Directed By Michelle Garza Cervera

Starring – Mary Elizabeth Winstead, Maika Monroe, Raul Castillo

The Plot – A reimagining of the 1992 original movie of the same name, the film centers around an upscale suburban mom (Winstead) bringing in a new nanny, Polly Murphy (Monroe), into her home, only to discover she is not the person she claims to be.

Rated R for some strong/bloody violence, sexual content and adult language

The Hand That Rocks the Cradle | Official Trailer | Hulu

POSITIVES

Remaking the 1992 original film of the same name was the least of my yearly cinematic expectations, however there are some noble aspects of originality in the undertaking of this project that does justify this movie’s existence, even if the experience left slightly more to be desired in attempting to allude the immense shadow of its predecessor. For starters, the film isn’t a shot for shot or thought for thought remake of that previous film, both with some fascinating dynamics in the constructing of the characters, particularly in the underlined sexual tension and layered motivational twists in evolutions of the primary female duo at the forefront of the movie’s narrative, as well as the rebranding of character names and backstories, which help it to see this film as its own thing, instead of attempting to re-enact a story that we’ve already experienced, thirty-three years prior. On the surface, the film effectively articulates the vulnerabilities inscribed to the situation of opening your household to a complete stranger, whose job is to oversee the well-being of those whom you love most, but in dissection, it’s very much a depraved slice of vengeance that grows all the more claustrophobically confrontational, with each poking and prodding of these small conflicts that eventually amount to something unavoidable, and while so much of Cervera’s film chooses a road of diversity that wasn’t paved by its predecessor, it still does a satisfying job of projecting the resiliency and retributive determination of scorned women alike, saving its single most defining moment for a third act twist that admittedly I didn’t see coming. On top of this, I want to give some credible praise to the unorthodox and experimental deviation supplanted artistically to Ariel Marx’s psychologically unnerving score, featuring everything from whispered voices to rhythmic hymns, in order to appraise such a disorienting ambiance to her instrumental impulses. In a lot of ways, I compare her compositions to that of 2018’s “Thoroughbreds”, with these incoherent ramblings increasing casually, in order to attain palpable tension to what’s transpiring, and while the rest of the production does very little to cohesively work alongside Marx’s unavoidable uniqueness on the integrity of the engagement, she constantly allures audiences in with her brand of off-putting influence to the imagery, cementing a score that is quite exceptional for a straight-to-streaming production. On top of this, the performances from Mary Elizabeth Winstead and Maika Monroe are without question the single greatest strength in this movie’s arsenal, especially in how each attain vividness to the duality of their characters. This is especially obvious for Monroe, who as Polly elicits such a mesmerizing influence that simultaneously makes it as easy to fall in love with her nurturing charms for parenting, as much as it is to fear the vapidness in her lingering stares, which feel like they’re constantly burning holes into the camera. Monroe’s turn as this movie’s psycho is a bit more ratcheted and unchained than Rebecca DeMornay’s Peyton in the original, yet she never becomes a cartooned representation of mental instability, instead feeling like an internally anguished boiler that burns slowly and methodically throughout the film, all in catering to the believability in Monroe’s dark side, which command her versatility as an actress. As for Winstead, she commands attention while effortlessly exuding the vulnerable disposition of feeling imposed upon in her own home, particularly while shielding her own personal demons from her regretful past, but she ultimately does her best acting during the all bets off conflict of the movie’s climax, combining undeterred perseverance and committed physicality, in order to articulate the hell of a mother’s scorn, and it’s a lot of fun to watch these two engage in the mental chess warfare to so many tense interactions between them.

