Paul Feig... we need to have a chat. Bridesmaids was legendary, A Simple Favor was strong, Another Simple Favor was fun, but new movie The Housemaid? Where have things gone wrong?

The director's outlandish comedic vision hasn't been without its hiccups over the years, but I don't think it sits in cohesion with The Housemaid. Adapted from the hit novel of the same name by Freida McFadden, the film follows enigmatic Millie (Sydney Sweeney) who has just taken a live-in nanny job at the wealthy Winchester's house. While husband Andrew (Brandon Sklenar) seems like a breath of fresh air, off-the-rails Nina (Amanda Seyfriend) is much harder to manage.

As more time passes, Nina's behavior gets increasingly more erratic, with plenty of family secrets bubbling up to the surface. Sadly, you can guess what the deepest of those secrets is at around the halfway mark.

It's never a good sign when you can immediately tell that the screenplay hasn't been adapted by the book's author, and for besotted book fans, the film has a more-than-healthy dose of creative licence. Key changes to the novel become more apparent the more you watch, and they make the overarching storyline a lot more violent.

The Housemaid is no longer an accessible crime thriller you want to devour as quickly as possible, but a soft body-horror movie with disturbing undertones and ridiculous B-plots. When the action isn't gory, it's laughable.

How The Housemaid turned from an acclaimed mystery into a cinematic mess

As I've touched on, the biggest problem in The Housemaid is the story itself – or more specifically, how the original tale has been interpreted. The casting wildly contrasts with how characters are painted in the book (Millie is more demure and innocent than Sweeney's version is, for example), and there's a much bigger emphasis on shock factor.

In short, we lose the beautiful subtleties of an unfolding whodunnit in favor of big-impact twists and turns that don't always pay off. If you're not a fan of blood, you'll need to bring a pillow to hide behind. By the time The Housemaid draws to a close, it rivals The Substance in terms of bloodshed and body horror, only in a much softer environment.

Largely, the movie hits the same beats as the novel, only there's another problem even when it's behaving. Scenes that should be serious and reflective become so farcical, you're stifling giggles so the people you're watching with don't think you're sociopathic.

While that isn't going to please everyone, I was thrilled to loudly witch cackle at the most preposterous things. From dialogue (Sweeney has a 30-second monologue about a manky Troll doll that she delivers with all the sincerity of being on her metaphorical death bed) to physical movement (some of Andrew's scenes are a unique laugh, let's put it that way), there is something to inappropriately chuckle at every few minutes.

It almost becomes a game: can you and your friends try not to laugh first while Amanda Seyfried is hurling priceless plates around her kitchen?

The performances are standard for a mediocre movie, but entertainment value varies.

I've been an Amanda Seyfried truther since Mamma Mia!, and she's consistently turned out dazzling performances across the two decades since. Frankly, she's earned the right to have fun making a far-from-serious movie where she can be a pantomime villain.

If you think of The Housemaid like this, Seyfried does the least amount of damage. Brandon Sklenar, however, is in his acting element. In the last two years alone, we've seen him in equally questionable movies such as Drop and It Ends With Us, and he fleshes out morally bankrupt husband Andrew with next to no effort. The man knows the landscape, and he isn't afraid to deliver genuinely terrible script with a completely deadpan expression.

I hate to say it, but Sweeney is the biggest problem I have with the cast. At no point do I buy her double-edged persona as a housemaid and stowaway criminal, and her romantic chemistry with Sklenar is non-existent. Where her natural style works in Euphoria and Anyone But You, it doesn't here.

Millie is a character you could root for, but it's frustrating work. In real-life, you'd have told Nina to stick her stupid housemaid job where the sun doesn't shine, walk out of her minimalist mansion and maybe hit a few objets d'art over on the way. I know why Millie rides her unhealthy situation out, but she's not making the best decisions.

If you're choosing to watch The Housemaid this Christmas, let it be known that a) it's not a Christmas movie, and b) it's perhaps the most painful present you could give yourself. Stay for the unintentional laughs, but brace yourself for anything in between.

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Paul Feig... we need to have a chat. Bridesmaids was legendary, A Simple Favor was strong, Another Simple Favor was fun, but new movie The Housemaid? Where have things gone wrong?

