Reviews
The Hand That Rocks the cradle
“There’s nothing new or original coming out of Hollywood these days.” You see that comment everywhere, and honestly, it’s getting tough to disagree. Between the endless parade of sequels, prequels, and reboots, Disney and Hulu have now decided the world desperately needed a straight-to-streaming reimagining of the 1992 thriller The Hand That Rocks the Cradle. Because clearly, that’s the one everyone’s been begging for, right?
The new iteration of Amanda Silver’s original screenplay is directed by Michelle Garza Cervera (Huesera: The Bone Woman) and written by Micah Bloomberg (Sanctuary). While it follows the basic framework of the 1992 film, Bloomberg deserves some credit for introducing a significantly different main storyline, although it is far less convincing. The film’s drab reimagining and questionable changes set it apart from its predecessor, but mostly for all the wrong reasons.
The story follows Caitlin Morales (Mary Elizabeth Winstead), a successful Los Angeles attorney who has just given birth to her second daughter. Caitlin is tightly wound and, you could easily say, an overprotective mother living in a beautiful suburb where her only real inconveniences are speeding cars and her remarkably stupid husband, Miguel (Raul Castillo). But more on that part later.
Caitlin is about to return to work in an attempt to avoid another postpartum episode like the one she experienced after her first child, which the film halfheartedly conveys through a few uninspired exposition dumps. Her tightly wound nature turns the search for a nanny into a minor ordeal, but after a conveniently timed meeting with Polly Murphy (Maika Monroe), a former client, she miraculously finds someone who seems to have all the right qualities. Polly appears to be everything Caitlin could want in a nanny, giving her the illusion of peace of mind she has been craving.
Bafflingly, despite Polly’s ice-cold demeanor, the kind nannies are apparently famous for, Caitlin and Miguel almost immediately place their full trust in what is, by all intents and purposes, a complete stranger whose only reference comes from a thirty-second phone call. It completely undermines the character build of Caitlin as this uptight suburban mother. As the story progresses, Polly quietly breaks every boundary Caitlin has set in an effort to win over the older daughter, Emma, and slowly turns her against her mother.
The movie tries to modernize itself by exploring LGBT themes between the two lead women. If these themes had been developed beyond some lazy titillation, they could have added a fresh and interesting angle to the storyline. Instead, the film merely flirts with the idea before quickly brushing past it, leaving it practically never mentioned with any real meaning.
Of course, Caitlin eventually cottons on that everything is not okay with Polly, but she gets absolutely no support from Miguel, who is blissfully oblivious to the obvious and provides some of the most frustrating moments in the entire movie. I would be surprised if anyone can sit through this film without screaming in frustration at how spectacularly clueless he is. The story moves through inevitable gaslighting as Polly’s ruthlessness clashes with Caitlin’s suffering, but Miguel remains completely ignorant throughout the endless back-and-forth.
The twists and turns are inevitable and just as predictable, with no real suspense built in. By the time we reach the climax and Polly’s motives are revealed, it feels more like an eye roll than anything earned or satisfying, which is unforgivable for a thriller of this nature. Rather than being tense or gripping, the movie mostly feels like a slog from the start before picking up in the final act as it races toward the predictable conclusion.
Mary Elizabeth Winstead and Maika Monroe are mostly innocent in the overall forgettable mess of the movie, both giving admirable performances with the material they are given. Winstead is believable as a frazzled and confused mother, managing to convey the frustration of not being taken seriously. Monroe is equally convincing as a slightly unhinged nanny, and together they are perhaps the only two redeeming aspects of the entire film.
If you’re struggling for something to watch this weekend and The Hand That Rocks the Cradle pops up on your screen, perhaps that’s your sign to go outside, save yourself some time, and avoid this movie. Or even better, if your interest has really piqued, maybe watch the original, which is light years better in terms of quality.
