leads her into the woods, locking her in a high tower which offers no escape and no entry except by scaling the girls flowing tresses. Rapunzel grows up, her hair grows down, and when she is twelve-note that age-Old Mother Gothel, as she calls the witch. Then again, who would you rather have as a mom: the woman who would do anything for you or the one who would swap you in a New York minute for a bowl of lettuce? `i will take care for it like a mother,` the sorceress croons (as if that makes it all right). The two eventually strike a bargain: the mans wife can have as much of the plant as she wants- if she turns over her baby to the witch upon its birth. So he steals into the baby's yard, wraps his hands around a plant, and, just as he pulls. The womans craving becomes so intense, she tells her husband that if he doesn't fetch her some, she and their unborn baby will die. The tale, you may recall, begins with a mother-to-bes yearning for the taste of rapunzel, a salad green she spies growing in the garden of the sorceress who happens to live next door. And thats too bad, because rapunzel is an specially layered and relevant fairytale, less about the love between a man and a woman than the misguided attempts of a mother trying to protect her daughter from (what she perceives ) as the worlds evils. But one thing is for sure: tangled will not be rapunzel. “Maybe tangled will be a spectacular rump.
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