by Josh Sewell
Don’t Worry Darling
(Rated R for sexuality, violent content and language. Opens in theaters on September 23.)
In this jarring tonal pivot from Olivia Wilde, once again collaborating on the screenplay with her Booksmart partner Katie Silberman (adapting an original story from Carey and Shane Van Dyke), the actress-turned-filmmaker attempts to craft a psychological thriller about a seemingly perfect town with a disturbing origin. Sadly, the result ends up being far less compelling than the soap opera shenanigans surrounding the troubled production.
The plot centers on Alice (Florence Pugh) and Jack Chambers (pop star Harry Styles), who live in the idealized community of Victory. It’s an isolated neighborhood created to house the men who work for the top-secret Victory Project and their families. The nostalgia-tinged 1950s optimism championed by the company’s CEO Frank (Chris Pine) and his enigmatic wife Shelley (Gemma Chan) is widely embraced by the neighborhood (including characters played by Wilde, Nick Kroll, Kate Berlant, Asif Ali and Timothy Simons).
The couple’s edicts are obeyed with a cult-like fervor and anyone who questions them tends to disappear. So, when Alice notices something strange and begins to investigate, she risks Jack’s career, their marriage and possibly her life.
As the lights went down in my screening, I did my best to ignore all the behind-the-scenes gossip that has dominated social media and entertainment websites over the past few months and go into the film with an open mind. After all, remember how Titanic and Avatar were supposed to be awful, doomed films based on early rumors?
Sadly, the overwhelming negative buzz on Don’t Worry Darling turned out to be exactly the case. It’s really bad, and not in a fun, campy way. The central mystery is a dull, jumbled rehash of The Stepford Wives, The Matrix, The Truman Show and Get Out that brings nothing new to the conversation while still thinking it has something important to say. I genuinely can’t believe it comes from the same director and writers behind one of 2019’s best movies.
At least the news isn’t all bad. Pugh – as always – delivers a fantastic performance, trying her darndest to elevate both the material and her co-star’s novice acting skills. While Styles isn’t as awful as some reviews have claimed, he has the misfortune of sharing most of his screen time with one of the most gifted actresses working today. Pugh blows him out of the water in every scene. Pine is also strong, but he’s not in the movie enough to make much of a difference.
Matthew Libatique’s cinematography is genuinely terrific and so is the soundtrack, which is packed with familiar ’50s hits. But that’s about the extent of the film’s positive attributes. I’m sure Styles has enough die-hard fans to keep Don’t Worry Darling from being a true box office bomb, but I have a feeling it’ll evaporate from the pop culture conversation pretty fast.
Grade: D
Blonde
(Rated NC-17 for some sexual content. Opens in limited release on September 23 and available on Netflix beginning September 28.)
Writer-director Andrew Dominik (the filmmaker responsible for 2007’s near-masterpiece The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford) adapts Joyce Carol Oates’ controversial novel to craft this reimagining of Hollywood icon Marilyn Monroe’s (Ana de Armas) tragic life. The epic narrative begins with her traumatic childhood and ends with her heartbreaking, seemingly inevitable death on a fateful night in August 1962.
Along the way, viewers experience almost every awful development in her personal life and career. That includes the emotional and physical abuse she endured from her mentally ill mother (Julianne Nicholson), as well as her marriages to the violent Joe DiMaggio (Bobby Cannavale) and the aloof, condescending Arthur Miller (Adrien Brody). The film also chronicles her humiliating affair with John F. Kennedy (Caspar Phillipson), and the drug abuse – originating from decades of exploitation – that ultimately claimed her life.
First, a few positives: de Armas is nothing short of incredible. Thanks to excellent makeup and costume design, she’s a dead ringer for Monroe, although her accent occasionally breaks the illusion. There’s also a haunting score courtesy of Nick Cave and Warren Ellis. The cinematography is stellar, with Dominik and director of photography Chayse Irvin utilizing various aspect ratios while constantly shifting from color to black and white.
However, viewers should know Blonde frequently veers into disturbing – some will say offensive – avant garde territory. That includes several scenes in which Monroe has conversations with the babies she lost throughout her life and, even more grotesque, an abortion procedure from the fetus’ POV.
To be honest, I’m not sure who the movie is for. Casual viewers who stumble across it on Netflix will probably bail early on because it’s almost three hours of unrelentingly bleak misery porn full of graphic sexuality (including scenes of sexual assault), combined with a nontraditional narrative.
Monroe’s admirers will likely have a big problem with the artistic liberties Dominik employs to fictionalize her life (to be fair, Oates did this in her novel first) and, through its horrifying depictions of her exploitation, how Blonde victimizes her all over again. Even its awards season prospects are questionable due to its lackluster reception on the festival circuit and mixed reviews from most critics – including yours truly, as evidenced by my grade below.
