Zoe Kravitz’s directorial debut, Blink Twice, is an unflinching psychological horror that unsettles and challenges its audience, defying any single genre and inviting a deeper reflection on wealth, power, and the vulnerable. Starring Naomi Ackie as Frida and Channing Tatum as the enigmatic billionaire Slater King, the film twists its narrative into a nightmarish exploration of exploitation, trapping viewers in a world that feels both surreal and horrifyingly real. Having had the privilege of watching the film ahead of its release, courtesy of the Secret Film Society, my reaction was a stunned sense of disbelief—a combination of awe and confusion that didn’t fade once I left the cinema.

The film begins deceptively, introducing Frida and her roommate Jess (played by Alia Shawkat), who are servers at an elite gala. The seemingly innocent opportunity to mingle with the wealthy quickly spirals into something darker when Frida catches the attention of Slater King, a disgraced tech mogul who has retreated to his private island after a vague public apology. Kravitz opens the story with a sense of glamour, a breezy atmosphere that could easily be mistaken for a romantic comedy. But what follows is a gradual descent into something far more sinister—a shift from the aspirational into the claustrophobic.

The brilliance of Blink Twice lies in its refusal to conform to a single genre. What starts as a lighthearted tale of ambition becomes a tense psychological thriller and then a chilling horror that lingers in the mind. Much like Jordan Peele’s Get Out, Kravitz uses horror as a tool for social commentary, weaving in themes of wealth, exploitation, and the commodification of women. Yet, Blink Twice is uniquely her own—a film that leaves you questioning not just the characters’ reality, but your own assumptions about power and privilege. It’s hard to pin down exactly where the film belongs in terms of genre, and that’s part of what makes it so compelling.

The island, where much of the film takes place, becomes both a paradise and a prison. Kravitz uses the setting masterfully, transforming the sun-drenched beach and lavish parties into symbols of entrapment. There is a creeping sense of dread throughout the film, a slow unraveling that builds as the women begin to realise they have no way out. The contrast between the island’s beauty and the terror lurking beneath the surface is a testament to Kravitz’s skill as a filmmaker, and Adam Newport-Berra’s cinematography only enhances this tension. Wide, sweeping shots of the ocean give way to claustrophobic interiors, trapping both the characters and the audience in a place that feels increasingly hostile.

What makes Blink Twice so impactful is its reflection of real-world exploitation. Watching the film, I couldn’t help but draw parallels to the stories of young women taken to Jeffrey Epstein’s private island—a place where wealth and power were used to strip away autonomy. The film doesn’t shy away from these uncomfortable truths, forcing us to confront the darker side of ambition and the dangerous allure of power. Kravitz captures the way these women, like Frida, are seen not as people but as objects to be consumed and discarded, trapped in a system that values their beauty and obedience over their humanity.

At the heart of this narrative is Naomi Ackie’s portrayal of Frida, a young Black woman yearning for recognition and success in a world that devalues her. As Frida finds herself drawn into Slater’s world, her initial excitement quickly turns into horror as the reality of her situation sets in. Ackie’s performance is raw and vulnerable, capturing the complexity of a woman who thought she was stepping into her dreams, only to find herself in a nightmare. There’s a particularly unsettling undercurrent here—Frida’s story mirrors the experiences of so many Black women who are overlooked, exploited, and erased in a world dominated by white wealth and power. And yet, Kravitz leaves much of this exploration untapped, a missed opportunity to dive deeper into the racial dynamics at play.

Channing Tatum’s Slater King is another revelation. Known for his charming, crowd-pleasing roles, Tatum subverts his usual persona, bringing a darkness to the character that is both unexpected and chilling. Slater is the kind of villain who doesn’t see himself as one—he believes he’s offering these women a chance at success, all the while stripping them of their autonomy. His casual, almost indifferent cruelty makes him all the more terrifying. The scenes between Slater and Frida crackle with tension, a constant push and pull between seduction and danger.

Blink Twice is a bold, daring film that doesn’t offer easy answers. It’s uncomfortable, disorienting, and at times frustrating, but it’s also deeply thought-provoking. Zoe Kravitz’s debut as a director is one that will spark conversation, both for what it achieves and for the questions it leaves unanswered. If you’re looking for a film that challenges your perceptions and sticks with you long after the credits roll, Blink Twice is a must-watch. It’s not an easy film to categorise, and that’s precisely what makes it unforgettable.