Don't Worry Darling (2022)

Score: 3 / 5

Sumptuous and sensual, dripping with style, Don't Worry Darling has finally arrived after much tabloid coverage. And it's about as much a mixed bag as you might have expected, though not for the reasons splashed across headlines and news bytes. Its marketing was confusing and related press even more so, but generally it looked like a cross between The Stepford Wives and Black Swan, and for the most part I'd still say that's a reasonable set of correlations to make. It's probably how I'll describe it (if I ever need to) in the future. We follow Alice, a young married woman, as she experiences her life in a desert utopia in the American West. We aren't given much information about why she's there, though she seems to be learning the customs and socializing quickly enough, or even who she is, apart from her obvious and troubling attempts to look and act just like the other housewives in town.

And, much as the town in the film functions in relation to her, the film itself asks us the same question: Why does context matter, when everything is so lovely? And lovely it is! Victory, the name of the town and its mysterious workplace that only men are permitted to enter, is indeed victoriously designed with its perfectly manicured lawns leading up to stunning mid-century modern houses in tasteful colors. Every man in tailored suits and slicked hair, every woman in vibrant dresses and aprons, every adult with a delicious cocktail in hand at any hour. Oldies music plays loudly in every scene, and the camera enhances each color to be warm and polished, almost surreal in hue as if we were watching it all in a Technicolor commerical from the '50s. And that's to say nothing of the evenings, when the men of town return from work to ravage their wives with renewed vigor and go to booze-soaked house parties that would make Jay Gatsby blush.

But of course all is not well in paradise, and who better to carry us on that journey of revelation and retribution than Florence Pugh, cinema's recent golden girl who churns out yet another Oscar-worthy performance. Her character Alice is innately above the town of Victory, and we see her struggling to completely fit in; early on, instead of a colored dress and heels, she waves goodbye to her husband in the morning in an oversized white shirt and recently-sexed hair. She challenges the normative ways men treat their wives and constantly wonders what, exactly, they do at "work" every day. Her nagging suspicions threaten to label her as a nagging wife, and so she dutifully -- if somewhat resentfully -- swims at the pool and goes to dance class and does what the other good wives do. After all, she's not really paying for this lavish lifestyle, and her only real concern is what cocktail to drink next or how to fashion her hair today. Who is she to complain, right?

A plane crashes nearby and no one seems to care. A friend of hers (one of the few women of color) has a breakdown and then seemingly kills herself but nobody wants to talk about it. She tries to visit her husband's workplace and passes out for a full day. Things are weird in Victory, no thanks to the charismatic and mysterious founder Frank (Chris Pine, delighting in playing what amounts to a wicked little cult leader). But this Mad Men fanfiction takes a dark turn when Alice -- and we -- realize what exactly is going on. Even though by this point it was fairly obvious what was coming, I found the "aha" moment to be more of an annoyed groan. If you're going to reimagine The Stepford Wives or The Truman Show, the best way to do it isn't to use the tech from The Matrix. 

So while the plot itself is neither original nor inspired, I don't want to completely villainize screenwriter Katie Silberman, whose dialogue and pacing is actually exquisite. She grapples angrily with a lot of weighty ideas, launching a film that ultimately tirades against the American patriarchy, and while it's no fresh idea, it is a bit refreshing to be reminded that this kind of feminist film is still horrifically relevant. It's okay to rage against the machine because most of us in real life are still under its yolk. Pugh, to her inestimable credit, takes her fiery feminist streak in stride and makes it relatable without dumbing it down; her response to being constantly gaslit into compliance is eminently believable and we want to fight back too.

It helps, in odd ways, that her costar is Harry Styles. I've never much liked his artistry, and here he fully fits the character: vapid, vain, and unwilling to be uncomfortable. He can't stand the thought of his Alice gaining the upper hand in any conflict or in general, and so he resorts to aggressive placations, feigning weakness to garner support, and even asking for professional help when he is at the breaking point. Styles, much like his character, is incapable of reaching emotional depths to match Pugh, and his manner of listening and responding to her is embarrassingly forced. Perhaps it was a conscious acting choice (doubtful), but it's telling that the original casting had Shia LaBeouf in this role, who has a much more intense and raw method of performing that would have created a vastly different atmosphere for this film. I'm glad Styles is the choice in that regard, as he fits the bill, but he's just not got the chops across from Pugh or Pine or even Olivia Wilde herself, who plays Alice's neighbor to great effect.

It's a stunning film, from the genius of Matthew Libatique's cinematography to the sumptuous production design and costumes, and even the heavy score worked for me. It's just that the screenplay, which nails so many things, was inspired by a half-baked, derivative notion that wasn't properly fleshed out. Films like this can work if they're either consciously referencing their obvious source material or evolved enough to be only vaguely suggesting connections with it. This does neither, and so despite the rapturous artistry in it, by the closing credits I felt that I'd been had as much as Alice was.