Eileen review – an impressively crafted noir | Little White Lies

Eileen review – an impres­sive­ly craft­ed noir

30 Nov 2023 / Released: 01 Dec 2023

Two women in red and black outfits conversing, with a man in the background.
Two women in red and black outfits conversing, with a man in the background.
4

Anticipation.

Excited to see what Thomasin McKenzie will do with this weirdo character.

4

Enjoyment.

The dark sense of humour from the novel is wonderfully translated.

4

In Retrospect.

An impressively crafted noir that skilfully captures isolation, dread and yearning.

A shy young prison guard devel­ops an infat­u­a­tion with her work­place’s new psy­chi­a­trist in William Oldroy­d’s twisty new thriller.

Christ­mas­time is often filled with grand expec­ta­tions and fraught with unre­alised desires which makes it the per­fect set­ting for a film about inescapable, twist­ed fam­i­ly rela­tion­ships. Based on Ottes­sa Moshfegh’s first nov­el of the same name, which she adapts with hus­band and writer Luke Goebel, this is a sin­is­ter and dark­ly fun­ny explo­ration of repres­sion where every char­ac­ter is impris­oned by secrets and cir­cum­stance. Col­lab­o­rat­ing with direc­tor William Oldroyd, the pair have craft­ed a 1960s-set boozy psy­cho­log­i­cal thriller spiked with men­ac­ing hor­ror notes and Hitch­cock­ian suspense.

Thomasin McKen­zie stars as Eileen Dun­lop, a young woman who works in a male cor­rec­tion­al facil­i­ty in Boston. She’s long­ing for reprieve from a depress­ing home life where she takes care of her alco­holic, ex-cop father (Shea Whigh­am). She’s also des­per­ate­ly yearn­ing for affec­tion and adven­ture. When sophis­ti­cat­ed blonde coun­sel­lor Rebec­ca (Anne Hath­away) starts work­ing at the prison Eileen thinks she’s found her tick­et out of bore­dom. Their friend­ship is play­ful in stark con­trast to the antag­o­nis­tic and bit­ter nature of Eileen’s rela­tion­ship with her father who spends his days drink­ing straight out of the bot­tle and sham­ing his daugh­ter for her life choices.

Eileen is an observ­er and she is obses­sive. She fan­ta­sis­es about sex and vio­lence, and is devot­ed to her father’s needs over her own. Eileen is less gross than por­trayed in the nov­el but still a weirdo, smart-mouthed at work, addict­ed to sug­ar and slight­ly fer­al in her pur­suit of Rebec­ca, even if she nev­er holds any pow­er over the smart and sexy coun­sel­lor. Both of the women are filled with a sad­ness that evap­o­rates dur­ing a steamy encounter at a local bar one night, but is of course des­tined to return when real­i­ty creeps back in.

The cast­ing choic­es are spot on. McKen­zie and Hath­away share great chem­istry and it is thor­ough­ly thrilling to spend time watch­ing them flirt and gig­gle. McKen­zie is all excitable smiles and blush­es in their ear­ly scenes, and she hilar­i­ous­ly emu­lates Rebecca’s behav­iour. In the cold light of day McKen­zie cap­ti­vat­ing­ly embraces the melan­choly of a bro­ken woman. She is a char­ac­ter whose nar­ra­tive brings to mind the immor­tal words spo­ken by Humphrey Bog­a­rt in Nico­las Ray’s In a Lone­ly Place, I was born when she kissed me, I died when she left me, I lived a few weeks while she loved me.”

The peri­od set­ting is won­der­ful­ly realised. Oldroyd turns the joy­ful golds and reds of the fes­tive sea­son into some­thing dis­ori­en­tat­ing and dread-filled with the strik­ing use of light fil­ters. Along with the 1960s sound­track it gives the film an off-kil­ter roman­tic vibe that match­es the odd thoughts that flit­ter through Eileen’s mind. Oldroyd’s threat­en­ing night­mare sequences illus­trate Eileen’s warped fan­tasies – they punc­ture the film’s rhythm and are designed to shock. In the snowy New Eng­land which Eileen inhab­its, desire and famil­ial love is com­plex­ly depict­ed. It is at times chill­ing, moral­ly rep­re­hen­si­ble and fright­en­ing, but it also proves to be lib­er­at­ing for the cen­tral character.

Lit­tle White Lies is com­mit­ted to cham­pi­oning great movies and the tal­ent­ed peo­ple who make them.

By becom­ing a mem­ber you can sup­port our inde­pen­dent jour­nal­ism and receive exclu­sive essays, prints, week­ly film rec­om­men­da­tions and more.

You might like