Don't Worry Darling

This psychological thriller begins intriguingly. Alice (Florence Pugh) and Jack Chambers (Harry Styles) attend a party that’s so joyful, it borders on rapturous. And why not? There are martinis galore, happy, extraverted friends to hang with, and dancing set to Ray Chares’s “Night Time Is the Right Time.” Director Olivia Wilde (whose first film was the bouncy Booksmart) establishes a movie reality that’s so convivial I wanted to be a part of the action. Watching Jack and Alice in the desert doing doughnuts in the the car and Alice and Bunny (Wilde) talking poolside is every bit as fun as they should be. One reason is the production design, especially the Chambers’ glass house, with its little statues, ceramic birds, and mint green tub.

The central character in the movie, set in a paradisal neighborhood in Victory, California in the 1950s, is Alice, who loves her life, particularly her husband Jack, who works for a top-secret company called the Victory Project. Alice and Jack’s favorite activity is sex, which trumps food, judging by the way she pushes a roast off the dining room table to make room so she can receive oral pleasure. Alice lives a simple life, cooking her husband husband dinner, cleaning the house, and taking a ballet class. She also likes chatting and partying with her housewife friends, Bunny, pregnant Peg (Kate Berlant), and Shelley (Gemma Chan), wife of Frank (Chris Pine), the Victory Project founder.

While riding a trolley, Alice sees a biplane crash and runs to try to help. Instead of finding the plane, she locates Vicory Headquarters and experiences hallucinations. She subsequently has flashbacks and comes to believe the world she’s inhabiting isn’t real. Rather than accepting her concerns, Alice’s pals hate that she won’t accept the seemingly idyllic world in which they live.

Don’t Worry Darling has been hit with a lot of negative media coverage over the past few weeks. Shia LaBeouf was reportedly fired, although he has disputed that claim, saying he quit. Florence Pugh has limited her promotional press for the flick, fueling speculation of a rift between Wilde and Pugh. A rumor got started that Wilde and Syles, who are dating, broke it off, but sources close to the couple deny it. Social media has been buzzing because Styles allegedly spit on Chris Pine at the Venice Film Festival screening though as someone who has seen the clip, I can say that assertion is ludicrous.

The problems with the movie far outnumber its bad press. Before I address the parts that go awry, I would like to praise the main actors, or most of them. Florence Pugh gives a persuasive performance in the role of Alice. Her worry that there’s something deeply wrong with her life powers much of my interest in the film’s first half. She creates a character who’s easy to feel for when her world caves in. Chris Pine casts an imposing presence as Frank, which is significant because the part, I believe, is underwritten. Pine illustrates who he is in a short period of time. His speech to the guests at his party is charismatic and relaxed—it’s as though he knows he’s adored. Pine maintains Frank’s mystery and is careful not to overplay his emotions. Olivia Wilde delivers an entertaining portrayal as Bunny, believably conveying her enthusiasm for living in every scene where it’s required. Harry Styles isn’t anywhere near as successful in the part of Jack. In a movie with lively, confident characters, he too often appears as timid and dull. He’s more compelling in the sequences where he shouts as Alice. But his screen personality is greatly lacking, and in parts of his awkward dance, after he’s publicly promoted, he comes off as an oversized puppet.

Wilde, I repeat, gets her film off to a magnetic start, but she doesn’t sustain interest in it. When Alice realizes the problem-free existence she thought she lived in is rife with bugs, I was curious as to where Don’t Worry Darling was going. I spotted a defect in this world before Alice does. Since Whites didn’t see Blacks as equals in the 1950s, it’s exceedingly unlikely Margaret (KiKi Layne), an African American, would be treated as though her race weren’t a problem. (Admittedly, this may not have been something the White characters would have noticed, but it’s clear early on there’s something amiss.) That’s a minor thing, though. More important is how the movie develops, and this is where action goes askew. Alice has questions about Jack’s job and the purpose of the Victory Project, yet those answers are delayed too long. Consequently, the action becomes repetitive and annoying. When the movie tells what has occurred, I was more frustrated than enthralled.

Visually and aurally, there are shortcomings too. Granted, the costumes are colorful and Matthew Libatique’s cinematography is aesthetically pleasing. The shots different colored cars pulling out of driveways simultaneously are fetching. But the close-ups of oily meat are grotesque, and the Busby Berkley-influenced black-and-white shots of dancers seem to belong in a different movie. I like the sound on occasion, like the sound that Frank emits after a late phone call and the hard breathing the movie’s close. John Powell’s music, however, distracted me. The vocal jabs, for instance, are jarring and call attention more to the score than images, as during the climactic car scene.

