‘Blink Twice’ Review: Channing Tatum and Naomi Ackie in Zoë Kravitz’s Skillful but Scattered #MeToo Thriller

Early in Zoë Kravitz’s charged but scattered directorial debut Blink Twice, a tech tycoon caught in the storm of controversy offers a familiar kind of apology. After “everything that happened,” Slater King (Channing Tatum) says in a video, the billionaire will step back from his company. He regrets his actions and, in an effort to change, will retreat to his private island for reflection. We never find out exactly what Slater did, but in our digital wasteland littered with similarly scripted #MeToo atonements, it doesn’t take much imagination. 

Frida (an excellent Naomi Ackie) seems unbothered by the allegations surrounding Slater or the feigned sincerity of his recorded remorse. When we meet the optimistic aspiring nail designer, she’s sitting on the toilet of her rundown apartment, watching the video of the beleaguered tycoon with adoring eyes, fantasizing about the day the two might meet.

It’s lucky, then, that the next evening, while working as a waitress at a fundraising event, Frida comes face to face with Slater. Their encounter is clumsy but electric — a meet-cute fit for a romantic comedy. She trips on the hem of her dress; he helps her up and holds her gaze. Later that night, as the party thins, Slater asks Frida to fly with him and his crew to his private island. She eagerly accepts the invitation and conscripts her best friend and roommate Jess (Alia Shawkat) to come along. 

If Triangle of Sadness, Glass Onion and The Menu have taught us anything, it’s that a group of strangers in a secluded locale spells trouble. Kravitz, who co-wrote the screenplay with E.T. Feigenbaum, quickly establishes Blink Twice as both social satire satire and horror, yet balancing the two proves to be more challenging as the narrative revs up.

There are no cellphones allowed on Slater’s island. The people on staff, like those in Jordan Peele’s Get Out, wear forced smiles that merely pronounce their vacant stares. Luggage is unnecessary as matching white linen sets are provided for the islanders. Drinks flow, drugs abound and each evening’s dinner is prepared by Slater’s friend, Cody (Simon Rex), using locally farmed produce and served by candlelight. These scenes are sun-kissed and dreamy, facilitating the otherworldly mood of this tropical island. 

Unlike recent eat-the-rich offerings, Blink Twice is only partially about ultra-wealthy bacchanalia. Soon after they arrive, Frida notices strange occurrences on the island. A maid (María Elena Olivares) repeats odd phrases to her; Jess disappears, and Frida realizes her memories are an increasingly patchy assemblage of images. Why can’t she recall the origin of random bruises or the dirt under her fingernails? A similar thing seems to be happening to other women on the island, including Sarah (Hit Man‘s Adria Arjona, excellent), a former contestant on a Survivor-like reality show with whom Frida competes for Slater’s attention. 

Kravitz is primarily interested in sexual violence against women and the psychic toll of trauma. Her film echoes Emerald Fennell’s Promising Young Woman, except Kravitz delivers on gore. Vengeance here is, thrillingly, more than an abstraction. There’s also a drifting effort to investigate the simultaneous invisibility and hyper-visibility of Black women, especially early in the film when Frida is at work, but that is disappointingly subsumed by later action. 

As Frida makes sense of these bizarre incidents, she stumbles upon nightmarish truths about Slater’s island; Blink Twice ends up abandoning pretenses of social satire to revel in the machinations of horror. Kravitz, working with DP Adam Newport-Berra (The Last Black Man in San Francisco), reinscribes earlier idyllic images of the island with a touch of malevolence, and turns the coniferous enclave into a haunted arena of fatal obstacles.

There are a few moments when Blink Twice’s busy narrative —  stuffed with twists and turns as it trails Frida’s gripping quest for survival — and its slippery visual language coalesce to realize Kravitz’s ambitions. But Blink Twice is ultimately too scattered, stretched thin by the demands of its weighted themes, conspicuous imagery, half-baked plot points and partially realized characters. 

If Blink Twice succeeds to the extent that it does, that’s largely thanks to a handful of striking performances. Tatum delivers a sturdy turn in a role that requires him to find subtler ways to wield his charm. But it’s Ackie and Arjona who really focus and energize the film. Ackie, who played Whitney Houston in Kasi Lemmons’ 2022 biopic, is a force, offering a powerful portrayal of a woman collapsing under the weight of her trauma. Her performance is raw and vulnerable, extending an invitation to understand the depths of Frida’s character despite the thin sketch.

Alongside Arjona, Ackie also builds a portrait of strength. The relationship between Frida and Sarah models and tests familiar dynamics between women, from petty jealousies to empowering alliances. It’s a credit to Ackie and Arjona that Frida and Sarah’s reactions to the reality of their ordeal register as genuine. Their curdling screams chill spines, their tears stir. The two actors don’t just explore the rage fueling Blink Twice; they tap into it.