Director Paul Feig brings his talents to adapt another best-selling book, “The Housemaid,” for 20th Century Studios. Rebecca Sonnenshine wrote the film’s screenplay, based on Freida McFadden’s book of the same name.
Some movies don’t pretend to be surprising; instead, they challenge you to enjoy the ride. “The Housemaid” knows precisely what it is from the opening reel, and rather than resist that reality, it leans into it hard. This glossy, pulpy, bestseller-to-screen entertainment presents itself with its sleeves rolled up, and its twists are neatly queued in advance. Frankly, with the right audience, that’s half the fun.
Paul Feig—whose directing career has oscillated between inspired subversion and crowd-pleasing autopilot—firmly lands in the latter camp here. This film isn’t the sly genre remix of “A Simple Favor,” nor does it aim for Hitchcockian elegance. Instead, Feig delivers something closer to a prestige-polished Lifetime thriller: upscale sets, attractive characters behaving badly, and emotional volatility dressed up as suspense. It’s not elevated, but it’s slick—and that counts for a lot.
At its core, “The Housemaid” is a two-woman psychological tug-of-war, and the film’s success hinges on that dynamic. Sydney Sweeney brings her familiar intensity—raw, physical, and emotionally exposed—to a role that demands vulnerability and grit over range. She’s effective, yet she is also outmatched.
That’s because Amanda Seyfried is clearly having a blast. Unhinged, precise, and delightfully theatrical, Seyfried chews the scenery just enough to keep it from descending into parody. She understands the assignment: go big, go bold, and never apologize. When the film sparks, it’s because she’s lighting the match.
However, Feig’s direction never quite meets the material’s potential. The house—intended to be the story’s psychological centerpiece—feels oddly underutilized, more like a backdrop than a character. Suspense comes in fits and starts, violence punctuates rather than escalates, and moments of melodrama flirt with self-awareness without fully committing to satire. The film tries to please everyone: fans of the book, casual viewers, thriller aficionados, and date-night crowds. The result is competent but cautious.
Still, there’s a reason these stories endure. “The Housemaid” doesn’t overstay its welcome, doesn’t confuse itself for something loftier, and importantly, it plays well with an audience. It elicits gasps, laughs, and side-eye glances—it’s engineered for communal viewing. This is the kind of movie that thrives in a packed room where everyone is slightly ahead of the plot and happily waiting for it to catch up.
No, it won’t redefine the genre, nor will it linger long after the credits roll. But it delivers precisely what it promises: polished escapism, controlled chaos, and a star performance that knows how to sell the madness. If sequels are on the horizon—and all signs indicate they are—there are worse franchises to anchor.
Call it a B-movie with an A-list glow. Sometimes that’s enough.
Final Grade: B+
“The Housemaid” is in theaters now.
