Close plays Cruella as a terrifyingly sane narcissist. She doesn’t shout “What a hellion!” —she whispers it, as if tasting the malice. Her signature cackle is replaced with a slow, delighted smile. The film wisely keeps her offscreen for much of the first act, saving her for explosive entrances. In one iconic scene, she erupts from a cloud of camera flash smoke, declaring, “I live for fur. I worship fur. After the Bible—no, before the Bible—there is fur.” It’s ridiculous, and Close plays it with absolute, chilling sincerity. For a 1996 family film, the canine effects are a mixed bag. Real dogs (230 of them, trained by animal coordinator Gary Gero) are used extensively. The sequences of the adult Dalmatians nudging open gates, sliding down hay chutes, and herding puppies are charmingly old-school. However, when the film resorts to animatronics or early CGI for the puppies (especially during the climactic car chase through Cruella’s manor), the illusion breaks. The puppies’ mouths move like ventriloquist dummies, and their digital escape across a frozen river feels dated.
In the end, the 1996 101 Dalmatians is like Cruella’s ideal coat: flashy, expensive, and made of parts that don’t quite fit together. The dogs are cute, the production design is rich, and Glenn Close is an all-timer. But the heart of the original—the silent, desperate journey of two parents across a winter landscape—is replaced with mugging, noise, and too many explosions. It’s a fun, furry, forgettable romp. And sometimes, that’s enough. 101 Dalmatians -1996-
Best enjoyed with low expectations and high appreciation for Glenn Close’s eyebrows. Close plays Cruella as a terrifyingly sane narcissist