Everyone has been wondering for some time now how Disney would manage to make a sympathetic origin story about a puppy-skinning fiend. Cruella de Vil (Emma Stone, carrying Glenn Close’s torch), however, has a backstory just like any other nefarious antagonist (namely, Maleficent, Arthur Fleck/Joker and Harleen Frances Quinzel/Harley Quinn, the latter of whom is most markedly comparable to “70s London Cruella”).
The twenty-first century idea of lending credence to evil by showcasing how mental health means the difference between a mass shooting and not continues to ruffle some feathers. Many people believe that by giving these “villains” empathy, it only opens the door for more leniency on those real-life criminals who commit heinous acts (again, usually mass shootings). But what the purpose of films like Maleficent, Joker, Birds of Prey and now, Cruella, might ultimately seek to improve is a spotlight on the importance of tending to one’s mental well-being early on in life—and particularly after a major trauma, something the likes of which boomers and echo boomers were told to suppress and move on from for the majority of their formative years. We can see how effectively that method worked out for both generations, walking emotional wounds in similar but distinct ways.
Cruella, being, what else, a baby boomer, comes of age in the 60s and 70s. And it’s in 1965 that she sees a dress made by Baroness (Emma Thompson) that changes her life. Invigorates something within her that makes her understand more fully that she needs to become a fashion designer herself. If for no other reason than to show the others in the game how it’s done. With a “Story by” credit given to Aline Brosh McKenna (still best known for 27 Dresses), the other palpable and distinctive female voice (“I am woman, hear me roar”) is that of screenwriter Dana Fox, who counts herself among a writing group “jokingly” called Fempire with Diablo Cody, Lorene Scafaria and Liz Meriwether. After scoring mid-00s hits with The Wedding Date and What Happens in Vegas, Cruella marks a continued reinvention for Fox into a different era of the century (which another more recent work of hers, Isn’t It Romantic, was already angling toward in 2019). With playwright and The Favourite (another Emma Stone gem) screenwriter Tony McNamara added into the alchemy of the story and script’s creation, the result is a nonstop “romp” that captures the spirit of London in one of its heydays (of which there may never be another after Brexit came to roost).
Just as The Devil Wears Prada—the film that Aline Brosh McKenna is also best known for writing—uses New York as the gaping metropolis that Andy Sachs (Anne Hathaway) seeks to “make it” in, Cruella wields London as the only possible mecca where Estella (yes, that’s her original name) can finally live without judgment and constant bullying. Not that she doesn’t make effortless mincemeat out of the boys who try to fuck with her. That’s the real reason she’s expelled: having too many “black marks” (a.k.a. the black spots against white paper that connote her imminent ire for Dalmatians). That is, until her mother, Catherine (Emily Beecham), announces she’s withdrawing her daughter from the school. This being one of a few Jenny Humphrey (Taylor Momsen) from Gossip Girl parallels. And so, to London it is—where Catherine will continue to nurture Estella’s fashion design aspirations, while also telling her to suppress the more knavish aspect of her personality that they call “Cruella.” There’s just a little stop Catherine has to make on the way—one that will turn out to be fatal.
It’s here that Estella’s life takes a turn for the Oliver Twist/Orphan Annie track (another side note: Brosh McKenna also co-wrote the 2014 adaptation of Annie). After escaping from a certain event, Estella takes up with two fellow orphans, Jasper (Joel Fry) and Horace (Paul Walter Hauser, another I, Tonya alum participating in Cruella), when she goes to the fountain in Regent’s Park that she and her mother talked about visiting upon arrival. Realizing that her best bet for surviving will be to run with their lifestyle of thieving and grifting, the shape of their relationship takes on a kind of Bande à Part sensibility. Three against the world, and fuck the rest. Or maybe five against the world if you count Estella’s mutt, Buddy (yes, she’s affectionate toward a dog), and Horace’s crafty Chihuahua, Wink. But their “happy family” isn’t quite enough for Estella, and Jasper, being more emotionally attuned than Horace, can see that she is unsatisfied as they grow further into adulthood. Catching her constantly gazing at the billboards for Baroness’ fashions, he finagles a way for her to get hired at the department store of the day, Liberty—located on Great Marlborough Street in Soho (again, New Yorkers, you weren’t the first to do anything, least of all call a neighborhood Soho).
While it might not be working for the Baroness, at least it’s closer to her world. That is, until Estella realizes she’s meant to be cleaning toilets all day. This was perhaps presaged by her sitting in a hotel room dressed as a maid for one of their grifts. While she’s pondering another existence on the bed, Tallulah Bankhead (the inspiration for Cruella’s signature laugh) in Alfred Hitchcock’s Lifeboat cackles like a madwoman in front of her on the TV. And yes, talking of Hitchcock, the duality present in the Norman Bates character from Psycho is also at play throughout Cruella in terms of Estella creating the bisection of two personas in order to get by (something Britney Spears is all too familiar with).
