'Wicker' review: Colman and Skarsgård find love in the most wooden places
Courtesy of Black Bear
On one hand, it’s fairly easy to sell writer-directors Eleanor Wilson and Alex Huston’s peculiar fable “Wicker” as a fairly conventional love story. On the other, that description becomes considerably more complicated when the central love interest is made entirely of wood. Wicker, to be precise. Adapted from Ursula Wills-Jones’ short story “The Wicker Husband,” this delightfully strange romance might seem like an elaborate joke on paper, but beneath its absurd premise is an earnest, charming little story about a woman finding love where she least expects it, and a community forced to reconsider what a happy marriage should actually look like.
Set in a fictional seaside village, the film establishes a society where marriage is practically a woman’s highest calling, even if the women themselves don’t appear particularly happy about it. Upon getting married, a metal collar is fastened around their necks, a not-so-subtle symbol of the restrictions that come with becoming someone’s wife. Meanwhile, Olivia Colman’s Fisherwoman (everyone in the village is identified by their profession) has never had a husband, nor has she experienced even the slightest whiff of romance. Frequently ridiculed by the townsfolk for her appearance and pungent odor, she’s nevertheless fiercely independent and has long made peace with her circumstances. If anything, she’s one of the few women in town who seems genuinely content with her lot in life.
That changes following a wedding ritual involving Peter Dinklage’s Basket Weaver, which prompts the Fisherwoman to reconsider whether she might want a husband after all. Rather than settle for a lonely life, she commissions the Weaver to construct her the perfect man, whatever that might entail. It’s here where “Wicker” cheerfully abandons any obligation to explain its own logic, though considering we’re dealing with a fairy tale, questioning the mechanics of a sentient wooden husband seems rather beside the point.
A month later, the Fisherwoman is introduced to her new beau, played by Alexander Skarsgård beneath an extraordinary assortment of prosthetics and practical effects that make his very existence a marvel to behold. The makeup and craftsmanship alone deserve serious awards consideration, but what’s particularly impressive is how Skarsgård manages to convey genuine tenderness beneath all that wicker. His Husband arrives with an almost childlike eagerness to please, possessing no greater ambition than to love, appreciate and care for the woman he was created to marry.
And what a husband he turns out to be. He repairs the house, tends the garden, handles the chores and attends to his wife’s sexual desires with considerable enthusiasm. The two certainly aren’t afraid to go at it, either, and “Wicker” gets plenty of mileage out of the logistical absurdities of their physical relationship. Yet the Husband’s most radical quality isn’t his anatomy, but his willingness to treat his wife as an equal. He listens to her, respects her independence and never considers domestic responsibilities beneath him.
Naturally, the other men in town are horrified. Why would any self-respecting husband willingly do chores or go out of his way to make his wife happy? More importantly, why would he do so without expecting anything in return? His behavior begins to expose the shortcomings of the village’s marriages, particularly as the women recognize how little they’ve been conditioned to expect from their own husbands. Among those taking notice is Elizabeth Debicki’s Tailor’s Wife, the village’s resident mean girl, whose contempt for the Fisherwoman gradually becomes tangled with envy.
None of this is especially revolutionary, and Wilson and Huston aren’t particularly interested in subtlety when it comes to their observations about male entitlement and the complacency that can settle into a marriage. The Husband is so impossibly considerate that the contrast between him and the village’s flesh-and-blood men practically writes itself. There’s also a point where the film begins circling the same idea without finding much new to say about it. Once the initial novelty of a woman marrying a wicker man wears off, the story occasionally struggles to expand its social commentary beyond the rather obvious conclusion that women deserve partners who respect them.
Still, “Wicker” has enough personality, warmth and wonderfully offbeat humor to keep its familiar messaging from becoming tiresome. Richard E. Grant turns up briefly as the village doctor in one particularly hilarious sequence, while the film’s unabashed willingness to embrace the sexual implications of its premise produces some sizable laughs. There’s certainly no shortage of jokes involving the Husband’s rather impressive log.
Yet the movie is at its best when it stops winking at the audience and allows its central romance to breathe. One particularly lovely sequence finds Colman and Skarsgård dancing intimately through the village streets, much to the jealousy of their neighbors. It’s a beautiful little moment, not because of the spectacle of watching a woman dance with a man made of wicker, but because of how completely comfortable they are in each other’s company. Colman, whose ability to find emotional depth in even the most outlandish material remains one of her greatest strengths, makes the Fisherwoman’s newfound happiness feel wonderfully authentic. Likewise, Skarsgård never treats the Husband as a punchline, allowing his sincerity to become the film’s greatest asset.
Of course, “Wicker” leaves plenty of questions unanswered. How does this man eat? Where does his consciousness come from? Is Dinklage’s Basket Weaver practicing some form of dark magic? And perhaps most importantly, how exactly does all that wicker hold up under the strain of marital bliss? The film wisely has little interest in providing answers, even if its whimsical approach occasionally becomes an excuse to sidestep some of the more interesting implications of its premise.
But the more meaningful question isn’t how the Husband came to exist, but why a man literally built to love his wife should seem so extraordinary in the first place. That’s where “Wicker” finds its most affecting observation. The Fisherwoman doesn’t need someone to rescue her from an unhappy existence, nor does she have to sacrifice the independence that made her content in the first place. She simply discovers that sharing her life with someone can make it richer, provided that person appreciates her for who she already is. It’s a sweet sentiment wrapped in an exceedingly bizarre package, and while the film doesn’t always have the narrative depth to match its imagination, Colman and Skarsgård make the romance surprisingly easy to believe. Sometimes the perfect partner isn’t the one who sweeps you off your feet, but the one who’s willing to put down roots beside you. Even if he’s made entirely of wood.
Grade: B
WICKER opens in theaters Friday, October 23.
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