Taking the film at face value that Wilde did indeed direct Pugh (the irritating dramatics of its press tour leave a lot to be reanalysed at a future date), she gets a lot out of her talented lead here. Wilde has high ambitions, and is entirely competent in delivering the cardinal elements of this story, but she cuts herself at the knees by not having faith in Katie Silberman’s sharp script.

Wilde contributes such surrealist imagery of Alice being squeezed by her own home and shots of her drowning, though all of which are entirely superfluous because the subtext is already there from the technical material and ideas Wilde has already put in the picture. However, this leads to much of the frustration one has with Don’t Worry Darling. Their use of wide expansive desert creates a snow-globe feel to the town, trapping the residents in their own lifestyle. Olivia Wilde and cinematographer Mathew Libatique nail that weird, oblique edge for the town of Victory. Alas, there is trouble in paradise, one could say.įlorence Pugh as Alice in ‘Don’t Worry Darling’ – Warner Bros. He maintains that there is nothing wrong in this town – why would there be, to him it’s a nirvana for misogyny. Scandalous attempts to break out and make sense of the intermittent dreams and hallucinations that plague her, Alice finds herself consistently at odds with sharply dressed, clean shaven James-Bond-esque husband, Harry Styles, and his myriad of sports cars. Wilde herself, Gemma Chan, Kiki Layne & Dita Von Teese). What spell is seemingly cast over her slowly starts to break down, much to the chagrin of the smarmy, cult leader Frank (Chris Pine) and her fellow Stepford Wives (incl. It’s an incel’s version of paradise and in the early going, Alice (Florence Pugh) is drinking that Victory Kool-Aid – along with all the other Victory breads, milks and eggs that contribute to the sinister, manufactured model home sensibility that encompasses the town.īut, down the rabbit hole Alice goes, on a journey into a gaslighted mania. A steak lovingly marinated, cooked, and discarded in favour of voyeuristic kitchen sex. Manhattan cocktails delivered by subservient children, a seemingly always high sun and suited evening parties.

It’s the idyllic 1950’s, in aesthetic and sensibilities.Īttractive husbands with attractive, submissive wives dressed in neat, unsoiled cocktail dresses greeting them at the door from an oh-so-hard day of being the breadwinner at the mysterious Victory Project. Olivia Wilde’s sophomore effort, Don’t Worry Darling, a film that wears its message loudly, proudly and with barefaced cheek, opens with a supposed male utopian suburbia.

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