It is at this turning point in the script, as she stumbles through the darkened department store cleaning with a decanter of whiskey (or some other such brown liquid) in hand, that we can see the major moments contributing to Cruella’s grand debut—and permanent residence—in Estella’s body. This, of course, goes back to the mental health issue at hand. How when villainous baby boomers suppressed their emotions—bottled them up and shoved them down—it only led to a more detrimental coping mechanism for both Cruella and all those lives (whether human or canine) she would eventually “touch.”
Under the direction of Craig Gillespie (who has a history with sympathetically portraying “difficult” women after I, Tonya—hence, another minimal degree of separation between Cruella de Vil and Harley Quinn: Emma Stone and Margot Robbie), our duo-toned hair “diva” is given a dimensionality that was never there before. And yes, admittedly, in order to do that, Gillespie must downplay the more diabolical elements of her animated (and Glenn Close) character. This includes, most markedly, her predilection for killing Dalmatians. However, the seeds of her contempt for them are sown (or sewn, in this case) by Baroness von Hellman herself. She’s the one who owns a trio of blood-thirsting brutes (an intentional number for its nod to Cerberus, guard dog of the underworld) that will attack at the slightest sign of a threat against their master. “They’re gorgeous, but vicious—my favorite combination,” Baroness tells a disguised Estella at her Black and White (obvi) Ball. Indeed, much of the onus on being evil is placed on Baroness’ shoulders, as she is the one to adopt the Miranda Priestly persona… despite many reviewers claiming that part is now played by Cruella. “Why am I the only one who’s competent?” Baroness demands of her loyal servant, John (Mark Strong), at one point, in that vocal intonation we all know from Miranda eerily inquiring, “Why is no one ready?”
Brosh McKenna would remark of the “villainousness” of Miranda at the time as follows: “I wanted to make sure the audience understood why she had so much power in her world; and then understand that there was a cost for her, because we wanted Andy to walk away from a life as opposed to walking away from a person. She sees how much Miranda has sacrificed in her personal life, and that’s just not what Andy wants to do. Miranda’s held to a different standard than male executives might be held to, and she lives under a microscope.” Estella, too, sees that level of even more extreme sacrifice in Baroness’ personal life. Except the supposed difference between Miranda and Baroness is that the latter has a more acute case of Narcissistic Personality Disorder, whereas Miranda is just trying her best to be a cold-blooded shark in a male-dominated sea. For her, it’s not just about success, but surviving at the top. For Baroness, it really is more about seeing her name in print.
Unfortunately for her ego, when Cruella’s name starts getting all the attention as she begins crashing Baroness’ parties, fashion shows and public appearances with her own superior designs and talent for fanfare, Baroness must confront the idea that Cruella actually is better (another Eleanor Waldorf/Jenny Humphrey connection). Yet the one thing we come to find Cruella isn’t better at is being bad, even as we hear her declare to her beloved Regent’s Park fountain, “I was born bad.” Or perhaps just born a boomer with the luxury of forming herself—her “rebel with a cause” nature—at the height of London’s Vivienne Westwood-driven punk scene. A scene used to great advantage when Cruella stages a rogue fashion show during which one of her own stooges (as opposed to a member of The Stooges) plays, appropriately, “I Wanna Be Your Dog.” Specifically sung by vintage store worker and eye-for-the-flamboyant possessor, Art (John McCrea, playing Disney’s first openly gay original character in a live-action movie). It is his dynamic with Cruella that is, indeed, one of the most entertaining to watch despite their minimal exchanges together. For there is no duo that can come up with a crueler plan than a gay and a girl out for revenge.
But perhaps Cruella didn’t quite know the extent of Baroness’ vile capabilities as she finds herself tied to a chair, balking in disbelief, “So you’re going to kill me for upstaging you?” “Yes,” Baroness replies nonchalantly, in a casually chilling way that gives Miranda a run for her (magazine) money. Who “wins” at the conclusion of the film will still remain to be seen with an inevitable sequel.
As for Cruella, it’s more apparent than ever that being born with poliosis (the condition that makes half her head look white and the other black) is foreshadowing, in the end, of why she possesses such a stark duality within herself. A duality we all have within ourselves whether we want to admit it or not. And depending on what traumas we endure in our lives and how we handle them (by suppression or release), we also have the same propensity toward “evil.” When that propensity is left to flourish by a lack of concern or care from others, it is those same others who will end up being the ones to suffer the consequences of their own apathy.
