Cruella (2021)

Kennel of Truth

Low self-esteem can cause people to do unhealthy things to themselves, such as scroll through Twitter for more than thirty seconds per day. Recently, I was in a particularly down mood and found myself sucked into one of those tweet vortexes that begins with, “This looks interesting”, and ends with the coffee pot’s shut-off alarm snapping me back to reality.

Someone started a thread criticizing critics for asking the apparently gauche question, “Who is the movie Cruella for?” It’s one that I’d asked during a recent discussion with Don Shanahan of Every Movie Has a Lesson. At the time, I had no idea that it would turn out to be such a loaded query. The Twitterati quickly informed me that my curiosity signified an out-of-touch male mindset that had no business reviewing (much less watching) a movie that I was incapable of understanding.

Apparently, Cruella is “for” women (and those sympathetic to same) who appreciate strong female characters, haute couture, and a wickedly funny, pop-music-fueled romp—as opposed to stuck-in-their-ways men who think every movie has to be about explosions, raunch, or female subservience. Never mind the fact that no film can cross a billion dollars at the box office solely on testosterone or solely on estrogen.

Before I get into why I believe Cruella is not only one of the worst live-action Disney films of the new century, but also the most insidiously dangerous, let’s begin with my Mouse House bona fides.

In the last few years, Disney has been mired in straight remakes of their classic animated features. They are mostly overlong and pointless, created solely for pushing the boundaries of technology (which is fine) and keeping existing IP in the public consciousness (artistically inexcusable, but fiscally responsible). The phenomenon began with a kernel of an original idea, though, which has come full circle with Cruella.

In 2014, the Angelina Jolie vehicle Maleficent gave a tragic backstory to Sleeping Beauty’s iconic but one-dimensional villain. It was a blockbuster phenomenon, taking in nearly $756 million at the global box office. The following year, Kenneth Brannagh’s retelling of Cinderella put Cate Blanchett front and center as the deliciously evil but recognizably human Wicked Stepmother. Though not as financially successful ($542 million), the film proved that there was something about playing up the villainess that really struck a chord with audiences.

Disney being Disney, they learned all the wrong lessons from their successes, following up Cinderella with a universally loathed sequel to their Alice in Wonderland remake, and sequelizing Maleficent with the abysmally misguided (so I’ve heard) dud. From there, it was full speed ahead into Remake City.

Now we have Cruella, which might seem like a Maleficent 2 mulligan, but which is, in reality, more like Joker: For the Ladies. Yes, it’s an easy and too often drawn comparison, but that’s because the truth always sticks out like an inconveniently throbbing thumb. Todd Phillips’ Scorsese-inspired take on Gotham CIty’s Crown Prince of Crime made a billion dollars worldwide, proving the audiences would turn up in droves (repeatedly) to watch a gleeful, hero-free descent into chaos as long as it was tied to a well-established property.

Naturally, it seemed only right that Disney would try their hand at a similar twist, and with an interesting actor venturing into dark territory—maybe even broadening their chances of success by removing the “R” rated barrier to entry. Hence, America’s sweetheart Emma Stone breathing new, black-hearted life into 101 Dalmatians antagonist Cruella de Vil.

Instead of hamming it up like Glenn Close in the 1996 Dalmatians remake, Stone goes the Harley Quinn route, presenting a clearly disturbed and devious psychopath as a wry and visually striking rogue. Though her origin is quite sympathetic (you can play a fun game with your friends, betting on how long it will take for both parents to be out of the picture), Stone’s narration of her character’s life is aloof in that postmodern “cool” way that’s meant to distract from our knowledge that Cruella is destined to hunt and skin puppies.

Irredeemable villains like Alex DeLarge, Mickey and Mallory Knox, and Mark Renton are enjoyable in the context of films that serve as allegories for the seductions of evil and vice. Despite these fiends’ undeniable charisma, the filmmakers never once send the message that the audience should be on their side. They also put these lowlives through hell; that they emerge largely unscathed or seemingly victorious is often a cheeky reminder that we should be ever vigilant against the darkness without, and within.

Cruella proudly proclaims her rottenness, at the beginning of the film and at the end—with plenty of in-between displays of deviousness, apathy, and self-aggrandizing manipulation of everyone around her.

Of course, it’s mostly played for PG-13 laughs.

Cruella aspires to be the fashion magnate of mid-70s London by plotting the takedown of the scene’s current queen, fashion designer The Baroness (Emma Thompson). Working her way up from scrubbing floors to accidentally creating a sensational window display (Mannequin, anyone?), Cruella soon goes toe to toe with her mentor/rival, assisted by the two minions she’s employed as thieves for the past decade.

Yes, Cruella’s bumbling underlings are actually childhood chums who’ve helped her pickpocket, commit identity fraud, and God knows what else during their low-key reign. And as entertaining as it is to watch the remarkable Paul Walter Hauser and serviceable Joel Fry mug it up in weird disguises and cute vignettes, I couldn’t quite get past the idea that this trio (now well into adulthood) make their living ruining (or at the very least severely inconveniencing) other people’s lives. Tony Montana walking into a rake doesn’t qualify him for absolution and a hug.

In fact, Cruella continues a disturbing modern trend of bringing misandry to the fore in popular entertainment. Take a shot every time a positive, traditionally masculine character appears in the film—one who is not a thief, a willing participant in Cruella’s plans, or an ineffectual servant who is constantly berated and physically abused by the women around him—and you’ll be stone sober by the end credits. Underling Jasper (Fry) is portrayed as the sweet guy with puppy-love (sorry) in his eyes—but, again, thief. Mark Strong plays The Baroness’ henchman, John, and though he acts nobly in one crucial instance (seen in flashback), the rest of his career is marked by aiding and abetting a murderous fiend (possibly two).

Co-writers Dana Fox and Tony McNamara don’t seem to think much of women, either. In a unique twist, Cruella and The Baroness don’t become more sympathetic as the movie goes on—they become unbearably reprehensible. Perhaps it’s because Emma Stone has made a career out of playing arch but sweet characters, I kept expecting all of Cruella’s narration and actions proclaiming her own evilness to be proven wrong—or at least eroded in service of making her a tragic antihero. But, no, both she and Thompson’s Baroness are scheming, power-hungry killers (or killers-in-waiting) whose only need for affection comes from within, and whose only use for people is as things to be used.

I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s my own damned fault that I believed anything else could result from a collaboration between the director of I, Tonya and the writer of The Favourite—both of which center on women who plot to destroy other women for power. But I thought that perhaps Disney, in its ostensible position as a progenitor of culture, would understand that such messaging has no place swirling around in children's heads. Are little girls supposed to learn that being strong and independent means eschewing relationships, stabbing others in the back, and viewing men as obstacles—as longs as they can cackle and look great on their way to the top? And are little boys supposed to learn that being a man is to be a criminal, a liar, a stepping stone, and a mushy shoulder for career-driven women?

For the record, I hated Joker’s nihilism, too, so this isn’t just “a man thing”. There’s no balance in Cruella, no reason to root for the person in whom we’ve just invested two hours and fourteen minutes. Just as people were concerned about male incels drawing all the wrong lessons from Joker (which were, really, the only lessons to draw from that movie) and exacting some kind of sexist revenge on the world, I wonder how many women and girls will come away from this movie—ending as it does with a hero shot of its tragic character framed in firelight after having ascended to the peak of privilege—inspired instead of horrified.

Who knows? Maybe my concerns about Cruella will turn out to be just as unfounded as the media’s freakout over Joker.

Regardless, if this movie speaks to you, please don’t speak to me.