‘Magpie’: SXSW Review

Dir: Sam Yates. UK. 2024. 90mins.

A slow-burn gothic noir that is delectably petty and creepily conjured, Magpie follows the crumbling of a marriage between a little-known writer and an aggrieved wife instigated by a scandalous starlet. It marks the feature debut of British theatrical director Sam Yates (‘Vanya’ with Andrew Scott), working with a script moulded by screenwriter Tom Bateman from a concept conceived by the film’s enigmatic star and producer Daisy Ridley. Moving at a measured pace, this tension piece is a visually adventurous film, relying on fractal images and direct addresses to translate the angst that builds from one woman’s anger at her vain, philanderous partner. 

An assured, gratifyingly cheeky debut

Premiering in SXSW, this is a wonderfully messy genre flick that takes pleasure in offering the kind of startling revelations mixed with sharp barbs that will make many clap deliriously while leaving some wanting more answers. It should tempt distributors; expect it to cause a wave.  

Saddled with a newborn baby and exhausted, Annette (a delightfully cold Ridley) lives in a soul crushing, glass-framed home with her husband Ben (Shazad Latif, a blast) and their daughter Matilda (Hiba Ahmed). They have moved  to this remote woodland area just outside of London so Ben can have peace and quiet to write. But he hasn’t written a word. Instead he has pushed Matilda into acting. She wins a lead part as the daughter of Alicia (Matilda Anna Ingrid Lutz) in a stuffy period piece that becomes the additional film within Magpie. Alicia is embroiled in tabloid fodder due to an ex leaking some steamy footage online: It’s a sensation that pulls a thirsty Ben into her orbit, forcing lonely Annette to spiral.

The towering, self-absorbed Ben takes Matilda to set as an excuse for him to meet Alicia, spend time with her, snag her phone number and sext. The flirty starlet seems receptive to Ben’s game, carving out time to see him. She even claims to have read one of his books, though she can’t name which one. As the pair grow closer, Ben treats Annette worse and worse: he rarely shows any interest in their infant or important events in Annette’s life. He even berates Matilda whenever she makes him look bad in front of Alicia. In a lesser actor’s hands, these ugly outbursts would quickly lose their spark. But Latif knows how to sell a glib putdown, adding a layer of stupid desperation that is reminiscent of William H. Macy in Fargo. 

Ben is such a captivating character, he almost renders Annette moot. That is sort of the point: Annette has sanded so much of herself away to be a loving mother and wife that not much of her remains. It’s why Yates (a 2016 Screen Star Of Tomorrow) and DP Laura Bellingham rely on refracted mirrors, opaque glass, and ajar doors to frame Ridley’s judgy visage. A similar aim arises from the over-calibrated bumps in the night—a bird crashes into a window and Annette gathers clues to her husband’s infidelity while he snoozes. Along with the eerily choppy piano score, these elements are employed to give Annette’s stoic interiority some shape. 

These plot devices, however, do wear thin. We know frustratingly little about Annette other than a of couple sparse clues: she left her publishing job (from what position is a mystery) to raise a family and for a brief period of time, while Ben was on a research trip, worked through mental health issues requiring pills. What her life was like before Ben, how the two even met, or her own inner thoughts are ambiguous at best. This vagueness is a feature to protect a late reveal that is so gleefully cathartic, its glorious campiness nearly makes the lack of answers a fair trade-off.  

Ridley, for her part, is developing a niche playing mystifying women. She has given what could easily be one-note characters – like the socially awkward protagonist in Sometimes I Think About Dying or the hunter with a dark past in The Marsh King’s Daughter – undeniable richness through an uncanny ability to protect a performance. While we’re never privy to Annette’s backstory, her history is written all over Ridley’s pursed expressions. Through direct addresses she nimbly modulates between a woman losing control and one who is holding all the cards. That wonderful dance around a husband you love to hate is what makes Magpie not just a chompy bit of genre excess, but also an assured, gratifyingly cheeky debut by Yates.