“The Housemaid” is a messy movie that presents itself as a clean one. It’s got such a winking sensibility that clues viewers into how that small off-handed detail a character mentions in an early scene will later play a major role in the conclusion. Even an off-handed reference to a character who thinks “Barry Lyndon” is an unheralded masterpiece comes full circle when Sydney Sweeney’s titular domestic aide cozies up for some ironic comfort watching near the film’s end.
Invoking the Stanley Kubrick classic is more than just an apt reference for a would-be performative male in the film. That half-century-old satire of social strivers trying to get a leg up on the upper crust isn’t the worst guidepost for where director Paul Feig eventually steers this adaptation of Freida McFadden’s novel. “Good or bad, handsome or ugly, rich or poor,” the end card of “Barry Lyndon” proclaims, “they are all equal now.”
For Sydney Sweeney’s Millie, such a leveling of the playing field and upending of hierarchies of power feels out of reach. As a recent parolee living out of her ratty old sedan, she’s desperate for any hope of work to avoid heading back to the slammer. For all the focus on her beauty, Sweeney continues to work best playing in a homelier, working-class register – and she sells the character’s grit and groundedness in “The Housemaid.”
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Hope seems to arrive in the form of Amanda Seyfried’s Nina Winchester. This Long Island homemaker so desperately yearns for additional help around her mansion that she’ll look past Millie’s suspicious résumé. The majority of the film plays out like the worst nightmare of anyone who’s ever had an erratic employer who loves to yell. Millie can never quite seem to please her boss, who’s prone to changing her mind on a whim and calling some genuinely absurd audible requests. There’s never been a more evocative example of the professional advice to get everything in writing.
Millie’s one salvation appears to be Nina’s smoldering smokeshow of a husband, Brandon Sklenar’s Andrew. The Stepfordian PTA moms in Winchester’s orbit half-jokingly refer to him as “Hot Saint Andrew,” and it’s hard to dispute their characterization. Sklenar plays his bread-winning beefcake with the same fidelity to flatness that Seyfried does to her scenery-chewing shenanigans. It’s as if the actress chooses a new emotion out of a hat before walking on set, and that’s the tone with which she approaches her sides.
But very little is as it appears in “The Housemaid,” and a mid-movie reversal of fortunes can turn virtue into vice (and vice versa). This narrative device recasts artistic decisions that seemed ill-advised or out of place previously. The purpose of characters who seem to be little more than strange genre tropes, such as the eerie groundskeeper Enzo (Michele Morrone), changes entirely. It rejuvenates the proceedings right at the moment when it seems to have lost the finesse to toe the line between campy and chilly.
Yet to even mention the novel and film adaptation that this twist in “The Housemaid” most recalls gives away the entire game – and all the pleasure. It’s safe to say that screenwriter Rebecca Sonnenshine, however, does not manage to pull the rug out from underneath viewers quite as elegantly as its key forebearer. The big reveal here ultimately arrives too late in the narrative, so it plays like a cruelly ironic punchline rather than a true pivot point. Sonnenshine does not give the characters enough time to readjust to the new playing field, so the resolution feels both rushed and forced.
Feig still manages to maintain a delicate tonal balance as the mysteries of this psychological thriller shift between salacious, sultry, silly, and suspenseful. It’s a bit inconsistent, sure, in elements like the noncommittal noir-like tone of Millie’s narration and a completely undercooked mother-in-law archetype character (bizarrely played by an overqualified Elizabeth Perkins). But “The Housemaid” still proves wickedly enjoyable to devour as it unfolds, the truest translation of an airport novel into filmic form. It’s a lot of fizzy fun, especially when Seyfried and Sweeney have permission to act out.
The project loses its way, if not its entertainment value, when Sonnenshine starts to reframe what the story is “about.” It’s not equipped to off-road into the terrain of more serious domestic drama, which is where the action eventually lands. The film aims for profound observations around gender, class, privilege, and sexual violence. Yet the film has little to offer these serious conversations beyond vague, tired provocations of the “good for her” variety. The storytelling of “The Housemaid” might appear to possess the precision of hospital corners, but it’s unmistakable that there’s blood all over these sheets that needs to be cleaned up. [B-]
“The Housemaid” releases in theaters on Friday, December 19.
New York-based freelance journalist whose writing appears regularly on Decider, Slant, Slashfilm, and The Playlist, covering film with a focus on cultural context.
