It can be unfavorably compared with Rob Reiner's far more joyous and playful "The Princess Bride."
Stardust has been compared to Rob Reiner’s The Princess Bride (1987)—even the studio shills pretending to be “just folks” posting barely literate “reviews” on the Internet Movie Database are pushing this idea—but I can scarcely think of a less apt comparison.
Like its nearest predecessor The Princess Bride, it borrows liberally from centuries of tall tales, tumbling out like a bedtime story made up on the spot by a grandfather � or, in this case, by Neil Gaiman, the hipster dream-weaver who crossed over from comic books to bestseller lists.
Films like Excalibur, The Dark Crystal, The Princess Bride and especially Labyrinth rank as four of my all-time favorites, and any fantasy spectacular echoing them even slightly automatically raises my eyebrows to their maximum breaking point.
This folly was apparently made in homage to The Princess Bride, making it a peculiar pastiche of a pastiche.
Stardust is the most gleefully silly fantasy tale in years; a whimsical experience in the vein of The Princess Bride.