It makes perfect sense that, as a director, Olivia Wilde would want to follow the extravagant, ambitious disaster of Don’t Worry Darling with a four-character chamber piece confined to one location. The Invite, based on the Spanish director Cesc Gay’s 2020 movie The People Upstairs (which was itself based on an earlier play by Gay), features an unhappy couple inviting their upstairs neighbors for a dinner party that quickly goes to some strange places; it’s the kind of supposedly focused character study that probably felt nourishing after all the off-camera craziness of Wilde’s previous directorial outing.
We can sense the theatrical origins of the story right from the start, with downcast music teacher Joe (Seth Rogen) arriving home one evening only to find that his fussy, anxious wife Angela (Wilde) is in the middle of preparing for a dinner party for their upstairs neighbors. Joe is not only unprepared for this, he doesn’t even like these neighbors, who weird them out and keep them up at all hours having extremely loud sex. Joe and Angela’s incessant bickering early on — every observation prompting an objection or a counter-observation — telegraphs that their neighbors will probably turn out to be a lot better adjusted than they are. Sure enough, when Hawk (Edward Norton) and Pina (Penelope Cruz) arrive, they seem both relaxed and all-knowing: They confess that they heard Joe and Angela arguing loudly before they even rang the doorbell. He’s a retired firefighter, she’s a sexologist, and suddenly the upstairs neighbors have the upper hand, psychologically speaking.
The Invite is primarily a comedy, and it does have some solid laughs, though the character interactions can also feel so manufactured that our bullshit detectors start going off fairly early. Angela, we’re told, is hypervigilant and neurotic — their daughter is at a sleepover and Angela tells Joe she called beforehand to ensure that there will be no men or weapons present in the friend’s house — and she’s apparently also on top of current mores and attitudes from days spent listening to podcasts. Funny, sure, but somehow, Angela also manages to organize an entire meal based on meat and cheese without ever checking to make sure her neighbors can eat such things. (It turns out, of course, that Pina can’t.) This is minor stuff, meant to add to an accumulation of interpersonal awkwardness, but such inconsistencies add up and deflate the characters’ believability. If in something like Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf the characters’ inadequacies and resentments fuel their increasingly erratic behavior, here these people feel like grab bags of punchlines, their actions there primarily to get laughs.
More worryingly, the film’s stylized, theatrical dialogue only really works onscreen if there’s a musicality to the words and a rhythm to the back and forth. Wilde manages to undermine that through aggressive, insistent music cues that flatten everything out — almost as if she doesn’t trust the script, credited to Rashida Jones and Will McCormack, to do the trick. Still, these are good actors, and each brings their unique style. As a comic performer, Wilde (who also gives a tremendous performance in another Sundance movie this year, Gregg Araki’s I Want Your Sex) excels at going big — precise in her timing, unafraid to exaggerate for comic effect — while Rogen deploys his usual goofy, improv-style cadences — stumbling over words, anxiously repeating himself, swallowing punchlines.
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When Norton and Cruz show up, they bring their own vibes: He’s soft-spoken and even keeled, she’s a bit of a flower child. This is all intentional, surely. You don’t go with a cast like this if you don’t want these actors to do their own individual things. And it does pay off, occasionally: Entering the apartment, Hawk and Pina talk a lot about the décor and the energy in the room, and Joe responds, snarkily, “We talked a lot about capturing energy, as if it’s a thing we could actually do.” But it takes seriously sharp writing and directorial control to make all these people feel like they exist in the same movie, and the truth is that the performances don’t really cohere.
Wilde leans into the comedy as much as possible, often framing shots for maximum visual humor. At its best, The Invite uses the spaces of this apartment well, putting dead air between its alienated characters and bringing them physically closer over the course of the film. But even here, the tonal whipsawing can backfire. As I noted earlier, The Invite goes to some odd places, but with each new turn in these relationships, the picture loses steam, perhaps because they’ve never come across as real people and these emotional twists don’t feel fully earned. Meanwhile, the shticky humor of the first hour makes for a disappointing mismatch with the awkward earnestness of the finale, as the characters all get their sentimental, tedious monologues, now complete with soft music on the soundtrack. (The movie is, frankly, a clinic in how not to use a score.)
Wilde’s directorial debut Booksmart, released in 2019 to great acclaim, worked in large part because she brought so much inventiveness to a familiar and chaotic coming-of-age tale, using technique to overcome the story’s tonal challenges. Don’t Worry Darling, by contrast, felt too stilted and controlled, too programmed and predictable, almost as if the director felt obligated to rein in her stylistic impulses against a supposedly more complicated story. The Invite feels at times like a film that could have benefited from more control. It’s too baggy to really work as a chamber piece. (It’s not a particularly long movie, but it drags considerably after a while.) But it also doesn’t really give Wilde any real opportunities to cut loose and demonstrate her strengths as a director, which once seemed so considerable.
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