The director's outlandish comedic vision hasn't been without its hiccups over the years, but I don't think it sits in cohesion with The Housemaid. Adapted from the hit novel of the same name by Freida McFadden, the film follows enigmatic Millie (Sydney Sweeney) who has just taken a live-in nanny job at the wealthy Winchester's house. While husband Andrew (Brandon Sklenar) seems like a breath of fresh air, off-the-rails Nina (Amanda Seyfriend) is much harder to manage.

As more time passes, Nina's behavior gets increasingly more erratic, with plenty of family secrets bubbling up to the surface. Sadly, you can guess what the deepest of those secrets is at around the halfway mark.

It's never a good sign when you can immediately tell that the screenplay hasn't been adapted by the book's author, and for besotted book fans, the film has a more-than-healthy dose of creative licence. Key changes to the novel become more apparent the more you watch, and they make the overarching storyline a lot more violent.

The Housemaid is no longer an accessible crime thriller you want to devour as quickly as possible, but a soft body-horror movie with disturbing undertones and ridiculous B-plots. When the action isn't gory, it's laughable.

How The Housemaid turned from an acclaimed mystery into a cinematic mess

As I've touched on, the biggest problem in The Housemaid is the story itself – or more specifically, how the original tale has been interpreted. The casting wildly contrasts with how characters are painted in the book (Millie is more demure and innocent than Sweeney's version is, for example), and there's a much bigger emphasis on shock factor.

In short, we lose the beautiful subtleties of an unfolding whodunnit in favor of big-impact twists and turns that don't always pay off. If you're not a fan of blood, you'll need to bring a pillow to hide behind. By the time The Housemaid draws to a close, it rivals The Substance in terms of bloodshed and body horror, only in a much softer environment.

Largely, the movie hits the same beats as the novel, only there's another problem even when it's behaving. Scenes that should be serious and reflective become so farcical, you're stifling giggles so the people you're watching with don't think you're sociopathic.

While that isn't going to please everyone, I was thrilled to loudly witch cackle at the most preposterous things. From dialogue (Sweeney has a 30-second monologue about a manky Troll doll that she delivers with all the sincerity of being on her metaphorical death bed) to physical movement (some of Andrew's scenes are a unique laugh, let's put it that way), there is something to inappropriately chuckle at every few minutes.

It almost becomes a game: can you and your friends try not to laugh first while Amanda Seyfried is hurling priceless plates around her kitchen?

The performances are standard for a mediocre movie, but entertainment value varies.

I've been an Amanda Seyfried truther since Mamma Mia!, and she's consistently turned out dazzling performances across the two decades since. Frankly, she's earned the right to have fun making a far-from-serious movie where she can be a pantomime villain.

If you think of The Housemaid like this, Seyfried does the least amount of damage. Brandon Sklenar, however, is in his acting element. In the last two years alone, we've seen him in equally questionable movies such as Drop and It Ends With Us, and he fleshes out morally bankrupt husband Andrew with next to no effort. The man knows the landscape, and he isn't afraid to deliver genuinely terrible script with a completely deadpan expression.

I hate to say it, but Sweeney is the biggest problem I have with the cast. At no point do I buy her double-edged persona as a housemaid and stowaway criminal, and her romantic chemistry with Sklenar is non-existent. Where her natural style works in Euphoria and Anyone But You, it doesn't here.

Millie is a character you could root for, but it's frustrating work. In real-life, you'd have told Nina to stick her stupid housemaid job where the sun doesn't shine, walk out of her minimalist mansion and maybe hit a few objets d'art over on the way. I know why Millie rides her unhealthy situation out, but she's not making the best decisions.

If you're choosing to watch The Housemaid this Christmas, let it be known that a) it's not a Christmas movie, and b) it's perhaps the most painful present you could give yourself. Stay for the unintentional laughs, but brace yourself for anything in between.

Follow TechRadar on Google News and add us as a preferred source to get our expert news, reviews, and opinion in your feeds. Make sure to click the Follow button!

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Don't start a flame war with me just yet, James Cameron fans. Avatar: Fire and Ash is a movie that I genuinely enjoyed, but its cinematic baggage is a huge problem.

