A new nanny threatens to tear a family apart in the 2025 tepid remake of The Hand That Rocks the Cradle.
The other week, I was discussing film trends with my friend. We mourned the loss of a specific subgenre that has mostly vanished over time after a big push in the late 80s and the 90s. Stemming from 1987’s Fatal Attraction, psycho-sexual melodramatic thrillers are a lost genre. We laughed at and with, and perhaps got caught up in the stories (depending on how well they worked) of Hush, Body of Evidence, Basic Instinct, Color of Night, Disclosure, or Indecent Proposal. It’s a genre meant to build a sense of knowing fun from all parties in most cases (though a few of the bad ones take it super seriously, which makes them more enjoyable. We all know it’s overmelodramatic and big, but that’s the draw.
The best of them, and saying this honestly, not just a connection to today’s review, was 1992’s The Hand That Rocks the Cradle, directed by Curtis Hanson, about a nanny trying to take over a family. When I saw it for the first time a few years ago, I was surprised. It was legitimately good but still working within its specific subgenre. Gripping, with a hell of a performance by Rebecca De Mornay, and real tension and thrills. It does help that it was filmed in the Seattle area (and not Vancouver playing Seattle). It was a surprise for Disney, as well. Dumped into cinemas in January of 1992 by Hollywood Pictures (a part of Buena Vista, Disney’s more adult-centered arm), it was the #1 film for 4 weeks, making a huge splash from word of mouth and good reviews.
Yes, these are still made, with such films as Temptation or Babygirl (the upcoming The Housemaid seems to fit), but an edge or understanding has been lost over time. The intentional or at least awareness of campiness is gone. Treated more seriously, the fun is gone. Maybe Lifetime Channel’s becoming a joke for their made-for-TV versions took the air out, maybe they just don’t hit well for today’s audiences. Things cycle, that’s how it goes.
Unfortunately, the remake of the best won’t bring it back: Michelle Garza Cervera’s The Hand That Rocks The Cradle, premiering on Hulu, is an underwhelming, mostly dull affair, never properly speeding up to anything to note. It’s a mostly low-heat simmer, despite a few attempts to send to boil; the bubbles are so small compared to the previous installment, it doesn’t amount to much.
The basic setup is the same: A family hires a new nanny to take care of the children (as they do). But she ingrains herself too far and tries to take over the mother’s place, with only the mother seeming to notice. How far is the breaking point? How violent is the nanny willing to get to get what she wants? But Micah Bloomberg’s update of Amanda Silver’s script shaves down everything to the barest outline; what’s added doesn’t do much to fill the missing.
There’s an interesting level of haves versus have-nots in the 2025 version. Polly is clearly holding just enough money to live, might be homeless, and you can see the unease of the dichotomy of working for a very rich, very secure family with everything they need and more. When we meet Maika Monroe’s Polly, she’s fighting her landlord over rent increases, and Mary Elizabeth Winstead’s Caitlin is a lawyer offering pro bono services for the same. This could be something, Polly, perhaps clearly jealous over what she doesn’t have, thrown in her face, maybe carelessly by the rich (there is one line that tips this direction by Martin Starr). However, it’s a tossed-off bit that goes nowhere.
What could be an interesting shift, but also goes nowhere, is the background of why Polly is targeting Caitin to upend her life. In 1992, De Mornay was after the mother because she reported De Mornay’s OBGYN husband as a sexual abuser, and he killed himself, causing De Mornay to lose her unborn baby. It’s a clear case of why, giving her a drive known only to the audience. Initially, I liked 2025’s shift. A near randomness of it, two women meeting once before the birth of the child and again later (maybe) by happenstance. It provides a little mystery to uncover. Or the terror of the Strangers “because you were home.” While there is a reason, it undermines the whole film, tipping the tepid into untenable.
That’s the big issue; it never really builds a compelling versus for the women. Polly is clearly up to something, we know as the audience, but when the film wastes time with “poooh she gave the baby a moment of formula or the 10-year-old a.. Gasp.. cupcake!” it’s hardly thrilling. There’s no edge. No atmosphere of danger. Polly does little to really set Caitlin off, even in private, just a little button pushing. She’s just a little off. I normally like Maika Monroe; she’s fantastic in It Follows and Longlegs, but she plays Polly as if with a flat affect of someone you turn to your friend and say, “That was weird, right? Not just me” after they leave. I do not buy her for a second, and I don’t see why X does so instantly. Even with the flatness of the performance, it’s a weird cliff when Caitlin, almost out of the blue. decides Polly is after her life. Yes, there is a fireworks instance, but it’s so big and noticeable that it goes against why this sort of story works. When a similar breakdown occurs, no one even seems to question a thing. The story’s actions to the point don’t match the reaction.
Heck, they drop the “seduce the husband” aspect in a quick moment, shifting to a slightly different take that also doesn’t come around to anything of note. Not that he gave her anything to work with. In the few things I’ve seen Raul Castillo in, including this year’s Push, I’ve found him to be a brick wall. On the flip, they don’t bother to make mom otherworked or the like. I guess she’s working her job for normal hours, but it’s hardly expanded. I think she might be a SAHM? Who knows, she’s just gone. Hard for Polly to act to engage the audience. It’s not helped that Mary Elizabeth Winstead, normally a fine actress across Scott Pilgrim, Final Destination 3, and other non-genre properties, slides between slight amusement and boredom, with moments of overwrought melodrama.
Michelle Garza Gervera’s The Hand that Rocks the Cradle is a pale imitation (literally, the house is SO BIEGE and so is much of clothing) of the original in plot, character, tension, and atmosphere. Not to mention that self-aware, slightly cheesy wink of the genre’s past. The 1992 version holds up well; just watch it again instead.