Michael Fairbanks
Olivia Wilde’s The Invite is a comedy of exposed nerves. In the wake of the behind-the-scenes madness that befell Don’t Worry, Darling, the once exalted Booksmart filmmaker could’ve easily delivered an impersonal but polished project to prove that she could steer a studio picture. Instead, she makes the braver, more uncomfortable call. Dive in even deeper: she embodies one half of the unbearably toxic married couple who drive this story. They find themselves in a situation that tests the cracking foundation of their bond and teases the freedom that may lie beyond it. What happens next is remarkable, not because of some wild genre swing or big twist, but simply because we get to watch four brilliant performers untangle devastating truths about the lives their characters have chosen.
We meet Angela (Wilde) and Joe (Seth Rogen) in the midst of practiced, apathetic bickering. They’re chronically not on the same page, refusing to empathize with the other’s complaints. Joe is a bitter former musician turned professor. Angela has devoted most of her time to remodeling their home, a large apartment that Joe’s parents used to live in. She’s desperately lonely and on a night where their daughter is at a sleepover, she’s decided to invite the upstairs neighbors over. This infuriates Joe, who has no desire to have any company (mostly just wants to nurse his back pain with weed), particularly not the folks he constantly can hear having sex through the walls. Nevertheless, Hawk (Edward Norton) and Piña (Penélope Cruz) arrive and quickly start stirring the pot. Not aggressively, though; in fact, they express a great deal of care, empathy and affection towards Angela and Joe—more than they could’ve possibly prepared for.
Wilde has cast The Invite to perfection, starting with herself. Angela’s pain is not subtle. This is a woman viscerally embarrassed by her existence. She can channel some of it through cringing at her husband’s bad behavior, but as The Invite goes on we see just how much self-hatred her marriage has inflicted upon her. She’s mortified to be associated with such a dysfunctional home. No matter how much work she does on the house’s bells and whistles, nothing is fixed. Wilde conveys all of this anguish regardless of if we’re watching her throw out a pissed off barb or just simply glancing at an insert of her face. Said reactions are only inflamed by Seth Rogen’s Joe, who has mastered the embodiment of weaponized incompetence. Joe is not just antisocial, he’s clueless. He’s determined to rot in his disappointment towards life and spread that corrosion to all around him. This could’ve been an insufferable character to sit with for so long, but Rogen has an almost supernatural ability to remain comedically relatable. He makes a meal out of every snotty punchline given to him by the phenomenal screenplay co-written by Rashida Jones and Will McCormack.
Norton and Cruz’s turns aren’t as showy but impress just as much. Hawk and Piña in many ways contrast Angela and Joe perfectly. They’re friendly, madly in love and deeply committed to emotional honesty. Norton plays it a bit more sly and lightly passive aggressive, as though Hank is still trying this way of life on. He’s shifted his entire personality to love Piña the way she wants. Her magnetism is perfectly embodied by Cruz. Both Angela and Joe quickly feel a desire to know her more intimately and it’s hard to blame them.
Even though it is in essence a long conversation, The Invite pulses with energy and tension from start to finish. The cinematography, editing and blocking are completely unencumbered by the small space. Everyone is moving and speaking frantically, as if the apartment might explode if any one word or phrase hung in the air for too long. Angela and Joe feel like aliens in their own home. She overprepared to the point of mania (cooking a soufflé for a casual hang) and he can barely remember where the wine opener is. Wilde exploits any opportunity to revel in this awkwardness and the tension stemming from what could possibly be said next.
This sense of paranoia is accelerated by a brilliant Devonté Hynes score. The instrumentation is simple. Often just strings or piano on their own. However, they are paced to mimic the dialogue, climbing to a fever pitch as the arguments grow more intense. It feels as though these instruments are taunting Angela and Joe as they rot away in Joe’s office with the rest of his broken musical ambitions. It is as expressive and innovative a score as one could ask for in a talky marital drama.
Anyone who has been in a failing long-term relationship knows that you cannot premeditate the moment where the bubble bursts. Eventually, the apathy and anger leads to a random moment where both minds shift into fight or flight mode. The Invite is a bittersweet realization of one of those nights. It’s visceral and funny enough to be wildly entertaining, but I’m left ruminating in the deep sadness of it all. It cements Wilde as one of her generation’s definitive actor-turned-filmmakers, reborn and ready to embark on a career that will be defined by onscreen drama.
