As the summer comes to an end, we’ll part ways with the many influences that dominated our feed like Charli XCX’s Brat, Kendrick versus Drake, and the Olympic experience.

We also saw yet another directorial debut by an actor-turned-director grace our screens. 

As we live through the last few fleeting moments of the summer, yet another blockbuster hits the big screens before the fall begins, and this time, it is someone who has already made a name for herself in front of the camera. While we are not unfamiliar with actors who choose to direct long into their careers, Zoë Kravitz’s directorial debut lives up to its aesthetic vision but remains lacking in the other departments.

Kravitz is certainly not a new name in the industry. Star of shows like Big Little Lies and films like The Batman and Divergent, it is no surprise that she wanted to take her craft to the next level by directing. However, while Kravitz’s directorial debut lives up to its aesthetic vision, it lacks in the other departments. Originally titled “Pussy Island,” Blink Twice is a watered-down and somewhat messy attempt at a class critique that is all too real for its own good.

The film shows Frida, a waitress played by Naomi Ackie, who follows a tech-mogul to his private island for an enjoyable getaway, only to be stranded with complete strangers. Tech mogul Slater King, played by Channing Tatum, issues a public apology for an unstated offense, evidently for some abuse of power. 

Throughout the film, King is seen using an endemic flower to make the girls lose their memory. They are then stuck in a vicious cycle of abuse, one that they are only able to recognize upon discovering the antidote.

In making the girls lose their memory, they subsequently lose touch with themselves. While it serves as an engrossing plot point and realistic depiction of the cycle of abuse, it poses a challenge for viewers to understand who Frida truly is as a character. The lack of depth in Frida’s depiction causes King’s treatment of her to become her most prominent defining character trait, clashing with the very message of the film. 

The issue here lies in the fact that such movies rarely focus on what the character is going through, and are quick to jump to the cathartic moment in which all the dots connect. Evidently, this causes characters to realize their abuse and lean toward instant gratification. 

In the case of Blink Twice, this very gratification is the pinnacle of the way by which Frida avenges King, putting all her rage into this revenge montage, while Beyoncé’s “I’m That Girl” plays in the background. It almost feels as though the song was shoehorned into the scene to elevate its girlboss-ery, presenting a superficial idea of empowerment. Toward the end of the film, Frida successfully overtakes King’s technology empire, adopting a strange and completely unrealistic trajectory from prey to predator. While third acts are generally responsible for the resolution of conflict, the resolution here seems to be that constantly trying to swim upstream in a pool full of perpetrators will set you free — a rather underwhelming solution for a complex issue.

While it was evident that the film was meant to empower women by depicting their valiant effort in overtaking the very men who took advantage of them, its lack of nuance and haphazard effort at a #MeToo film completely downplays the severity of the issue at hand. Instead of making a nuanced retelling of women who take down their abusers, contributing to the critique of the very social structure that is responsible for the uneven distribution of power among people like Frida and King, Blink Twice is a compilation of a few good one-liners that would look great on a Letterboxd review or an Instagram caption. Its lackluster script contains thriller tropes that we have seen time and time again, almost as if Get Out and Glass Onion had a baby. 

This film certainly has a surprisingly diverse and competent range of female characters who were victims without even knowing it. However, instead of utilizing the vigor of said characters, it falls flat on its face, relying on cheap thrills to showcase terror. 

Perhaps unintentionally, the film raises the question, is it still a transgressive act to constantly place female characters in the absolute worst scenarios through unquestioning submission? Or is it time for a newer and more refreshing take on the #MeToo thriller genre?

It seems as though Blink Twice is simply restating what we already know about rape culture. Where do we go from here? What do we do with this knowledge? While it can be argued that Kravitz’s goal was to raise awareness about the intersection of wealth, race, and gender in sexual violence, art should do more than simply mirror the real world. 

While all these critiques remain true, Blink Twice is undeniably enjoyable to watch. This film seamlessly balances the dark comedy and thriller aspects. The first two acts are a perfect blend of White Lotus imagery with the intensity of Ready or Not and the rhythmic terror of Triangle of Sadness. Perhaps the issue lies here too. It seems to be a reproduction of media we have consumed and enjoyed time and time again. Its message is fairly clear: abuse hides imperceptibly. That is what Promising Young Woman, and quite literally every #MeToo thriller has been telling us for years. 2023 brought us Saltburn, 2024 brought us Blink Twice, and hopefully, 2025 will bring us a better balance of thriller and social commentary.