The Ugly Stepsister

Studio: IFC/Shudder
Director: Emilie Blichfeldt

May 12, 2025 By Scott Howard Web Exclusive

In the most visceral, terrifying terms, The Ugly Stepsister embodies the adage “beauty is pain.” Emilie Blichfeldt retells the fable of Snow White through the desperate eyes of Cinderella’s stepsister, Elvira, who undergoes increasingly horrific body modifications to become a suitable marriage candidate for Prince Julian. Like last year’s unforgettable The Substance, this film will linger in viewers’ minds long after the credits roll.

Elvira’s family—her mother Rebekka and younger sister Alma—are in search of financial security. Rebekka’s hopes are dashed when her elderly new husband dies shortly after their wedding, leaving them with a large estate but no income. Their situation becomes even more precarious with the arrival of Rebekka’s enchanting yet rebellious stepdaughter, Agnes (also known as Cinderella). When the royal family announces a ball in two months for Prince Julian to select a bride, every of-age girl in the region begins frantic preparations. Elvira, driven by a childlike infatuation with Julian and relentless pressure from her bitter mother, finds herself on a collision course with Agnes, as both vie to win the prince’s favor, each for their own reasons.

This gothic retelling of a Grimm fairytale is an unflinching portrayal of the physical and emotional pain women endure in pursuit of society’s standards of beauty. Elvira breaks bones, starves herself with a tapeworm pill, and mutilates her body, evoking both sympathy and horror as her self-destruction appears inevitable. The Ugly Stepsister centers the female experience throughout, highlighting how each woman navigates survival through wildly different, often conflicting, means. Rebekka seeks status through transactional sex and coerces Elvira into primitive, brutal surgical procedures. In a particularly disturbing scene, her indifferent reaction to Elvira’s agonized screams during one such procedure is as unsettling as the act itself. Agnes, meanwhile, hopes to win the prince with her natural charm, despite secretly loving a stable boy.

In an ironic twist, Cinderella is the hardened pragmatist, while the “ugly” stepsister is the idealistic dreamer, clinging to her book of romantic poetry and delusions of love. Even after a humiliating encounter with the prince and his friends—who mock her as too ugly to sleep with—Elvira remains convinced she can marry him. Viewers can only watch in helpless horror as she sacrifices everything to win a man who was never a prize to begin with.

Blichfeldt’s adaptation draws from the original Grimm tales, expanding on the more grotesque elements—like the stepsisters’ mutilation of their feet to fit the glass slipper—and applying them to the entire narrative. The cinematography echoes the dark fantasy films of the 1960s and ’70s, with bleak, gray palettes in moments of realism that give way to vivid color in Elvira’s fantasy sequences. Sex itself is depicted as alien and nightmarish, clashing harshly with Elvira’s naïve worldview. The character of Alma serves as a much-needed audience surrogate, offering a grounded counterpoint to the madness around her. Practical effects, haunting sound design, and gut-churning detail shots bring Elvira’s pursuit of beauty to horrifying life.

Of course, a film this intense requires a strong lead, and Blichfeldt found one in Lea Myren. As Elvira, Myren captures a heartbreaking mix of wonder, fragility, and growing desperation, making her descent into madness both tragic and believable. Even as she shifts from victim to participant in her own suffering, audiences are likely to remain captivated. Playing opposite her, Thea Sofie Loch Ness brings quiet complexity to the role of Agnes/Cinderella, a young woman similarly boxed in by the world’s cruel expectations.

The Ugly Stepsister is a stunning reinvention of a familiar tale—one that exposes the rot beneath the fairytale surface. It ratchets up the anxiety, pulls viewers in with grim fascination, and delivers a potent feminist critique. Through Elvira’s tragic spiral, Blichfeldt forces us to confront a chilling question: Is the true horror the mutilation of the body in pursuit of an impossible ideal, or is it the societal pressure that convinces women to chase it in the first place?

Reviews