Don’t judge a marriage by its magazine facade
It seems that lessons on how to identify predators in evening wear now come in entertainment format. Actresses Sydney Sweeney and Amanda Seyfried lend themselves to this master’s degree in mistrust that is “The Housemaid”, Paul Feig’s new gem. Because what better plan to start the year than a black comedy about emotional abuse? Things promise.
The plot, with the subtlety of a hammer blow, introduces us to Millie (Sweeney), a young ex-convict with more desire to reboot than a computer with a virus. Her golden opportunity arrives: working as a domestic assistant for the Winchester couple. Andrew (Brandon Sklenar) and Nina (Seyfried) are so perfect they’re on edge. Until, surprise, Millie discovers that her boss has more screws loose than an Ikea piece of furniture put together at 3 a.m. The twist is as predictable as it is expected, but the devil, as always, is in the sinister details.
From euphoria to terror, with laughter included
The film, which is already in some theaters and arrives in Mexico on January 1, walks through the emotional spectrum with the elegance of an elephant in a china shop: happiness, euphoria, despair and resignation. Violence against women is the main course, seasoned with black humor that Feig, veteran of “The Office” and “Spy”, doses to avoid falling into bad taste. A balance as delicate as walking a tightrope over an abyss of raw themes. Does he achieve it? The audience will have the last word, amidst nervous laughter.
The director himself drops gems like: “I hope the audience pays attention to the dark things, like abuse, but at the same time has fun.” Because nothing unites the family more than laughing together at the satisfying punishment of villains, right? In a display of responsibility, Feig and his team collaborated with Victims United, because what better than a Hollywood producer to give vital advice: “Get out of that relationship and seek help,” he says. Easy to say, hard to do, but at least it sounds good in a press release.
Deep down, the film is a reminder that appearances are more deceiving than a politician on a campaign. Or as Feig says with the solemnity of someone discovering warm water: it is a very timely story to not judge a book by its cover. Millie, the protagonist, learns this the worst way possible, by falling in love with her boss and unleashing a drama that smells like a blunder from kilometer zero. The rhetorical question is: why do luxurious houses in the movies always hide the worst traumas? Maybe the designer wallpaper absorbs the screams.
The final result? A psychological thriller that aspires to be smarter than average, using Hollywood glamor to wrap a social critique. It’s not just a drama about a struggling employee; is a distorted mirror of power dynamics, deception and survival, all served with a sarcastic smile. Perfect for those who believe that life is a tragicomedy and prefer to laugh than cry.
If you are intrigued to see how glamor can be the perfect curtain for the worst human instincts, don’t keep this story to yourself. Share this article on your networks and help us make the conversation about the masks we wear viral. And if you want more analysis with a touch of acid humor about current cinema, explore the other reviews we have for you. The next “sheep” in disguise could be closer than you think.
