Wicker
Wicker (2026) follows a lonely middle-aged fisherwoman (Olivia Coleman) and her relationship with her new made-to-order husband (Alexander Skarsgård). Set in a medieval seaside village, reality is suspended as the story unfolds.
Fisher Woman is isolated from the rest of her village, having lost her parents young and never married. Her loneliness is only heightened at a village wedding, where a bouquet-toss-like tradition singles her out as the next woman destined to marry. In a rare moment of vulnerability, she rushes to Basket Maker (Peter Dinklage) and asks him to make her a husband. A month later, she meets Wicker Husband for the first time - at the altar.
The restriction of womanhood is frequently touched on, but never with any substance. It especially manifests in the main antagonist, the character of the Tailor’s Wife (Elizabeth Debicki), who is characterised as the person essentially keeping the village running. She is assertive, strong-minded and dreams of more than being a housewife. She appeals to Tailor about her expanding the business into other villages to no avail, with him laughing in her face at the idea of her wanting more. However, this theme was not explored seriously enough. It’s the typical surface level statement made by so many movies today, with absolutely no depth. It almost would’ve been better without it.
Similarly, I wish they’d explored the obvious question of the limits of bodily autonomy more. The public reception of this movie exemplifies how the magical realism nature of a film can change how people perceive the glaringly obvious consent issues. The fantastical setting seems to successfully pull the wool over the audience’s eyes, causing them to completely miss this. The film seems intent on subverting the fantasy of the made-to-order perfect partner, but never fully confronts the uncomfortable premise that makes such a fantasy possible. Basket Maker repeatedly insists that Wicker Husband has free will and that his love for Fisher Woman is therefore genuine. Yet the film largely asks us to take this at face value. We never see him meaningfully choose the circumstances of his creation, his marriage, or even the woman he is created to marry. The distinction between being capable of choice and being created with an inbuilt desire to make one particular choice is left frustratingly unexplored. If Wicker Husband was literally commissioned as Fisher Woman’s husband, can his devotion to her ever be separated from the purpose for which he was made? Rather than answering that question, the film simply declares the relationship romantic and moves on.
To make matters worse, a grieving village woman commissions Basket Maker to make her a baby, raising yet more questions the film leaves unanswered. The baby ultimately serves as a plot device: Tailor’s Wife convinces Fisher Woman it is Wicker Husband’s son. This leads to the critical moment of action in the film is, when in a fit of jealousy, Fisher Woman throws a lit lantern at Wicker Husband, and he is set on fire. She immediately regrets it as he flees to the forest, presumably to die, leaving Fisher Woman the baby. But Fisher Womans’ violence is not incidental. Basket Maker later finds him alive and reunites him with Fisher Woman – another example of his lack of autonomy. This is where the film’s insistence on romance becomes particularly difficult to reconcile with what it actually shows us. Even if we accept that he is choosing this for himself, he is still returning to an abusive relationship. And the audience are meant to be happy? What is romantic about returning to someone who tried to kill you out of jealousy? Had the story been stripped of its fairy-tale setting, it is difficult to imagine this reunion being received as uncomplicatedly tender. The film seems to want the emotional satisfaction of reconciliation without reckoning with what reconciliation means for a character whose ability to choose has been ambiguous from the moment of his creation.
On a more positive note, the movie was genuinely very funny – not just in the way implied by the trailer. Coleman’s delivery was consistently excellent and the whole ensemble cast of the villagers were great. Richard E. Grant was a welcome surprise as Tailor’s Wife’s father and the (deadly) village doctor. One particularly memorable scene was that of the Wicker Husband and Baker (Ben Ashenden) talking, with Baker begging to be cuckolded. There were moments of comedic brilliance throughout the film, all of which aided considerably in hiding the more sinister undertones of what was really happening.
Perhaps that tonal sleight of hand is both Wicker’s greatest strength and its biggest frustration. I enjoyed watching it: the performances are excellent, the comedy frequently lands, and the absurdity of its world makes its stranger developments remarkably easy to accept in the moment. But that charm also allows the film to glide past questions that its own premise raises. I left entertained, but unconvinced that the central relationship was the great romance the film seemed to believe it was. Beneath the wicker, there is potentially a much darker and more interesting film about possession, consent and the limits of romantic fantasy. I only wish Wicker had been as interested in that film as I was.
