The Housemaid Review: Amanda Seyfried Steals the Show as Sydney Sweeney Gets Down and Dirty in This Outrageously Schlocky Thriller

Paul Feig’s The Housemaid is a gloriously unhinged psychological thriller that dives headfirst into the trashy delights of Freida McFadden’s bestselling novel, delivering a schlocky adaptation packed with jaw-dropping twists, salacious secrets, and two leading ladies who play utterly filthy.

Amanda Seyfried and Sydney Sweeney go for broke in this over-the-top domestic nightmare, turning what could have been a straightforward potboiler into a wickedly entertaining cat-and-mouse game that’s equal parts campy fun and deranged suspense.

Seyfried, fresh off her career-best turn earlier in 2025, delivers her second great role of the year as the unhinged Nina Winchester—a wealthy housewife whose polished facade cracks into manic fury and masterful gaslighting. She swans through her opulent Long Island mansion like a Stepford villain on the edge, tossing shade, tearing apart kitchens in hysterical rages, and shifting from saccharine sweetness to outright menace with gleeful abandon. It’s a performance that’s deliciously bonkers, chewing scenery while somehow keeping you guessing: is Nina the victim or the monster? Seyfried owns every scene she’s in, proving once again why she’s one of the most versatile (and underrated) actresses working today.

Opposite her, Sydney Sweeney brings gritty desperation to Millie, the down-on-her-luck ex-con who takes the live-in housemaid job out of sheer necessity. Sweeney navigates Millie’s evolving arc with impressive precision—starting as the wide-eyed ingenue in fake glasses, then unleashing her own brand of cunning as the Winchester family’s dark secrets unravel. The chemistry between the two is electric; they play dirty in every sense, clashing in a modern-day Bette Davis-Joan Crawford showdown that’s teeming with jealousy, betrayal, and blood-soaked perversion.

Feig, channeling the spirit of ’90s erotic thrillers like Single White Female and The Hand That Rocks the Cradle, keeps the pace dizzying and the tone winking—never too serious, always aware of its own absurdity. The film leans hard into camp without fully committing to all-out insanity, resulting in a runtime that drags in spots but explodes with garish, nail-biting fun in its twist-heavy finale. It’s not perfect: some exposition feels clunky, and the style occasionally prioritizes glossy surfaces over deeper substance. But when Seyfried and Sweeney are scheming, seducing, and stabbing (metaphorically and otherwise), The Housemaid is pure, guilty-pleasure escapism—salacious, twisted, and impossible to look away from.

VERDICT

If you’re craving a holiday-season thriller that’s trashy, thrilling, and unapologetically over-the-top, this one wipes the floor with expectations. Amanda Seyfried is a force of nature, Sydney Sweeney holds her own in the messiness, and together they make The Housemaid one of the most outrageously enjoyable rides of 2025.