Review by Jon Donnis
The Ugly Stepsister, written and directed by Emilie Blichfeldt in her feature debut, is a savage and stylish dismantling of fairy tale beauty myths through the grotesque lens of body horror. A twisted reimagining of Cinderella, this Norwegian satire strips the story of its fantasy and instead drenches it in pain, pathology, and razor-sharp commentary.
From the opening moments, the film sets a visceral tone. Lea Myren gives a fearless, career-defining performance as Elvira, the overlooked daughter warped by her mother's obsessive ambition. Her physical transformation is shown in excruciating detail, with Blichfeldt unflinching in her portrayal of invasive beauty rituals, starvation, and self-mutilation. Every grim set-piece serves to hammer home the message: fairy tale beauty is not only constructed, it is enforced, with cruelty passed down from one generation of women to the next.
Blichfeldt's direction is steeped in striking contrasts. Fairy tale gowns hang beside surgical instruments. Ballroom opulence is lit with cold, clinical detachment. The palace is not a place of magic, but one of manipulation and performance. The blend of set design, practical effects, and camerawork creates a surreal atmosphere that feels both dreamlike and nightmarish. It's a film where glitter mingles with gore, and sweetness always carries a bitter aftertaste.
What truly elevates the experience is the script's biting sense of humour. The satire is pitch-black, but always purposeful. There are no cheap jokes here. Instead, the humour is used to expose hypocrisy, societal double standards, and the grotesque nature of how women's bodies are commodified and judged. Blichfeldt skewers the illusion of the fairytale romance, showing it as transactional, superficial, and indifferent to the emotional cost of transformation.
The supporting cast is equally strong. Ane Dahl Torp's performance as Rebekka is chilling in its restraint, a mother whose cruelty is cloaked in conviction. Thea Sofie Loch Næss brings quiet complexity to Agnes, the so-called "Cinderella" whose role as the passive beauty becomes more layered as the story unfolds. Flo Fagerli, as the youngest sister Alma, gives the film a subtle emotional centre, acting as a silent witness to the trauma unfolding around her.
The film is not without its flaws. At 1 hour and 45 minutes, the pacing occasionally lags, especially in the middle stretch where repetition begins to dull the impact. A tighter edit might have preserved momentum without losing the film's carefully cultivated atmosphere.
Still, The Ugly Stepsister is a bold and memorable debut. Blichfeldt shows an uncompromising vision, and her ability to balance horror with message is genuinely impressive. It's a film that provokes, unsettles, and lingers long after the credits roll. Fans of genre cinema who appreciate disturbing imagery with substance will find much to admire here.
More than just a gruesome retelling, The Ugly Stepsister is a mirror held up to our obsession with beauty and the damaging lengths some are pushed to in pursuit of it. It's not easy viewing, but it's exactly the kind of horror we need in 2025.
I score The Ugly Stepsister a beautiful 9 out of 10.
Out now on Digital
