The Fading Fairy Tale: Modern Cinema Challenges the Cinderella Story
For generations, the “Cinderella story” has captivated imaginations: a disadvantaged individual finds transformation, love, and social elevation through a chance encounter with wealth and privilege. It’s a narrative deeply embedded in culture, often seen as a symbol of hope, upward mobility, and the American Dream. However, in a world increasingly marked by pronounced wealth inequality – dubbed a “new Gilded Age” – the traditional fairy tale feels less like a dream and more like a relic.
This shift is evident not only in real-world observations about societal stratification, where traditional “engines of opportunity” like education and even sports show signs of becoming less inclusive, but also in contemporary cultural productions. As the lives of the ultra-rich become simultaneously more visible (thanks to social media) and less inherently romanticized, the pursuit of wealth, particularly when intertwined with love, is viewed with growing skepticism. Recent television shows like “The White Lotus” (where a wealthy marriage earns the label “trophy wife”) and “Succession” (where relationships are steeped in opportunism) or even the politically motivated unions in “Star Wars: Andor,” reflect a difficulty in believing in purely virtuous unions across vast economic divides.
This cultural moment has given rise to films that actively deconstruct the classic Cinderella narrative. Two recent examples, Celine Song’s “Materialists” and Sean Baker’s “Anora,” tackle this theme, though with notably different tones and outcomes.
“Materialists”: Deconstructing High-End Romance
Celine Song’s “Materialists” plunges viewers into the glossy, yet often hollow, world of high-end dating services. The film follows Lucy (Dakota Johnson), a matchmaker for an elite agency where clients treat potential partners less like people and more like customizable “designer accessories.” Their demands are startlingly shallow and precise – seeking specific ages, BMI limits, or minimum salary requirements, highlighting a transactional approach to love and relationships in this rarefied environment.
The film serves as a bracing demystification of romantic comedy tropes. Dating is portrayed not as destiny, but a difficult “gantlet of risk and pain,” and even lavish weddings are depicted with unsentimental realism, full of awkwardness and indignity. Lucy, initially cynical, sees the business as a “SCAM,” understanding why a client might accept a proposal primarily to feel “valuable” or provoke jealousy.
The narrative complicates Lucy’s perspective when she encounters Harry (Pedro Pascal), a wealthy, conventionally perfect man (“a unicorn” in dating lingo) at a wedding she helped facilitate. Simultaneously, she reconnects with her less financially stable ex, John (Chris Evans), an actor she left due to his struggles. This sets up a modern love triangle: the dazzling symbol of material success versus the dependable, seemingly more emotionally connected past love. While Harry represents a stressful, potentially counterfeit perfection, John offers what is pitched as effortless, constant affection – like a “Netflix feed” of love.
Ultimately, Lucy chooses John. However, the film’s resolution feels, to some critics, rushed and emotionally unconvincing. Instead of a passionate triumph, the choice reads as a “sneakily practical” escape from the constant hustle for materially rewarding love. The film, arguably, struggles to make the non-materialistic choice feel entirely earned, leaving its message feeling somewhat didactic.
“Anora”: A Brutal Turn on the Fairy Tale
Sean Baker’s “Anora,” in stark contrast to “Materialists,” offers a far more brutal and fatalistic take on the anti-Cinderella theme. The critically acclaimed film, which won the Palme d’Or at Cannes and has generated significant awards buzz, explicitly positions itself as an “anti-Cinderella” or “anti-Pretty Woman” story.
The movie centers on Ani (Mikey Madison in a widely praised, “electric, star-is-born performance”), a sex worker in Brooklyn. Her life takes a dramatic turn when she impulsively marries Ivan, the wild-child son of a Russian billionaire. For a brief moment, Ani lives the high life, seemingly embodying the Cinderella fantasy, complete with lavish shopping sprees where she spins ecstatically in expensive clothes, eager to feel valuable. This period is sharply contrasted with the harsh reality that soon follows.
Ivan’s powerful parents swiftly intervene, dispatching henchmen to force an annulment. The film dramatically shifts genres, moving from a rom-com setup into a tense mob drama. Ani is brutally exposed and humiliated, learning a difficult lesson not for desiring wealth, but for mistakenly believing the fairy tale – specifically, thinking a marriage contract could protect her against the capricious power of the super-rich.
As highlighted by actress Mikey Madison, the character of Ani is complex and vulnerable beneath a tough exterior. Madison’s preparation for the role, including learning Russian, taking pole dancing lessons, and speaking with real sex workers, underscores the film’s commitment to a form of neorealism, even amidst its screwball and dramatic turns. Ani is portrayed as scrappy and tough, fighting fiercely in intense, even chaotic scenes.
“Anora” presents a world where the pull of money consistently outweighs love, friendship, ethics, and even social justice. While this could be read as Marxist critique, some viewers find it leans towards artistic convenience, using “capitalist realism” to paint a bleak, utterly disenchanted picture. Ani’s journey, culminating in an embrace with one of the enforcers, suggests her “growth” comes from resigning herself to her socioeconomic reality rather than escaping it. The film is relentless in punishing Ani’s initial idealism.
Contrasting Approaches, Shared Critique
Both “Materialists” and “Anora” share a desire to critique the entanglement of love and materialism inherent in the Cinderella myth, particularly within the context of extreme wealth disparity. “Materialists” attempts to find a romantic happy ending without the money, suggesting emotional value should trump material worth, though its execution faces criticism. “Anora,” conversely, is less interested in replacing the fantasy and more in brutally puncturing it, demonstrating the naive danger of believing the fairy tale in a world dominated by capital.
However, a shared critique emerges: neither film fully succeeds in replacing the classic narrative with a compelling, organically driven alternative. Reviewers note that both films can feel overly “didactic” in their messaging. The focus on the male characters’ class attributes (the wealthy “unicorn” versus the less affluent, dependable ex or the billionaire’s son versus the enforcer) risks making the heroines’ choices seem forced or contrived, driven by the film’s thesis rather than genuine, complex desire. The core romantic connections, particularly in “Materialists,” don’t always resonate powerfully enough to justify rejecting the material allure so definitively.
Ultimately, while challenging the antiquated Cinderella story is a timely and relevant pursuit in our stratified age, finding a compelling modern narrative for love and desire that exists outside the dominant influence of wealth remains a complex task that these films, for all their insights and unique perspectives, may not have fully solved.
