini, the smartest person they knew? This is what motivates them to find Westley, setting the third act and Humperdinck’s defeat into motion.
“Ooh-hoo-hoo, look who knows so much!”
I wrote a post a few years ago about The Princess Bride, criticizing the love story and wondering what was the point. This post is essentially me eating my own words.
The thing about re-examining art is that it’s usually never as simple as “thing good” or “thing bad.” Part of that is, people experience the piece differently and therefore form different opinions based on those experiences. And another part is the subtext buried under the plot and dialogue, or the hidden messages hiding in the shapes and colors. The Addams Family may be a gothic macabre fantasy, but the subtext of their familial love is what larger audiences gravitate towards. Despite the popularity of the Fifty Shades series, we take issue with how E.L. James’ books frame abusive behavior as romantic or sexy.
In the case of The Princess Bride, people have called the story a loving parody for decades, and I didn’t understand why until now. Tales of swashbuckling adventure and romance are all fine and good, but this one (though imperfect) is as subtle as it is dramatic. Comedic while also heartfelt. As for the criticism we may have towards Buttercup and Westley’s characters, viewers may find comfort by looking past the surface. In the end, Buttercup does have a story arc. She is powerless, but she learns to work with what little power she does have. She realizes that true love is not as fragile as she once thought, and it’s worth fighting for even if the odds are stacked against you. And Westley’s story illustrates how no person can fight all their battles alone. No matter how strong and good your heart is, you need the help of other good hearts around you.
What’s your take on this story? Do you think it’s gotten better with time, or do you think it would be told differently today? Leave your thoughts in the comments.