Keenly shot and dressed like one of those insufferable holiday-themed luxury car commercials, director Paul Feig’s adaptation of Freida McFadden's bestselling 2022 novel knows how to have a good time. Awards and prestige can be damned, as this is all about the guilty pleasure that is harbored within trashy twists and turns. It’s something the suit-and-tie-wearing filmmaker has been enamored with over the past few years, helming other BookTok sensations like A Simple Favor (and its sequel) and The School for Good and Evil. This is the first time he’s been able to hit that elusive target, which makes the fact that this is his first theatrically-released project since 2019 not much of a coincidence.

Hooting and hollering were rampant throughout the audience as the barbed edges of this salacious story gradually slinked their way out of the shadows. There’s also no shortage of warning signs before their arrival, with every utterance of “I insist” concealing sinister intentions and every people-pleasing smile lasting just until everyone looks away. The gardener has two jobs: tending to the plants and staring at everyone suspiciously through the windows. Both of those jobs are quite simple, as this mansion has a lot of flowers, and everyone on the inside is up to no good.

Millie (Sydney Sweeney) is the fly that lands in this ointment. Fresh out of prison and on parole, she thinks she’s found the dream job she desperately needs as a live-in housemaid for the wealthy couple Nina (Amanda Seyfried) and Andrew Winchester (Brandon Sklenar). Andrew designed the whole house, complete with a fabulous kitchen, soundproof walls, a screening room stocked full of candy, and Chekhov’s winding staircase. He’s a perfect husband and father, especially considering that Nina seems to be suffering from some sort of personality disorder. One minute, she’s all sunshine and rainbows; the next minute, she’s accusing Millie of destroying their family.

Andrew's status as an absolute saint, along with being unfairly attractive (granted, everyone is obscenely beautiful in this cast), makes it all too good to be true. I caught the smell of bullshit once he pseudo-intellectually claimed that Barry Lyndon is a “misunderstood masterpiece,” which makes absolutely no sense considering its numerous Oscars and perennial placement on lists of the best movies ever made. But Millie doesn’t seem to be much of a cinephile, and everyone has a tragic backstory that conjures up just enough sympathy for the red flags not to seem so scary. And then, of course, sex has to become a part of the problem, with Andrew and Millie growing closer while they endure Nina’s mood swings.

This is a story best experienced in the theater, mostly due to the fact that you wouldn’t be able to pause and ask one of the many questions that would unravel this pretzel. Those four walls and the social agreement of silence mean you’re mentally and physically locked in for this ride, which Feig knows how to keep deliciously entertaining. Seyfried handles the shifts between pleasantries and insanity well, and Sweeney continues her streak of frothy thrillers.

The Housemaid makes me happy about the fact that I’ll likely never make enough money to be able to hire a stranger to live at my house. Then again, I’d probably be alright with taking my chances if it meant I got to have a home theater like Andrew’s. I’d just make sure to leave all the drama to the movies, where it’s served best.