By 'baggage,' I of course mean the two previous Avatar films. When the original was released back in 2009, I quickly assumed (as did the rest of the world, I think) it would be a historical, record-breaking standalone. Now that the sequels have started landing, however, I think the concept has lost its shine.

The most straightforward way of describing Fire and Ash is that it's exactly the same movie as The Way of Water. For about 90% of its arduously long runtime (wear comfy clothes and book a recliner seat, if possible) the only difference is which natural element has stepped into the spotlight.

I'm even convinced that a pivotal scene has been cut and pasted in from the second film, so strong was the sense of déjà vu I experienced while watching it. There's the same inciting incident, the same challenges, and the same conclusion, for the third outing in a row.

However, if we look at Fire and Ash in isolation, I think that it's the strongest film of the bunch. It has the tightest pacing, the most impressive payoff, and Cameron's overall vision for Pandora gets more spellbinding as time goes on.

It's such a shame that it's brought down by context, much as a young person might be blighted by their family history before they've started to make their way in the world. We can't ignore that our third movie functions as a cog in the overarching Avatar machine... and that machine can only tell one, now fairly grating, tale.

Avatar: Fire and Ash's beauty tricks us into thinking that it's interesting

Usually, when I tell people that I find the Avatar movies boring, they look at me as if I've just kicked their dog. But I stand by my overriding IP argument – we are being hoodwinked into believing that what we're watching is interesting because it's so visually transcendent. In other words, beautiful cancels out boring.

I would give 35 stars, rather than 3.5, to how Avatar: Fire and Ash looks alone if the conventions of reviewing let me. I wanted to reach out and touch the Na'avi, marvelling at the detailed wrinkles, blemishes and intricate patterns being beamed across the big screen (in 3D, no less). I felt grateful to have hours witnessing it with my own eyeballs, worshipping at the altar of a kind of filmmaking that has yet to be matched or replicated.

Now imagine we took all of that away ,and the same story was acted out by humans or fully animated characters (let's hypothetically say in a Pixar movie style). What we're left with is a fairly run-of-the-mill sci-fi story comprised of fighting, disagreements, and themes of discovering your own identity and power. That could be applied to pretty much any movie in this genre, and others do it infinitely better (Aliens and The Abyss are Cameron's best work as it is).

Instead, Avatar is heralded as untouchable because of its astonishing visuals, regardless of the fact that The Way of Water and Fire and Ash are telling the same story, even though Fire and Ash does it more successfully. There are virtually no differences between them, especially if it's been a while since you've seen the second movie. How many times can you recycle the same ideas and get away with it, even if you're James Cameron?

Is everything else brilliant or oddly strange? I can't decide

As I've said, Fire and Ash is easily the strongest Avatar entry in isolation. Our fire Na'avi, led by Varang (Oona Chaplin) are an invigorating addition to Pandora's worldbuilding, giving both Jake (Sam Worthington) and Quaritch (Stephen Lang) a run for their money.

We surprisingly get much more whale time than in The Way of Water, and that's sensational news if you're a Payakan fan like me. There are a couple of aquatic creatures introduced that I'd like to have seen more of (there are some strange-but-cute-looking otters), and it remains the most remarkable biome in Pandora. It's also the place where the younger cast members can be the most themselves, and they're collectively the strongest performance in our Na'avi ensemble.

This doesn't include Sigourney Weaver, though. Kiri is a major player in Fire and Ash, and in the full pomp of her "this is what I'm capable of" journey. However, I think it's blindingly obvious that a 76-year-old woman is playing a 14-year-old. The giveaway is in the way Kiri moves, which is clearly the one downside of Cameron's maverick filming approach.

The main detail that bothers me, though – in the sense that I can't decide if it's satisfying or dreadful – is the conclusion. Without giving away what actually happens, there's narratively no need for any further movies. We get complete answers to any loose threads that may have been hanging over the franchise, so what does this mean for Avatar 4 and 5?

My guess is that they will each be a huge departure from what we've seen before, and while I should be grateful for that fact (given my biggest complaint here), that's also a concern. Our trilogy currently feels nicely rounded off, and any future sequels could feel gratuitous... or dare I say, like cash grabs.

