Dispatch From Venice: Ignore the Rumor Mill—‘Don’t Worry Darling’ Is a Thrilling Delight

A fine line separates a cult from a community, and the people of Victory—the town in which Olivia Wilde’s thrilling 1950s-set blockbuster Don’t Worry Darling is set—are dangerously teetering on its edge.

Everything seems normal: Jack (Harry Styles) wakes up and eats breakfast made by his doting wife Alice (Florence Pugh), and then heads off to the Victory Project, where he—like every other man in town—is mysteriously working on the “development of progressive materials.”

Meanwhile, Alice lives an idyllic life. The pair have no children, so her days are spent shopping with her friends, “gardening” (which really means drinking on sun loungers in the backyard with her best friend Bunny, played by Wilde), and preparing dinner for when Jack returns home. Afterwards—or sometimes before—they have wild, carnal sex. This routine runs like clockwork, so much so that when it’s stirred by the breakdown of Margaret (KiKi Layne), a grieving and disturbed Victory housewife, Alice begins to wonder just what might lie beyond her all-too-perfect town’s boundaries.

The movie premiered at the Venice Film Festival today abuzz with controversy—a shame, really, considering the final product is bombastic and beguiling enough to give one hope for the future of mid-budget moviemaking. It wears its reference points on its sleeve (Wilde has already named the The Matrix and The Truman Show as important inspirations), but in a Hollywood landscape marred by spin-offs and remakes, Don’t Worry Darling feels like a balm.

Technically and aesthetically, the film is a marvel. It opens on a glossy world of cookie-cutter mid-century homes inspired by the Kaufmann House in Palm Springs, and throws open the doors to a gilded and glistening cabaret club, courtesy of Zola production designer Katie Byron. Oscar-winning cinematographer Matthew Libatique plays an important role in turning the California desert into a maelstrom of horror, as the walls of Alice’s house quite literally close in on her and she sees strange apparitions in the mirrors. (The sense of growing unease is aided by John Powell’s excellent score, which sounds like it’s built from the chants and wails of women.) Arianne Phillips’s period costuming—a mix of custom-designed and vintage pieces—is a feast for fans of 1950s fashion; just be prepared for those gorgeous gowns and suits to get soiled as the story progresses.