The Ugly Stepsister

Den stygge stesøsteren

The Ugly Stepsister
© Marcel Zyskind

VERDICT: Nordic horror meets classic French fairy tale in ‘The Ugly Stepsister’, a new take on the well-known Cinderella story that is tailor-made for the genre circuit.

It was briefly rumored at one point that what became the 2015 live-action remake of Disney’s animated Cinderella would tell the story from the evil stepmother’s point of view, akin to Maleficent vis-à-vis Sleeping Beauty. That did not come to pass, but a similar idea is at the center of the Norwegian horror comedy The Ugly Stepsister, which is set to conquer the genre circuit after its world premiere in the Midnight strand at Sundance (Shudder acquired US rights ahead of the festival debut). It should also persuade sceptics wondering – not entirely unjustifiably – if another take on the fairy tale was warranted.

The story takes place in the kingdom of Swedlandia (Sweden), where the widowed Rebekka (Ane Dahl Torp) finds brief solace in her second marriage (the poor fella dies before the opening credits). Her daughter Elvira (Lea Myren) is an outsider in more ways than one: notably, Elvira’s family are the only Norwegian speakers in an otherwise Swedish environment. She finds herself rapidly competing with stepsister Agnes (Thea Sofie Loch Naess), and her desire to fit in grows increasingly desperate when a handsome prince (Isac Calmroth) enters the picture.

First-time director Emilie Blichfeldt drew inspiration from the Brothers Grimm version of the fairy tale, rather than the more frequently adapted Charles Perrault interpretation, as well as her own struggles with body image: the horror is largely societal, as Elvira is subjected to the torture of needing to conform to impossible beauty standards and some scenes play out like a particularly perverse Pygmalion by way of Ken Russell.

Owing to the personal connection between director and material, the film sets out to offer a more rounded portrait of the (step)sibling rivalry: Elvira is not fully evil, albeit clearly misguided in her attempts to become beautiful at all costs; Agnes is not wholly innocent (Rebekka openly calls her “slut” after a late night incident), but still far from the adversarial figure in her stepsister’s mind. And it is here the film truly finds its identity, cheekily filling in the gaps in between the more famous scenes (the dress, carriage and ball are all accounted for; the fairy godmother becomes the subject of a winking gag).

Lensed with a somewhat otherworldly eye by cinematographer Marcel Zyskind, the film comes across as empathetic, but rarely sympathetic, save for scenes where the abusive mother lives up to her status as an iconic pop culture villain, with Ane Dahl Torp adding malice and menace to the sing-song tones of the Norwegian language. And while it’s hard not to feel sorry for Elvira in the context of a world that constantly looks down on her, there’s no denying it’s also fun to watch her schemes unravel when the more familiar plot beats kick in.

In fact, while the social angle makes the horror palpable enough, it’s worth noting that Blichfeldt doesn’t shy away from the more literal manifestations of genre elements, climaxing in a third act that manages to be even grimmer than Grimm and delivers properly batshit crazy moments of bodily transformation gone spectacularly wrong. The shoe may not fit Elvira’s foot, but she still walks away with the entire movie and marks Myren as one to watch on the Nordic scene going forward.

Director & Screenwriter: Emilie Blichfeldt
Cast: Lea Myren, Ane Dahl Torp, Thea Sofie Loch Naess, Flo Fagerli, Isac Calmroth, Malte Gårdinger
Producers: Maria Ekerhovd, Theis Nørgaard, Lizette Jonjic, Mariusz Wlodarski, Ada Solomon
Cinematography: Marcel Zyskind
Production Design: Sabine Hviid
Costume Design: Manon Rasmussen
Sound: Tormod Ringnes
Production companies: Mer Film, Lava Films, Motor, Zentropa
World sales: Memento International
Venue: Sundance Film Festival (Midnight)
In Norwegian, Swedish
109 minutes