But that's a problem for 2029, when Avatar 4 is set to arrive. In the meantime I'll remain conflicted about my enjoyment of Fire and Ash, even though I ultimately feel that it's monotonous. Still, at least you can watch essentially the same movie on Disney+ globally right now if you don't want to see Fire and Ash in theaters or wait for it to arrive on streaming – Avatar and Avatar: The Way of Water are already on there, and Fire and Ash will likely join them in 2026.

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A few days before I started watching Amadeus, an influx of young people flooded my TikTok For You Page, playing various Bach pieces on different orchestral instruments while remixing each song with modern music. It was all thanks to a passing trend, but it did briefly make me wonder if classical musical was making a resurgence in digital pop culture.

If those same kids watch the new five-episode Sky TV series, I think they'd be astounded. Amadeus goes far beyond a musical education for the uninitiated, delving further into the supposed rivalry between composers Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart and Antonio Salieri than previous accounts, including Miloš Forman's 1984 film.

Summing this rivalry up in one word would be easy: unhinged. The pair go far beyond the stereotypical boundaries of 'frenemies,' leaving their desperate acts of reconciliation until it's too late. I would never have paired Will Sharpe (Mozart) and Paul Bettany (Salieri) up to portray this, but their chemistry is undeniable.

What's more difficult to explain are the complexities behind this rivalry. To me, the duo's battles put me in mind of a 1700s version of Peggy Mitchell and Pat Butcher, from UK soap opera Eastenders. I'm in danger of losing non-UK readers at this point, but theirs was a connection that spanned decades, ranging from heartfelt consolation to vindictive plotting and literal fist fights. You never knew where you stood with them, and that was a big part of what made them so watchable.

It's not the best analogy I've ever come up with, but the atmosphere of palpable tension punctuated with violent outbursts means you never fully catch your breath. But, while Amadeus is narratively sound, it's visually questionable.

Sky has saved its best show of 2025 until last with Amadeus

If you look at the YouTube comments on the above video, fans of the 1979 stage play by Peter Shaffer, which he adapted for the subsequent movie, aren't pleased that the same tale is about to be retold. However, while it sometimes feels like we can hardly move for TV and film adaptations that cover familiar ground while not bringing much that's new to the party, I don't think Amadeus can be tarnished with the same brush.

Even if both those earlier versions had been flawless (and the three-hour long film is far from structurally sound, in my opinion), another adaptation would be worthwhile if it added a fresh perspective. Luckily for us, that's exactly what Amadeus does.

Without giving too much away, in addition to the story itself the TV series features Shaffer's own journey to writing his play, with the final scene of episode 5 breaking the fourth wall in a way I'm not sure I've ever seen attempted in television. Sky's creative risk-taking has flown under the radar, and the rest of the series is just as ambitious.

Sharpe effortlessly captures Mozart's supposed fiery temperament, and it's the foundation for the rest of the story's chaos. No one episode can contain the multitudes of emotions on show, with either Mozart of Salieri (or sometimes both) crumbling, celebrating, or threatening to jump out of a window (that's our unintentionally hilarious opening, so keep your eye out).

Amadeus throws everything and the kitchen sink at its storytelling, and the charged atmosphere is almost a character in itself.

Some of our cast have 'iPhone face', and that's a problem

As for the actual characters, both Sharpe and Bettany give the performance of their careers. I do wonder whether Bettany is going extra hard to distance himself from upcoming Marvel series VisionQuest, but perhaps that's just me being a franchise cynic.

Gabrielle Creevy (Constanze Mozart) also hits the right note (sorry) as the long-suffering go-between for the musical rivals, but there's something about the cast that bothers me. To me, the younger members (and by that, I mean under the age of about 40) look as though they have 'iPhone face'. What I mean by this is that, looking at them, you can escape the sense that they've seen an iPhone in their lifetime.

The makeup and costumes in Amadeus are beautiful, but they don't hide the fact that some of the cast just feel too modern. Even so, Sharpe particularly surprised me with his raucous, obscene and ridiculously arrogant take on Mozart.

The five-episode run does suffer from the classic issue of narrative lag between episodes 3 and 4, but when everything else has such a frenetic energy to it, this isn't hard to overlook. This of course includes the music, which Sharpe learned to play (rather than just flailing his hands about while the camera is carefully positioned to conceal that fact that he's not really playing).

