Don’t Worry Darling Isn’t a Catastrophe—or an Unqualified Success

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Let's put aside, if we can, all the little controversies that stretched back to before the premiere of Don't vary darling in Venice. Now that the film has started, maybe we can just focus on the film.

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Director Olivia Wilde has created a candid and intermittently entertaining science-thriller, which borrows a lot from many better things, but uses those parts effectively. For a while anyway.

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The film looks like palm springs of the 1960s, endangering desert mountains in mid-century development. It is a planned community built by a shady corporation

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Men, all pretty, go to work every morning, while women, all pretty, take care of the children or soak themselves in afternoon cocktails with neighboring wives.

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It's an arc mix of Mad Men chic (with a bright polish) and Manhattan Project privacy. Of course, at the core of all this good-for-good life is an ominous laughter.

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We probably feel this because we are familiar with The Stepford Wives, or The Truman Show, and other films and television shows that present an outwardly ancient, if ancient, one.

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And then there's the thing of Alice's husband, Jack, played by little-known indie musician Harry Styles. I kid, of course. Styles is one of the biggest musical acts on the planet at the moment

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Don't worry darling moves along, its rumble of revived elements vibrantly in enough harmony, unless it's time to be edgy and what's really happening to Alice. That's when Katie Silberman

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Shane van's screenplay begins to falter, as does Wilde's direction. They show us essentially the same scene over and over again: Alice thinks she sees something that sucks only to tell.

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When it is revealed, the film comes in. The intention here is to tell a relevant story about the subordination of women under the modern forces of feminism.

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