In Wicker, Olivia Colman plays an unloved fisherwoman who asks Peter Dinklage, a magically endowed basket-maker, to weave her a husband. The Wicker Husband is stoic yet pliable, a dutiful force of nature in bed or with a hammer, and as tall and handsome as the tree he's made from. The women of the village stare with lust as he walks creakily by.
There was really only one option when casting this creature, and luckily, the producers of this sly, saucy fable got their man. Professional hot Viking Alexander Skarsgård is an expert at sending up or subverting his own studly image while also completely embodying it. In 2025's brilliant S&M romance Pillion, he deftly exposed the emotional weakness of a strapping, leather-clad biker dom.
In Wicker, he achieves something similar but more tender, which is all the more remarkable for being summoned from somewhere within a truly amazing assemblage of practical and digital creature effects. Wicker, written and directed by Eleanor Wilson and Alex Huston Fischer, is set in a fairy-tale village that seems to exist somewhere between the Middle Ages and the late Victorian period. The villagers, played by a ruthlessly skilled team of British comic actors, speak in a mixture of dirty jokes and strangely mannered aphorisms — in other words, like fairy-tale characters.
They have no names and refer to each other by their archetypal roles in the little society: Butcher, Doctor, Baker, Innkeeper, Tailor's Wife. Colman's rude, stinky, and unmarried Fisherwoman is the only woman who owns her own title rather than taking it from her husband. Observing the twisted marriage traditions of the villagers — which involve clamping an iron collar around the bride's neck on their wedding day — the Fisherwoman decides to send them up with her Wicker husband prank.
Or, maybe, she's responding to a deeper, lonelier impulse. Either way, she gets more than she bargained for. The villagers titter at her freakish new spouse, but they can't help but notice his pure devotion to the Fisherwoman — and have a pretty good idea of his sexual prowess, too. ("He straightened me right out," says Colman, in one of her trademark irresistible line-readings.) This starts to sow discord, much to the displeasure of the Tailor's Wife (an imperious Elizabeth Debicki), the village's queen bee and steely arbiter of social norms.
This is pretty basic social satire, and you can imagine where it's going. But that's perfect for a fable like Wicker, where subtlety takes a backseat to symbolism. And there's no shortage of symbolic power in the Wicker Husband, an amazing creation that seamlessly blends fantastic prosthetic makeup with digital effects by Weta, ensuring you can see the sun shimmer through his empty lattice of willow strips.
Extract — continue reading at the source.
