There is an enduring allure to the classic gothic trope of the hidden resident in the upper quarters of a grand house, a narrative device that director Paul Feig attempts to modernize in his 2025 psychological thriller, The Housemaid. Adapted by screenwriter Rebecca Sonnenshine from Freida McFadden’s wildly popular literary sensation, the film ventures deep into the pristine, manicured lawns of Great Neck, Long Island. Here, the architectural elegance of a tech-mogul’s custom-built mansion serves as the backdrop for a story teeming with domestic malice, shifting alliances, and an abundance of designer knitwear.
The narrative introduces us to Wilhelmina “Millie” Calloway, portrayed by Sydney Sweeney. Millie is a young woman teetering on the edge of a parole violation, living out of her vehicle and desperate for employment after serving a lengthy prison sentence. When she secures an interview with the wealthy, impeccably dressed Nina Winchester, played with a razor-sharp edge by Amanda Seyfried, it feels like a miraculous stroke of luck. Millie is hired on the spot to serve as a live-in maid, tasked with managing the expansive estate, cooking meals, and tending to the needs of Nina, her handsome husband Andrew (Brandon Sklenar), and their precocious daughter Cece. However, the first red flag arrives in the form of her accommodations: a claustrophobic attic bedroom featuring a window that refuses to budge and a deadbolt that locks strictly from the outside.
A Symphony of Chaos and Quiet Luxury
The initial segment of the film functions reasonably well as a slow-burning study in domestic unease. The pristine white and cream aesthetic of the Winchester estate, meticulously crafted by costume designer Renee Ehrlich Kalfus to epitomize the concept of “quiet luxury,” acts as a stark counterpoint to the psychological chaos unfolding within its walls. On only her second day of work, Millie bears the brunt of Nina’s volatile temperament. Nina flies into a spectacular, destructive rage over missing notes for a speech, initiating a relentless cycle of gaslighting, public humiliation, and abrupt terminations.
As Nina plays the part of the erratic, deeply unstable antagonist, Andrew steps into the frame as the ultimate sympathetic figure. He sighs over his wife’s psychological history—which local neighborhood gossip suggests involves an institutional stint and an attempt to drown her infant daughter—and extends a comforting hand to Millie. The chemistry between the domestic worker and the aggrieved husband quickly escalates from stolen glances over a homemade quiche to a full-blown romantic entanglement during an out-of-town excursion. Yet, just as the film threatens to settle into a standard, Lifetime-channel iteration of an extramarital affair, the narrative machinery shifts gears, revealing that the true danger lies not with the eccentric matriarch, but behind the charming smile of the patriarch.
Performance Disparities in the Long Island Suburbs
The film’s ultimate success rests heavily on the shoulders of its leading women, resulting in a fascinatingly unbalanced dynamic. Amanda Seyfried walks away with the entire movie, delivering a brilliant, fiercely committed performance that effortlessly transitions from a fragile socialite to a terrifyingly calculated strategist. Seyfried clenches her jaw, widens her eyes, and chews through the scenery with an energy that belongs in a much higher caliber of film. It is through her performance alone that the script’s more preposterous elements carry any weight.
Conversely, Sydney Sweeney feels fundamentally miscast as the street-weary, formerly incarcerated Millie. While Sweeney captured worldwide attention with her performances in contemporary dramas, she lacks the specific grit and internal world-weariness required for a character who has endured a decade in a maximum-security facility. Her performance remains entirely on the surface, leaving her looking more like an undercover model than a desperate woman fighting for her freedom.
This disparity is further complicated by Brandon Sklenar’s portrayal of Andrew. Sklenar delivers a flat, remarkably unthreatening performance that fails to capture the terrifying, monstrous nature required for the film’s final acts. When Andrew is eventually revealed to be a sadistic abuser who forces his partners to pull out their own hair and inflict self-harm with broken porcelain, Sklenar lacks the menacing screen presence to make the villainy truly bone-chilling; he comes across as merely irritable rather than a psychological mastermind.
Script Faults and Structural Fractures
The true author of the film’s undoing is its screenplay, which is riddled with clunky, unnatural dialogue that frequently sounds like a rough draft. Characters speak in robotic, overly expository sentences that even seasoned actors struggle to make believable. Furthermore, the film suffers from a glaring lack of narrative logic once the third-act twists begin to unravel in rapid succession.
While the revelation that Nina intentionally hired Millie—knowing her violent past made her the perfect weapon to eliminate Andrew—is a clever narrative pivot, the logic falls apart under minimal scrutiny. If Nina’s initial cruelty toward Millie was a calculated strategy to push her into Andrew’s arms, several of her solitary temper tantrums make absolutely no narrative sense. Additionally, the film’s resolution features baffling continuity errors, such as Nina inexplicably possessing a massive payout check for Millie at a funeral where she had no reason to expect her presence.
Director Paul Feig, widely celebrated for his impeccable comedic timing in classics like Bridesmaids and Spy, shows a surprising lack of control over the tone here. Instead of leaning completely into the delicious, campy melodrama or crafting a genuinely terrifying thriller, Feig settles for a lukewarm middle ground. The film features steadily gliding cameras and ominous shadows, yet it completely lacks genuine atmosphere or authentic tension.
A Melodramatic Night Out
Ultimately, The Housemaid is a piece of cinematic entertainment designed strictly for the present moment, relying heavily on trendy names and literary brand recognition rather than lasting artistic substance. It is a film that demands to be viewed with a loud, enthusiastic theater audience capable of shouting warnings at the screen during its many ridiculous plot developments. Enhanced by a striking soundtrack choice featuring Lana Del Rey’s “Cinnamon Girl,” the movie manages to be an incredibly fun, fast-paced ride despite its numerous flaws. It is far from a masterpiece of the psychological genre, but as a glossy, trashy popcorn thriller anchored by a magnificent Amanda Seyfried, it provides just enough entertainment to warrant a casual viewing.
CINEMA SPICE RATING: ★★★ (3/5)
