After watching Booksmart, Olivia Wilde’s sophomore effort probably comes as a bit of a surprise. Instead of studious teens and wild parties, we’re thrown straight into the world of Victory, a utopian paradise where new citizens Alice (Florence Pugh) and Jack Chambers (Harry Styles) are enjoying the decadence of suburban life thanks to the environment’s cult-like creator – (Chris Pine). All of this oasis is provided without pay, provided that the wives stick to the golden rule of never asking about their husband’s work. No exposition is provided as to how the couple and its other residents got there, but with the help of some jaunty editing and flashing imagery, Alice soon realises that there’s trouble in paradise after witnessing the apparent suicide of her friend Margaret (KiKi Layne).
The environment is quickly established through stylish 50s and 60s domestic home spaces and unsettling colour palettes as cars leave their driveways in tandem. Houses are neatly aligned and designed in Edward Scissorhands-style symmetry, characterising the dystopian order lying behind Victory’s apparent promise of freedom. Florence Pugh is far and away Don’t Worry Darling’s greatest asset, and she’s certainly had a lot of practice in playing trauma after her standout performance in Midsommar; her still expressions of terror frequently convey meaning without saying a word. Styles, however, is wooden at best, and Pine is merely adequate as the messianic figure pulling the strings. Since Pugh, Styles and Pine comprise the film’s central leads, the rest of the narrative is left to the visuals themselves, which while impressive, don’t do enough to substitute for story. Side-characters like Pine’s wife Shelley (Gemma Chan) and local resident Bunny (played by Wilde herself) make little to no impression, and John Piles’ tense strings don’t exactly bring any fresh ideas to the standard horror soundtrack.
By the time we reach the big twist and learn what the men are really up to, it’s little more than a deflating revelation. Don’t Worry Darling riffs on films like The Truman Show, Pleasantville, and Stranger Than Fiction, but fails to retain the spark or smarts of any. Less Booksmart, more Bookdumb.
And with that killer ending line, I’ll get my coat.