Queer Gaze is a monthly column where Prathyush Parasuraman examines traces of queerness in cinema and streaming — intended or unintended, studied or unstudied, reckless or exciting.
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Unintentional perhaps, but the most queer thing about Cinderella was the choir that sung in the background of a father-son spat, “Balls are fun.” Indeed. But were we not promised camp excellence? Or was that a misplaced expectation — for Billy Porter’s camp-by-association to rub off on a story so old, dated even, that the only people reviving it are big studios confident that glittering outfits, a swirling, hypnotic camera, quick and tight edits, and a beautiful, sauceless star at the center of the familiar droll will be enough?
Cinderella is a story that changed with the times. A folk tale about a Greek slave girl who marries an Egyptian king, compiled around the time BCE became CE, it has become a trope that travelled into the Arabian Nights, the Chinese Ye Xian, the Italian Pentamerone, and Charles Perrault's French Cendrillon. Versions differed — with the pumpkin turning into a carriage, the fairy godmother, and the glass slipper added to the French version in the late 17th Century — but the frame story struck a chord.
The role of the fairy godmother in Perrault's Cinderella was conceived as that similar to a godmother — of bestowing care and convenience upon their godchild. There was something grim and real about Perrault’s moral here — that whatever your talents, and however egregious your hopes, you will need someone with connections to move up in life. In many other retellings of the Cinderella story, the fairy godmother is a manifestation of her own dead mother.
In this 2021 adaptation by Kay Cannon, Billy Porter brings his Pose energy to the character — a gender agnostic nurturing figure, divorcing gender from caretaking, a Fabulous Godmother, not a Fairy Godmother, booted with Jimmy Choo. (For some reason, everyone is referring to the character as "Fab G," something barely mentioned in the film. Porter introduces himself to Cinderella as "Fabulous Godmother," and is thus noted in the end credits as well. Some would argue Godparent would be more gender agnostic, but at this point, we are just playing semantics-semantics.)
The Fabulous Godmother is a monarch butterfly that emerged from the caterpillar which Cinderella saved from being stung by a spider in the opening sequence. She empties a drawer to make space for the worm, and watches the caterpillar spin itself into a silken cocoon, marveling at the beauty she saved. When time comes, the cocoon bursts into a butterfly, which transforms into the Fabulous Godmother. If you are so inclined, you can read this as a metaphor for queerness, and the burst of beauty awaiting one after the cocooned life in the closet.
When asked by Cinderella why the Godmother is helping her, the reply comes swiftly, “Baby, you saved me. So, now I am saving you.” Here, the Godmother is a figure of kindness returned.
Porter being cast as the Godmother was a very calculated gesture and look. Camila Cabello, who plays Cinderella in the new adaptation, too notes, “(Porter’s) version of the Fairy Godmother is genderless. After all, magic doesn’t have a gender.” So the look and costumes, designed by Ellen Mirojnick (also behind the costumes of Bridgerton, The Greatest Showman, and Maleficent: Mistress of Evil), could not be too masculine or too feminine. In an interview, Porter notes that he kept the beard and the pants as the masculine counterpart to the gilded, flowing gown and the collar. He removed a beautiful hairpiece from the overall look because it "tipped the balance too much." A kind gesture of algebraic inclusivity where masculine = feminine.
Maybe it is just that Porter has been seen doing camp fabulous things, unworried about this balance, for years now — who can forget his entrance to the 2019 Met Gala, carried by six shirtless men draped in gold, and Porter himself in a catsuit, with 10-foot wings, a 24-karat gold headpiece, and gold-leaf Giuseppe Zanotti shoes?
So this look, this gesture, however well-intentioned, is rehearsed, unsurprising, and frankly, boring. When extravagance becomes routine, awe needs more than just a cautious, aesthetic nod.
Much like the rewriting of the Godmother figure, this Cinderella, too, is recast as someone who has deep entrepreneurial ambitions and gumption. Here, the glass slipper does not fall off, but she takes it off screaming a mental note, "Dress for comfort," flinging the shoe at a man. When the Fabulous Godmother dresses Cinderella, the first outfit she conjures is in a turquoise pantsuit, which fits her like a hand in a glove. But all of this feels like forced revisionism to me — references to solar power, taxation, ambition, etc are too obvious, too easy to write in.
These characters are empty talking points of contemporary expectations from feminism, queerness, post-colonialism, and anti-racism. Even the songs, a great possible space to showcase feeling, are dull, the expressions empty, the choreography little more than limbs being flung in coordination. No decision feels difficult, and no solution feels earned. Everything feels designed for a PR campaign. Indeed, #MagicHasNoGender was hashtagged with the Porter’s inaugural look.
Besides, this is the kind of revisionism we have already seen — the most recent example being Coming 2 America, the successor and corrective to Coming To America. What’s more of the same then, huh?
Cinderella is streaming on Amazon Prime Video.
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