The best-selling trope of modern-day psychological thrillers, ‘single woman with anxiety disorder or trauma witnesses criminal activity but no one believes her until the grand finale,’ has quickly become overused by authors looking for a fast buck.
Netflix’s The Woman in the Window, adapted from the novel by A.J. Finn, is a more neurotic, artsier version of others in this writer’s niche, such as Paula Hawkins’s The Girl on the Train and Ruth Ware’s The Woman in Cabin 10.
If the formulaic titles weren’t a dead giveaway, the similarity in psycho-babble plotlines is uncanny. It seems as though fictional women cannot venture into trains, cruise ships or even to their windows without stumbling into a crime scene and looking guilty for it.
In the latest rendition of this trope, Anna Fox (Amy Adams), a child psychologist, agoraphobic and social recluse, lives alone in her cavernous New York City apartment. She spends her days abusing her medications with wine and observing her neighbors from her window to the extent of memorizing their schedules, lifestyles and quirks: a habit the movie downplays as non-creepy and neighborly.
Anna’s solitary life changes after meeting her seemingly normal neighbors, the Russell family, and witnessing a shocking murder inside their home. No one believes Anna’s account of the crime, leading Anna to doubt her own psychological state—did she imagine it all or is she dealing with something far more sinister?
The movie could have been saved by its star-studded cast: Amy Adams, Gary Oldman, Julianne Moore and Anthony Mackie all make appearances. However, barring an emotionally overwrought performance by Adams, these talented stars had little screen time to properly establish their characters.
The first obvious plot flaw that appears in The Woman in the Window is the Russells’ lack of curtains to prevent nosey neighbors like Anna from stalking them, especially if they’re planning to commit bloody murder in a brightly lit, curtainless room.
The second flaw is the uncomfortable feelings that arise from a child psychologist being inappropriately touchy-feely and overly protective towards her neighbor’s teenage son, Ethan Russell, who she has just met. Anna’s relationship with Ethan was uncomfortable to watch because of her awkward attempts at psychoanalyzing him and providing him with physical and emotional comfort after meeting him briefly twice.
The third flaw is the ridiculous assumptions made by the protagonist. Screams and vague implications cause Anna to automatically assume that Ethan is living with an abusive father, and without giving away spoilers, both Anna and the audience would have been spared all the movie’s melodrama if she hadn’t voluntarily dove deep into another family’s problems.
Finally, there’s the flaw of an unoriginal theme in which the protagonist witnesses a crime and then decides they’re worthy of playing detective. Similar to The Girl on the Train, after being told by the police to drop the case, Anna decides to become a rogue Nancy Drew and find evidence to prove the murder happened. She does this by angling a camera at the Russells’ home and stalking the family’s movements through her camera lens 24/7. Who needs a murderer on the loose with a creep as a protagonist?
The Woman in the Window had one too many problematic elements, from an unrealistic plot to its choppy dialogue. In its attempt at being cinematic genius or a modern tribute to the “Master of Suspense” Alfred Hitchcock and his film Rear Window, it came across as an over-budget indie flick. I’m a fan of thrillers that cast women in socially unconventional yet powerful roles, but even the star-studded cast of The Woman in the Window couldn’t save this film adaptation from its poorly-written storyline.
Featured image from Netflix.
