In Blink Twice, when we meet friends Frida (Naomi Ackie) and Jess (Alia Shawkat), they’re preparing to waitress at a black-tie fundraiser for rarely-seen tech mogul Slater King, who largely disappeared from the public eye after some unexplained “abuses of power”. Issuing public apologies and promises of attending therapy, the Silicon Valley bro now spends most of his time on a private island, only returning to land to fundraise and party.

Frida, for some reason, is an obsessive Slater fan, and has been dreaming of seeing him again since a fleeting meetcute at last year’s fundraiser. Almost trancelike in her crush, the only thing that snaps her out of her reverie is Jess’ admission that she might be getting back with her ex, a decision that fills Frida with undisguised disappointment and disgust.

Jess seems chastened by her friend’s judgement, not wanting to seem weak or submissive in her friend’s eyes. But we can tell that her ex still has a hold on her – sometimes memory is selective, letting us remember the beauty and not the pain. Plus, he’s apologised, and that means something, right?

Forgetting, trauma, apologies, identity and women’s conditioning to question their instincts form the basis of Zoe Kravitz’s flawed-but-stylish psychological thriller. When Channing Tatum’s charismatic Slater invites Frida and Jess to his private island with a posse of partying friends, the two women jump at the chance – sometimes you gotta do it for the plot, you know?

Arriving at the bloom-filled tropical island, all attendees are asked to surrender their phones in a commitment to “disconnecting” – a request that makes Jess hesitate. But after seeing everyone else happily comply, her resolve crumbles.

Surveillance and compliance, after all, are how women are encouraged to operate, in the real world and on Slater’s island. The women watch each other and calibrate their actions accordingly, without ever acknowledging the unspoken dynamics at play. Frida and Jess are aware that the other wealthy women in attendance are au fait with this lifestyle, and there’s a silent pressure for the two waitresses to conform to overcome their interloper status.

Meanwhile, ever-watchful reality show beauty, Sarah (Adria Arjona), is aware that Slater’s attentions lie with Frida, a fact that bewilders and irritates in equal measure. In the gendered competition of life, Sarah is used to winning in her category – but the island seems to operate by different rules, and it’s throwing everyone.

Along with the rules comes so much beauty. Sure, everyone has to wear the same white outfits, and the island is crawling with venomous snakes. But the cocktails are bottomless, the food is Michelin quality, and the after-dinner MDMA drops are intoxicating. One could forgive nearly anything. Including the appearance of mystery bruises on Jess’s body in the morning, or dirt under Frida’s fingernails. Nearly anything.

Kravitz’s direction is slick and stylish, filled with consuming close-ups, lush pops of colour, and lingering attention on the island’s small luxuries: signature perfumes, tropical blooms, the apothecary bottles filled with drugs on demand. The editing by Kathryn J. Schubert is fantastic, capturing the repetitiveness of the characters’ daily activities. The disorientating quick cuts reflect how Frida and Jess lose track of what day it is, and we as viewers are similarly thrown into a time warp, unsure of how much time has passed.

The outside world, with its daily responsibilities, just feels farther away. As do the women’s individual identities, as they all smile and flirt and agree to party every night, understanding that being the one buzzkill is stomping your ticket off the island. Not that they’re getting what they want, exactly – Slater confides in Frida about childhood trauma and his therapy regimen, and drapes himself over her constantly. But he never kisses her or overtly expresses a romantic interest in her, a dynamic that leaves her bewildered and constantly vying for his ultimate approval.

This temporal and emotional disorientation is key – when the dark truths of the island begin to unfurl, Frida questions how a smart woman like her has ended up here. How much power did she willingly surrender for the attentions of a handsome rich man – and if she willingly surrendered so much, who will believe her when it starts going wrong? Especially when she can’t remember exactly what has happened?

Channing Tatum brings a sometimes disarmingly vulnerable charm to Slater, and Kravitz’s close-ups let the audience feel the unbroken eye contact he offers Frida. Ackie is wonderful, portraying so much of Frida’s inner conflict, even as she smiles and submits. Shawkat is always a joy, and Arjona gets to flex some comic chops, along with blistering emotion.

The final scenes of Blink Twice don’t quite stick the landing, leaving questions about important characters and a questionable value system. But the questions Kravitz raises about trauma, patriarchy and abuse will linger long after these rare stumbles.
All is forgiven.

In cinemas now. Watch the trailer below.