Words by JANE CROWTHER
Who wears a push up bra to bed? If you wore exclusively white, wouldn’t there be a lot of laundry? Does liking Barry Lyndon make you a monster? Questions you will ask while watching Paul Feig’s knowing, horny, beach read of a movie that zips along breathlessly but leaves gaping holes in logic if you really think about it. That is not to say it’s bad – this is the sort of bonkbuster thrill-ride you’d consume on a sun lounger and feel satiated without ever declaring it a work of art.
The set-up: Ex-con Millie (Sydney Sweeney) needs a job and interviews as a housekeeper for the picture-perfect, wealthy Winchesters; cream cashmere-clad wife, Nina (Amanda Seyfried) and hunky hubby Andrew (Brandon Sklenar). Miraculously, Millie gets the gig – which fulfils her parole conditions and provides a home. But within days Nina has turned from calm delight to feral psycho, while Andrew simmers with disapproval, regret and a propensity to lurk around the house in a white vest that shows off his guns. So far, so Jane Eyre.
What is really going on in the Winchesters’ dynamic? Who is a reliable narrator? Why does the window not open in the housemaid’s room? How does Millie have this many Abercrombie & Fitch saucy-student outfits in her bag of meagre possessions? Why does the gardener look like a dancer from a Magic Mike show? As Nina turns to shrieking hysteria, Millie and Andrew start flirting over Junior Mints in the den and things flip to ‘thriller’ in ways that are easily pre-plotted by aficionados of the genre.
But sometimes, that’s exactly what you want. With dialogue that is knowingly camp, sex scenes that tap into Mills & Boon tropes and a performance by Seyfried that feels designed to let you in on the secret while Sweeney flaunts, The Housemaid is a wilfully trashy ride that should be enjoyed with a beverage and a side of self-awareness. The only trigger warning is to not watch if you like china sets or dentistry.
Pictures courtesy of Lionsgate
The Housemaid is in cinemas now
