Review of The Housemaid: Sydney Sweeney stars in new thriller

With video games working as the blueprint for many films these days, it’s pleasantly refreshing when a book reclaims the job. Based on Freida McFadden’s fresh bestselling novel, director Paul Feig (Bridesmaids) visualizes The Housemaid and its’ acclaimed suspenseful turns for the big screen. Syndey Sweeney’s(Euphoria) newly hired live-in maid serves as the awkward third wheel to fellow attractive married peers, until desperation, jealousy, and secrets unveil startling truths. Poor Sydney. The Sweens. She may have good jeans (genes?), but not good luck with cinematic success as of late. Despite anticipation, a string of recent releases aiming for big busts fell flat instead. Unfortunately, the pride of this screenplay’s vile extremeness feels driven by juvenile ambition, a pitfall better filmmaking doesn’t relapse to.

Down on her luck and fighting to keep her parole officer at bay, Millie Calloway (Sweeney) throws spaghetti at the wall, hoping a noodle sticks. Cooking up the necessary yet false resume, she lands a job as a housemaid to upper-crust couple Nina (Amanda Seyfried, Mean Girls) and Andrew Winchester (Brandon Sklenar, The Offer). The plush position is clutch relief. Or so Millie thinks at first. This is where a thriller uses time as a tool, tension escalating as reality breaches the water slowly. But here, you’re fed immediate glimpses of Nina’s imbalanced demeanor, and an unnerving element that hints there’s more to this Hallmark card family. Not even the first day in, and their gardener, Enzo, issues Millie a stern warning of the danger lurking. Regardless of this ominous sign, unbelievably, neither one of them raise an eyebrow.

Derivative characters and predictable structure

It's not a game of Where’s Waldo to catch Feig’s symbolic imagery. The establishing shot is the Winchester’s grand, white mansion, framed by unblemished snow and two white luxury vehicles in front like guard dogs. Off to the corner of the screen sits Millie’s beat-up, blue sedan We get it, she doesn’t belong there. From Nina’s outfits to the house pristine interior, the clean appearance accentuates Millie’s frumpy, dark clothes and defeated energy. Purity and prestige juxtaposed with lowly vicissitudes. The self-evident implications lean on patronizing.

Millie’s unkept look and gritty backstory are just items from wardrobe. Its’s hard to buy Sweeney as a barbarous ex-con reduced to a sub-standard existence. Seyfried on the other hand becomes the well-groomed, suburban mom with an elite essence and a screw or two loose. Sklenar is suited for the role of Andrew, adopting the redundant husband character; confident, successful, attractive to women. The composition plays out like what a young, fledging mind imagined a psychological thriller with sexual undertones might be, vacant of tangible or original elements. 

Suspense derailed by misused screen time

While trying to build tension, The Housemaid does succeed at fostering a growing sexual energy. Packing a parachute in cognizance of its’ assets, you didn’t really think the picture was going to forego capitalizing off Sweeney’s tantalizing appeal. How far does it go to keep your attention though? 80085?

Closing in on its’ climax, the picture is confused, fading off psychological thriller ground, veering into unsettling torture porn. Heaps of Hollywood productions drape themselves in the current aesthetic fashion, but this shift seems out of place. The hacky yet dependable provocation unmasks a film that isn’t comfortable with itself. After pulling back the curtain on the narrative’s enigma, the production must have pulled back the notion of editing as well. The apex already reached, The Housemaid drags like Priscilla, Queen of The Desert, abusing you with its’ 2hr 11min run time.