A Haunting Fairytale Turned Body Horror Masterpiece
The Ugly Stepsister, the feature debut from Norwegian writer-director Emilie Blichfeldt, is a fearless and ferocious deconstruction of beauty myths. Taking the bones of Cinderella and twisting them into a grim body horror satire, Blichfeldt strips away fantasy to expose the cruelty beneath. The result is a raw, razor-sharp tale about control, trauma and the violent cost of perfection.
From its unsettling first scene, the film sets out to disturb. Lea Myren delivers a transformative performance as Elvira, the forgotten daughter disfigured by her mother’s relentless pursuit of beauty and status. Blichfeldt refuses to look away, showing in graphic detail the invasive procedures, forced starvation and self-harm that Elvira endures. These scenes are brutal but never gratuitous. Each one reinforces the central theme: beauty is not natural, it is inflicted.
Visually, the film is as striking as it is harrowing. Fairytale finery is paired with surgical steel, and lavish ballrooms are filmed with sterile precision. The contrast between glamour and suffering is jarring and effective. Blichfeldt’s control of tone, camera and design crafts an atmosphere that feels dreamlike and dreadful at once. This is a world where sequins cling to blood and beauty masks violence.
What gives the film its edge is its dark wit. The humour is bleak but intentional, a scalpel cutting through hypocrisy. Blichfeldt satirises society’s obsession with appearance and its willingness to sacrifice women on the altar of desirability. There are no easy laughs here, only sharp observations delivered with unnerving clarity. Romance is revealed as hollow, transformation as torture, and acceptance as conditional.
The supporting cast deepens the story’s emotional resonance. Ane Dahl Torp is chilling as Rebekka, the mother whose cruelty masquerades as care. Thea Sofie Loch Næss offers a layered take on the archetypal Cinderella figure, and Flo Fagerli, as the youngest sister Alma, brings a quiet emotional weight that humanises the horror.
There are moments where the pacing falters. At just under two hours, the middle section drags slightly, repeating ideas already clearly established. A tighter edit could have heightened the film’s impact without sacrificing its mood or message.
Even so, The Ugly Stepsister remains one of the year’s most original and uncompromising films. Blichfeldt’s voice is fierce and distinct, and her debut proves she can balance shock with substance. This is not just a horror film; it is a brutal, beautiful scream against unrealistic standards and generational cycles of control.
Unflinching, provocative and painfully relevant, The Ugly Stepsister holds a mirror to our obsession with beauty and shows us what’s lurking underneath. It’s not easy viewing, but it is essential.
Rating: 9 out of 10
Available now on Digital
