Hilary Duff, tween goddess and burgeoning cottage industry, has the wholesome market cornered. If she were any more wholesome, in fact, she would tip her sweetness and light self into a cloying self-parody, a cross, if you will, between Doris Day and one of those Raphael cherubs that took the mass market by storm a decade or so ago. And so we come to A CINDERELLA STORY, an inconsequential bit of fluff tailor-made for Duffs particular talents as a perky marshmallow. No surprise, considering that Duffs mother is one of the producers.
Actually, inconsequential does not scratch the surface of problems in this retelling of the classic fairy tale set in todays San Fernando Valley. Duff is Sam Montgomery, a high school senior with dreams of attending Princeton. Shes also at the mercy of a wicked step-mother (Jennifer Coolidge made up to be Shamu the killer whale in spandex and rhinestones) and two equally atrocious step-sisters, twins who are the long and short of unattractiveness both inside and out. Once the apple of her fathers eye, Sam was relegated to an attic room and servant status when said father perished in an earthquake. Nonetheless, shes remained sweet and oddly unbitter, even when scrubbing floors at the diner her step-mother inherited along with everything else that her father owned.
Of course theres a Prince Charming, hes Austin (Chad Michael Murray), who like all hunks in this sort of story is the broody and introspective type while still being essentially non-threatening. Hes also the captain of the football team and dating the suitably vacuous and snippy head cheerleader. Sam looks down her nose at such superficiality, the which she explains to her geeky guy pal, Carter (Dan Byrd) the one whose job is to splutter his lines and be the films expository device. And there you have it. Stock characters played broadly in a script rife with cliché plot devices and a bad case of the blands. This is a Barbie-style version of a fantasy, full of really cute clothes and a leading lady who manages to be the prettiest thing on screen even when she doesnt get to wear them. Perhaps its the glowing key light always aimed at her and the pricey color job on her blond locks, the ones trimmed with an equally pricey cut and blow-dry. Further of courses include being forbidden to go to the ball, or in this case, the Halloween homecoming dance, by the wicked step-mother, being transformed into a princess for the occasion by the diners manager (a sorely underused Regina King) and her staff standing in for the fairy godmother and elves, and substituting a cell phone for a lost glass slipper as Sam flees at the stroke of 11:45.
Theres not a moment of surprise, wonder, or laughs in the entire flick and while that might be some sort of accomplishment, it is not a good one. Duff herself, though, has a definite charm, a sort of warmth that transcends the dreck. She may not be a great actress, but she is comfortable on screen and exudes genuine warmth, something that, alas, cannot be said of her tepid mess of a film.
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