Cinderella Was Always a Body-Horror Story

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Presently, retellings and fresh perspectives on traditional tales such as fairy stories are experiencing a resurgence in popularity, yet this trend has arguably been prevalent for quite some time. For instance, the book that inspired “Wicked” is decades old, while films like “Maleficent” and “Frozen” have been reinterpreting and reinventing the antagonists of timeless legends for over a decade. It appears our appetite has grown weary of straightforward narratives of good versus evil – perhaps because we recognize that such stories often contain more complexity, or maybe because the villains were always more intriguing.

To put it simply, Norwegian director Emilie Blichfeldt’s “The Ugly Stepsister” is impactful not just for flipping a classic fairy tale on its head – honestly, I’m surprised it took this long to produce a film that empathizes with Cinderella‘s allegedly unattractive, dull-witted stepsisters – but because of how skillfully it does so. By immersing us in a world of grim, enchanted dread, the movie underscores the inherent grotesqueness of the original tale.

“The Ugly Stepsister,” which will premiere at the Sundance Film Festival on Thursday before an IFC/Shudder release, unveils a hidden truth that we may have suspected all along: “Cinderella” was always a body horror story.

The story unfolds as wide-eyed Elvira (Lea Myren) and her younger sister Alma (Flo Fagerli), along with their widowed mother Rebekka (Ane Dahl Torp), travel to Swedlandia to live with the landowner Otto (Ralph Carlsson) and his daughter Agnes (Thea Sofie Loch Næss). On their first night, Otto unexpectedly passes away. This shocking discovery reveals that neither family had any money and each had married in hopes of rescuing their finances. Elvira, a relentlessly optimistic dreamer who passionately consumes the romantic poetry of Prince Julian (Isac Calmroth), fervently dreams about marrying this handsome young prince – not merely out of love, but also to save her family from financial ruin.

The movie vividly portrays Elvira’s dreams through surreal, anachronistic synthesizer music and fleeting, misty dream scenes; the questionable authenticity of the movie’s current setting further intensifies Elvira’s sense of powerlessness. A hopeful future for her appears unattainable, and the harsh glare of reality is a dismal twilight. With her braces, bushy eyebrows, acne, full figure, and penchant for secret Danishes, Elvira seems no contest for Agnes, who embodies grace, angelic beauty, blonde hair, and blue eyes. However, despite her seemingly perfect appearance, Agnes turns spiteful and manipulative towards her stepfamily after the demise of her father. While one might sympathize with Agnes’s actions, her family is so impoverished that Rebekka refuses to bury their deceased patriarch, Otto, opting instead for him to decay in a dark storage room as flies and maggots feast on his remains. Moreover, Agnes has been having an affair with the stable boy Isak (Malte Gårdinger), and when Rebekka catches them together, she kicks Isak off the premises, thus fulfilling her role as the cruel, heartless stepmother from fairy tales.

As the approaching event nears where the unscrupulous Prince Julius selects his bride from among the kingdom’s eligible virgins, Elvira feels the pressure to enhance her attractiveness. Unlike Cinderella, however, she doesn’t have a fairy godmother; instead, a twisted surgeon named Dr. Esthetique (Adam Lundrgen) performs cosmetic procedures on her, removing braces, reshaping her nose, and attaching artificial lashes to her eyelids – all captured in graphic close-ups. On top of that, she undergoes rigorous dance training and resorts to an unusual diet method: consuming a tapeworm egg, which causes the worms to grow within her, allowing her to eat freely while still losing weight – essentially, it’s like using Ozempic but with a live organism.

It’s clear that this story won’t have a happy ending, and Blichfeldt painstakingly portrays every grisly, distressing aspect – from vomit and blood to dismembered body parts. Yet, in its own unique way, the film is stunning, reminiscent of a Scandinavian fairy tale reimagined as an Italian giallo. Although it leaves us unsettled narratively, it thrills us cinematically. The director focuses more on creating atmosphere and texture rather than provoking shock or outrage. We can sense the tapeworms, the nausea, the despair, Elvira’s raw ambition, and even her sadness. Perhaps we were once meant to empathize with Cinderella, but deep down, we’re all ugly stepsisters at heart.

As a cinephile, I find this film remarkably unsettling because the disturbing aspects, some of which are quite literal, seem oddly familiar. This is partly due to Blichfeldt’s brilliant creation of a world that embodies a sinister magic so convincingly, and partly because the story’s darker elements draw from the original tale itself – a tale as twisted as it is timeless. The darkness in Cinderella might be hidden beneath its dreamy surface, but it reveals a deeply flawed world that resonates with us all. The grotesque nature of The Ugly Stepsister feels authentic, not just to its roots, but also to the reality of our own lives.

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2025-01-24 10:55