The Housemaid may not be subtle, but it is rarely dull. Its pleasures are messy, stylised, and unapologetically loud. While it stumbles when it strains for plausibility or hesitates between camp and seriousness, it ultimately leans into its own absurdity

Title: The Housemaid

Director: Paul Feig

Cast: Amanda Seyfried, Sydney Sweeney, Brandon Sklenar, Michele Morrone, Elizabeth Perkins, Indiana Elle

Where: In theatres near you

Rating: 3.5 Stars

The Housemaid arrives dressed like a polite domestic thriller and promptly kicks off its shoes to sprawl on the sofa of excess. Adapted from a bestselling novel authored by Freida McFadden and directed by Paul Feig, the film toys gleefully with familiar genre tropes.

At its centre is Millie (Sydney Sweeney), a young woman on the economic margins who accepts a live-in job in the pristine suburban home of Nina Winchester (Amanda Seyfried). Nina projects affluence and control, though cracks surface quickly, erupting into sudden rages and accusations. Hovering over this brittle arrangement is her husband, Andrew (Brandon Sklenar), outwardly reassuring, whose attentions towards Millie complicate the household. As Millie negotiates rituals of wealth and dependence, alliances shift, and hierarchies warp, turning the home into a battleground of performance and concealed intent.

What distinguishes the film is not restraint but audacity. It lunges into melodrama with eyes open, often winking at the audience even as it tightens the screws. The narrative thrives on reversals, pushing assumptions off balance. Not all twists land evenly, but the pace rarely slackens. Logic takes a holiday, yet the film is not courting realism. It wants sensation, and mostly gets it.

Actors’ Performance

The film is anchored by a combative duet between Sydney Sweeney and Amanda Seyfried. Seyfried is the undisputed scene-stealer, playing volatility like a finely tuned instrument. Her character oscillates between brittle charm and operatic fury, and she commits so fully that disbelief becomes beside the point. Sweeney begins in a more muted register, her performance initially inward and cautious. This choice can feel underpowered in the first half, but it pays off later when the character’s layers peel back, and the actor finally unleashes a darker energy.

Brandon Sklenar, as the husband caught between appearances and appetites, is serviceable rather than striking, functioning more as a narrative pivot than a psychological puzzle. Supporting players add texture, particularly the acerbic presence of an interfering elder, who sharpens the film’s satirical edge.

Music and Aesthetics

Visually, the film revels in polished artificiality. The mansion, all gleaming surfaces and cavernous spaces, becomes a pressure cooker where resentment echoes off designer walls. The camera lingers on staircases, corridors, and locked doors with knowing relish. The background score underlines the hysteria, sometimes too insistently, but it suits the film’s pulp sensibility. Editing can be abrupt, occasionally stitching scenes with visible seams, yet the overall aesthetic remains glossy and intentional.

FPJ Verdict

The Housemaid may not be subtle, but it is rarely dull. Its pleasures are messy, stylised, and unapologetically loud. While it stumbles when it strains for plausibility or hesitates between camp and seriousness, it ultimately leans into its own absurdity. For viewers willing to surrender to its theatrical impulses, this is a slick, mischievous thriller that knows exactly how trashy it wants to be, and enjoys every minute of it.