Venice 2022: Don’t Worry Darling
VENICE / NEW LINE CINEMABeyond the controversy that has likely torpedoed any real chance of Don’t Worry Darling being a major awards contender, the Florence Pugh-led piece just isn’t up to scratch. It is a shame to see, especially since the star at the center of it all is a monumental force. Her work of late is cementing her, rather rapidly, as a reliable lead and while Don’t Worry Darling won't hinder her progress so far, it does feel like a bit of a stumble. But it is not the fault of Pugh, whose performance here is as resounding a success in showcasing her qualities as all the others, but of those around her and those behind the camera, who are neither sure nor confident in their simple visions of an idyllic world gone awry.
Instilling a great and representative impression of the 1950s suburban style of living, Don’t Worry Darling manages at the very least to make itself feel unsettling. It is as though Suburbicon had gone through a costume change and ended up with lighting akin to Edward Scissorhands. In copying that style, director Olivia Wilde finds that her story is threadbare and there are only so many hit tracks from the golden age of recording to hide behind. A record scratch moment for every scene introduces the likes of Harry Styles, Gemma Chan and Nick Kroll, all of which find themselves playing second fiddle to the powerhouse Pugh performance and dark horse Chris Pine, whose work here is tremendous and understated. He is the glue that holds it all together, and despite how obvious and unforgettably dumb Wilde manages to spin it, his performance comes through as best it can.
Readings of the modern twists and the fascism inherent to the core of the ominous undertakings of the plot, it is a shame it all comes loose because Wilde cannot wait to get to the core. She hints at something being awry far too early. The pacing is a complete mess, fluttering back and forth between bouts of tense anxiety and loving passion between Alice (Pugh) and Jack (Styles). Donning an accent so strange it makes British-born Styles sound like he’s never stepped foot on the continent, a clunky series of visions akin to flapper girls of the 1940s comes through. A loading screen that plunders the remnants of a This is Hardcore music video, with tight stockings and Marilyn Monroe hair-dos adorning those flickers of dark storytelling. They are too early, too weak and too brief to do any good to this story, which flounders into a borderline insulting finale. A sign that Wilde has nothing to say, but knows these topics come good for her vision.
A cop-out ending and a twist that could be seen a mile off come together under the banner of a few nice details, but the concept is so dated it is startling to see it used with such sincerity. Don’t Worry Darling is a piece hoping to tackle big topics and bigger social commentaries, with comparisons between the gender norms of housewife and breadwinner blurred. It is a critical analysis of those projected roles and it is not a pretty sight. Not just because the jarring correlation to the modern-day is presented, but also because Don’t Worry Darling is empty at the best of times. It is a void where sincerity should remain, but nothing could be further from Wilde’s direction, which spends most of its time heavily hinting and teasing its audience with a very obvious devolution.