From the very first frame of Emilie Blichfeldt’s feature directorial debut, The Ugly Stepsister, it’s clear that we’re in for something far removed from the polished perfection of Disney’s animated fairy tales—or the chaos of whatever’s happening in The Twisted Childhood Universe. What Blichfeldt delivers instead is a brutal, beautifully crafted, and unsettling reimagining of Cinderella filtered through a lens of body horror, biting satire, and feminist fury.
Set in a lush, live-action world that mimics the meticulous detail of a Disney production, The Ugly Stepsister feels like it’s been plucked from a dream—or a nightmare. The set design is astonishing. You’ll find yourself second-guessing what’s a practical build and what’s a painter’s touch. The same can be said for the effects work, which swings from the grotesque (a rotting corpse encircled by flies) to the comically grotesque (a pimple popping with almost gleeful detail). But make no mistake: this is a horror film through and through, and it isn’t afraid to get messy.
Lea Myren’s portrayal of Elvira—the titular “ugly” stepsister—is hauntingly believable. She’s a character who demands empathy even as her desperation drives her toward increasingly disturbing choices. Her quiet, aching performance anchors the film emotionally, and the tension she endures is often so intense that you feel it in your chest. There’s one scene involving the painful application of false eyelashes that is as cringe-inducing as it is mesmerizing—worth the price of admission alone. A moment that would undoubtedly make David Cronenberg proud.
Visually, the film is a standout. Cinematographer Marcel Zyskind helps Blichfeldt channel the eerie elegance of Rosemary’s Baby and the stylized surrealism of A Clockwork Orange, all while maintaining a unique identity. The film’s old-world aesthetic, reminiscent of the late 1800s, is given new life with jarring, era-defying bursts of industrial and electronic music, which only heighten the chaos and discomfort. It’s a daring stylistic gamble—and it pays off.
Costume design by Manon Rasmussen is another highlight. With credits that include Melancholia and A Royal Affair, Rasmussen brings a grounded authenticity to every stitch and silhouette. Her collaboration with Blichfeldt results in costumes that feel not only era-appropriate but emotionally resonant—distorted echoes of iconic “Mouse House” gowns, now tinged with desperation.
While The Ugly Stepsister never shies away from disturbing imagery or complex themes (sexuality, body modification, beauty tyranny), it also has moments of sly humor and fairy tale playfulness. The Gus Gus cameo (If you know, you know) is a surprising bit of levity in an otherwise emotionally intense ride, and it’s a reminder that this is still a story rooted in myth—albeit one that's been cracked wide open.
What makes Blichfeldt’s debut so striking is her ability to take a story we all think we know and twist it into something horrifying, heartbreaking, and wholly original. You may come in expecting the ugly stepsister to be a footnote in Cinderella’s fairy tale, but you’ll leave with her seared into your memory. And that final frame? Absolutely brutal. A devastating end to a film that continually ups the ante until there’s nothing left to give.
The Ugly Stepsister is a fairy tale for our modern era: a twisted, timely reflection on how much pain we’re willing to endure—and inflict—for the illusion of beauty. This is not a movie for everyone, but for those who can stomach the horror, it’s one of the most stylish and thought-provoking films of the year. In U.S. cinemas April 18, U.K. cinemas April 25, and available on digital platforms starting May 9.
Jessie Hobson