OLIVIA WILDE, SETH ROGEN, PENELOPE CRUZ, EDWARD NORTON IN THE INVITE Therapeutic dinner party "
The Invite will be known as Olivia Wilde’s
Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?," says the
Awards Watch reviewer, Karen Peterson. If so, that is a commentary on these times.
The Invite is adapted by a committee of three from a (much-adapted) Spanish comedy-drama.
Virginia Woolf comes from the singular pen of one of the twentieth century's most incisive playwrights, Edward Albee. You cannot compare
that writing with
this writing. But we have no Edward Albee now, or any audience for one.
Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? when it came out was the cutting edge. This is not cutting edge. There is no edge left to cut.
The Invite is an example of what the drawing room comedy has come to today, because it starts out with crude expletive-ridden arguing, moves into social awkwardness when the couple upstairs arrives for dinner, and then devolves, with a mix of drugs consumed but very little food, into slapstick sexual antics. As a coda, it finally does arrive, perhaps implasibly, at some powerful shared truth-telling and, ultimately, healing. The host couple, Joe and Angela (Olivia Wilde, who also directed) go in the final minutes from separation to a sweet improvised jazz duo on the piano.
Due to its last few reels, whose truth-telling feels indeed true, I can't condemn this movie, and I recognize the sincere effort involved on the part of celebrated actors, but I didn't like it and don't share the desire of many to move it to the top of the awards column.
There is much that is jarring here, and not in a good way, some of it afterwards and a lot of it while it's happening. It's ironic that the movie opens with a quote from Oscar Wilde. It's something about love being incompatible with marriage. Not Wilde at his best, since, how would he know? But it's a mistake to cite one of the wittiest writers in the language before beginning a tale of vulgar verbal brawling and crude physicality. In retrospect one can't help wondering how a man whose bad back figures prominently, Joe (Seth Rogen), would have a commute that includes lugging a folding bike up and down the hills of San Francisco and on and off the BART train.
There was a good moment for me when it turned out that the apparently well-heeled wife, Angela, has on impulse purchased a beautiful Herez carpet. I could sympathize when Hawk (Edward Norton), the retired "fire fighter" from upstairs who comes with his partner Pina (Penelope Cruz), is also a rugaholic and speaks out about how addictive they are. It's true, and my rug dealer once told me of a big German collector at a rug fair wearing a T shirt, "JUST SAY NO TO RUGS" and I totally understood and for once liked a rug being shown in a movie and appreciated by someone.
In another area of special taste there is only horror, and it's ignored. When he's forgotten to buy wine, Angela prods Joe to open the bottle of Chateau Haut Brion 1982 they've been saving for a secial occasion, which, apart from being worth over a thousand dollars, wrong for an improvised meal, doesn't go with the food. And they pour it into tumblers and, without allowing it a moment to breathe, start quaffing it down like Gallo jug wine. And this incident is forgotten. This is after they've opened a bottle of champagne, also forgotten, before the guests arrive.
In fact, this is a dinner that isn't a dinner. We accept that. We want the talking. This is not a food movie. It's a substances and snack movie. They smoke weed (fitting for Mr. Rogen) and drink vodka. Food gets a bad name here. Angela's
jambon, whose pronunciation Pina finds adorable, turns out not to be that, but Pina anyway is a vegetarian, maybe a vegan, since she can't eat Angela's cheese soufflé either, a tricky dish to prepare especially with unfamiliar guests. They do consume Pina's Spanish flan (Joe says it melts in his mouth), but where's the dinner?
The turning point, or reveal, or something is that the unwanted noise from upstairs isn't quite what Joe and Angela assumed. The aim of the dinner was to ask them to be quieter. That plan is forgotten when it develops that Hawk and Pina realize their noise has been bothersome, but it's due to constantly (really, constantly?) having foursomes, and sometimes more to the party. And they have come following what they think of plentiful signs that Angela and Joe would want to join it too. And they do, want to, that is. And they do try, and that's where the slapstick begins, perhaps because they choose the kitchen and the study for their two switcheroo sessions, with lots of cross-cutting so our guffaws can climax, at least. Mine didn't. I just wanted it to end. Luckily it does. Pina has turned out to be a psychotherapist and a sexologist and she does a diagnosis of her hosts' marriage.
This seems uplifting to some, even somewhat to me. But it's essential to the rich bite of
Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? that there's nobody to provide therapy, no Rolfing (Hawk's new speciality) for someone's bad back, just two other dysfunctional people. This movie, as Mike D'Angelo says in his (57/100-rating, I guess for him about a C+)
review, is ". . . all over the place, sometimes inspired but often too damn sweaty." That seems to be all we've got right now. D'Angelo wanted to bail in the opening minutes here and so did I. But I and he stayed on so you need not.
The Invite 107 mins., premiered at Sundance Jan. 24, 2026, also showing at San Francisco, Boston, Seattle, Sydney, Nantucket. Limited US release Jun. 26, 2026, and in many other countries (by A24) in July, 2026. US theatrical release Jul. 10, 2026. Screened for this review at Cinemark Century Hilltop 16 Jul. 10.
Matacritic rating: 82.
FAQ
Search
Login
