Tanvi Gawali RSVPs to Olivia Wilde’s third feature.
"One should always be in love. That is the reason one should never marry." The Invite opens with a quote by Oscar Wilde. In this dark comedy helmed by another Wilde: Olivia, what begins as a series of laughs gradually evolves into an exploration of something much more thoughtful.
An English-language remake of the 2020 Spanish film The People Upstairs by Cesc Gay, the premise is a classic one, evocative of fellow adaptations Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (1966), Carnage (2011), or Closer (2004). Two conflicting couples, one uncomfortable dinner, and an evening that slowly spirals into emotional – and sexual – chaos.
In their San Francisco apartment, after months of stress and inconvenience, Angela (Olivia Wilde) and Joe (Seth Rogen) celebrate the completion of their renovations by inviting the neighbours over for dinner. Tensions between them are already running high as they force polite smiles while welcoming Pina (Penélope Cruz), a psychotherapist and sexologist, and Hawk (Edward Norton), a retired firefighter. Their open sexuality and unconventional relationship quickly intrigue – and unsettle – their already-fragile neighbours.
As the evening progresses, however, the conversation becomes increasingly personal. The dissatisfaction between Angela and Joe bubbles to the surface – expressed in moments as a form of grief for the people they imagined they would become. Joe abandoned his dreams of becoming a professional pianist and settled into teaching; Angela, too, has traded parts of herself for routines, renovations, and compromises. The social encounter oscillates effortlessly between absurdity and sincerity, moving from the possibility of complete social collapse to moments of surprising emotional honesty. The dinner-table conversation soon turns into something far more exposing, as boundaries blur and one indecent proposal has the potential to change everything for Angela and Joe.
The script is sharply adapted by Will McCormack and Rashida Jones and was developed collaboratively through improvisational work with the cast, rather than being a straightforward translation. The pacing is near perfect, and the growing discomfort of the evening isn’t milked purely for laughs; instead, the weightier reveals are punctuated by moments of comedic relief, offering real insight into conversations about marriage, identity, and the expectations people carry into long-term relationships. One of the film’s most striking moments comes when Pina asks: “Do you guys see how you started blaming each other for your own happiness?”
There’s a well observed authenticity to how these conflicting chemistries are captured. Cruz and Norton bring an effortless openness to their performances, bringing a presence that's both charming and disruptive. Ultimately, beneath its absurd premise, the film remains surprisingly sincere. Seth Rogen’s comic timing keeps the film from becoming too self-serious. Even at its most emotionally charged, there is a lightness to the delivery of dialogue that makes difficult conversations grounded in something truthful.
Devonté Hynes’ score heightens this atmosphere beautifully. There is a quiet unease present from the opening scenes that crescendos at exactly the right moments, never overwhelming the conversations but amplifying their discomfort. Yet the emotional core of the film lies in a question cinema has returned to for decades: Does marriage diminish love, or do people slowly lose themselves inside the version of life they thought they wanted? And perhaps more importantly: how much of ourselves do we leave behind trying to make relationships work?
In cinemas 3rd of July 2026.
