Review: “Blink Twice”

When we first meet Frida (Naomi Ackie), she’s squatting on the toilet in the bathroom of the dingy apartment she shares with her best friend Jess (Alia Shawkat), compulsively scrolling through Instagram on her phone. She’s sent down an exposition-heavy rabbit hole after landing on a video apology from billionaire tech mogul Slater King (Channing Tatum); a series of headlines allude to his reputation taking a hit after the exposure of some vague abuse of power, leading him to take up therapy and purchase an island he uses as a retreat. That there’s another level to Frida’s obsession with Slater is evidenced by a fleeting conversation she has with Jess when they arrive at their jobs as cocktail waitresses, whose company is does the catering for Slater’s annual gala; Frida comments on how last year Slater remarked on her colorful nails, and appeared to have a sincere connection with her. Would he remember her?

Blink Twice is the directorial debut of Zoë Kravitz, who wrote the screenplay along with E.T. Feigenbaum. It isn’t exactly a stellar announcement for the actor on either front. Originally titled Pussy Island (which apparently registered as a little too offensive both with the MPA and test groups), the story kicks into gear when Frida and Jess don evening gowns in the middle of their shift to blend into their glam surroundings. Frida— who struggles to walk in her heels— promptly breaks her shoe and falls spectacularly. Slater comes to her rescue, and spends much of the rest of the evening engaged with her: gazing at her adoringly, frankly discussing his personal, mental health issues. At the end of the night, when he and his posse head out on his private plane to his island, Slater invites Frida and Jess along. They don’t hesitate to acquiesce, and are immediately met with an infinite flow of champagne, weed, lavish meals, and drugs. It’s all so heady, so unbelievable, that they only take passing notice of the more sinister, cult-like goings-on: the fact that Slater has matching white swimsuits and evening gowns on hand for all of the ladies. That the indigenous help appear cold. That there’s apparently an infestation of venemous snakes nearby. That there’s an edge to the way Slater repeatedly asks the ladies, “Are you having a good time?” That all of the guests are prompted to give up their phones upon arrival, and quickly lose track of what day it is and how long they’ve been there. It isn’t until an incident jars Frida’s memory— and that of rival-turned-ally Sarah (Adria Arjona)— that she begins to seriously take stock of her surroundings and investigate what’s really going on.

Blink Twice is a film that’s interested in power dynamics, specifically those between men and women. But it’s about as surface-level an interrogation of that subject as its clumsy and heavy-handed opening scene suggests. Kravitz infuses the film with Lynchian traits— oddball supporting players and two-faced power structures, for one— but fails to elevate them above existing as anything more than window dressing. That men are toxic and treat women as playthings they can control, the film leaves little doubt about. But that’s literally all there is. Without any reckoning of who these characters are as people, they are reduced to tropes, and the story to a revenge thriller that lacks bite without any real stakes. An intriguing racial angle— that many of the characters, from Slater’s employees to his female guests, that are being taken advantage of are people of color— is left on the table, visible but untouched.

Unfortunately, Blink Twice doesn’t only falter on the story front. It’s evident almost immediately that Kravitz lacks vision and skill as a director, at least in this moment. The vibrant Mexican location shooting offers a lot of potential in terms of sun-drenched horror. But her blocking is off, her frames not neatly composed; particularly in long shots, characters are oddly positioned at the edges of the frame, overwhelmed by the surrounding negative space. And the frequent jarring cuts are just that: jarring. These editorial choices do little to enhance the story’s off-kilter atmosphere— it’s just messy. The same can be said for the film’s tone, whose identity crisis becomes even more confused after it reaches its midpoint, the serious issues of violent abuse that the story is trying to address undermined by a black sense of humor pointed toward the absurd lifestyle of the ultra rich that fails to skewer the upper class with any meaningful bite. It’s when the comedy turns slightly meta— with the characters recognizing how insane it was that they got on a plane with a bunch of men they just met— that it becomes more grating than cute.

Blink Twice’s cast is more than capable. Ackie plays terrified very well, and Kravitz capitalizes on that by granting her star many wide-eyed close-ups (although the character’s final girl boss turn left a bad taste in my mouth). Arjona’s presence doesn’t really register until the midway point, when her character takes a more active role, but she’s a lot of fun and clearly game for whatever. The supporting cast is rounded out by veterans like Kyle MacLachlan as Slater’s doctor Rich and Geena Davis as his harried assistant Stacy (serving also as a half-baked allusion to an older generation of women who would rather put blinders on to the toxicity they are participating in), while Christian Slater, Simon Rex, and Haley Joel Osment are the pompous members of Slater’s posse. But while Tatum is usually a consistently tantalizing presence on screen— whether he is lampooning his masculine, action-hero persona and chiseled leading man features in comedies like the 21 Jump Street films, or harnessing them to generate female pleasure in the Magic Mike series— he’s lost in Kravitz’s (his real-life partner) attempt to flip his pleasantness into something evil. He’s committed, sure. But his character and his performance sit in some bland middle ground, neither charming enough to merit swooning over, nor sinister enough to feel genuinely threatened by. His screen presence in Blink Twice is perhaps the greatest encapsulation of the film’s failure: he’s an idea, a hazy representation of a concept that was never formed beyond its initial spark. Kravitz has proven several times over the last few years— from her slinky interpretation of Catwoman in The Batman to her turn as an introverted tech worker who gets in over her head in Steven Soderbergh’s thriller Kimi— that she’s a riveting presence in front of the camera. Her skills as a storyteller on the flip side, however, need a lot of honing.

Blink Twice is now playing in theaters. Runtime: 102 minutes. Rated R.