Last Cinderella: The Fairytale We Needed

Once upon a time there was a kind, brave and generous woman. Because she acted more like an old man than a woman, the world told her that no-one would ever fall in love with her. The woman liked who she was - she didn't want to change! But she was also very lonely. One day, a snake disguised as a young man approached her. He planned to win her love and then abandon her. As he planned, the kind and generous woman came to love him. However, it was impossible for the snake not to love the woman too. Miraculously, her kind heart affected him and the snake transformed into a real man. The two of them lived ever after.

Today I want to talk about Last Cinderella. I've wanted to do this properly for a long time, but it was only the devastating news of Haruma Miura's death that finally pushed me to write this. In tribute to him, I want to revisit my favourite of his works and share a little joy.

Romantic comedies tend to veer further towards fantasy than reality, especially in Asian dramas. Blockbuster epic romances historically attract more attention. There are far more shows out there that focus on wish-fulfilment and impossible notions of perfect love than there are grounded, realistic, messier depictions. For example, a Korean drama is airing right now called Was It Love, in which a single mother is suddenly approached by four very different suitors. The heroine feels overtly like an audience surrogate - you are supposed to imagine that you're the one that men are inexplicably drawn to. There is absolutely nothing wrong with this kind of story – dramas like this are delicious and comforting, and I’m enjoying this one a lot. But I do find myself often starved of something I can relate to. It feels almost oxymoronic to be looking for a realistic rom-com from an Asian drama. The handful I treasure are mostly Japanese. There’s Buzzer Beat, a sweet understated romance between good friends, and Nigeru wa Haji, whose hero must overcome massive self-esteem and anxiety issues to be able to pursue love. And then there's Last Cinderella.

Last Cinderella lives in this niche of romantic comedies that refuses to sugar-coat things. It is relentlessly blunt in its depiction of what trying to love others is actually like - messy and confusing and often unrewarding. Despite this, it never comes across as bleak. It is still somehow very funny, and very romantic!

Shinohara Ryoko stars as Sakura, a 39-year-old woman who is unsatisfied with where she is. She has worked in the same salon for most of her life while her colleagues climbed to higher places. Her passion for this place is unrivalled, but it is Rintaro (an old friend and co-worker who she hasn’t seen in years) that is promoted. His return is the catalyst that sets in the story in motion. Sakura is introduced at odds with her age, her gender, and her sexuality - she decides she wants to date again, and the impulsive decision to attend a goukon sends her into the arms of Hiroto, a man fifteen years younger than her. Little does she know that Hiroto was asked to seduce her by his half-sister Chiyoko, who is obsessed with Rintaro and threatened by the chemistry between him and Sakura. 

At first, Sakura does not come across as an unconventional heroine. To have older women be characterised by anxieties about their age, career or love-life is not uncommon. But the longer you see the world through Sakura’s eyes, the more she unfolds to you in all her chaotic glory. To assume that Sakura, with her messy hair and sharp tongue and oyaji attitude, needs to change is not giving Last Cinderella enough credit. The show screams, “This woman is beautiful too!”. This ultimately is consolidated by the fact that Rintaro, who has only ever dated prim lady-like women and preaches that this is how a woman must be, has been in love with Sakura from the start. Society’s standards are all bullshit, Last Cinderella says through Sakura. Although she becomes more and more beautiful over time, the distinct lack of interest the show has in giving her a makeover is refreshing.

