‘Don’t Worry Darling’ Review: Florence Pugh and Harry Styles Sizzle in Olivia Wilde’s Neo-’50s Nightmare Thriller, but the Movie Is More Showy Than Convincing
Owen Gleiberman Chief Film Critic Olivia Wilde’s “Don’t Worry Darling” is a movie that, in recent weeks, has been besieged and consumed by offscreen dramas, none of which I’ll recount here, except to note that when a film’s lead actress seems actively reluctant to publicize the film in question, that’s a sign of some serious discord. Yet it would be hugely unfair to allow this tempest in a teapot of gossipy turmoil to influence one’s feelings about the movie. If you want to talk about problems related to “Don’t Worry Darling,” you need look no further than at what’s onscreen. The film, written by Katie Silberman, with the brilliant production design of Katie Byron, is a kind of candy-colored “Stepford Wives” in the Twilight Zone meets “The Handmaid’s Tale” for the age of torn-at-the-seams democracy. In theory, this should add up to a juicy watch. Wilde, whose first feature was the witty and vivacious 2019 girls-on-a-bender comedy “Booksmart” (this is her second film), is a gifted director who knows how to set a mood. In “Don’t Worry Darling,” she does that to the max, and for a while you get caught up in it (or, at least, I did). Between the pop ambition, the tasty dream visuals, and the presence of Harry Styles in his first lead role, “Don’t Worry Darling” should have no trouble finding an audience. But the movie takes you on a ride that gets progressively less scintillating as it goes along.