Move over, Elphaba. A new villainess is coming to reclaim her narrative, and it’s not pretty — but it is pretty awesome. With The Ugly Stepsister, writer/director Emilie Blichfeldt offers a gnarly new spin on a classic fairy tale, daring to pose the question: What if Cinderella was a bit of a bitch?
By centering on the eldest of Cinderella’s much-maligned stepsisters, this twisted fable explores how a patriarchal society pits women against each other amid the crushing pressure to be pretty. If you gagged over Coralie Fargeat’s sickening satire The Substance, you’ll relish Blichfeldt’s spin on “pain is beauty” treatments. And if you love Wicked’s retconning of a baddie’s origins, your heart will definitely go out to The Ugly Stepsister.
The Ugly Stepsister is a fairy tale of mean girls and fuckboys.
Credit: Shudder
It turns out some modern archetypes are truly timeless. Though set in medieval Germany, a time of corseted gowns and royal balls, The Ugly Stepsister feels ferociously modern in its depiction of cruel popular kids.
New to the kingdom, Elvira (Lea Myren) has a massive crush on Prince Julian (Isac Calmroth), thanks to his swoon-worthy book of love poetry, which includes illustrations of his dreamy visage. In vivid daydreams, she imagines how he will choose her as his one true love, sweep her off her feet, and carry her away to a happily-ever-after. In these visions, she looks very much like her new stepsister, Agnes (Thea Sofie Loch Næss), with long blond hair, perfect skin, and an elegant, pale blue gown that flows to the floor.
Real life is less glossy all around for Elvira. The prince is a sulking rich boy with skeevy friends who make horrid sex jokes at the expense of any young lady they come across. But even meeting this prick of a prince outside of her dreams can’t shatter Elvira’s hopeful ambitions of love, luxury, and comfort. However, even in her new home, this poor girl finds only scorn. The ever-sneering Agnes is sensitive about sharing her things and outright scolds Elvira for her interest. Both are treated atrociously by Elvira’s manipulative mother, who looks at the girls as her best means to restoring the family’s wealth through lucrative matchmaking. However, this Cinderella would rather plot her own escape than aid her would-be sister. When they are invited to the prince’s ball, Agnes won’t even share her last name with the court’s messenger. Thus, Elvira’s invitation will read: Elvira Von Stepsister.
Like a doe-eyed freshman (or a virgin who can’t drive), Elvira earnestly seeks guidance and attention from anyone who might offer it. And as in the case in many a teen movie, the results of seeking validation through these external sources make for a costly life lesson.
The Ugly Stepsister is a brutal and enthralling story of self-discovery.
Credit: Shudder
Despite the marketable mean-teen angle, Blichfeldt’s take on the fairy tale isn’t the stuff of Hollywood glamor. The title sequence makes this clear as rotting food is slowly, excruciatingly revealed alongside the bloated corpse of Agnes’ father. Things are bleak in this cash-strapped household, as Elvira’s mother (a deliciously ruthless Ane Dahl Torp) is forced to pay the dead man’s debts; with no cash left over for a proper funeral, he’s left to decay in the dining room. This is a festering source of resentment between Agnes and the stepmother who nicknames her “Cinderella.” But while Agnes is berated and made to clean up ghastly messes around the manor, Elvira is pressured into horrid transformations to make her — in the eyes of her mother and the merciless finishing school madams — worthy of a man’s attention.
As teased in the first images of The Ugly Stepsister, this includes a violent nose job, complete with a ghastly metal brace that makes Elvira a constant source of mockery. But there’s far worse to come, as she is mutilated by various snake oil salesmen like the prancing Dr. Esthétique (Adam Lundgren), a groping dress designer who calls himself a “fairy godmother,” and a smiling mentor who offers her a special gift that leads to what I’ll call “Pavlov’s tapeworm.” These scenes of physical abuse, sexual impropriety, and self-mutilation are all hard to stomach, contrasting intensely with the whimsical daydreams of Elvira’s imagination. But as the world around her demands Elvira’s blood, pain, screams, and tears, she clings more tightly to her fantasies, believing the only way to them is through obedience and submission.
While her example is outrageous, it’s also achingly touching. With big, earnest eyes, and a childish smile, Myren is heart-wrenchingly lovable as Elvira, offering a heroine whose naivete would have fared far better in a Jane Austen novel. Here, she will be ridiculed, maimed, and tortured. Be warned: Blichfeldt will not stray far from the Cinderella story you know well. And when she does, it’s down a path of broken bones and ghastly conclusions. And yet, like The Substance, the climax — violent and gory — is strangely celebratory, finding freedom from giving up those suffocating beauty expectations of a society that just flat-out hates women.
In the end, The Ugly Stepsister is a deranged and dizzying achievement, folding in a classic story with a bitingly modern satire and bold body horror. Blichfeldt weaves these elements together to make a film that feels both of this moment but aesthetically nostalgic. With everything from gowns to banquet tables to castles and would-be kings caked in rot, blood, and bile, this horror gem feels like a lost B-movie from the ’80s, so willfully repugnant you can practically smell the stench. The gnarly aesthetic masterfully mucks up our dreamy vision of fairy tale castles, princes, and romantic heroines, warning us — and Elvira — that the emperor has no clothes! The tragedy is we’re quick to this realization while we must watch her struggle with it. And yet, her journey, as gross and grim as it is, is threaded with a ribbon of exhilaration, rebellion, and even defiant joy. Simply put, The Ugly Stepsister is savagely brutal and yet strangely beautiful.
The Ugly Sister was reviewed out of the 2025 Sundance Film Festival.
Leave a Reply