Hiroto is also brilliantly written. He’s a very intense and layered character, trapped by a crippling sense of guilt towards Chiyoko from an incident in their past. Because of the trauma they share, their relationship has turned toxic, co-dependent and almost incestuous. As far as I’m aware, this is something that can happen to siblings who grow up neglected. However, meeting Sakura encourages him to reassemble his relationship with Chiyoko and to change himself. She draws affection out of him that was always there, but just misplaced. Hiroto’s character growth is not hastily forced on us. There is this gradual, laboured effect that Sakura has on him. Like a crescendo, it only gets more intense as the series goes on. I find Hiroto’s change so believable because it isn’t that love miraculously changes him, but that it makes him want to be better. Although Shinohara Ryoko’s performance is definitely an impressive one (crafting this loud, awkward, sometimes vulgar woman that I will wish I was my friend until the end of time), it is Haruma Miura’s depiction of Hiroto that I will take with me. Last Cinderella strips Hiroto down with time, exposing the vulnerability of this man shaped by trauma. It’s almost shocking, and Haruma Miura does not disappoint. He was just so talented, and I’m going to miss him.

So we have this messy situation where everyone is a little disingenuous – understandably, many people who watched Last Cinderella wanted to liberate Sakura from the men in her life. What sense does it make to pair her with this lying snake of a man? Well, what really makes this romance special to me is that Hiroto is not the only one wearing a mask. A classic way that people write love-triangles is that they will flag up little things demonstrating why one pairing works and one doesn’t. Maybe two people have feelings for each other, but the girl isn’t herself with the guy and makes more sense with her best friend (ala Let’s Eat 2)? Sakura certainly isn’t herself with Hiroto. She talks differently, she walks differently, she hides the less glamorous aspects of herself. Rintaro, on the other hand, sees every side of her and likes it. So why is it Hiroto that Sakura ends up with? Well, because she loves him. In the world of Last Cinderella, being in love is enough. And true to this, in the last episode Sakura and Hiroto give themselves the space to be entirely honest, proof that they will be fine. It's such a satisfying subversion. (Although apparently Sakura’s partner was chosen conclusively by an audience poll, though, which vastly upsets my assumption that the team knew what a profound statement they would make from the start.)

Although Last Cinderella is so memorable for being realistic, fantastical themes start to creep into the back half of the show. Namely, healing and transformation. The interest in transformation is obvious right from the ancient Greeks – Ovid’s Metamorphoses, for instance, is aptly a work of fiction entirely devoted to tales of transformation. These days, however, themes like transformation are most popularised by fairy tales. This drama feels like a modern fairy tale for the way it interacts with these themes. For instance, the fact that Hiroto undergoes such a drastic change here gives the drama the trappings of a readapted Beauty and the Beast, except the transformation of the hero is entirely internal. But largely, this drama is more interested in channelling Cinderella.

Last Cinderella’s largest theme is the power of understanding your self-worth – in a show of good writing, Sakura’s arc, as well as that of her friends Shima and Miki, all hit on the same conclusion that acceptance of yourself is the first step to happiness. Sakura learns that she is attractive in her truest form and more than worthy of love. Miki stops feeling ashamed that her only life experience is as a housewife and learns to assert before her family that she is a person before a wife or mother. Shima, who is essentially a sex-addict, confronts her past and allows herself to fall in love again. Last Cinderella asks you to accept these women as they are, regardless of the paths they chose, which I think is wonderful. The drama technically fits into the sub-genre of romantic comedies that focus on mature groups of women and their escapades (think I Need Romance, which I despise by the way), and this is the only one I’ve seen that feels sincere about their friendships to each other. That’s a blessing when female friendships in dramas have a tendency be overlooked.

To conclude, this is a tale of two halves. It’s a romantic comedy that feels lived-in; the stories are realistic and it uses frank, broad humour to poke fun at age, gender and sexuality. Yet, this same show also lands on this beautiful message about forgiveness and healing and love conquering all. It’s a fairy tale for the rest of us. Cinderella is a story about beauty on the inside – despite the fact that she is dressed rags (juxtaposed with her cruel step-sisters, dressed in riches), the Prince sees Cinderella’s inner worth and she is made Queen. If there is any message more suited for a modern audience, I don’t know what it is. And this is why Last Cinderella is a necessary fairy-tale: sometimes it’s good to remember that no matter how you look, no matter how old you get, you can still be the fabulous protagonist of your story if you just remember how.