In the first act, Alice opens an egg and finds nothing inside. That’s an apt metaphor for Don’t Worry Darling. (Spoilers)

The M. Night Shyamalan-like twist is godawful and makes a mockery of the film. The Victory Project is a simulation, and Alice is an avatar forced to live as a 1950s-like housewife so Jack can live his dream as the breadwinner. Jack has this fantasy because in real life, he’s not a success. Rather than satisfactorily providing answers, the mountainous reveal left me with more questions. How is this world set up? Since Alice, it turns out, was once a doctor, didn’t her co-workers ask about her after she was taken away? Didn’t her family and friends notice she was gone? Who is paying for all these people to live in this idyllic community? Shelley kills Frank, calling him a “stupid, stupid man.” What did he do that was dumb? Shelley claims, “It’s my turn now.” How would her perspective differ from Frank’s?

Wilde and Silberman want to poke holes in gender roles, making clear that there’s more going on in the lives of men and women than the roles they’re assigned. When Alice realizes what been happening, she wants her liberty, even if that freedom means she’s overworked and miserable. (For her, it’s preferable to a life of leisure.) But this dystopian world doesn’t develop into something exciting and different. The Matrix used simulation to examine ideas such as free will, life’s meaning, and reality. Don’t Worry Darling doesn’t give its wild plot turn much purpose and, unfortunately, it, on the whole, doesn’t seem that much different than The Stepford Wives.

A fine twist should add meaning to the action and shouldn’t seem like a dopey, spur-of-the-moment concept that can’t withstand simple questions. The one here is every bit as idiotic as hilariously insane distortion cooked up in the terrible mystery-thriller Serenity.

House of Darkness

Neil LaBute received high praise for the script of his first movie (which he also directed), In the Company of Men. In The New Republic, Stanley Kauffman called LaBute’s script “unusually fine.” In Variety, Dennis Harvey wrote that the film’s “greatest achievement is its sharply pointed dialogue.” Labute’s latest effort, a comedy horror movie entitled House of Darkness, has the same kind of cats-playing-with-a-mouse dynamic as In the Company of Men, but to me, it’s clear proof of how sharply his writing skills have deteriorated.

The movie stars Justin Long as Hap, who drives Mina (Kate Bosworth) home after meeting her at a bar. Hap is delighted when Mina invites him in. He believes he’s winning her over and hopes to end the night with a bang. In the huge house, they talk about if each is married, lying, a phone conversation Hap has with his friend, and other matters. The two kiss and seem on the cusp of having sex when they get interrupted.

LaBute was inspired by Bram Stoker’s Dracula, and it shows. He does a fine job of setting a spooky mood. The lights are out, and the dimness implies something ominous. One point the writer-director makes is that Hap is so determined to achieve his goal (having sex) he isn’t put off creepiness of the situation. He doesn’t see the danger of going to a woman’s house at night and being in a room lit by candles and firelight. He can only conceive of good things happening when he should have been concerned within a couple minutes of entering Mina’s manor, which has a gate that creaks startlingly as it opens.

But LaBute’s script is feeble. It lacks the occurrences that would have retained interest. LaBute moves the discussions around (Hap talks to Mina in the car, outside, and in the house), which helps a smidge, but there’s too much talk and not enough action, particularly because it’s so clear where the movie is going. Rather than employing twists that could create excitement, as in the 1972 comedy mystery-thriller Sleuth or the similar Deathtrap, LaBute keeps the wearying conversations going. Nor is LaBute’s dialogue witty or charming enough to be devilish fun. The dialogue isn’t painfully awful; it’s just doesn’t crackle like his script for In the Company of Men.

The screenplay fails in another way. LaBute doesn’t make the interactions meaningful. Had Hap been conflicted about his attempted seductions of Mina and, later, her sister Lucy (Gia Crovatin), and had the women been open regarding what would happen to him, there would have been an added a layer of intrigue. (Mina and Lucy don’t appear persuadable, yet it would have been more dramatic if he had a way out.) But Hap goes at the women full blast, and it’s obvious they’re going to respond in the same fashion after he realizes things may not go his way. So, there’s no mystery, and Hap can’t change his fate. What goes on at the end could have happened 70 minutes earlier. (House of Darkness would have been much better as a short movie.) The expanded conversations seem to exist so this would be a full-length film.

