‘Verity’ Movie Review: Lurid, Twisty Thriller Is Watchable But Not Trashy Enough
Photo from Amazon MGM Studios
From Jeremy Kibler
Colleen Hoover’s steady cycle of sudsy novel adaptations—It Ends with Us, Regretting You, and Reminders of Him—takes a notably darker, decidedly fucked-up turn with Verity, an adaptation of her 2018 best-seller. As a lurid thriller, it has all the makings of deliciously twisty trash (that is a feature, not a bug!) but never quite commits to the bit. What should be delectable sleaze winds up as glossy, merely watchable trash.
Dakota Johnson seems to completely understand the assignment with her deadpan delivery in playing Lowen Ashleigh, a struggling writer who’s on her way to a meeting at a publishing house. At a busy Manhattan intersection, she’s subjected to the splash zone of a bike messenger’s bloody remains in a car accident. One person’s freak accident is another’s rom-com meet-cute, as Lowen is literally given the shirt off the back of handsome bystander Jeremy (Josh Hartnett). He also happens to be the husband of best-selling author Verity Crawford (Anne Hathaway), whose series of villain-centric airport reads must be completed, and Lowen is just the gal for the ghostwriting gig. The only catch? She has to live in the Crawfords’ Vermont home, digging through Verity’s office notes as Verity, herself, sits in a vegetative state after a car accident. Once Lowen finds an unpublished manuscript hidden on a thumb drive, disturbing secrets tumble out.
As written by Nick Antosca, creator of the delightfully bonkers Netflix series Brand New Cherry Flavor, Verity favors an alluring slow burn over the compulsive momentum of a page-turner. If you were hot and bothered and pleasured without guilt by Wild Things, A Simple Favor, and The Housemaid… stick with that fun triple bill! Whereas Paul Feig was a perfectly unconventional choice for two of the aforementioned soapy, twist-laden thrillers, director Michael Showalter doesn’t have nearly the same touch for blending mystery with camp and melodrama. There is still seductive visual sheen on display, clearly inspired by De Palma but more restrained, and the chilly modernist house on a lake is a production designer’s wet dream.
The three appealing actors—Johnson, Hartnett, and Hathaway—are well-suited to the material. Johnson is beguiling as always, and in a post-Trap world, Hartnett still gets to play with his slightly bad-boy teen-heartthrob image. Hathaway has the most shades to play in flashbacks (or reenactments), milking the juicy role for all it's worth as Verity Crawford. Though Verity spends most of the film catatonic, Hathaway relishes the opportunity to play an unreliable narrator.
Verity unfolds like a house of cards, and whether the less-than-airtight structure holds up after a few pulls of the rug in the final moments depends largely on the viewer's willingness to throw logic to the wind and go along for the tawdry ride. The devious conclusion embraces an ambiguity that some viewers will find frustrating, even if it gives them something to ponder on the way home. Uncertainty alone, however, doesn't always satisfy. Verity wants to leave the queasy aftertaste of a wicked psychological thriller without quite earning it.
Rating: 2.5/5
Verity is currently in theaters.
