This darkly feminist fairy tale slow-burns its way through vanity, envy, and the societal curse of beauty.

In Emilie Kristine Blichfeldt’s icy, melancholic The Ugly Stepsister, the velvet drapes and soft golden glows of the fairy tale kingdom mask something far more corrosive: the bitter ache of envy, inadequacy, and the impossible pressure to be seen. It’s a film that peers behind the glass slipper and turns the looking glass back on us—audiences raised on ideals of beauty, charm, and happy endings for the fairest of them all.

The titular “ugly” stepsister, Elvira (Lea Myren), is not the cackling caricature of pantomime lore. Played with aching restraint, she’s a quiet storm of desperation and longing—her plainness not exaggerated but perceptibly measured against the luminous perfection of her stepsister, who seems preordained to capture the prince’s attention. The film’s magic lies not in spells or transformations, but in its psychological excavation of a woman unraveling under the weight of expectation and invisibility.

Blichfeldt wisely avoids overt parody or satire. Instead, she leans into the fairy tale structure only to slowly erode it, exposing the emotional and societal cost of a world built on outward beauty. In Elvira’s quiet glances, her tightening posture, and her increasing willingness to bend morality in pursuit of admiration, we witness something tragic: not a villainess in the making, but a reflection of how warped self-worth becomes in a world that equates beauty with value.

The film’s pacing is deliberate, sometimes to a fault. It takes its time—almost too much—in building its portrait of simmering resentment and warped aspiration. But the stillness serves a purpose: The Ugly Stepsister is less concerned with plot propulsion than with emotional erosion. This is no Cinderella story, even if it steals her ballgown. It’s a study in marginalisation—of being the one never chosen, never seen, and never allowed to dream on her own terms.

Though the production design is gorgeously oppressive—regal and cold in equal measure—it’s the thematic spine that resonates: the film’s commentary on the female experience within patriarchal beauty myths. Elvira’s descent isn’t driven by malice, but by an internalised belief that to be loved, she must first be looked at. It’s a bitter irony that in pursuing visibility, she must become someone—something—unrecognisable.

The Prognosis:

The Ugly Stepsister doesn’t always land its punches with perfect clarity and might frustrate viewers expecting a more dramatic reversal or fantasy payoff. Blichfeldt isn’t rewriting a fairy tale—she’s exhuming it, pulling up what’s been buried beneath centuries of curated perfection.

In this world, beauty is not a blessing. It’s a prison. And for those left outside its gates, the fairy tale is a nightmare told in soft pastels and sharpened smiles.

• Review by Saul Muerte