The Housemaid, 2025

I did something bad: a review of the film “The Housemaid” starring Sidney Sweeney and Amanda Seyfried

An erotic detective story that will help you relax on vacation, but nothing more.

Director Paul Feig, who has spent many years wandering between romantic comedies (A Christmas Story), cartoonish action films (Jackpot), and thrillers with elements of black humor (A Simple Request), this time tries to surpass himself and give the viewer three in one—a love story, a detective story, and an ironic meta-commentary on the genre. The new work is based on the bestseller of the same name by Frida McFadden, and its literary origins are emphasized by the presence of chapters and partial first-person voice-over narration.

Millie (Sidney Sweeney) lives in her car. Just a couple of weeks ago, she was serving time for an unspecified crime, and now, in order to remain free, she has to fulfill a couple of parole conditions. First, she has to find a place to live and a job. To look more serious, Millie buys glasses and goes to an interview at the chic mansion of the Winchesters, who are looking for a maid. The house is a showcase of prosperity and cleanliness, and Millie even doubts that the couple, Nina (Amanda Seyfried) and Andrew (Brandon Sklenar), really need extra help. The day after Millie learns that she got the job, it becomes clear what the catch is: Nina throws a tantrum over a missing document and turns the house upside down. Millie gets to work.

If A Simple Favor, with its caveats, can be called a sequel to David Fincher's Gone Girl, then The Handmaid clearly follows in the footsteps of Sam Taylor-Johnson's Fifty Shades of Grey. Fig does not shy away from exploiting Sweeney's sexuality, dressing her in tight-fitting T-shirts and short shorts, and then placing the heroine in different parts of the house, where she has to freeze in fear under the inquiring gaze of men — sometimes the well-built Andrew Winchester, sometimes the handsome gardener (actor and model Michele Morrone). Each such scene takes on a double meaning, and it seems that a porn movie is about to start, or at least an erotic film from the midnight channel. Millie tosses her blonde curls over her shoulder and, kneeling down, begins to scrub the grease off the oven. She comes out of the shower in a short towel and accidentally bumps into Andrew. At night, she walks around the house in low-cut clothes and finds herself alone with the man again. Towards the middle of the film, viewers who dream of moving from observation to action are rewarded with a slideshow of sex scenes set to music that is probably meant to be romantic.

Add to the atmosphere of endless sexual tension a children's dollhouse with changing compositions inside (the rooms are inhabited by figures resembling the real residents of the mansion), the suspicious and arrogant daughter of the Winchesters (Indiana Elle), who forces Millie to wash a glass because “drinking juice is a privilege,” as well as rare guests — Nina's hypocritical friends, each of whom dreams of getting the perfect Andrew for herself. Elements of thriller are mixed into the erotic show, and the atmosphere in the Winchester house becomes more and more tense with each passing day. What are the spouses hiding? And what secrets does Millie herself keep? Amanda Seyfried seems like a random guest in this landscape. The heroine's hysterics, sudden mood swings, and expressive theatricality hint at the old Hollywood school, her Nina — a character from the world of Robert Aldrich and Alfred Hitchcock. Siffred plays professionally on the verge of the grotesque, and fortunately, the second half of the film, which should provide answers to the questions posed, allows the star of The Testament of Anne Lee to demonstrate her acting potential.

If you follow the events and actions of the characters closely, you will probably be able to figure out the main plot twist before the final explanation, but if the explicit scenes managed to distract you, the dénouement may well surprise you. It must be admitted that, despite all its peculiarities, The Maid does a good job of maintaining suspense. Yes, the detective storyline is full of fortunate coincidences, which we will refrain from listing in order to preserve the intrigue, but surprise, joy, and satisfaction from the ending are guaranteed—rest assured, you will understand who is evil here, and evil will be punished. It is all the more unfortunate that Paul Feig is somehow so unsure of the script and his own abilities that he resorts to overly cheap tricks to attract an audience.

What we see reminds us of women's novels, whose covers invariably feature a half-naked, carefully retouched man, behind whose torso lie dozens of pages of forbidden pleasure. Such books often live in summer handbags as an honest admission of the desire to have fun during vacation. And don't get me wrong, there is certainly nothing wrong with that desire. The problem with The Maid lies elsewhere: the film stubbornly refuses to acknowledge its own appeal. The further the plot develops, the more insistently it strives to appear not just as cleverly crafted genre entertainment, but also as an important social statement.

Paul Figo lacks the courage and self-irony to turn flaws into virtues and take a step towards conscious camp. The Maid wants to entertain, but is afraid of appearing frivolous; it wants to talk about important things, but is afraid of appearing too stuffy. The director cannot make a final choice and, until the very end, flits between tones, never deciding what the story should be. As a result, the film falls apart, leaving on one side a thriller with Sifred and serious tones, and on the other, erotica with Sweeney set to Taylor Swift's pop music. However, this does not mean that you will not enjoy watching it — it's just that the effect will be one-time and short-lived.

You can watch "The Housemaid" at NEFLIX

This article was sponsored by Roberta Baird