A friend recently wondered if “the pendulum had begun to swing back” on the #MeToo movement that exploded in 2017, a righteous anger bullet of delayed justice for scores of men behaving badly. Certainly not according to Blink Twice, actress turned filmmaker Zoë Kravitz’s stylish directorial debut, a movie as difficult to talk about as to categorize. A sleek trojan horse of feminist rage that confidently straddles tones, it nearly creates a new one—that of raucous anger-entertainment. It is also a diabolical social critique rendered with impressive style.
Kravitz, the young actress best known for turns in 2022’s The Batman, Steven Soderbergh’s 2022 crime thriller Kimi and HBO’s Big Little Lies, has crafted a sneaky thriller, very enjoyable yet predicated on a subject that is anything but entertainment. Perhaps its closest movie cousin would be Jordan Peele’s Get Out, infused with a dash of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, but Kravitz has made something distinctly her own, a coiled snake movie (in fact, exotic snakes figure importantly in its mystery) that strikes with a potent feminine perspective and a blazing aesthetic; it’s gorgeously shot, edited and scored.
The less said the better, but Kravitz, who co-penned the screenplay with E.T. Feigenbaum, opens her picture in a dingy New York apartment where roommates Frida (Naomie Ace) and Jess (Alia Shawkat) are barely making ends meet as catering servers, and are about to have a reversal of fortune while cocktailing drinks at a splashy gala for a once disgraced and now reformed tech bro billionaire named Slater King (a terrific Channing Tatum). King, who has undergone a public fall from grace and undertaken extensive therapy (courtesy of Kyle MacLachlan) and soul-searching, claims to be a changed man. He’s handsome, charming and warm. What’s not to trust?
It doesn’t take long before a meet-cute encounter between Frida and Slater finds the roomies whisked away on an impromptu, exotic holiday. They’re flown to King’s island, a lavish tropical escape, alongside a handful of other mysterious guests. Joining them are Slater’s tech buddy circle, played by Christian Slater, Simon Rex, Levon Hawke and Haley Joel Osment, with the spirited addition of former Survivor-esque reality show star Sarah (portrayed with real verve by Hit Man‘s Adria Arjona). Kravitz impressively orchestrates an intoxicating first hour, filled with jet-set indulgence: luxurious accommodations, endless cocktails, gourmet feasts, mind-bending drugs and hedonistic poolside revelry. It’s a dizzying display of wealth-fueled fantasy, as inviting as it is suspiciously too perfect. And yet, a nagging question looms: why were the women required to surrender their cell phones upon arrival?
What follows pulls no punches. The film’s original title, Pussy Island, hints at a narrative infused with dark, gender-charged tensions—think shades of Jeffrey Epstein. While the specifics initially remain shrouded in mystery, it’s enough to say the film’s thrills are steeped in the sinister dynamics of male-female warfare. Is something nefarious unfolding on this remote playground? Could the eccentric hostess (played with a delightful off-kilter energy by the one and only Geena Davis) be pulling the strings? Or perhaps it’s the mysterious maid (Maria Elena Olivares), always hovering in the background as an unsettling snake charmer of sorts, who is the key to unraveling the mystery. With anxious calibration, the film keeps us guessing. Why does Frida wake up each morning with dirt mysteriously packed beneath her fingernails? Ands what are the mysterious red bags hidden away in an off-limits cottage? What is the meaning of the phrase “red rabbit,” spoken several times? The film’s secrets are designed to push buttons, and Kravitz is fully aware of this. Her writing also does well by the male characters, who are initially infused with innocuously benign personalities, engaging despite their cards-held undertones.
But make no mistake—these men are victimizers, and the way the women slowly uncover this truth is the stuff of good entertainment. Unlike most American films today we are never a step ahead of the characters, Kravitz springing her surprises with genuine storytelling flair, begging the question: if the women are being wronged, what tricks are the men using to keep them in the dark? Kravitz navigates such out of frame twists with playful suspense, keeping us on edge.
Without divulging the film’s secrets, it’s notable how Kravitz explores the concept of repressed memories—a theme prominently highlighted during the #MeToo movement. From a pair of initial conversations about an ex-boyfriend and a hazy childhood recollection, she integrates this psychology into the narrative as a foundation for revelations that smartly dovetail with her more horror elements. By hinting at notions of suppressed memories and recall (even if the explanations for suppression are fantastical), Kravitz heightens tension by suggesting defense mechanisms of the traumatized human mind. She wants us to question the reliability of memory while we face the queasy implications of what might be buried, just out of reach, and what might violently happen once we gain painful clarity.
Ackie, who delivered a standout performance in the 2022 Whitney Houston biopic I Wanna Dance with Somebody, commands the screen with a presence that engages right from the first scene, as she scrolls her Instagram from her cramped apartment, fascinated with photos of the magnate she is about to meet. Her ability to shift seamlessly between a Cinderella-like, romantic dreaminess and the sharp intensity of an amateur sleuth keeps us hooked as the mystery unfolds before her (and us).
On the tech side, Kravitz demonstrates a considerable command of the camera with confident visual storytelling, collaborating with DP Adam Newport-Berra (The Last Black Man in San Francisco) to create a vivid collection of images. Together, they push the primary color palette to its limits—think banana yellow for a venomous snake, striking turquoise face masks set against soft pink robes, lush green foliage and richly red accents of the kind I wouldn’t dream of revealing. Each scene is a supersaturated spectacle, while Kathryn J. Schubert’s sharp editing and meticulous pacing keep the storytelling dynamically on its toes.
Blink Twice is one of the year’s most entertaining films and an authoritative directorial debut.
3 1/2 stars
