Kristyan Mann’s L’Histoire Des Larmes De La Princesse is a beguiling and imaginative ten-minute short that taps directly into the fantastical tradition of silent-era fairy tales. Released in 2016 and shot in black-and-white, the film feels like it could’ve been pulled from the dusty archives of early European cinema, yet it maintains a sharp sense of authorship and modern vision beneath its vintage surface. Written, directed, produced, and edited by Mann himself, this short is a true passion project and an impressive showcase of how much emotion, story, and style can be packed into a brief runtime when a filmmaker understands the language of silent storytelling.
The film opens, fittingly, with the phrase “Once upon a time,” preparing the viewer for a fable-like narrative. From there, we are introduced to a grotesque, long-nosed man (played by Simon Woodcock) who stumbles upon a fairy imprisoned in a jar. The film makes no attempt to hide its theatricality—Woodcock’s makeup is bold and exaggerated, his movement stylized, his expressions just shy of pantomime. And yet, this works perfectly within the film’s visual world. The fairy (Jessie Aartse-Tuijn) begs for freedom, promising a secret in return. He torments her instead, shaking the jar until she finally divulges the information: a princess has just been born, and her tears possess powerful magical properties.
What follows is a dark and dreamlike story of theft, transformation, and imprisonment. The villain collects the infant princess’s tears and, in consuming them, undergoes a startling physical transformation. His once cartoonish features are smoothed out—he becomes attractive, elegant, and, crucially, accepted by society. But his inner cruelty remains intact. He kidnaps the princess, vanishes into the woods, and raises her in captivity, harvesting her tears over the course of eighteen years to maintain his unnatural appearance.
The film’s second half introduces the adult princess (played with heartbreaking clarity by Kerry Sirrell), chained and bruised in a chamber just beyond the revelry of the villain’s wine-soaked parties. Her suffering is visible and visceral, communicated entirely through Sirrell’s haunting facial expressions and expressive body language. She is a silent prisoner in every sense—unheard by the partygoers, ignored by the world, and used solely for her suffering. It’s a deeply metaphorical and emotionally potent portrayal.
Her eventual savior comes not from the castle but from the forest. Joe Staton plays a flower-gathering man who stumbles upon the villain and demands the princess be freed. Their ensuing fight is both action-packed and poetic, blending swordplay and raw hand-to-hand combat. Ultimately, in a burst of violence, the villain strikes the hero with the very jar that once contained the fairy. In doing so, he unwittingly releases her. The hero appears dead, but the princess’s tears—true to their legend—revive him. Their kiss breaks the spell, causing the villain to revert to his original monstrous form. A final act of justice is delivered by a previously introduced guard, and peace is restored.
The final minutes are celebratory. The princess and her rescuer are reunited with her parents, played by Ernest Vernon and Melanie Crawley, and a joyous wedding unfolds. There is dancing, clapping, and a real sense of resolution. In a beautiful full-circle moment, the once-imprisoned fairy dances freely in the forest, the film fading to black as she twirls.
Stylistically, L’Histoire Des Larmes De La Princesse is deliberate and self-assured. The black-and-white cinematography evokes the likes of Méliès and early Cocteau, while the use of silent film conventions—intertitles, expressive close-ups, symbolic mise-en-scène—grounds the film in its chosen aesthetic with remarkable commitment. Rather than feeling like parody or pastiche, it plays with a sincere reverence for the visual storytelling of silent cinema.
One of the film’s greatest strengths lies in its cast. Despite the absence of dialogue, each actor delivers a fully realized performance. Simon Woodcock manages to be both frightening and darkly comic as the villain; Jessie Aartse-Tuijn is quietly heartbreaking as the fairy, equal parts whimsical and weary. Joe Staton embodies the archetypal fairytale hero without descending into caricature, and Kerry Sirrell as the princess gives the film its emotional center—her performance is nuanced and deeply affecting. Even the supporting roles, including Melanie Crawley as the Reine and Ernest Vernon in dual roles as the Roi and a character named after himself, provide texture and grounding to the fairytale world.
If the film has any shortcomings, they lie not in its ambition but in the natural limitations of its format. With only ten minutes to tell a multi-decade fantasy story, certain transitions and character developments happen rapidly. At times, one wishes the film had a few more minutes to linger in its more emotional moments. Nonetheless, this briskness doesn’t detract from the film’s impact—in fact, it adds a kind of storybook economy, where events unfold with the swiftness of oral tradition.
L’Histoire Des Larmes De La Princesse is a spellbinding short that honors the traditions of silent cinema and classic fairytales, all while crafting a story that feels timeless and emotionally resonant. Kristyan Mann’s multi-hyphenate involvement pays off with a clear, confident vision that blends nostalgia, fantasy, and moral clarity into a rich, theatrical experience. In just ten minutes, the film evokes genuine emotion, delivers a full narrative arc, and leaves you with that rarest of short film sensations: the sense of having watched something complete.
For fans of silent cinema, fairytale storytelling, or stylized fantasy, L’Histoire Des Larmes De La Princesse is absolutely worth seeking out. A loving homage and a work of heart.
Jessie Hobson