Sometimes I look in the mirror and think, “Man, if I could just make a few tweaks, I’d be unstoppable. Maybe drop a few pounds here, add a little muscle there…”
You know, the classic mental makeover montage where I go from a tired dad who eats too many midnight snacks to a guy who owns a gym membership and actually uses it. But then reality kicks in, and I realize the only six-pack I’m ever going to have comes in aluminum cans that chill nicely in my fridge.
Still, I can’t help but dream, not of a chiseled superhero look or movie-star abs. My ultimate goal is far nobler: I just want to look like Jack Black. The man has it all. Charisma, confidence, a body that says, “Yeah, I ate the leftovers,” and an energy level powered by pure chaos and dad jokes. He’s living proof that you don’t need to be perfect to be iconic. And honestly, that’s the kind of transformation I could actually get behind.
Today’s movie review features a similar story that is way, way more extreme.
The Ugly Stepsister is a darkly funny and deeply unsettling body horror film from newcomer Emilie Blichfeldt. Reimagining the classic Cinderella tale, the story shifts focus to Elvira (Lea Myren), one of two unfortunate daughters raised under the guidance of her mother, Rebekka (Ane Dahl Torp). Elvira competes with her radiant stepsister, Agnes (Thea Sofie Loch Næss), for the affection of Prince Julian (Isac Calmroth). When the family’s finances begin to crumble, Rebekka pushes Elvira into a nightmarish transformation, believing that beauty can buy their way back to status and security.
Through nose alterations, stitched lashes, starvation and even the consumption of a tapeworm egg, Elvira’s desperate pursuit of perfection becomes a gruesome reflection of vanity and obsession. What begins as a familiar fairy tale soon twists into a repulsive and tragic satire on beauty, class and the cost of being “worthy.”
The film cleverly turns the Cinderella myth on its head. Instead of celebrating the transformation from rags to riches, it exposes the cruelty and pain that often hide beneath the surface of “becoming beautiful.” We’ve grown up on the Disney version, where magic solves every problem and the biggest hardship is finding the right shoe size. The Ugly Stepsister takes that cheerful fantasy and drags it through the mud, showing just how much blood, sweat and self-destruction it would actually take to achieve that kind of perfection.
By showing the story through Elvira’s perspective, the film strips away the sparkle and exposes the darker truth: the fairy tale we’ve been told for generations is really a nightmare dressed in a pretty bow.
If you’re squeamish or tend to stick with lighter films, The Ugly Stepsister will absolutely test your limits. This is not a movie that flinches or cuts away when things get uncomfortable. It leans into the disgusting with full abandon. The scenes of bodily transformation and decay are raw, visceral and deeply unsettling, lingering on every detail just long enough to make your stomach twist. There’s a realism to the horror that makes it hard to look away, even when you really want to.
I honestly don’t think I’ve felt this level of revulsion from a body horror film since the first time I watched Society. That same combination of fascination and disgust kicked in here too, where the line between beauty and monstrosity disappears completely. It’s the kind of film that makes you appreciate how far practical effects and imagination can go while at the same time making you want to take a shower immediately afterward.
Perhaps my only real complaint with The Ugly Stepsister is how heavily it leans into its body horror. The shock value is undeniable, but at times the disturbing imagery threatens to swallow the story whole. In films like The Substance or Hellraiser, the violence and mutilation serve the narrative, reinforcing the characters’ suffering, transformation or obsession. In The Ugly Stepsister, those same elements are pushed so far that they begin to eclipse the emotional core.
The familiar Cinderella framework is present, and it is fascinating when the film explores ideas of self-worth, societal pressure and maternal manipulation. However, as the camera lingers on every incision and every grotesque “improvement,” it sometimes feels as if the horror becomes the main attraction rather than the metaphor it was meant to represent. It is as though the film is so intent on shocking the audience that it forgets how powerful subtlety can be.
Even with its excesses, The Ugly Stepsister is a bold and unforgettable debut for Emilie Blichfeldt. It takes one of the most sanitized fairy tales ever told and dares to show the gore beneath the glitter. Every frame feels like a cautionary tale about chasing perfection, told with both style and stomach-turning detail. Beneath all the blood and bile lies a story about how far people will go to feel seen, loved or simply good enough. It’s uncomfortable, often shocking, and at times almost too much to bear, but that’s exactly what makes it effective.
I give The Ugly Stepsister four out of five stars. It may not always find the perfect balance between horror and heart, but when it hits, it cuts deep (sometimes really deep). The film lingers as both a warning and a challenge about what “beauty” really costs. And as I sat there squirming, I couldn’t help but feel thankful that my own dream makeover only involves channeling Jack Black energy instead of tapeworm diets and home surgery kits.
If confidence is the real secret to beauty, then maybe I’m already halfway there.