Retellings of fairy tales often feel redundant. We all know the story by heart, the ending is predictable, and the lessons are the same. In The Ugly Stepsister, director Emilie Blichfeldt follows the story of Cinderella. But instead of the light-hearted Disney version, she sticks more closely to the Brothers Grimm original work. The result is a brutal, body morphing tale that scarcely contains one happy moment in the entire one hour and fifty-minute runtime. 

 

Elvira (Lea Myren), her sister Alma (Flo Flagerli), and her mother, Rebekka (Ane Dahl Torp), find themselves destitute once again after Rebekka’s new husband suddenly dies. They’re left with no money and an uncomfortable situation with the recently deceased husband’s daughter, Agnes (Thea Sofie Loch Næss). After she’s caught canoodling with the stable boy, they relegate her to a mere maid. 

 

In order to save the family, Rebekka leans heavily on Elvira’s chances of attracting Prince Julien (Isac Calmroth) as a husband. An upcoming ball provides the perfect opportunity for Elvira to woo him. In order to prepare for the occasion, Elvira (at the behest of her mother) puts herself through numerous intense body modifications that include swallowing a tapeworm, breaking her nose, and at one point dismembering her feet. Since this takes place in a very Bridgerton-like time period with gothic undertones, anesthesia and pain killers aren’t exactly available. So Elvira (and us) must suffer through each grotesque adjustment fully awake. 

 

As the story unfolds, Blichfeldt infuses an underlying uneasiness that permeates every scene. When it builds to a crescendo we’re forced to witness a minutes-long tapeworm extraction scene that mercifully wraps up Elvira’s unfortunate journey. 

 

The movie identifies our obsession (particularly when it pertains to women) with beauty and outward appearance. And then it exposes the absurdity of the lengths we go to achieve it over and over again—each instance more grotesque than the last. Worms and maggots make so many appearances they should really get a cast credit. Myren commits to the role with a wild abandon that makes each painful scream feel piercingly real. The pace never lets up and by the end it’s unclear whether any of the characters have really learned much of anything. Meanwhile we all get schooled in a subject that’s painfully obvious and ever-present but no less impactful.