The Housemaid

Sydney Sweeney seems to have popped up everywhere these past 12 months, and not always in a flattering way. Her modeling gig for American Eagle jeans generated considerable backlash on social media after the clothing manufacturer was accused of promoting eugenics through their ads focusing on Sweeney's superior (read: white) "genes". It didn't help matters when the Unspeakable Toilet Clot in the White House defended Sweeney in a gushing post that declared her promos "the hottest" out there. Then there was Mother Sweeney's birthday party with the MAGA be-hatted guests in the backyard, and the revelation that Syd, herself, is a registered Republican. Throughout it all, Ms. Sweeney remained mum until all the bad press and speculation finally prompted her to publicly disavow the ideologies ascribed to the ad campaign. Following this, she further clarified (maybe) that the birthday party's MAGA hats were simply worn as a joke by a group of Angelenos visiting Idaho for mamma's big 6-0 bash. Personally, I didn't see much point in all the angst over American Eagle's advertising blitz. I watched it at least a couple of dozen times and never once saw a racist dog whistle or Nazi propaganda. But I guess you can read into it what you will. Maybe American Eagle is a gang of Nazis with Sweeney posing as their cover girl, but I very much doubt it. As far as that infamous birthday party goes, well, who cares? It was a private event. I'm sure there are plenty of us who have relatives in the hinterlands who regularly wear MAGA hats without giving it much thought. Maybe it was a joke, maybe it wasn't. There is so much happening in the world right now that this jacked-up "event" seems like small potatoes by comparison. Perspective, please. Whew! Okay, well, that's enough about Sydney Sweeney's jeans/genes. 

Let's talk about The Housemaid, director Paul Feig's new film. Feig has a long track record of helming (mostly) female-led outings that have been greeted with decidedly mixed results. Bridesmaids (2011), The Heat (2013), Ghostbusters (2016), A Simple Favor (2018), The School for Good and Evil (2022) and Another Simple Favor (2025) found Feig working with a galaxy of successful women who brought the goods to both hits and misses. The Housemaid falls into the former category, although that doesn't necessarily make it a great film. It is, however, a fun film. Its only demand is that you check your brains at the door and invest the next 2 hours watching a trio of beautiful people creating various hells for each other in a large house in the plush New York City suburbs (in this case, Glen Cove). 

Sydney Sweeney plays the titular housemaid, Millie, a recent parolee who lives in her car and scans help wanted ads so she can join the work force and avoid being sent back to prison. On a whim, she applies for a housekeeper's job with the wealthy Winchester family and unexpectedly finds herself having a sit-down interview with Nina Winchester, a WASPY blonde socialite whose kindness and empathy seem almost too good to be true. Ahem. After a comfortable, leisurely chat, Millie is sent on her way with Nina promising to make a decision in the next few days. Doubting that she'll ever hear back from this friendly, odd woman, Millie is shocked when--the very next day--she receives a phone call from Nina. How soon can you move in? Nina asks. 

Overjoyed, Millie moves her meager belongings into the rambling, tastefully bland McMansion where she is installed in a cell-like attic bedroom under the eaves of the top floor. She also meets the rest of the Winchester family: hot, hot daddy Andrew and sullen tween daughter, CeCe. Millie and Andrew are all smiles and Welcome to your new home. 

Twenty-four hours later, Millie is confronted by a teary, screaming Nina, who can't find the notes for her PTA speech later that day. WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY NOTES? Nina shrieks. As dinner plates and glasses are swept to the floor, doting, loving Andrew rushes in to take his beloved in his arms and assure her that all will be fine. Millie is further disoriented when, hours later, Nina, once again all sugar and smiles, insists that Millie take her pick of the high-end fashions Nina plans to donate to charity. Once again pals with her boss, Millie sets her sights on CeCe, but despite her best efforts to befriend the child, CeCe turns a cold eye to this stranger in the house. Charm and sweet talk won't get Millie anywhere with this brat.

As the days progress, Nina's Jekyll-and-Hyde episodes become more pronounced: for some reason, Millie has been targeted for both the abuse and beneficence of her (bipolar? schizophrenic?) employer. Fortunately, Andrew is never far behind to pick up the pieces and persuade Millie that he has her back.  Don't take Nina's outbursts too seriously, he advises. Ha! Millie thinks. As if! Still, Andrew is quite the MAN and Millie can't help having sex dreams about him. Besides, she needs this job and can't afford to lose it. She certainly doesn't want to return to the hoosegow. Meanwhile, Nina's busybody pals and their servants gossip about Nina's instability and violent tendencies, which only adds to Millie's apprehensions. Of course, she realizes, these same ladies also admire (and secretly lust after) the long-suffering Andrew. Millie stiffens her spine and hangs in there, convinced that there is nothing in this increasingly Jane Eyre-ish situation she can't handle: she spent the last decade in stir, after all. Of course, she's wrong, but, then again, maybe she isn't. 

