Alice, Darling (2023) | Film Review

Films about abuse often focus solely on the most visual aspects: facial contusions, screaming matches, public humiliation, various wounds. But the subject of mental abuse – the breaking down not only of a person’s will, but their entire spirit – is rarified air. It is extremely difficult to capture on celluloid this constant beratement, what it does to one’s mind, how it punches their soul down to the pit of despair. As a critic, I have rarely seen it done well. Alice, Darling is an exception to that rule.

Hitting the ground running, Alice, Darling begins with Anna Kendrick’s Alice plotting a vacation with her two best-friends, Tess (Kaniehtiio Horn) and Sophie (Wunmi Mosaku), at a quaint cabin on a lake far from the civilized world, amidst the backdrop of a missing local girl. As innocent as this seems, Alice feels she has to lie to her boyfriend, Simon (Charlie Carrick), about their trip. Seems odd, right? Once the threesome arrives, our confusion clears when we quickly begin to witness Alice as she descends downward into her metaphorical rabbit hole. Only she is not heading to Wonderland, she is destined for absolute hell.

Tess and Sophie notice that Alice has an unhealthy obsession with updating Simon on her every move. She can rarely part from her phone for fear of missing a text or a call, and anxiously awaits his every response. Alice’s deceit spirals, tensions between the friends grow, and Alice’s nature morphs from pleasant and joyful to erratic and manic. Alice is petrified at the prospect of doing anything that could displease Simon, and as they understand the tragic circumstances, neither Sophie nor Tess is quite sure of how to help their friend escape her mental prison.

Mary Nighy directs from a script by Alanna Francis, and at the outset it is important to note this is not a thriller as trailers might allude to. This is a deep psychological study on the effects of a mentally abusive relationship, while also specifically addressing those who lack empathy in these situations. Sure, the Alice reference is a bit on the nose, but there are SO many people who cannot fathom remaining in a relationship as toxic as this, yet we all know someone who has. Or possibly we have ourselves.

This is where Alice, Darling truly excels: demonstrating how the cycles of abuse work. Through flashbacks, we witness as Simon gradually carves away at the foundation of Alice’s psyche. Little digs at her appearance or chipping away at her confidence eventually gives way to a person she fails to even recognize herself. It starts small, then escalates, and suddenly it is all-consuming. Nighy allows these moments to breathe and develop, while Francis’ script maintains relatability and resonance rather than allowing the film to squander its potential by going the studio route of a cheap audience rousing conclusion. There are no last-minute stabbings or bunnies in a stew. Alice’s struggles are genuine, and so are the friendships forged and decisions made throughout the film.

The performances are sound across-the-board (special kudos to Charlie Carrick for not devolving into a mustache twirling cliché), but this film belongs to Anna Kendrick. Not only does the audience need to empathize with Alice, but we also need to understand why such a seemingly level-headed and intelligent woman would choose to remain in such a horrific situation. Especially when most of us watching have already publicly declared “oh, hell no!” in a crowded movie theater.

For the longest time one of the most easily relatable actresses working with a penchant for comedic timing, Alice is a true change-of-pace, and Anna Kendrick is nothing short of magnificent in the role. Other actors could play this broader or larger, but Kendrick inhabits the relative meekness of Alice’s broken spirit with a diminutive weight that endears her shortcomings even more so. We know Alice is subconsciously aware she deserves better than this deep down, but her continuous fight as she struggles to convince herself of her own worth is evident in each glance Kendrick makes. I don’t know if I have ever caught a stronger performance from Kendrick – veering between subtle and erratic in a second’s notice – and can only hope this film and her work within it will shine a light for anyone currently trapped in a tragic relationship that it can happen to anyone. Furthermore, they are not alone.

Alice, Darling is not a typical Hollywood thriller. Instead, this is a calculated character study focusing on the damaging effects of mental abuse on a person, their friendships, and how horrendous it is to identify an escape route. Anna Kendrick and director Mary Nighy cast conventions to the wind and deliver a film that anyone can dissect. And, perhaps most importantly, maybe even walk away with a tinge more empathy towards the victims than they possessed beforehand. As this film clearly demonstrates, it is not always as simple as “why didn’t you just leave”.