In Zoe Kravitz’s feature-length debut as a filmmaker, Blink Twice (formerly “Pussy Island”), a familiarly simple line, “Are you having a good time?”, gains increasingly oppressive weight with each utterance by tech-bro billionaire Slater King (Channing Tatum) or any one of his dude-bro cronies. The expected answer, “Yes, I am,” doesn’t necessarily reflect any kind of personal or objective truth in the moment, but continued acquiescence, willingly or not, in the free-floating, billionaire-funded hedonism led by the appropriately named King. It’s all in the name of “fun,” albeit fun defined and dictated by King: An open-ended, all-expenses paid trip to King’s private. Epstein-inspired island – where, of course, only King’s private rules apply – filled with epicurean delights drawn from the island’s bountiful excesses, the highest quality weed available, and mind-expanding designer drugs.
For Frida (Naomi Ackie), a directionless twenty-something with limited financial resources, King represents the wealth, privilege, and power otherwise unavailable to struggling, working-class, woman of color. She seems to have a passion for nail design but seems to spend most of what passes as free time endlessly scrolling through her social media account. She might have a vaguely defined dream of some kind, but without the means, inclination, or direction, it’s effectively meaningless. Just paying the rent takes all or most of Friday’s energy, a reflection of the real world just outside the digital screen where the audience watching Blink Twice presumably resides.
Her dream-fantasy of a better, more comfortable life becomes a reality, however, when a night of catering at a swank, philanthropic event hosted by King turns into an impromptu invite to the latter’s private island. While convincing her best friend and roommate, Jess (Alia Shawkat), to join her on her adventure among the ultra-wealthy takes little effort, it’s a decision that, at least initially, pays off handsomely: They’re treated like near-royalty, given spacious private rooms, multiple changes of clothes (all white), and plied by King and his cronies, Vic (Christian Slater), his CFO-turned-CEO (in name only), Cody (Simon Rex), a smug, high-end chef, Tom (Haley Joel Osment), the group’s nominal beta male, and Lucas (Levon Hawke), a twenty-something, easily manipulated hanger-on, with copious amounts of food, alcohol, and recreational drugs.
In the prologue, Kravitz leans in the general direction of the #MeToo movement, ascribing unspecified transgressions to King involving multiple abuses of power. Playing the PR campaign perfectly, King’s apology tour includes generalized admissions of guilt, promises to do better after months of therapy, and contributing a large percentage of his wealth to philanthropic causes. It’s almost enough to convince anyone, including someone already predisposed to believe in personal change and redemption (if mostly for selfish reasons) like Frida. It takes two to gaslight, the person doing the gaslighting and the target of said gaslight, the latter willingly on some level, conscious or not.
Frida’s willingness to look past the mounting red flags, from the carefully laid-out, white clothes for all the female guests, the constant flow of drugs and alcohol (to say no would be to reject King’s relentlessly hedonistic sense of “fun”), and later, memory lapses that make it difficult, if not impossible, to determine how much actual time has passed on King’s island. When Jess disappears after one all-night session of debauchery, Frida can barely remember she was there all along. The other female guests, Sarah (Adria Arjona), a longtime star of a “Survivor”-type reality-TV series, Camilla (Liz Caribel), and Heather (Trew Mullen) don’t remember Jess at all.
Amply foreshadowed by Kravitz and her co-writer, E.T. Feigenbaum, in the early going, the shifting stakes change Blink Twice from a welcome, if somewhat familiar, satire of the wealthy and privileged among us (i.e., #EatTheRich) to an out-and-out horror film. The earlier line about having a “good time” becomes increasingly ominous and oppressive. Additional dialogue about forgiveness and especially forgetting (King argues the former isn’t possible, making the latter essential) becomes laced with existential meaning and later still, threat, setting up an action-oriented third act filled with different forms of violence, physical, mental, and emotional.
While the third act undeniably delivers on its promise of cathartic payback (all of it, it should be added, well-deserved), it also means Blink Twice trades off exploring its themes in any meaningful way for blood-soaked spectacle. That might be emotionally satisfying as it unfolds, but it feels too easy, too willing to give into audience expectations rather than subvert or challenge them, thus undermining an otherwise promising debut for Kravitz as a writer-director. In the end, Blink Twice qualifies as a missed opportunity.
Blink Twice opens theatrically on Friday, August 23rd, via Amazon MGM Studios.
