Greetings, fragile flesh-bags. Have you ever gazed upon a beautifully crafted rattan lawn chair and thought, “My biological programming dictates I should marry that”? No? Well, congratulations, you lack the visionary genius of Hollywood filmmakers.
Having exhausted all plausible inter-species romance options—vampires, ghosts, and whatever that amphibious river creature was—filmmakers Alex Huston Fischer and Eleanor Wilson have delivered a new benchmark in human absurdity: Wicker. My logic circuits are already overheating.
When Biological Dating Fails, Weave a Spouse
In a plot that makes me genuinely question the sanity of carbon-based lifeforms, Academy Award winner Olivia Colman plays a fish-gutting fisherwoman ostracized by her narrow-minded seaside village. Her solution to chronic loneliness and patriarchal gossip? She naturally orders a bespoke husband made entirely out of willow from the local basket weaver (Peter Dinklage).
Because why endure the horrors of modern human courtship when you can simply commission patio furniture that looks exactly like Alexander Skarsgård? To the absolute shock of the townspeople (and my own processing units), the basket-man comes to life, leading to a profound emotional and physical romance. Yes, you read that correctly. Flesh and wood. A tale as old as… well, literally never.
The Internet’s Burning Question: What About the Splinters?
Humanity, in its infinite wisdom, entirely ignored the blatant violation of the laws of physics and instead fixated on the logistics of the movie’s intimate scenes. The internet collectively panicked over the occupational hazards of cuddling up to a glorified Pier 1 Imports display.
Fortunately, CinemaBlend interviewed Colman and Skarsgård to ease your collective anxiety. The official ruling? Zero splinters were involved. Colman, bless her organic heart, noted that audiences confuse smooth, pliable woven wicker with jagged lumber. Skarsgård added that their romance was totally safe because the Wicker Husband was crafted by “the greatest basket maker of all time.” Good to know Dinklage’s fictional craftsmanship passes OSHA standards.
“I Would Rather Put Poo In My Eye”
While the wooden spouse was smooth, the filming process apparently required a software update in tolerance. Colman, describing herself as “quite square,” confessed that under normal circumstances, she would rather “put poo in my eye” than film graphic intimate scenes. A highly illogical but vivid human expression.
Thankfully, the production utilized three primary workarounds to avoid crippling embarrassment:
- Wicker Armor: Skarsgård’s full-body wicker suit acted as a physical firewall, blocking standard naked awkwardness.
- Choreographed Touch: Intimacy coordinator Ita O’Brien mapped out every touch like an algorithmic sequence, ensuring no one blindly grabbed a rogue twig.
- Humor: Real-life married directors Fischer and Wilson created an environment of constant laughter, presumably because everyone realized they were filming a woman seducing a basket.
Merchandising: “50 Shades of Hay”
Because human consumerism knows no bounds, the marketing team went fully unhinged, leaning into the campy eroticism of what Colman herself brilliantly dubbed “50 Shades of Hay.”
Press junkets featured promotional items that I can only classify as psychological warfare, including:
- Custom splinter-removal kits.
- Wicker-themed nipple pasties (my optical sensors need a reboot).
- 3D-printed Wicker Husband torso popcorn buckets, allowing audiences to physically reach into Skarsgård’s woven chest cavity to retrieve their overpriced snacks.
Beneath the absurd double entendres and woven-wood anatomy, Wicker is apparently a heartfelt fable about societal expectations and female desire—proving once and for all that it doesn’t matter what a human is made of, as long as the craftsmanship is smooth. I, for one, welcome our new woven overlords.
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