Verity Movie Review: Colleen Hoover Adaptation Falls Flat
The screen adaptation of Colleen Hoover's thriller Verity, starring Dakota Johnson, Anne Hathaway, and Josh Hartnett, fails to deliver a satisfying cinematic punch. Despite a claustrophobic atmosphere, the film suffers from a disappointing twist and casting fatigue.
Colleen Hoover has evolved into a true Hollywood brand over recent years, with her bestselling romance novels continuously being adapted for the screen. It started with It Ends with Us (2024), starring Blake Lively and Justin Baldoni, which generated massive buzz primarily due to its notoriously turbulent behind-the-scenes legal feud. This was followed by Regretting You (2025) and Reminders of Him (2026), which might not have sparked the same explosive media frenzy as the first film, but still registered as solid commercial successes. Indeed, audiences seem to crave more and more of Hoover's gripping storytelling, and they are getting it: this weekend marked the theatrical release of her latest cinematic adaptation, Verity, featuring a powerhouse cast including Dakota Johnson, Anne Hathaway, and Josh Hartnett, the early-2000s heartthrob enjoying a robust career renaissance.
Directed by Michael Showalter, Verity follows Lowen Ashleigh (Johnson), a struggling young writer mourning the death of her mother when she receives a lucrative yet daunting job offer: to complete the wildly successful book series authored by Verity Crawford (Hathaway), who has been left paralyzed and completely unresponsive following a tragic car accident. For the assignment, Lowen relocates to the sprawling, isolated Crawford estate in Vermont, living alongside Jeremy (Hartnett), Verity's handsome husband, and their young son Crew. However, while sorting through the chaotic mountain of manuscripts left in Verity's home office, Lowen stumbles upon a deeply unsettling, private manuscript: a secret autobiography detailing the dark, sinister underbelly of Verity's motherhood and domestic life.
Psychological Thriller Dynamics and Creeping Claustrophobia
Gradually, Lowen begins to suspect that Verity is far from the sympathetic victim she appears to be, but rather the chilling villain of the narrative—all while growing increasingly entangled with Jeremy. True to form for any self-respecting psychological thriller, Verity delivers frequent plot twists, a mounting sense of claustrophobia as the minutes tick by, and an ultimate truth that proves far more elusive than anticipated. It becomes increasingly difficult to know which character to root for and which to despise, a lingering ambiguity that carries right through to the film's grand finale (which shall remain unspoiled here). Yet, this execution does not entirely land in the film's favor.
Those who have already watched Verity—or perhaps merely read its compelling synopsis—will immediately notice striking similarities to another recent cinematic release, The Housemaid, which hit the big screen earlier this year. Both films share a significant number of common denominators. Stylistically, they both belong to the erotic-psychological thriller genre, consciously indulging in heightened tropes involving physical motifs (hair in The Housemaid, blood in Verity), while eagerly embracing excess and flirting with camp. The parallels extend deeply into the narrative framework: both stories involve an affluent couple hiring a cash-strapped young woman; both unfold within magnificent yet deeply unsettling mansions whose walls harbor dark secrets; and in both tales, the hosting wife turns out to be monstrous, while the visiting guest—who conveniently resembles a younger iteration of her host—attempts to usurp her place and capture the husband's heart.
A Disappointing Twist and Casting Fatigue
When asking which film ultimately executed the formula better, the answer is clear, and it is certainly not Verity. While the major twist in The Housemaid is genuinely mind-bending and propels the narrative forward with immense momentum, Verity's grand twist is largely disappointing. It suffers both from uninspired writing and a structural failure to advance the plot, instead merely capping it off in a rather anti-climactic fashion. The overarching impression is that the film dedicates far too much runtime to foundational world-building, yet when the long-awaited narrative explosion finally arrives, it feels profoundly unearned. Rather than organically flowing from the story's internal logic, the twist feels forced upon it, failing to reconcile the minor background details casually revealed throughout the film and ultimately casting doubt on their entire necessity.
Ultimately, the film does not conclude with an exclamation point, but rather a glaring question mark. This is not the thoughtful, intellectually stimulating ambiguity that characterizes serious cinema; rather, it is a frustrating question mark touching the very core of the story, its essence, and its central characters—who are presented as complex yet ultimately remain entirely unmapped. Speaking of the characters, a broader conversation must be had about the casting choices. Coming on the heels of The Devil Wears Prada 2, Mother Mary, The Odyssey, and The End of Oak Street, Verity marks Anne Hathaway's fifth major feature film release in less than half a year. At this stage, it is impossible to escape a creeping sense of fatigue. This is by no means an indictment of Hathaway's acting prowess, but perhaps Hollywood is overdue for exploring other equally talented leading ladies.
Dakota Johnson similarly triggers a sense of déjà vu, though for distinctly different reasons: she seems to eternally inhabit the exact same persona across all her cinematic projects (what substantive difference truly separates Lowen Ashleigh from Lucy Mason in Daddio, aside from dry biographical data points and a few extra zeros in the bank account?). Josh Hartnett, on the other hand, provides a genuinely refreshing presence, delivering a competent performance as Jeremy, though his on-screen chemistry with Hathaway feels somewhat unconvincing. Cinematic adaptations of Colleen Hoover's literary works have never claimed to be high-art masterpieces, nor are they intended to be. They represent a specific brand of pop-cultural entertainment designed to deliver immediate, digestible pleasures. Even within those strictly defined genre boundaries, however, Verity ultimately falls short. It is neither entirely unengaging nor devoid of suspense, but simply fails to be sufficiently rewarding.