When Nina sets up Millie for a confrontation with the village police, Andrew, as usual, swoops in for the rescue. On the drive home, he admits that Nina has gotten completely out of hand, although he still loves her dearly. For her part, Millie decides that it's a good idea to keep her past life to herself. Perhaps now is a good time to mention that Millie also doesn't wear a traditional maid's uniforms. Instead, she dusts, launders and cooks (and runs hopeless errands) in faded jeans (American Eagle?) and tight, partly unbuttoned shirts that capitalize on her spectacular cleavage. Is it any wonder that Andrew's whispered words of comfort are delivered mere inches from Millie's face and heaving bosom? For that matter, even Nina can't help moving in for the occasional closeup. 

A particularly nasty scene ensues after Nina instructs Millie to set up a romantic weekend for Andrew and herself in the city and then claims she's taking CeCe to camp on those days and never ordered Millie to reserve anything. Packing her bags, Nina loads CeCe in the car and takes off, leaving Andrew and Millie alone in the house and wondering whatever they'll do with the theater tickets and hotel suite that are about to go to waste. Suffice it to say, nothing goes to waste and then it's a race against time to get back to the suburbs after Nina texts Andrew to tell him she's returning home early. Uh-oh. There's yet another ugly confrontation when the adulterous pair actually don't beat Nina back to the house and all hell breaks loose. 

And this is when--halfway through the movie--the first big twist comes. Everything we've seen in the film so far is completely upended when we're transported back in time and presented with an alternate narrative that complicates what we've been led to believe. Everyone in this house has secrets and no one is EXACTLY who they pretend to be. 

As things unfold, it becomes clear that this shitshow is not going to end well for at least one of our characters, but the question is which one(s)? When the climax rolls around, things get even more twisty (if a tiny bit predictable). As it happens, much of the film is fairly unsurprising. That, however, doesn't detract from the enjoyment it provides to viewers (like me) in the mood to enjoy a suspense thriller while maintaining a significant suspension of disbelief. It's fun, it's nasty, it's sexy and farfetched; it's the cold weather film equivalent of a blockbuster summer beach read: a Lifetime movie filtered through a Netflix lens, with dollops of sex and violence thrown in to maintain a level of prurient interest that teases more than it delivers.

We do see quite a lot of Sydney Sweeney's breasts (or at least a hefty portion of them) and there are a couple of nice butt shots of a naked Brandon Sklenar (playing Andrew) but Basic Instinct this is not. Don't expect things to get too overheated even if the camera does move in for prolonged examinations of Sweeney's cleavage. 

While The Housemaid is, in theory, Sweeney's movie--she is the title character, after all--it's far more entertaining when Nina is around. In high banshee mode, a delirious Amanda Seyfried brings Nina to chaotic, exuberant life, skating a very fine line between melodrama and high camp as she visits one indignity after another on poor Millie. Seyfried has always been a talented, highly watchable actor and seems to be having a field day in this movie. 

Sklenar, as Andrew, is absurdly handsome--for much of the movie I thought he was Chris Evans--and well-cast as a sturdy, studly family man whose carefully manufactured facade begins to fracture as Millie unwittingly disrupts the rhythm of his home life. Child-actor Indiana Elle brings a nicely understated creepiness to her role as the seemingly unfathomable CeCe. Reminiscent of Cruella de Ville with white, cropped hair, an unrecognizable Elizabeth Perkins is monstrously memorable as Andrew's haughty mother, while hotsy Italian actor, Michele Morrone, is all too mysterious as the groundskeeper who may have inside information on the residents of this modern-day Dragonwyck. 

And finally we come to Sydney Sweeney, who brings a louche sexiness to the role of Millie. But, honestly, with her low-key monotone and lazy line deliveries, Sweeney seems high most of the time. I'm not certain how much of her performance constitutes actual acting, but that's okay, we're not watching The Housemaid for Oscar-caliber performances. (For the record, the Golden Globe-nominated Sweeney has done fine work, most recently in the underperforming Eden, and the ill-fated Christy, which played for all of 35 minutes in our neck of the woods). 

Afterward, when I took a moment to think about what I'd just seen, I found myself shaking my head and smiling at the utter foolishness of the title character, the film's unlikely plot developments and the fact that I was thoroughly engaged throughout the entire enterprise. Some movie snobs might issue a trash alert for The Housemaid but if it is, indeed, trash, it's diverting, high-end trash with the boffo box office receipts to prove it.