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“Uglies,” the latest addition to Netflix’s young adult movie collection, ushers in the return of the teen dystopian genre — one that has been noticeably missing from the streamable movie scene for a while. Although “Uglies,” adapted from Scott Westerfeld’s 2005 novel of the same name — initially shows promise of being this generation’s “Divergent” or “Hunger Games,” the film ultimately falls short, failing to reignite the excitement delivered by the early 2000s and 2010s cult classics.
“Uglies” follows the story of Tally Youngblood (Joey King), a young girl living in a futuristic society where at the age of 16, everyone receives cosmetic surgery to become the most beautiful version of themselves. The society is divided into two cities: the Uglies where children live in prison-like dormitories, learning and preparing for life after their surgery, and the Pretties, where the rest of society lives post-operation. At the start of the film, Tally lives in the dormitories with her friends Peris (Chase Stokes) and Shay (Brianna Tju). Outside of the cities lies the Smoke, made up of the ruins left over from Earth’s previous society, where rebels and dissenters live outside of the new societal construct. Over the course of the film, Tally grapple with the decision to fulfill her life’s dream of becoming pretty or join the revolutionaries in the Smoke to face the ugly truths of Pretty society.
The film could best be described as not bad, but not spectacular. Given that “Uglies” is an adaptation of a book released almost 20 years ago, the question arises: why this movie and why now? Besides the opportunity to introduce new generations to the genre that dominated the young adult film and literary industries just over 10 years ago, the film seems to fall short in making social commentary on the dangers of a society that favors beauty and aestheticism over everything.
Although never overtly condemning cosmetic surgery, the film’s climax reveals that the Pretty surgery causes mind-numbing brain lesions that take away an individual’s ability to care about anything beyond the false sense of happiness they gain in their Pretty state. The revolutionaries explain that this is how Pretty society is maintained; each year a new set of individual thinkers are turned into mindless drones who cannot think for themselves and maintain the facade of a blissful, beautiful society. Since the book’s 2005 release, perfectionist plastic surgery culture has grown rampantly, especially evident on social media. While the book may not have predicted social media’s hyperfixation on self-image, the film ties into current concerns about how the false ideal that beauty equates happiness is perpetuated today. It’s no coincidence that the film’s makeup design of the Pretties post-operation bears an eerie resemblance to TikTok’s “Bold Glamour” filter.
If the film is meant to carry a strong message, its efforts fall flat. The tone of the film is more relaxed than dramatic, a quality that stems more from the simple script than the acting choices made by the cast. At one climatic moment in the film, Tally is denied the rite-of-passage to Prettiness after her long-awaited arrival in the Pretty-populated City. King plays 16-year-old Tally well, but the script rushes the plot forward, stifling efforts made by actors to ground the film. The audience isn’t given time with Tally to see how she feels about not being able to join her friend Peris in the City, and instead is whisked into the next scene. This is a common theme within the film — in efforts to include as many plot details as possible, space for the emotional deepening of characters is cut, making it difficult to understand the motivations behind their actions and relationships. The development of Tally and Shay’s friendship is similarly rushed, and Tally’s emerging romantic interest in David (Keith Powers) — the leader of the revolution against the Pretties — seems to come out of nowhere. These surface-level features run the risk of preventing viewers who have not read the original novel from being able to fully engage with the film.
The first half of the film takes place at the boarding school for the Uglies, which is represented like a quintessential dystopian city — gray, concrete, and filled with high-powered technology. The Pretty City is also a major setting in the first half of the film and is the opposite of the boarding school, characterized by bright colors, lavish mansions, and of course, beautiful people. One of the most eye-catching elements of the film are the visual effects that pervade the shots of the Pretty City: motifs of small fluorescent butterflies that represent the metamorphosis from Ugly to Pretty. These effects, combined with the green-screens used to portray areas within the boarding school and the City and the overly airbrushed faces of the Pretties, initially give the film a gimmicky tackiness that audiences may struggle to feel grounded in. However, this dissonance is resolved once the film transitions into the second half.
As the film progresses, the Smoke is introduced as a setting, and the wilderness and de-urbanization of the new setting contrast the camp against the Cities as a hub of revolution. Filmed in Georgia and stripped of special effects and CGI, the scenes in the Smokies are more naturalistic and aesthetically appealing. Hallmarked by shots of fall leaves and crisp air, the scenes in the Smokies provide a comfortable ambience that contrasts the disconcerting artificiality of the Cities, adding onto the underlying commentary on the value of natural beauty. Although jarring at first, “Uglies” eventually finds beauty in its visuals, a definite strength of the film.
“Uglies” struggled to properly promote its message of rebellion against the beauty ideal and the lack of stakes throughout the film led it to be ultimately underwhelming. While by no means the blockbuster of the season, “Uglies” provides the heartwarming nostalgia of the films and novels of the early 2010s and may be the perfect feel-good movie for a chill night in.
—Staff writer Selorna A. Ackuayi can be reached at selorna.ackuayi@thecrimson.com.
