The Housemaid

Director: Paul Feig
Starring: Sydney Sweeney, Amanda Seyfried, Brandon Sklenar, Michele Morrone, Elizabeth Perkins, Indiana Elle, Amanda Joy Erickson, Megan Ferguson, Ellen Tamaki
Running Time: 131 min.
Rating: R

★★★ (out of ★★★★)  

Paul Feig's The Housemaid is the kind of stylishly silly throwback thriller they don't make enough of anymore, or at least not this well. Just when you think it's winding down is when it really gets going as a relatively straightforward premise flies off the rails in the best possible way. And while feelings may vary on how effectively the film reconciles its two distinct sections, it remains committed enough to its trashiness that you can't help but be on board. Everyone involved knew exactly what they're making and it shows, especially as the situation grows nuttier by the minute.  

Rather than questioning why a character didn't do this or that or nitpicking about the details, you'll spend  more time awkwardly rooting for an extra-marital affair you know is coming. But even as its campy scenario descends into "MeToo" era melodrama with a side plate of torture porn, this never wavers in tone, earning a leeway so many entertainingly bad movies in its genre don't. And for that and more, it's definitely Feig's most audacious directorial effort yet, if not his craziest. 

On parole and living out of her car, Millie Calloway (Sweeney) is hired by Nina Winchester (Amanda Seyfried) as a live-in housekeeper, arriving at the Great Neck, Long Island mansion she shares with wealthy tech mogul husband Andrew (Brandon Sklenar) and daughter Cece (Indiana Elle). And after impressing a seemingly pleasant and accommodating Nina in her interview, Millie's hired and given the attic guestroom and a new phone. Soon, she's cleaning, running errands and picking up Cece from dance class, only to find Nina's treatment of her starts becoming wildly unpredictable and downright abusive. 

Whether Nina's screaming at Millie for some imagined indiscretion or threatening to fire her for no good reason at all, she quickly realizes this woman's psychotic, a theory confirmed by Nina's chatty, backstabbing housewife clique. Desperate to keep this job as a condition of her parole, Millie finds support from the kind, laid-back Andrew, who's equally repulsed by his wife's behavior, which he attributes to a traumatic childhood event. But as Millie and Andrew grow closer, a jealous Nina becomes increasingly unhinged, setting off a dangerous series of events that causes everyone's secrets to spill.

When Millie first arrives at the Winchester house hidden behind a pair of mousey glasses, we immediately suspect she's hiding something, most likely related to her stint in prison for this unknown crime. Those unfamiliar with Freida McFadden's 2022 novel on which the film's based may assume she's running some sort of scam to fleece the family of their fortune. But while the theory's credible, it's also shelved right away, even as Millie's mysterious past remains an important detail that's touched upon throughout. 

As the story's self conscious narrator, Millie reveals flashes of her personality in scenes with her understanding parole officer or when quietly expressing concern over the obsessively detailed Nina somehow missing her criminal record in a background search. But in the meantime she contends with the boss from hell as Nina's initially warm, welcoming disposition quickly deteriorates, alternating between phony tradwife and irrational monster. All this as empathetic husband Andrew displays the patience of a saint, managing Nina's mental illness like a pro while also handling his snobby, perfectionist mother (an icy Elizabeth Perkins). 

Seyfried is extraordinary, cutting loose and chewing scenery like nobody's business in the type of  hysterically over-the-top turn only a great actress could get away with. You're on pins and needles anxiously awaiting what will set Nina off next, especially when Andrew offers the shell-shocked Millie a shoulder to cry on. And while he's no stranger to playing brooding, charismatic good guys in recent films like It Ends With Us and Drop, Skenlar does more here when Rebecca Sonnenshine's script pivots, giving him the chance to further stretch his acting muscles, with compelling results. 

That Sweeney's biggest box office success thus far comes in a sleazy psychosexual guilty pleasure rather than the supposedly more serious roles she's been taking on would feel ironic if she wasn't so excellent, skirting the line between vulnerable naiveté and opportunism. She leaves us guessing as we both cheer and dread Millie's inevitable connection with Andrew, buckling up for what's sure to be a bumpy ride. And without giving too much away, it isn't exactly a coincidence she was hired since every detail matters, whether it's related her own history, a nosy groundskeeper or water bottles left in the guest room fridge. 

What feels like the movie's peak becomes mere prologue once its big twist arrives, and regardless of whether you saw it coming, watching what unfolds is no less of a blast. The Housemaid probably isn't intended to withstand multiple viewings, but each of these actors impress with how deftly they change course once their characters' true intentions are revealed. When the turn arrives, this doesn't become a different film so much as an insanely amped up, addictive extension of what we were already watching. And in this case, that's not a bad thing at all.                                    

