Gloriously Smarmy The Housemaid a Sensationalistic Tour de Force
During the 1990s, female-driven melodramatic thrillers were a dime a dozen, many of them quietly blossoming into box office hits. The Hand That Rocks the Cradle with Rebecca De Mornay and Annabella Sciorra, Sleeping with the Enemy with Julia Roberts, The Net with Sandra Bullock, Kiss the Girls and Double Jeopardy, both with Ashley Judd, these are the first few titles that spring immediately to mind, but there are a great deal more like them one could easily name if they so desired.
Adapted from the best-seller by Freida McFadden, director Paul Feig (Bridesmaids, Spy) and screenwriter Rebecca Sonnenshine (Within) willingly give in to their most histrionic excesses with The Housemaid, and that’s as it should be. The pair knew their assignment, delivering a loopily unhinged thriller that’s so nonsensical the whole thing almost comes off as a parody of its aforementioned 1990s doppelgängers. It’s a goofily inspired romp through sex, violence, gaslighting, female empowerment, and bloody revenge, its core events centered around two titanically exuberant performances from stars Amanda Seyfried and Sydney Sweeney that are difficult to resist.
Millie Calloway (Sweeney) has a mysterious past. Out on parole, she’s eager to move on with her life. She’s certain she’s found the perfect opportunity to change everything for the better when she makes the acquaintance of bubbly, effervescent trophy wife Nina Winchester (Seyfried) and is offered a live-in position as a housemaid in her and her husband Andrew’s (Brandon Sklenar) spectacular McMansion
But it’s all too good to be true. Millie’s room is a tiny spot in the attic with a deadbolt lock on the wrong side of the door. The couple’s young daughter, Cece (Indiana Elle), is standoffish and appears to be going out of her way to make life impossible for her new housekeeper. Their creepy groundskeeper Enzo (Michele Morrone) keeps staring at the young woman as if he either intends to do her bodily harm or is concealing a deep, dark secret that keeps him emotionally constipated. Worst of all, Nina is taking medication for schizophrenia and is prone to manic outbursts and violent accusations that throw the house into immediate disarray, and almost all of that anger is pointed directly at Millie.
Without accidentally revealing any of the story’s whacky twists and turns, here’s what I can say about what happens next: Millie can’t leave her position as she’s in fear that, if she does, her probation officer will send her back to prison to complete her sentence, Nina suspects that Andrew will cheat on her with their beguiling housemaid, and Cece isn’t anywhere near as heartless (or as naïve) as she initially appears to be. What that means as far as the bigger picture is concerned, however, I feel it is best to let audiences discover that out for themselves.
Little of what transpires makes any rational sense, and there are plenty of occasions where it seems like Millie should have been able to extricate herself from this impossible situation with relative ease. Even having not read the book, I still did not find it difficult to put the puzzle pieces of what is really going on and why together rather quickly. At about the halfway mark, I even let out an audible chuckle when I did just that. The whole thing is so sensationalistic and over the top I couldn’t take a solitary second seriously. But it is also so gosh darn well executed that I honestly couldn’t care less.
Sweeney is terrific as the clueless, not-so-delicate ingénue with a sordid past, and her chemistry with Sklenar is off the charts. Her performance is reminiscent of her turn in the equally whack-a-doo religious thriller Immaculate, and that isn’t the only unexpected similarity that horror yarn and this slice of juicy pulp fiction share. Millie’s transformation from quietly timid wallflower, to carnivorous sexual animal, to fiercely feminist (anti?)heroine is marvelously well executed, and Sweeney never bats an eyelash at any of the physical and emotional nonsense her character is forced to experience.
Yet, make no mistake, this is Seyfried’s show, and she exuberantly makes the most of it. While her best 2025 performance is undeniably in the creatively shattering The Testament of Ann Lee (which will likely earn the actor her second Academy Award nomination), that should not minimize just how awesome she is here as well. Seyfried’s Nina is a cagey and manipulative tigress protecting her territory, battling internal demons and external — if initially hidden — evils with feral tenacity. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her.
Feig directs all of this exaggerated insanity with the same unbridled flair he brought to 2013’s The Heat and 2018’s A Simple Favor, and that is for better and for worse. With a 131-minute running time, there were instances where I felt the director could have shown at least some modicum of restraint and allowed editor Brent White (No Hard Feelings) additional freedom to streamline the proceedings and cut out some of the extraneous, overly expository bits. Once I knew where things were headed, I kind of wanted Feig to just get on with it, and that is one thing he simply refuses to do.
No matter. The Housemaid is such gloriously smarmy and snarky fun that even the bits that don’t work so well (like Enzo’s entire character arc) aren’t a big deal. Seyfried and Sweeney are clearly enjoying themselves, fearlessly going for the gusto and leaving any semblance of understatement or restraint far behind them in the rearview mirror. When the end credits rolled, the promo audience I saw the film with let out a hearty, laugh-filled cheer, and I have a sneaky suspicion this type of reaction will not be an anomaly. Heck, I kind of think it may become the status quo.
Film Rating: 3 (out of 4)
