This guest post is written by Josh Bell.
The opening credits of “Wicker” state that it’s “based on the fable ‘The Wicker Husband,’” and the movie begins with Peter Dinklage narrating the tale of a fish that saw its own reflection in the ice, over pastoral shots of flowing water. It doesn’t take long before writer-directors Alex Huston Fischer and Eleanor Wilson shatter the serene fairy-tale tone, though, as the tale of the fish leads to its attempting to “fuck itself” and then ultimately dying. That’s a good indication of the approach that Fischer and Wilson take in the off-kilter “Wicker,” which is alternately sweet and dark, funny and brutal, romantic and devastating.
Although there’s more modern snark to it, “Wicker” is indeed a fable, set in the kind of remote village that could exist in medieval Europe or a fantasy realm. It’s a place where people are reduced to their basic functions, with no names other than their professions — or, for most of the women, their relationships to the professions of their husbands or fathers. The Fisherwoman (Olivia Colman) is one of the few female inhabitants who gets her own independent identity, but that’s part of why she’s shunned by the conformist villagers.
As she walks into the marketplace to sell her catches of the day, she’s subjected to insults from nearly everyone there, denigrating her for her dingy appearance and her fishy smell, both of which are functions of her work. “Lick my worm,” she responds defiantly, but it’s clear the mistreatment takes its toll on her. She lives alone in a house near the woods, and she’s always set apart from the crowd at community events. The only person who’s truly friendly to her is the Basket Maker (Dinklage), a fellow loner who has avoided the town’s wrath.
The reductive society also dictates conduct at wedding ceremonies, where grooms place metal collars around their brides’ necks rather than rings on their fingers, although at least the wives are allowed to take off the collars once the ceremony is over. It’s a rigidly patriarchal system, which seems to serve no one. The men complain about their wives, the wives suffer in silence, and the cycle continues into the next generation.
Another wedding tradition involves small woven eggs created by the Basket Maker, which are handed out to the unmarried women and then explode with colored powder, indicating one of them as the next to get married. At the latest wedding, the Fisherwoman unexpectedly receives the lucky egg, and she responds to the subsequent derision by calling on the Basket Maker to make her a husband. She travels far into the woods, on foot and via a small boat, like she’s going to visit a witch, but the Basket Maker is open and sympathetic, and he quickly agrees to her request.
Fischer and Wilson present every odd new development in “Wicker” with a charming matter-of-factness, and the Basket Maker only has to consider whether it’s responsible to create a husband for the Fisherwoman, not whether he’s capable of doing it. He doesn’t rely on magic spells, and there’s no explanation for how he’s able to create a sentient being out of wicker, other than that he’s a very skilled craftsman. That pragmatic approach makes “Wicker” more immersive and enjoyable, without getting bogged down in detailed world-building.
There may be at least some magic involved, though, or so the filmmakers imply, as they cross-cut the Basket Maker’s efforts with the Fisherwoman writhing in bed, lost in some kind of reverie or perhaps sexual ecstasy, and moving in conjunction with the Basket Maker’s ministrations. “Be at the chapel in a month,” he tells her when she orders a husband, and she dutifully shows up, ready for whatever he’s going to bring her.
The result of the Basket Maker’s handiwork is the Wicker Husband (Alexander Skarsgård), a handsome, strapping man made entirely out of wicker, who strolls into town, borrows some clothes and shoes, and arrives ready to get married. The Fisherwoman laughs when she sees him at first, but her face turns serious when she sees her betrothed’s honest intentions. They forgo the tradition of the metal collar, and then they’re married.
It’s not the startling sight of a man made out of wicker that bothers the townspeople, but the way that the Wicker Husband treats his wife, with a level of respect and interest that none of the men in town seem able to muster. The Wicker Husband isn’t exactly a fully formed character, but he’s more than just an outlet for the Fisherwoman’s sexual desires, although he provides amply in that area. He listens to her, he takes care of tasks around the house, and he professes genuine love for her.
Even under layers of prosthetics, Skarsgård conveys the Wicker Husband’s goodness and purity, as well as his sexual appetite. The effects work is so seamless that it’s easy to see him as a person, rather than just a feat of skilled artistry. The creaking noises whenever he moves — including during intercourse — are a wry reminder that he’s not quite human, either. He’s something better, which is what the Fisherwoman deserves, and what the other women in town start to think they might deserve, too.
Once the Fisherwoman and the Wicker Husband are married, the movie becomes a bit disjointed, perhaps the result of adapting author Ursula Wills’ 14-page short story into a feature film. After making a delightfully mischievous early impression, the Basket Maker disappears for the entire middle of the movie, and “Wicker” loses a bit of spark in Dinklage’s absence. There are interludes with various villagers as they deal with the ramifications of the arrival of the Wicker Husband and what it means for their private lives, and those interactions are often amusing, if a bit thinly sketched.
The only other resident who gets a substantial arc is the Tailor’s Wife (Elizabeth Debicki), who is the town busybody and holds sway over the other women, but clearly wants more out of life. Her attempts to participate in her husband’s business are met with dismissive laughter, and she channels her bitterness toward the Fisherwoman, spreading gossip about the Wicker Husband’s unfaithfulness. “Wicker” evolves into a fable about jealousy, although the different types of jealousy don’t entirely fit together.
Even if it’s a bit thematically jumbled, “Wicker” is still thoroughly entertaining, with excellent performances from Colman, Dinklage and Debicki. Skarsgård is more limited in his expression, but that suits the strange creature he’s playing. Fischer and Wilson show off the same dry wit that they demonstrated in their underrated 2020 debut, “Save Yourselves!,” which took a similarly skewed approach to genre material (in that case, an alien invasion). Expanding out from a simple, primal premise, “Wicker” consistently goes in unexpected directions, and while not every detour is successful, they add up to something as unique as the Wicker Husband himself.
Image Credit: “Wicker”
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