Wicker is just as good as everyone made it out to be – the trailer and the online buzz don’t lie. For those who aren’t chronically online like me and have no idea what I’m talking about, Wicker is the story of a lonely fisherwoman (Olivia Colman) who commissions a husband (Alexander Skarsgård) made of, well, wicker from a local basketmaker (Peter Dinklage, who should’ve gotten way more screen time). Writers/directors Alex Huston Fischer and Eleanor Wilson adapted it from the short story The Wicker Husband by Ursula Willis, who also has a writing credit on the film.

Based on everything I kept seeing online, and on The Hollywood Reporter, I really was expecting “the horniest movie of the year.” And, don’t get me wrong, the film oozes sex. It will make you crave what Skarsgård (wood splinters included) and Colman (salty, fishy smell and all) have, both in and out of their (twice broken, twice repaired) bed. After watching it, though, I realized that while sex and kink do play a big role in the film and its imagery, there’s a lot more going on here.

In the Wicker universe (and in the real world, too), it is the women who run around looking for dresses and shoes, who devote their time to wedding preparations. They do their best to look pretty for their new husbands, who simply show up as they are, unwashed faces and all.

But when the wicker husband (Skarsgard) appears in town, he’s asking for a suit, shoes, and a room to prepare for his upcoming nuptials. This is the first break from tradition, a barely noticeable fissure that sets the tone for the rest of the film.

For while he goes around town readying himself for the biggest day of his life, she simply shows up, as she is. In this town, grooms put collars on their brides and cover their faces with a veil that resembles a bag over their heads as part of the wedding ceremony – yes, as in “I own you now, I am your master, and I control who sees you or when you breathe” (I told you kink plays a big part in the imagery). But the Fisherwoman and the Wickerhusband don’t do that. Unlike the other couples around them, she owns him (she bought him, after all).

The couple loudly breaks the bed on their wedding night, and the town’s interest (and jealousy) begins to grow. Their connection is not only sexual, but emotional too – something the other couples don’t seem to have. They hang out together, do chores together, dance passionately at town events together… Her ownership of him slowly evolves into an equal partnership, where they both trust the other with their very flammable selves.

Yes, Wicker is a horny movie, like most of the romantasy genre and a good chunk of the media geared towards women. A 1.44 billion dollar media industry that, by the way, male critics famously consider “less” important or less serious, largely because women consume it.

But hornyness aside, there is so much more to Wicker, including exploring devotion, trust, and true partnership. It’s a masterclass in the art of taking care of your spouse, not because you’re bound (literally or metaphorically) to them, but because you love them and their happiness is yours.

As my married friends have taught me, there is no better way to get a woman in the mood than to make her feel taken care of. Not just physically, but emotionally and spiritually. It’s easy: if your partner knows that the home’s endless “to-do” list is a shared burden – be it a broken bed, a fishing net that needs mending, getting the kids down for their naps, or never letting your partner’s favorite coffee pods run out – then there is enough time and energy for all the other fun stuff. It is no coincidence that the Fisherwoman loudly orgasms exactly when her husband utters the words “I will fix it” – and he does!

And by the way, the Wicker husband is the only man whose name is a nod to his wife’s profession. All the other men are known by their role in the villages, and their wives are simply “this man’s wife. He’s also the only man who makes an effort to get to know his partner, and she reciprocates. As the film progresses, they become more attuned to each other, to the point where their clothes, with their textures and colors, create a visual synchrony between them. You watch them become one, one outfit at a time.

Despite it being a fairy tale, not all is perfect. Much like in real life, fear, gossip, and the townspeople’s jealousy get the best of our heroine. In the end, though, the monster was not the man made out of wicker or even the magic man who created him, but society’s need to tie everyone down with conventions and rules that only breed resentment and pain.

Thanks to Colman and Skarsgard, I now more than ever long for the day when I can give someone my very flammable heart and trust them with it – even close to a fireplace. For now, I will continue fantasizing about monsters and fictional men made out of wicker while I navigate the modern dating world, wishing I, too, could commission someone to make the perfect man appear right before my eyes.