Directed by Kenneth Branagh (Walt Disney Studios, 2015)
There’s something great about 5-year-old boys. They are so unformed, and yet, their opinions are made of the stuff of ball bearings. Take my son, for instance. He will not wear plaid, eat hot dogs, or play with "dumb girl stuff." Dumbgirlstuff should be all one word as those words always fall quickly upon each other.
When I asked him if he wanted to see the new Cinderella film, he quickly turned me down, telling me that it was dumbgirlstuff. I was finally able to persuade him with the promise of popcorn and the Frozen Fever short that preceded the feature.
If he only knew that this latest version of Cinderella was helmed by Kenneth Branagh, the same Branagh who directed both Henry V and Thor, he might have been more easily persuaded. In these films, Branagh is the opposite of dumbgirlstuff. There is hardly anything more manly than the St. Crispin’s Day speech from Henry V, a speech so rabble-rousing, football players have been known to recite it before going out onto the field to smash each other to bits. So how does a guy like Branagh, a man’s man with more Shakespeare cred than any other living actor, end up directing Cinderella?
One can speculate he did it for the money or conversely, to stretch himself artistically. No matter the reason, he brings a quality to the film that one expects from Branagh, if not the gravitas. Cate Blanchett gives an ice-cold performance as the Evil Stepmother whose heart has been poisoned by loss, Helena Bonham Carter is a frothy delight as the Fairy Godmother, and Downton Abbey’s Lily James is perfectly serviceable as the kind and deeply good Cinderella. The sets of Cinderella are lush and the supernatural scenes when the pumpkin and mice are transformed are raucous explosions of fun-to-watch magic.
But is this latest version of Cinderella better than dumbgirlstuff? Let’s just say there probably won’t be any moments when Fred Savage tells his Grandfather he doesn’t have to skip the kissing parts. It’s a girly movie even with Branagh as director. At two hours long, the film drags for even the girliest among us in the audience. By the time the ball scene came around, my son wasn’t the only one shifting in his seat and whispering, “How much longer?”
Branagh doesn’t try to reinvent the wheel with this version, which is a disappointment. If he had brought in some of the darkness and depth of the original French folktale, this latest Cinderella could have been in the Frozen category of smartgirlstuff, a nuanced girl’s movie that boys like to sing along with just as much as their counterparts. Unfortunately, Branagh’s Cinderella is too weighed down with tulle and glitter to achieve that. If, like my son and me, you are not inclined to attend a movie wearing a princess outfit, this movie might not be for you. Instead, stay in, get out your play swords, and watch the St. Crispin’s Day speech on YouTube. That’s the kind of Branagh my son and I can get on board with.
This is a web-only review.
Photo courtesy of Walt Disney Studios