Drop

Director: Christopher Landon
Starring: Meghann Fahy, Brandon Sklenar, Violett Beane, Jacob Robinson, Reed Diamond, Gabrielle Ryan, Jeffery Self, Ed Weeks, Benjamin Pelletier, Travis Nelson, Michael Shea
Running Time: 95 min.
Rating: PG-13

★★★ (out of ★★★★) 

A woman experiences the date from hell in Christopher Landon's tense cyber thriller, Drop, which falls into a similar category as Phone Booth, Cellular or even the recent Carry-On. That it comes from the filmmaker behind Happy Death Day and Freaky should help prepare you for a clever premise filled with wildly entertaining twists, though with a slightly less humorous approach this time around. And that's not necessarily a negative, as writers Jillian Jacobs and Chris Roach script cover all their bases with increasingly creative uses of modern technology and an idea that, at just over ninety minutes, doesn't overstay its welcome. 

Providing its fair share of obstacles for the traumatized heroine, she fights an unknown oppressor after having recently survived abuse and attempted murder in her own troubled marriage. While a solid showcase for an actress gaining significant traction of late, the bigger headline is this bizarre date, which through no fault of the character's own, paints her as a total mess to everyone but us, who know better. With every vibration of the phone come a new potential catastrophe, forcing her to silently comply or face the consequences.  

Widowed single mother and therapist Violet Gates (Meghann Fahy) has just jumped back into the dating pool after the death of her violently abusive husband Blake (Michael Shea). Leaving her young son Toby (Jacob Robinson) in the care of sister Jen (Violett Beane) at home, Violet prepares to meet photographer Henry Campbell (Brandon Sklenar) for dinner at a high-rise Chicago restaurant after they connected on a dating app. Already extremely nervous about the date and being separated from Toby, she starts receiving a series of anonymous "digi-drops" on her phone from an unknown user in the restaurant. 

As the memes turn more threatening, a concerned Henry tries to help, combing the area to locate the perpetrator. But when the mystery user alerts Violet to check her home security app, she sees a masked intruder has broken in, targeting Toby and Jen. With the table bugged and Henry growing suspicious of Violet's anxiety, she struggles to keep her composure and quietly follow instructions. Blackmailed into completing a dangerous task by the end of the date, she'll have to extend their meal long enough to pull off the unthinkable, as her family's lives hang in the balance. 

The first thoughts of anyone watching will be that Henry has the patience and understanding of a saint. In fact, he's so tolerant of Violet's apparent breakdown she can't help but be impressed by his chivalry even in the midst of being texted deadly threats. Outwardly cool and laid back, he knows something's very wrong by just the sheer number of times she checks her phone and leaves the table. And while he's not sure exactly what, it's surprising he cares enough to stay and find out.  

Of course, the bigger reason Henry doesn't leave is that Violet can't let him, as his continued presence isn't only imperative to the assignment, but potentially her only lifeline left. With son and sister held hostage at home, she's implicitly ordered not to seek help or attract suspicion, kicking the plot into overdrive. This works on a number of different levels, paving the way for some suspenseful visual storytelling when Violet attempts to identify the sadistic user while under constant surveillance. But she also has some tricks up her sleeve to keep this date going and avoid committing the heinous crime that's demanded of her. 

It's a lot, but Landon streamlines these proceedings pretty well, with the restaurant's layout and atmosphere only enhancing the action. Featuring a main course of murder with its side order of mind games, it's also a safe bet this isn't taking place in an extreme high-rise building for nothing, as we suspect it'll eventually factor in. Violet's history with her deceased and abusive husband also plays a major role, allowing the mysterious antagonist to exploit her emotional baggage as a manipulative tool. Frequent flashbacks to her volatile marriage aren't completely necessary, but do add an extra wrinkle to the character, helping explain her fragile mindset going in. 

Acing her first real test as a feature lead after gaining attention on The White Lotus, a formidable Meghann Fahy brings necessary gravitas to her role as this PTSD-striken single mom caught in a no-win situation. What's interesting is how much of her dialogue consists of awkward date small talk, with the caveat being this silent battle she's simultaneously waging at the table as threatening texts splash across the screen. 

Brandon Sklenar plays a part vaguely similar to his brooding everyman in It Ends with Us, conveying the impression Henry's intrigued by Violet because of her past rather than despite it. The pair also share a sufficient amount of chemistry, which comes as a relief since we're spending the entirety of the film's running length in their company. For Violet, big question isn't whether he's too good to be true, but if it's worth the risk letting him in on what's happening given the stakes.  

Between chatty waiters, concerned bartenders and shady patrons, much of the film relies on the big reveal as suspects narrow and a cornered Violet makes her final, desperate move with the clock rapidly running down. Once the cards are laid out, it's an excitingly ridiculous finale, regardless of whether you see it coming or not. And like all successful single location thrillers, Drop walks the line of implausibility, throwing in enough distractions for us to surrender to the lunacy. But by putting its own spin on a somewhat familiar scenario, it also gives viewers good reason to feel satisfied they've seen an tidy, efficient effort more creative than most.                              

