The Hand That Rocks the Cradle
The Hand That Rocks the Cradle
Suburban couple Caitlin and Miguel Morales hire seemingly sweet Polly to take care of their newborn baby. But Polly's true motives have little to do with singing lullabies — much to the horror of the couple.
Hipster ZOMBIE reviewed2d ago
Hollywood looked at a slick, psychosexual 90s thriller and said,
“Let’s remake this with… absolutely none of the thriller, zero of the psycho, and if anyone even thinks about being sexy? Arrest them.”
Look, Mary Elizabeth Winstead and Maika Monroe are legit scream-queens and indie-darling royalty. They’ve got the chops, the menace, the range — they could’ve delivered a chilling, seductive game of domestic chess with knives behind every smile.
Instead we get a movie that feels like it escaped from the Lifetime 2 p.m. slot.
Weird “low-budget queer tension” energy that isn’t dangerous, isn’t seductive, and sure as hell isn’t exciting. Just two women staring at each other like they’re trying to decide who gets custody of the last oat-milk latte.
Listen, representation is great — but when every movie and show turns lesbian characters into androgynous, emotionally muted, beige-on-beige personality vacuum mannequins, it stops being daring and starts being… Boring.
This remake didn’t just drop the cradle —
it set it down gently, apologized for being aggressive, and then asked the cradle how it was feeling.
A thriller with its nails trimmed, edges rounded, and teeth filed down — the cinematic equivalent of decaf tea at 4 PM.
The cradle may rock… but this movie just gently sways and asks if everyone’s comfortable.