The Woman in the Window Is an Effective Agoraphobia Thriller with a Chilly Uptown Sheen

Agoraphobia has rarely looked as classy as it does in Joe Wright’s coolly tasteful psychological thriller The Woman in the Window: Amy Adams plays Anna Fox, a woman who cannot bring herself to leave her comfortably appointed if dimly lit Harlem townhouse, spending her days and nights in a moody haze induced by the anti-anxiety drugs her shrink has prescribed for her, which she pairs with copious amounts of red wine.

The picture is enjoyable not so much for its twisty plot—which, even if you haven’t already read the book, is essentially pretty guessable—as for its artful dedication to its own highly theatrical, drapes-drawn somberness.

We’re clued in that Anna used to know some other kind of life: she’s separated from her husband , stops by with a gift for her, she reluctantly allows him into her lair.

When she witnesses what she’s sure is a murder, she can hardly believe her own eyes, and we’re hesitant to believe them as well.

Will Anna ever be able to bring herself to go outside again? That’s the real suspense of The Woman in the Window, and giving yourself over to it is much more enjoyable than obsessively refreshing Twitter and Instagram, untrustworthy windows if ever there were any, as you wait for the world to restart.

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