Grade: C
(Rated R for sexuality, violent content and language. Opens in theaters on September 23.)
In this jarring tonal pivot from Olivia Wilde, once again collaborating on the screenplay with her Booksmart partner Katie Silberman (adapting an original story from Carey and Shane Van Dyke), the actress-turned-filmmaker attempts to craft a psychological thriller about a seemingly perfect town with a disturbing origin. Sadly, the result ends up being far less compelling than the soap opera shenanigans surrounding the troubled production.
The plot centers on Alice (Florence Pugh) and Jack Chambers (pop star Harry Styles), who live in the idealized community of Victory. It’s an isolated neighborhood created to house the men who work for the top-secret Victory Project and their families. The nostalgia-tinged 1950s optimism championed by the company’s CEO Frank (Chris Pine) and his enigmatic wife Shelley (Gemma Chan) is widely embraced by the neighborhood (including characters played by Wilde, Nick Kroll, Kate Berlant, Asif Ali and Timothy Simons).
The couple’s edicts are obeyed with a cult-like fervor and anyone who questions them tends to disappear. So, when Alice notices something strange and begins to investigate, she risks Jack’s career, their marriage and possibly her life.
As the lights went down in my screening, I did my best to ignore all the behind-the-scenes gossip that has dominated social media and entertainment websites over the past few months and go into the film with an open mind. After all, remember how Titanic and Avatar were supposed to be awful, doomed films based on early rumors?
Sadly, the overwhelming negative buzz on Don’t Worry Darling turned out to be exactly the case. It’s really bad, and not in a fun, campy way. The central mystery is a dull, jumbled rehash of The Stepford Wives, The Matrix, The Truman Show and Get Out that brings nothing new to the conversation while still thinking it has something important to say. I genuinely can’t believe it comes from the same director and writers behind one of 2019’s best movies.
At least the news isn’t all bad. Pugh – as always – delivers a fantastic performance, trying her darndest to elevate both the material and her co-star’s novice acting skills. While Styles isn’t as awful as some reviews have claimed, he has the misfortune of sharing most of his screen time with one of the most gifted actresses working today. Pugh blows him out of the water in every scene. Pine is also strong, but he’s not in the movie enough to make much of a difference.
Matthew Libatique’s cinematography is genuinely terrific and so is the soundtrack, which is packed with familiar ’50s hits. But that’s about the extent of the film’s positive attributes. I’m sure Styles has enough die-hard fans to keep Don’t Worry Darling from being a true box office bomb, but I have a feeling it’ll evaporate from the pop culture conversation pretty fast.
Grade: D
(Rated NC-17 for some sexual content. Opens in limited release on September 23 and available on Netflix beginning September 28.)
Writer-director Andrew Dominik (the filmmaker responsible for 2007’s near-masterpiece The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford) adapts Joyce Carol Oates’ controversial novel to craft this reimagining of Hollywood icon Marilyn Monroe’s (Ana de Armas) tragic life. The epic narrative begins with her traumatic childhood and ends with her heartbreaking, seemingly inevitable death on a fateful night in August 1962.
Along the way, viewers experience almost every awful development in her personal life and career. That includes the emotional and physical abuse she endured from her mentally ill mother (Julianne Nicholson), as well as her marriages to the violent Joe DiMaggio (Bobby Cannavale) and the aloof, condescending Arthur Miller (Adrien Brody). The film also chronicles her humiliating affair with John F. Kennedy (Caspar Phillipson), and the drug abuse – originating from decades of exploitation – that ultimately claimed her life.
First, a few positives: de Armas is nothing short of incredible. Thanks to excellent makeup and costume design, she’s a dead ringer for Monroe, although her accent occasionally breaks the illusion. There’s also a haunting score courtesy of Nick Cave and Warren Ellis. The cinematography is stellar, with Dominik and director of photography Chayse Irvin utilizing various aspect ratios while constantly shifting from color to black and white.
However, viewers should know Blonde frequently veers into disturbing – some will say offensive – avant garde territory. That includes several scenes in which Monroe has conversations with the babies she lost throughout her life and, even more grotesque, an abortion procedure from the fetus’ POV.
To be honest, I’m not sure who the movie is for. Casual viewers who stumble across it on Netflix will probably bail early on because it’s almost three hours of unrelentingly bleak misery porn full of graphic sexuality (including scenes of sexual assault), combined with a nontraditional narrative.
Monroe’s admirers will likely have a big problem with the artistic liberties Dominik employs to fictionalize her life (to be fair, Oates did this in her novel first) and, through its horrifying depictions of her exploitation, how Blonde victimizes her all over again. Even its awards season prospects are questionable due to its lackluster reception on the festival circuit and mixed reviews from most critics – including yours truly, as evidenced by my grade below.
Grade: C
Reach out to Josh Sewell on Twitter @IAmJoshSewell
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