As captivating as the scandal, drama and intricacies of Viennese society in the 18th century are, it all comes back to the music. It helps us to understand the world, Mozart and Salieri's struggles and ourselves in the process, and it's pushed me to make some conscious additions to my usual Spotify playlists. Their work is what both tortured composers ultimately wanted to be remembered for, and Amadeus certainly does them justice.

Stream Amadeus from December 21 in the UK using the below deals. Streaming platforms and release dates for other regions are yet to be confirmed.

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I can only think of one time in my life where I've felt so sick watching something I've had to turn off my TV (Raw, the body horror movie by Julia Ducournau). Now, there's a second entry in that list – the new Starz show Spartacus: House of Ashur.

Think Gladiator if Ridley Scott didn't have to adhere to cinema age rating criteria. Blood is well and truly spilled in this version of Ancient Rome, and it's enough to make even the most hardened of horror fans turn green.

Having said that, the legacy sequel (Spartacus originally ran on the network from 2010-2013) is only a horror in how it's delivered. Starz has gone heavy on the spectacle here, and all the gory action distracts us from the fact there's not much that's noteworthy under the show's surface.

There are a few new breakout stars as our returning cast members (Nick E. Tarabay as Ashur, mainly) slip back into their roles like no time has passed. But is this enough to save a show that's reliant on tricks and showmanship?

In a word, no... or at least, not for me. I often found myself wanting to fast-forward through any scenes that didn't have a sword being plunged into somebody's stomach, and I cringed at the gratuitous sex and assault scenes that I knew a historical drama just couldn't resist including.

Shock-factor isn't always an indicator of something good, no matter how entertaining the moment itself is. In fact, I'd probably enjoy episodes more as bitesize bites on TikTok.

Lift the lid on Spartacus: House of Ashur and you'll start to see the problems

Even the above trailer has had to be heavily redacted so it can actually be posted on YouTube. The gore and guts are easily Spartacus: House of Ashur's big selling point, and this means returning fans will definitely not be disappointed.

There are certainly some astonishing and creative maiming, even if the VFX don't always make them look believable. Without giving anything away, my favorite (if that's the right thing to call it) is at the end of episode 2, where Achillia (Tenika Davis) finally gets her own back on the male gladiators who have been expectedly sexist.

Here's the first big dichotomy. The sequel introduces a female gladiator to its ranks as the big 'we have can diverse casting just as effective as Bridgerton's' moment. It's actually a historically accurate decision, but more importantly, it's effective.

Davis is easily the best part of Spartacus: House of Ashur, running literal rings around her co-stars. She's clearly put in a lot of hours of training, and Achillia's attitude to Ancient Rome isn't just refreshing, but a necessary palate cleanser. Claudia Black's Cossutia isn't too far behind, effortlessly swinging from wife to warrior.

As for the rest of the show's female characters, there's a lot left to be desired. It's almost a given that a historical drama will falter to showing degradation unnecessarily because, a) it actually happened and, b) it's an easy way to create on-screen tension.

But wouldn't it be a novel idea to be as forward-thinking narratively as shows are in their casting? Rewrite history for the right reasons, people!

As for the rest, it's all convoluted

But let's move onto the meat of the show, as it very much were. Aside from Ashur and right-hand man Korris (Graham McTavish), our men are not as interesting once they've put down their spears and shields. A good 90% of their time is taken up with combat training, so anything else we see (e.g. emotional narrative) is incredibly heavy-handed.

Outside of the impactful fighting, nothing else really lands. There's no point in time that I'm concerned with finding out what happens next, or wondering whether the overall storyline is going to take me somewhere else. Instead, I'm wondering who will have blood gushing out of their legs next.

Still, there are small wins. Episode 1 kicks us off with a surprise Lucy Lawless cameo and Ashur keeps a firm hand on the tiller as the new Dominius. But as I've hammered home by now, we're essentially sitting ringside for a 10-episode long fight we can just about stomach.

Nuance, meaning and complexity? Not present here. Full-throttle entertainment, gore and fighting to the death? Amped up to the max. Whether that's a good or bad thing remains to be seen.

