No matter which annals of history one reads, nothing changes how strange people – and their romantic interests – can be. So it is fair to say the oft-romanticized Middle Ages, or the fringes of that era where social roles felt most industrialized, came off as rather kooky and eccentric, provided one wasn’t already higher on the ladder, regardless of role. You have a Tailor (Nabhaan Rizwan) and his wife (Elizabeth Debicki), the town Doctor (Richard E. Grant), the Baker (Ben Ashenden), a Basket Weaver (Peter Dinklage), and right at the bottom, a Fisherwoman (Olivia Colman). Each has a part to play in keeping an old English community, and its stereotypes, in check, even if someone like the lattermost is far lower in stature, seen as a crass stain, no less eager to break the rules somewhat, as the timid, profane leading lady will attempt in Wicker.
A passion project from writer/director duo Alex Huston Fischer and Eleanor Wilson (Save Yourselves!), adapting an Ursula Wills short story, they lens on a small post-feudal village experiencing a year of careful, eventually carefree deviation. The trick between them seems to embrace the shifting chaos in each passing season, witnessing a respective change in characters’ temperament, growing more erratic and fantastical along its merry, occasionally messy way.
That is the Fisherwoman’s stance on life, where she blesses the messy bits away from the rest of the village, deemed a spinster by her snobbish neighbors in the wake of the Bottlewasher (Gustav Lindh) just marrying his bride (Marli Siu), and responding with a smidgeon of vulgarity. It’s a mask she wears to hide her jealous FOMO, like she knows the one thing she’s missing is what everyone else takes for granted. Fisherwoman has had enough of waiting; she wants a husband, and unhesitantly requests the Basket Weaver to make her one. Before long, the Wicker Husband (Alexander Skarsgård) enters the picture with a wood-carved body, a heart of gold, and a libido to rival Fabio if he were a more prominent star of trashy sex novels. Tailor’s Wife’s own apathy eventually finds space to show, willing to play the revenge card and denounce the relationship as immoral. When, really, the smart thing would be to champion a lasting relationship built on burning physical connection.
Alas, that is far from easy, and the knee-jerk is to decry what is different. There are reasons to honor what this cross between a flat-out horny romp, empathic love story, and medieval culture satire is doing differently from most others, exactly (or close) like it. Chief among them would be to revel in the unexpected when it hits. And it’s often like a blunt instrument, particularly with the utter outrageousness of the two leads at their most intimate. Chalk it up as a real testament to both Colman and Skarsgård, briskly shaking their timidity in favor of a more authentic existence, brazenly ignoring Debicki’s staunch hold on the town with figurative middle fingers high.
The two are rather flawless together in a film whose story beats thrive most on humor, with substance second. Fischer and Wilson seem to believe fully in the gimmickry, the selling point Colman is well insured for. And that doesn’t hurt its progression at any point to lean in on why their story is so eccentric and oddball, before focusing on its unexpected heart. Other films of this nature would focus merely on the sex and call it good, make that or the setting the fallacy. But the pair dive deeper to latch onto the base reason for that apathy, scorn, and desire – all three intertwining in a lovingly unpredictable patchwork.
Wicker succeeds so brilliantly because of how its story evokes surprise as much as primal satisfaction. Any moments of humor spring out of nowhere and are bound to leave a viewer off-guard. Therein lies the joy in Wills’s written words, and elevated into something off-cuff in its screen translation. Something the top-billed actors may not’ve considered – they each admitted to not reading the short story prior to filming, but one wouldn’t have seen the difference from their collective spiritedness. All fall in line with that expectation, only to remind themselves it helps to relax and take the material at their leisure, and do so quite literally. Debicki and Dinklage play full privy to this idea, supporting the candid mood amidst effusively scenic backdrops and rustic interiors, wonderful work shared between production designer Renátó Cseh (Poor Things) and DP Lol Crawley (The Brutalist), utilizing specific confines to extract a windswept, bespoke beauty.
Such a film that, at its core, is merely scratching an itch of weirdness needn’t be so hinged on looking its best. But it helps immensely, knowing we could use more oddball ventures that keep all their priorities in check, but that otherwise don’t care about being overly steadfast, hokey, or even astute. However, the latter does come as naturally as Skarsgård’s way with method acting, surrendering without any defeatist mentality to the intrinsically designed full-body wicker suit he dons (the high detailing credited to Wētā artists Joe Dunckley and Sarah Rubano), and, like his brother Bill, becoming one with a persona greater than himself. That might be the mark of a quality actor when one remembers the character more than the performer, especially with an ever-crass/humble Colman as a wayward sparring partner for the sake of sparkling chemistry.
By the end of Wicker, they are standing in the center of an equally joyous, unassuming, and unapproving circus of growing morals and shifting societal conditioning. And they are the ones to come out on top, recognizing the path to an original and authentic life is sure to be untidy, littered with bumps, rife for emulation. Colman & Skarsgård, and Fischer & Wilson have put their blinders on and just went for the gusto, acknowledging detractors but giving them little attention. Between escaping from the woodwork and settling in the bedroom, this is the kind of underappreciated, genre-laden gem that believes in love, wit, and quirks, and while avoiding potential shortcuts. An intensive thing like carving, weaving, or courting can’t be rushed or cheated, especially if it’s suddenly fun again to see it made right. (8/10)