NEGATIVES

Unfortunately, the film is more of the same in the pile of uninspiring remakes that add very little memorability to even contend with their superior counterparts, especially in the lack of thrills throughout the engagement that makes the 100-minute runtime transpire without any semblance of urgency to the developments. While there is domestic destruction in these lavishly upper class surroundings, or one scene involving a character practically beaten to death with a baseball bat, there’s a noticeably glaring lack of tangible suspense or unpredictability driving so much of Cervera’s direction, which was present in the original movie, and it makes so many of these minimalized conflicts fall flat in their intended deliveries, especially alongside some questionable choices in that aforementioned direction that do it no favor in embracing the kind of trashy dramatic fare that it inescapably is. Because of such, Cervera’s single biggest problem in steering this story is a far more reserved approach towards atmosphere, which opts strangely for more seriousness than its predecessor, even at the cost of compromising some lapses in logic with character motivations that are downright hilarious the longer that I thought about them. Considering there are so many memorable lines of dialogue or high stakes situations from that 92′ original, the remake here squanders creativity in comparison, failing to tap into the edginess of its sudden living arrangement, and instead succumbing to these episodically abrupt instances that are manufactured just as quickly as they’re executed, all without any semblance of connective psychology to the audience in the long-term that contextualizes such a relationship between people shrouded in mystery. Speaking of the script, there’s a lot of settling for the easiest ways out of manufactured conflicts, but the writing lacks any form of subtlety in ways that can’t evade the obviousness of where its story is headed, particularly in the resolution of its climax, which it constantly hints at forcefully, throughout the film. Without spoiling anything, I will say that the script constantly brings up a traffic flaw in the neighborhood, that forces Winstead’s Caitlyn to reach out to the city, in order to install a stop sign, and considering the magnitude of how often this is continuously touched upon, I figured it had to have something to do with where this story is headed, and to no surprise of my own, I was absolutely correct. Beyond this, the script simply doesn’t know how to write supporting characters, in order to take the load of responsibility off of the shoulders of the stoically supercharged performances of Winstead and Monroe, with Castillo’s Miguel constantly feeling like a stranger in his own household, only brought back to the focus of the film as a witness to gauge response to Caitlyn’s impulsive decision making. There are also unmemorable inclusions of Polly’s girlfriend (Played by Yvette Lu), who receives a one-off scene, and then never mentioned again, and Martin Starr’s Stewart, who essentially serves as the Julianne Moore role, this time around. Starr’s arrival not only threatens the sanctimony of Cervera’s aforementioned strictly serious direction, but is essentially only there to further the plot development between Caitlyn and Polly, and considering he’s a noteworthy comedian capable of ingesting much-needed personality and charisma to this engagement, his serious demeanor makes it difficult to ascertain just why he was cast for the role in the first place. Finally, even the film’s production falls suspect in the decisions paid to one of the most unmemorable presentations, even at streaming level, surmising such an uncompelling tediousness to the cinematography of the setting, that threatens to steal attention away from the performances of Winstead and Monroe, but towards unflattering aspects. The camera work elicits a slickly cadenced consistency that continuously feels like it’s gliding through Caitlyn’s monotonously dull life, abolishing tension at the speed of second in its unhurried consistency, and the family’s house, where most of the story takes place, blandly broods the film and its imagery of any possibility of a potentially interesting style or claustrophobic architecture to cater to the inevitability of the dilemma. While Cervera does attempt some occasionally unique fish eye lenses, in order to articulate a character’s dysphoria in the moment, it isn’t frequent enough to leave a lasting impression to the film’s artistic integrity, leaving it and the rest of the presentation plagued by an ugly drab canvas that doesn’t pay off the surrounding upper class elegance off accordingly.

OVERALL
“The Hand that Rocks the Cradle” isn’t quite the needle-moving remake that we needed or deserved, but it is one that credibly takes chances of originality in the familiarity of its outline, and is nearly saved with the spellbinding performances of Mary Elizabeth Winstead and Maika Monroe, who each give their physical and emotional limits to the duality of their complex characters. Despite the pleasantries, the film is burdened excessively by questionable direction voiding the movie of any tensely riveting thrills, or even stylistic stimulation, and considering it drops on streaming, where it can easily be ignored, hardcore enthusiasts of the original movie will have no reservations about doing so.

My Grade: 5.2 or D