A good remake should add something more instead of repeating itself, and thankfully, director Michelle Garza Cervera took that route with his modern retooling of The Hand That Rocks the Cradle. It remains the same tale of a manipulative nanny and stressed-out mother losing control of her family, but with more of its own contemporary flavor than a routine reprisal of the 1992 film. Although it doesn’t reinvent much of the familiar narrative, it does boast a creepy enough atmosphere to warrant another whack at the disconnect between parent and hired help.

Mary Elizabeth Winstead is at her best in the role of Caitlyn Morales, a lawyer who recently gave birth to her second child. Before the birth, her latest client is Polly (Maika Monroe), a younger woman facing eviction due to a landlord dispute. As time passes, Caitlyn figures that Polly could use a job and hires her as the nanny she so desperately needs. Polly makes a strong impression. Too strong. She protrudes so well into the life of the young Emma that their play extends into suggestions of homosexuality. She cares for the baby Josie, but in a manner that undercuts Caitlyn’s preference for feeding. And, naturally, she becomes a sexual allure for Caitlyn’s husband, Miguel (Raúl Castillo), resulting in the expected sex scene as Caitlyn watches helplessly.

Director Michelle Garza Cervera makes an admirable attempt to recontextualize this usurping story for the 21st century, and it mostly works. Although Caitlyn’s home is a bland mash of the glossy, it fits well into her lifestyle of surrounding herself with liberals with strong convictions but an oblivious nature to their ethical ambitions. That type of framing makes it easy for someone like Polly to nestle within Caitlyn’s home and drive her mad with gaslighting, although it is somewhat more nuanced than I expected. The mind games are overt, but also believable enough to buy Caitlyn’s concerns and her husband’s distrust of accusations. Rarely is there a moment when the scenario becomes absurd, saving the shock for the big third-act twist of who Polly is and why she’s targeting Caitlyn.

The atmosphere goes a long way in making this film work beyond the compelling performances. While the cinematography, which relies on reflections and tilted cameras, is fine, the music by Ariel Marx is a real highlight because it sounds perfectly unhinged and disorienting. It’s the perfect thriller soundtrack and really sells the vicious moments when Polly becomes more violent and sexual as the plot progresses. That tone helps amp up the intrigue to never linger too long about how Polly manipulates a system trying to help struggling women, emboldening some to be even less trusting of those down on their luck. Thankfully, any disgusting implication like that is mostly wiped away when the film goes into bonkers mode by the end, promising a brutal bout between Winstead and Monroe.

The Hand That Rocks the Cradle won’t rock the boat of remakes, but it does find its own groove of mind games fit for a psychological thriller. The story devolves into a mess of twists, more compelling for the abruptness than the momentum, but the performances and music kept the film interesting enough to keep going. And there is always that anxiety of mothers never feeling like they’re doing enough and that nobody will listen or help them when times are tough. That’s the type of story that never grows old and is just one of the reasons this remake validates itself as more than just a notable name to draw in audiences old enough to remember this title on the video store shelf.

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