Patriarch and entrepreneur August Manzl is terminally ill. As his four grown-up children are all spoiled and sluggish, he comes up with a rather cynical idea to determine the future leader of the families empire: whoever of his children shows the courage and willpower to end his suffering within the next week will become the sole heir - and simultaneously proof the skills necessary to succeed in a modern business world. Between the children a murderous competition evolves.
A king is married to a woman with golden hair. The queen falls ill, and realising she’s going to die she asks her husband that, if he’d ever remarry, it would be only to a woman as beautiful as her with the same golden hair. Unfortunately, the only one to fit the description is his own daughter, Princess Lotte. He decides to marry her. All she can do is flee. She dirties her face and hands with soot and escapes.
On her 18th birthday, Constanze encounters a highly guarded secret. She discovers in amazement that she has six brothers, who have been transformed into snow-white swans by a careless word from their father on the day of Constanze's birth. Constanze is stunned when suddenly the six swans appear. They explain to her sister that only she alone can curse the curse: for six years Constanze could not speak a single word and has to sew shirts made of stinging nettles. The shirts will be able to turn the swans back into people.
Inglaterra Isabelina, siglo XVI. El film plantea una cuestión que, durante siglos, han debatido académicos y grandes escritores desde Mark Twain y Charles Dickens hasta Henry James y Sigmund Freud: ¿quién fue el autor de las obras de teatro atribuidas tradicionalmente a William Shakespeare? Se han escrito muchos libros y se han barajado muchas hipótesis al respecto, entre ellas la que ofrece Anonymous. La Inglaterra Isabelina fue un época de intrigas, de amoríos cortesanos ilícitos, de conspiraciones promovidas por una nobleza ávida de poder; y todo ello quedaba reflejado en el lugar más inesperado: el teatro londinense.
