Before you roll those dice, baby
I guess at some point “Get Out-like” became a subgenre, with the target of the satiric horror more often class disparity than racism. These movies usually involve some unlucky member of the oppressed class getting sucked into the orbit of the ultra-wealthy. The episode starts off charming, maybe even aspirational — only for that lifestyle to emerge as a violent facade. The formula’s pretty codified by now: exotic escape, vague sense of unease the gradually grows, some surreal and cruel turning point (aka “The Sinking Place”), and finally a climax of desperately escaping the ritualistic debasement. Obviously these stories existed before Get Out, but that hit locked in the structure, the dark-comic tone, and the thick layer of social commentary baked into these tales.
The returns are diminishing. Blink Twice, Zoë Kravitz’s debut, slots neatly into this mold. It has the second-dumbest script of this microgenre that I’ve seen — trailing only Infinity Pool, if we’re letting that galaxy brain malarkey qualify. Blink Twice’s final scene is so bafflingly dumb that I don’t even think you’d believe me if I typed it out here. But it, frankly, never really gets going: The movie never establishes a real baseline of reality to disrupt or comment on. It’s two awkward scenes of life among the poors before we’re disoriented in a haze of billionaire glamour, so there’s no normalcy to contrast against the sickening final reveals.
The protagonist is Frida (Naomi Ackie), a cocktail waitress and nail artist. After conning her way into a party, she gets invited to a private island by Slater King (Channing Tatum), a billionaire tech bro who recently stepped down amid murky controversy. She’s joined by her best friend Jess (Alia Shawkat), plus a lineup of influencer types, including a stoner lawyer (Trew Mullen), a reality TV personality (Adria Arjona), and a hopeful app developer (Liz Caribel). There’s also a retinue of Slater’s sycophants (all male): a chef (Simon Rex), a creepy therapist (Kyle MacLachlan), and a goony old business partner named Vic (Christian Slater). In case it is not immediately obvious, this is far too many characters for us to get invested in, and I haven’t even listedn them all here. The entire group’s phones are confiscated for NDA reasons. Gift bags are issued. Everyone wears fancy, coordinated outfits to heighten the surreality. Psychedelic-infused cocktails flow. Frida wakes up every morning with a hangover, fuzzy memory, and bizarre physical symptoms like dirt under her fingernails.
The story stews too long, arrives circuitously at a conclusion that’s both obvious and batshit, and quite frankly never clicks. The closest it comes is immediately following the film’s equivalent of the “Sinking Place” turning point, when the predatory undercurrents become explicit. Blink Twice opts for a violent, tense comedy-horror tone for a few scenes that is pretty fun if light in substance.
And good Lord does this film have nothing to say. Wow, the ultra-rich are actually selfish? Their power and wealth come by exploitation and privilege? You don’t say! If we hadn’t had about thirty films taking this concept to some storytelling or genre extreme in the past few years — see: Triangle of Sadness, The Menu, Glass Onion, Ready or Not, etc., etc. — there might be some visceral thrill in linking capitalistic excess to physical violence, but it’s very much been done, and Blink Twice has nothing to add to the discourse.
Credit where it’s due, though: Zoë Kravitz’s direction is surprisingly assured for a debut, and I actually like this film more than you might gather from my trashing of the screenplay. She extracts some loopy, coked-up energy out of the ensemble. The film has a strange but cohesive vibe that doesn’t offer much substance but has some kick to it. Editor Kathryn J. Schubert deserves special mention for a kind of hypnotic, elliptical rhythm that almost tricks you into thinking something deeper is happening. The production design is attractive; that sets fit the Instagram dystopia vibe, wonderfully photographed by Adam Newport-Berra in poisonous saturation. And the soundtrack is frankly fantastic: both the Chanda Dancy score that’s halfway between thriller jitters and ocean breeze and the classic R&B soundtrack shine. (The latter is not too surprising, I suppose, given Kravitz is the daughter of music great Lenny.)
The cast tries their best. Ackie gives Frida some grounding, but I never found the character quite sympathetic enough to really root for her. Tatum is clearly having fun sending up his own persona, and Shawkat, an Arrested Development alum, is always welcome. Arjona is napalm upon celluloid, and I will be adding all of her future films to my watchlist. In smaller roles, Geena Davis and recent arrestee Haley Joel Osment show up for a few scenes to play against type, and I was glad to see them. (I hope Osment’s new criminal record doesn’t prevent him from becoming the wacky comedy character actor that he seems destined to be.)
So Blink Twice, despite the steaming screenplay with flies buzzing around it, is almost actually good in execution. But I just can’t get that far with it. The story’s too stupid. The satire from a script written by rich people is as pandering as the notorious Gal Gadot “Imagine” video. (Incidentally, Kravitz appears in the “Imagine” video.) It goes down pretty easy but that does not make a film good by itself.
Is It Good?
Nearly Good (4/8)
Dan is the founder and head critic of The Goods. Follow Dan on Letterboxd. Join the Discord for updates and discussion.