The first attempt by Mizuno Junko to adapt classical tales, [1] Cinderalla-chan is a strange and exotic trip in her very personal universe.
If the global structure of the tale is respected, there is also a healthy dose of re-creation, leaving room for the recurring themes of the author. Under the ultra-cute, brightly colored art, Mizuno Junko unfolds a funnily morbid version of the classic story: following the second marriage of her father (who owns a skewers shop), Cinderalla ends up with a zombie step family, before falling in love with the Prince (who sings in a cabaret) who is also a zombie, and the traditional satin shoe scene will conclude this story — avantageously replaced by an fortuitiously dropped eyeball.

If zombies had seldomly been so cute, the round and falsely childish line constrats with the outright sexuality of the female characters (in a story were their male counterparts are rather lacking in presence), ready to set off all breasts blazing. There are also some parts where violence becomes all the more surprise — like this scene where Cinderalla’s (zombie) step-sister tears her breasts out litteraly, disappointed from not finding bras that would fit her generous figure.
Finally, a certain fascination for food is like a leitmotiv in those pages, from the restaurant’s skewers (yakitori in Japanese, taken in the most litteral translation of “grilled birds”) to the giant fruits of the yard to bulimy — lethal for the father, vital for the stepmother, in a symetry that certainly has nothing to do with chance.

Lightyears away from the shôjo manga stereotypes, Mizuno Junko has already established her own universe, half-way between the Powerpuff Girls and Russ Meyer’s movies, where young women, modern and strong in their feminity, take control of their destiny — all wrapped in the shape of a psychedelic candy.