Olivia Colman wants a husband, so Peter Dinklage weaves her one. He turns out to be Alexander Skarsgård. Somewhere in that transaction is a fairly persuasive argument for supporting local craftspeople.

That premise gives Wicker an immediate advantage over another romance about attractive professionals struggling to reply to a text. There is something wonderfully inviting about a film that puts its peculiarities right on the table. Here is a lonely woman, here is a basketmaker. Here is the extremely tall solution to a problem the village has made considerably worse.

For couples whose movie nights have settled into comfortable predictability, that sounds like a promising disturbance. A strange romantic fantasy gives you something to laugh about before you have even bought the popcorn. And beneath the wicker is an idea with real date-night appeal. Imagine being loved by someone who sees the person everyone else has decided to dismiss.

A Romantic Heroine With a Life Already on Her Hands

Colman plays the Fisherwoman, an outsider in a village where other people’s opinions appear to be the principal local industry. Her work and appearance make her a target. She commissions a husband from Dinklage’s basketmaker, and the resulting relationship unsettles the people around her. Directors Eleanor Wilson and Alex Huston Fischer build their adult fairy tale around that disruption.

There is pleasure in starting a romance with a woman who already has a livelihood and a difficult place in the world. Desire arrives inside an existing life. The fish still need catching. The neighbours still have mouths.

That feels especially appealing if you have grown weary of heroines whose principal characteristic is being charmingly available. The Fisherwoman has practical concerns. She also wants affection. Both things can occupy the same body without anybody needing to apologise for the arrangement.

Colman is a lovely casting choice for that tension. Her appeal has always included the possibility that a polite expression might conceal a thoroughly impolite thought. Put that presence at the centre of a romantic fable and sweetness has somewhere interesting to go.

I like the prospect of a love story that gives a woman room to be awkward and wanted at the same time. Plenty of people could use an evening with that particular fantasy.

The Wicker Is Doing Some Useful Romantic Work

Skarsgård’s husband makes the film’s central gamble visible. You have to accept him as a romantic possibility while looking directly at the woven material that forms his face.

The filmmakers worked with Wētā Workshop on a physical suit and makeup for the character. That gives Colman an actual costumed scene partner to respond to, and gives the audience a wonderfully tangible oddity to consider. The face can carry expression. The body occupies space beside hers.

For a date movie, that shared imaginative leap could be half the fun.

Every screen romance asks viewers to accept a few unlikely things. Sometimes it asks us to believe that two people with enormous apartments have serious financial difficulties. Sometimes a single interrupted conversation must sustain an entire third act. A wicker husband at least makes the bargain entertaining.

There is also something disarming about an obviously impossible love interest. The usual business of comparing the relationship on screen with your own can loosen its grip. You get to enjoy the fantasy at a slight angle.

Kindness Can Carry the Attraction

The husband’s goodness is one of the most intriguing parts of Wicker’s pitch. A gentle romantic lead offers a different kind of anticipation from the familiar man whose cruelty arrives wrapped in flattering lighting.

We have had plenty of practice watching women decipher those men. One warm gesture can become a research project. A fleeting moment of vulnerability gets stretched into evidence that everyone should keep trying.

An affectionate partner opens up other possibilities for a story. What happens when receiving love feels unfamiliar? How do you trust happiness when your social world has trained you to expect humiliation? What changes when the person beside you actually seems delighted to be there?

Those questions have a little more life in them than another round of guessing whether indifference means attraction.

The casting adds a sly joke of its own. Skarsgård brings the associations of a conspicuously handsome leading man into a character made of woven plant material. The absurdity is available immediately. So is the possibility of attraction surviving it.

Watching that with someone you fancy could be a very good time. Especially if you both enjoy the moment when a ridiculous idea begins making an embarrassingly strong case for itself.

The Neighbours Make It Everybody’s Business

A happy couple can become a surprisingly irritating sight to people who have invested heavily in their own unhappiness.

That is fertile territory for Wicker. The Fisherwoman’s relationship throws the surrounding village into jealousy and agitation. Her private satisfaction becomes a public inconvenience.

Anyone who has had a relationship assessed by a group chat will recognise the basic arrangement. People develop opinions about whether you are suited. They assign motives. Eventually somebody describes their own preference as concern for your wellbeing.

Moving that behaviour into a fairy-tale village gives it an enjoyably grubby shape. You can picture how quickly a supposedly settled community might turn curious about the outcast’s unusually successful marriage.

For couples watching together, this is where the premise could acquire a welcome bite. A relationship often comes with an audience. Friends have expectations. Families have favourite versions of you. Even happiness can produce resistance when it changes your assigned role.

There is comic satisfaction in imagining those spectators being forced to reconsider their expertise because a basketmaker has apparently done a better job.

A Little Embarrassment Helps a Date Movie

The adult fairy-tale approach matters. Wicker makes room for sexual humour alongside its affection, which suits a premise already inviting some fairly unavoidable practical questions.

A romance can become exhausting when it handles every feeling with ceremonial seriousness. Laughter lets some air in. People in love are capable of being ridiculous. People trying to look desirable are often even better at it.

For an established couple, that could make Wicker a welcome change of pace. Familiarity gives you permission to exchange a look at exactly the wrong moment. A strange film can become part of your private vocabulary long after the evening ends.

For an early date, the premise offers a useful opening too. You get to discover whether the same absurdity amuses you. That seems at least as revealing as agreeing that a sunset looks nice.

Bring Someone Who Enjoys a Strange Possibility

The strongest case for Wicker as a date movie is the space it leaves for affection to look unusual.

There is something generous about a romantic fantasy centred on a woman other people have underestimated. Her desire deserves attention. Her pleasure can cause trouble. The whole village may have to adjust.

That is a more tempting invitation than another immaculate couple being gently inconvenienced on the way to an immaculate kiss. Give me the fish smell and the questionable neighbours. Let the leading man require specialist basketry.

Wicker could be the right evening out for people who still enjoy romance and want it to surprise them. Take someone willing to laugh at the premise, then let the possibility of tenderness catch you both off guard. You can discuss the practicalities of the husband over dinner.