My name is Sierra, and I’m an English Major in the Class of ’24, pursuing certificates in Creative Writing and African American Studies. In my studies at Princeton, my interests lie primarily in Black genre fiction, or stories that center or interpret Blackness through supernatural, fantastical, or surreal means.  

My mini screenplay, entitled “Arcadia,” is a modern retelling of the Greek myth of Atalanta that substitutes the godly magic of the original story for modern witchcraft. In “Arcadia,” set in the suburban Californian town of the same name, star debater Melvin falls for Addy, a local track and field star, who agrees to go out with him if he can beat her in a footrace. In the original story of Atalanta, set in the Greek kingdom of Arcadia, Melanion ultimately bests the famed racer Atalanta by distracting her with a set of shiny golden apples, gifted to him by the goddesses of Mount Olympus. In my retelling, Melvin is assisted by Delia, Addy’s track rival and an amateur witch, who exploits Addy’s fear of insects to secure Melvin’s victory. In another Greek myth featuring Atalanta, she and a group of male heroes attempt to take on the vicious Calydonian boar. However, Meleager, prince of Calydon, has a secret of his own — his lifeline is tied to a piece of firewood. When the wood burns completely, Meleager will die. In “Arcadia,” I combine these myths, and Melvin embodies both Melanion and Meleager.

In creating this project, I was inspired by movies like A Cinderella Story starring Hillary Duff, She’s the Man with Amanda Bynes, and other movies from the early to mid-2000s that attempt to reconcile centuries-old fairytales and classics with contemporary circumstances and characters. When I was little, I was captivated by Greek mythology and the idea of magic as central to once-widespread religious frameworks. Perhaps because these stories were more central to my childhood than classical fairy tales, I found myself wishing not to live among princes or mermaids, but instead to relive the adventures of the Greek heroes. 

Despite being a myth, the story of Atalanta is alive with fairy tale potential. In A Cinderella Story, the drought in Los Angeles’s San Fernando Valley is used as an allegory for the central romance — when the two finally kiss, a downpour of rain comes down, marking the end of uncertainty and despair. I was also inspired by classical fairy tales like “The Necklace of Princess Fiorimonde,” “Cinderella,” and “Hansel and Gretel,” which use the idea of witches or inexplicably magical beings to rapidly reverse the fates and stakes of their characters. I’m particularly interested in the idea of modern magic and spirituality, and how a movement of internet spiritualism and witchcraft championed by young women through social media may be reviving our collective belief in the supernatural. Rather than treating this movement with cynicism, I wanted to imagine a world in which girls use magic for their own empowerment, although not always for the right reasons. 

In my mind, a contemporary fairy tale considers the place that magic, symbols, and “happily ever afters” have in our modern world — if witches existed, would they exercise their powers indiscriminately, or would they use them to get ahead in their pursuit of high school glory, romance, or success on a much larger scale? Though race is not the central focus of “Arcadia,” my decision to endow Delia with powers while saddling Melvin and Addy, the story’s black protagonists, with supernatural weaknesses, was intentional. What constitutes a “happily ever after” when happiness derived from marriage or the nuclear family unit is no longer the final destination for so many people? The moralistic fairy tale has always rung somewhat false to me, preaching that patience, kindness, and other virtues breed fortune over time. In reality, certain people will be rewarded while others will suffer, and a contemporary fairy tale does not turn a blind eye to this reality. Rather, using classical devices, it speculates a more perfect world, or in the case of my story, attempts to externalize, on a personal scale, invisible institutions that stand in the way of fairy tale endings.