Blink Twice
Early in Zoë Kravitz’s directorial debut, we are introduced to Slater King (Channing Tatum), a tech billionaire, via a television interview where he apologizes for an undisclosed offense. However, the unsaid transgression is no mystery. The setting—an influential, rich white guy in a confessional interview lamenting his behavior and promising to do better—is a familiar enough scenario that we can assume he weaponized his power in some egregious manner.
Slater hosts a gala where catering waitresses and best friends, Frida (Naomi Ackie) and Jess (Alia Shawkat), are working. Halfway through, they ditch their white button downs for cocktail dresses in the hopes of schmoozing with the man of the hour. When Frida’s accidental faceplant draws his attention, the girls get exactly what they were hoping for. Spellbound by his handsome looks, status, and confidence, when he invites them to his island for a vacation full of lavish poolside partying, they jump at the chance.
Joined by his cabal of miscreants—Cody (Simon Rex), Vic (Christian Slater), and Tom (Haley Joel Osment), and their invitees, Sarah (Adria Arjona), Heather (Trew Mullen), and Camilla (Liz Caribel)—Slater boards a private jet for the supposed getaway of their dreams. With their cell phones collected by Slater’s nervous and neurotic personal assistant and sister (Geena Davis), everyone is left to revel in the indulgences the island has to offer, be it weed, bottomless champagne, or elaborate nighttime dinners. Yet as the boozy days blend together, a sneaking suspicion begins to arise that something isn’t right.
“Blink Twice” believes it has a point to make about the sinister capabilities of rich white men, but it does nothing more than call it out. The writing stops at square one. It doesn’t engage with its proposed thesis, but instead makes a chop shop of buzzwords and hot topics from #MeToo to therapy bros. When the reveal of “Blink Twice” enters via a split-second frame, the shock of the film turning on its head is not one of horrifying suspense, but rather, dejection. And as the quick frame devolves into extended sequences of brutality into a cutthroat race to the finish, the film becomes an affirmation of a tired, simple narrative toolbox being sold as unflinching feminist grit.
“Blink Twice” sucker punches the audience with its sexual violence and then fails to find intelligence or dexterity in its handling of it or any of the themes running adjacent. Even the stylistic choices, with which the film rides on, are simple. And as the film tries to balance its tone and events with humor, it only belies the success of itself further. It’s unfunny. “Blink Twice” doesn’t earn a laugh when it’s trying to be fun, nor does it elicit a chuckle when collating an act of brutality with a punchline.