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Don't tell Amazon, but my heart sank when I first heard that yet another Robin Hood adaptation was coming to MGM+. But after watching it, I've mostly been won over. As it turns out, you can teach an old dog new tricks.

I've always been of the firm belief that the 2010 Robin Hood movie starring Russell Crowe and Cate Blanchett is the best we've had (I didn't grow up watching the animated Disney movie from 1973, so I'm discounting that). However, newcomer Jack Patten in the titular role and Lauren McQueen as Marian are a breath of fresh air.

Straight off the bat, the new series has taken a huge risk by putting two unknown actors in its lead roles, and this is a large part of why I think the 10-episode series is so successful. They're perfectly counterbalanced by heavyweights Sean Bean (Sheriff of Nottingham) and Connie Nielsen (Eleanor of Aquitaine), though for me it's Nielsen who has the most to offer us (more on this later).

That's not all that's working, though. Creators Jonathan English and John Glenn have fleshed our the Robin Hood origin story to great effect, turning an elusive urban legend into Rob, a boy who wants to do right by the people he loves. This fantastic sense of basic narrative structure also means we have some epic cliffhangers... but there are issues in Sherwood Forest, too.

Robin Hood is the perfect example of good storytelling done well with unknown faces

Instead of a distant rogue who takes from the rich and gives to the poor (though we do see this a little bit as the series progresses), the notion of who we know Robin Hood to be is instantly called into question. This version of Rob has a nickname, complicated relationships with his home and family and a lot of love for their way of living that is constantly being threatened.

Our opening episodes deftly use their time to flesh Rob out into the 3D character he's never truly been before, and this is our starting point for seeing his story in a completely new light. Though he maintains an intimately close bond with Marian (Patten and McQueen's chemistry feels as natural as breathing), it's never explicit, and we're nurturing a beautiful Romeo and Juliet-style connection right along with them.

I can't give all the credit to our leads for the narrative satisfaction, though. It's incredible how many movies and TV shows these days don't get the basics right – I'm aware I sound about 87 saying this, but as a trained scriptwriter, it annoys me endlessly.

English and Glenn know exactly what they're doing here, and uprooting the story of Robin Hood from its very beginnings allows the overall plot to stay tight and on message. Yes, there are definitely episodes that are more boring than others (there's a lot of Rob and his 'merry men' sitting around despairing in the woods), but each episode cliffhanger is an absolute blinder.

Without fail, a curveball is swiftly delivered in each episode's last 30 seconds, turning what we've learned so far on its head. This means you can't do anything else with your time other than immediately watch next episode, and I love the feeling of investment those moments give me. Frankly, I'd say it's the best part of the whole series.

Amazingly, we don't need to see every time somebody gets it on

While physical scenes between Rob and Marian are wholesome and harmless, I couldn't believe my eyes at how unnecessarily explicit the rest of Robin Hood is. This falls particularly on Priscilla of Nottingham (Lydia Peckham), who gets back at her dad by trying to hold physical power of the chief of the guards.

Add Rob's mates getting it on in the serving chambers of Eleanor's castle, and it all feels a bit icky. Entire scenes of dialogue are acted out in questionable positions, and you already know that the women are near naked while the men remain mostly clothed.

It's 2025, and we can get across the point that women are using their 'feminine wiles' as power without including graphic sex scenes that don't serve to drive the plot forward. It's certainly not a feminist move by any stretch of the imagination – even though there will be an intimacy coordinator on set, these are creative decisions being made by men, at the end of the day.

These scenes also weirdly undermine Connie Nielsen's Eleanor of Aquitaine, who is undoubtedly the best written character in the entirety of Robin Hood. Every word that leaves Nielsen's mouth is a piece of sage wisdom, using her own wiles to coordinate attacks and alliances through international correspondence.

It's a masterclass in the continued underestimation of women throughout history, having their stories rewritten while in fact making their own in a man's world. Clearly, Nielsen has cornered the market for playing royalty, taking everything we love about Lucilla in Gladiator and expanding it in all the best ways. If Amazon gave us a spinoff focussed entirely on her, I wouldn't be mad about it.

I might be nitpicking here, but overall, I'm impressed. I won't be lobbying for more takes on the Robin Hood legend any time soon, but MGM+ has proved what is possible in the tired-out realm of adaptations.

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