The White Witch Returns, Russian Edition (and a bit about kokoshniks)

My Summers of Narnia seem to be settling around a certain theme. Last year it was The Silver Chair; this year,  it’s the book that started it all, The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe. And with that theme, some more White Witches I found, not explicitly marked as The White Witch of course, but they would make some very good ones. All are from Russian or are Russian-inspired.

Let’s talk about these stately Slavic Snow Queens. Their expressions are mostly stern or neutral. They may smile occasionally, but it’s a quiet smile. They don’t give the cheesecake poses and come-hither looks like  American Snow Queens do. They’re not out to sell sex. Neither are they full of holiday cheer like the British panto ice maidens and Winter Matrons. They’re goddesses, forces of nature, an archetype deeply embedded in Eastern European mythology. They don’t cavort or leap around. They stare upon mere mortals, frowning, and occasionally kidnap small children.

One thing they have in common is an elaborate headpiece: Conehead (top) Tall Ice Crown (middle two) or the traditional Russian Kokoshnik (bottom.) Usually their hair is completely covered. Sometimes their faces are  paled  to a deathly pallor like that of actress Natalya Klimova in the 1967 Russian version of The Snow Queen. (Let’s remember white lipstick was all the rage at the time, even in Russia.)

Natalya Klimova as the Snow Queen

She wears at least three different costumes in the film with different headpieces. The one above is a simple fillet with sparkling netting at the crown supported by wires.

Driving around town she wears an exaggerated version of the late Medieval heart-shaped headdress known as the escoffion. It’s attached to a tall, stiff fabric helmet that fits over rather than contours to her skull. She’s the epitome of a fine, rich lady.

Take me to your leader? She looks like walked off the set of Star Trek with this sky-high wig that mimics the escoffion she wears in her carriage. It reminds me of another Russian Snow Queen headpiece: the Blockhead.

The above figures have an immobile, sculptural quality. If they move, they give grand gestures. Tilda Swinton’s White Witch had the same vibe going on with her stiff wide-necked gowns and immobile hair. She didn’t hurry along like witch in LWW did or throw temper tantrums. She hitched up her gown and picked her way carefully. Only in the movie battle scene where she met her demise did she move, and even then, her sword swings were purposeful and sparse, almost like a dance.

Now I’d like to go into kokoshniks.

Generally speaking, the term refers to any sort of special-occasion Russian headdress for married women, which varied from city to city and region to region. Some were tall and cylindrical, others had a pillbox shape; some resembled flared crowns or arrowheads. They could be ornamented with scarves and veils, embroidery, tassels, beadwork. The similar povyazka was more like a headband, sitting over the forehead and secured at the back with a ribbon; it was worn by unmarried women. This one most commonly has the circular, half-circle, spade, snowflake or diadem shape associated with 19th century Russia and still worn by folk dancers. In both versions, the woman’s hair is swept off her face and confined in a braid.

Kokoshniks were considered precious items and passed down in families to be worn on special occasions by peasants and royalty alike. Silk, velvet, brocade, pearls, gold thread and wire, and gems both glass and precious went into their making, often by specialized craftswomen: kokoshnitsas.

This towering, triangular kokoshnik dates from the mid to late 19th century and is in the collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The fringework over the forehead was known as a venchik; as married women had to conceal their hair by custom, it functioned like bangs.  The varied shapes, richness and exoticism of the headpieces let them easily move into fantasy illustration and costume design to depict invented cultures, like the Targaryan family of The House of the Dragon. 

No wonder they’re such an element on many witchy snow women depictions.

Kokoshniks are still made in Russia today as a folk craft. This artist has created many.

I LOVE the porcelain faces here she’s added! This would make a great look for the Witch Witch in some upcoming production. It implies she has extra eyes and ears to spy with.

In addition to the Russian live action Snow Queen made in 1966, there was a Russian animated version that came out in 1957. The character design for that Snow Queen would wind up being one of the classics.

MIrror mirror on the wall?

In an iconic still from the movie she stares into a mirror.

It’s simple, but oh so effective with her arched brows, staring eyes, and towering Art Deco ice block headpiece that covers her hair. When I first came upon these images way back when at the start of my Narnian Summers, I assumed the character came from a Japanese anime version, so similar was the design. But it’s from almost 70 years ago! I guess anime was in its infancy then, too, and thus drawing upon the current designs from the West. Despite it being the Cold War era, the cartoon was released in America with English-speaking actors and was a success. It may have even helped thaw the Russian-American conflict a little.

In another scene the Snow Queen wears a simplified heart-shaped headpiece as seen in the later live-action Russian movie detailed above. That’s Kai on her lap. I get a disturbing feeling from this pic, don’t you?

Here’s some Russian Snow Queen illustrations from children’s books.

Again, pretty much cut from the same Slavic cloth — tall, stately, stern. The top one has a touch of Barbie.

Lastly, here’s a whimsical Russian take on the Narnian White Witch with Edmund, dwarf, and reindeer sleigh.

I think it’s interesting how Russian artists don’t feel obligated to keep things too realistic or sinister. The giant heads of the deer, witch and Edmond are caricatures, but in an adult way.