It Ends With Us

Director: Justin Baldoni
Starring: Blake Lively, Justin Baldoni, Jenny Slate, Brandon Sklenar, Isabel Ferrer, Alex Neustaedter, Hasan Minhaj, Kevin McKidd, Amy Morton, Robert Clohessy, Robyn Lively, Emily Baldoni
Running Time: 130 min.
Rating: PG-13

★★★ (out of ★★★★)

Lies, manipulation, abuse, trauma, harassment. Right now, everyone's associating those words with what's alleged to have happened on the set of Justin Baldoni's It Ends with Us, but it may as well describe the film's entire plot. So even if reports of troubled productions can blur the lines between fiction and reality, the best news coming out of this is that viewers just catching up now are still in store for an untainted experience.  

Before its commercial success or details of a feud between its two stars leaked, this adaptation of Colleen Hoover's 2016 bestselling novel was basically marketed as a Hallmark movie on steroids. And while the description sort of fits, it also simultaneously proves to be a bit smarter and more tonally consistent than expected. 

In one sense, the heavily scrutinized Baldoni reveals himself an even better director than actor, which  says something considering his performance really lands. And despite her status as the project's most established name, this might mark the first time Blake Lively's called upon to lead a drama this emotionally taxing. It's a bigger test than you'd assume, with a script that addresses domestic abuse and generational trauma through a surprisingly honest lens, navigating some tricky narrative terrain in the process. 

After delivering her father's eulogy at his funeral in Maine, Lily Bloom (Lively) returns home to Boston where she randomly encounters neurosurgeon Ryle Kincaid (Baldoni) on the rooftop of his apartment complex. After talking and flirting, he's called in for surgery as they go their separate ways, reuniting when Lily coincidentally hires his sister Allysa (Jenny Slate) to work at her just opened flower shop. As Lily befriends Allysa, she unsuccessfully fights her growing feelings for Ryle, who's already infatuated with his sister's new boss. 

Ignoring Allysa's warnings that Ryle's a serial womanizer incapable of having a real relationship, Lily begins dating him, but after a euphoric start for both, his jealousy and anger bubble to the surface as Lily's high school boyfriend and current restaurateur Atlas Corrigan (Brandon Sklenar) unexpectedly reappears. Haunted by the memories of being raised in a household filled with physical abuse, Lily must find the strength to break the cycle and forge a path of her own. 

When florist Lily Bloom is the least pretentiously named character in your script, it's a safe bet they'll be challenges translating certain elements of Hoover's novel to the screen, but Baldoni and writer Christy Hall find creative solutions around this and other creative shackles involving the timeline. That the two leads mock the absurdity of their situations in the introductory rooftop scene help fend off potential criticisms, shrewdly establishing Lily and Ryle's awkward but palpable chemistry. And Baldoni walks a razor thin line, initially coming off smooth enough that Lily doesn't look gullible being drawn in, even when this guy's sending up red flags that he's trouble.

A red-haired Lively is in full hippie earth mother mode as Lily, carrying many of the tougher scenes as a free spirit who's internalized her own mom's (Amy Morton) abuse only to later relive it as an adult. As Ryle's fits of rage escalate, each succeeding incident seeming less an accident than a disturbing pattern, eventually reaching a boiling point. But it's the reemergence of Lily's first love Atlas that completely sends him over the edge, exposing her to a dangerous situation she's been conditioned to accept.

It's to the film's benefit that the characters are aged up from the novel, enabling memorably pertinent flashbacks to Lily's past, which in many ways surpass the present day storyline. Much of that's due to the performances, especially from newcomer Isabel Ferrer as Lily, who not only looks and sounds like a younger Lively, but conveys all the fear, uncertainty and excitement that accompanies the adolescent pangs of teen love. 

Even with far fewer scenes, the movie belongs as much to Ferrer as Lively, potentially signaling the arrival of a major new star. Seeing Lily witness her dad's (Kevin McKidd) heinous actions tells us everything we need to know about how she'll still internalize what happened decades later, bringing a purpose and clarity to the flashback structure that other films in this genre frequently lack. 

As younger Atlas, Alex Neustaedter fulfills his end of the deal as a quiet, withdrawn homeless teen rescued by Lily, but not without devastating consequences that lay the foundation for Sklenar's adult take on the character. These flashbacks work so well that there's actually a twinge of disappointment when they end, knowing we'll be stuck with their older, less intriguing counterparts for the remainder. But Baldoni ultimately overcomes this with a satisfying third act that tie those threads together, setting the stage for Atlas to instill in Lily a belief she's capable of saving herself.

One of the best written scenes involves Allysa's reaction to her brother's behavior, as a lesser movie would have this character lash out, insulted by the idea of choosing between her best friend and sibling. What she says instead indicates just how lost a cause Ryle truly is, implying tormentors like him are permanently broken, tainted by an event so traumatizing that the only thing left to do is run far away from them.  

Craftily juggling two timelines, the film avoids romanticizing the serious issue at its center or coming across as a heavy handed public announcement. That's not to say it has a particularly light touch either, but Baldoni knows what he's doing, even if the chances of he and Lively reuniting for any kind of sequel are non-existent. 

With an inevitable legal battle looming over rights to Hoover's follow-up novel, you do have to wonder what part of the story is left to tell after a conclusion this unambiguous. While any forthcoming entry is obviously more dependent on Lively's involvement than his, what we get here feels like just enough, written, acted and directed as well as it could possibly be given the material.