Justin Long carries the bulk of the dialogue load as Hap, and he does it agreeably. Hap is self-centered and a bit of a jerk (as his phone call to his friend reveals), but Long swaddles his talk with an affability that make him appear as a sweet guy, or so he thinks. That’s how he should be played, as someone who reckons he’s making headway when his verbal twistings when attempts to be appealing aren’t benefitting him. Long, I should say, portrays sitcom actor AJ Gilbride in the better-made (if overpraised) horror movie Barbarian, released on the same date. Kate Bosworth gives a diverting performance as Mina. When Hap says she’s “probably right” that he didn’t hear anything, Bosworth replies, with the right firmness, “No, I know I’m right.” Mina’s occasional deeply serious replies, which throw off Hap (suggesting she has the upper hand), and her playful laugh are ably acted. Gia Crovatin skillfully plays Lucy, differentiating herself from Mina, even though they have the same main characteristic (they’re both forthright). Crovatin’s Lucy is cooler and less elusive than Mina, and while she’s not in as many scenes as Long and Bosworth, she still makes an impact. Another attraction: Adam Bosage’s slow, sinister, unsettling music.

Some of the parts are there for entertaining show, but LaBute’s writing kills any chance House of Darkness has of reaching success.

RRR

This epic action action drama has been cheered by reviewers, who, by percentage, like it almost as much as fans. It has been approved by 92 percent of critics, only two percent shy of its current “audience score” on Rotten Tomatoes. The question is does the movie live up to the hype?

I say, happily, yes. Epics aren’t easy to pull off. The last one I saw, Denis Villeneuve’s Dune, proves why. However much I appreciated many parts of that movie (the sound, the production design, the visual effects, and the cinematography), the plot and characters lacked spirit. Simply, put, it’s difficult to get all (or nearly all) the parts of an epic to work. A director can get the technical aspects damn near perfect and still miss the target because of a weak script. RRR, a Teluga-language effort from S. S. Rajamouli, was in movie theaters earlier this year and can be seen on Netflix, where it is presently playing. I heartily recommend it.

Loosely based on true stories of two 20th century Indian revolutionaries, Komaram Bheem (N.T. Rama Rao Jr.), a a Gond tribal leader, and Alluri Sitarama Raju (Ram Charan), an ambitious police officer. In the 1920s, Bheem, pretending to be a Muslim named Akhtar (because the authroities are searching for him), comes to Delhi to find and bring back a girl, Malli (Twinkle Sharma), he considers his siter, who was kidnapped by Governor Scott Buxton (Ray Stevenson) and his wife Catherine (Alison Doody). Raju, hoping to rise in the British ranks, volunteers to hunt him down. Bheem and Raj meet each other and quickly form a deep bond, though Bheem doesn’t know Raj trying to locate him and Raj doesn’t realize Bheem is the man he’s after. While in real life, there’s no evidence of the two meeting, Bheem and Raj, in the movie, join forces and perform outstanding feats.

The inciting incident hooked me minutes into the movie. Malli’s abduction and the dreadful fashion in which Indians are spoken about (Buxton says they aren’t worth a British bullet) and treated are galling. Rajamouli next focuses on Raj, who pursues an Indian who has broken a framed picture. He goes into a crowd of thousands who are against him and tries to retrieve him. Seeing him getting punched, pulled, and struck on the head and still fight back indomitably is astonishing and easily one of the best sequences I have seen this year. Rajamouli switches to Bheem, who runs from a wolf and a tiger. The camera films the action from different angles, sometimes rushing toward Bheem and the tiger, viewing the chase overhead, and sometimes using close-ups (e.g., the profile shot of the tiger roaring and Bheem roaring back). As extraordinary as Raj’s perseverance is, Bheem’s survival skills are just as impressive.

The memorable scenes don’t end there. Bheem’s attack on Buxton’s residence soars, both visually and dramatically. He must fight an unexpected antagonist who’s as resolute about stopping him as Bheem is about rescuing Malli. On an action level, it’s rousing, but Bheem’s sense of betrayal is also emotionally gutting. There’s a splendid image: animals leaping out of the truck in very slow motion. Earlier, Bheem and Raju work together together to save a boy from an encroaching fire. The way they use a rope to accomplish the task is certainly not realistic; in fact, it’s ludicrous. The scene, though, satisfies, despite being crazily over-the-top.

Typically, saying a movie is “ludicrous” and “over-the-top” is a serious criticism (for me). That’s because most movies try to be life-like, so when they’re not and I’m taken out of the movie, it’s a big flaw. The action in RRR, however, is very different. Raju’s determination to track an Indian is so extraordinary it goes beyond what’s realistic, and the same goes for Bheem’s efforts to avoid the wolf and tiger. The action is heightened to the nth degree, and because that is established early, the movie is clearly not playing with normal, true-to-life rules. It would be wrong then to judge it harshly for being exaggerated when that’s the reason a lot of it is intoxicating.

With that being said, I have complaints. There are times when RRR is so ridiculous, it’s comical. (Mild spoilers) As Buxton rides in a car traveling toward Raju who’s in another vehicle, it hits a bump. After Buxton is knocked into the air, his rifle miraculously lifts into his arms. He shoots while he’s still in the air, too. The car Raju rides in flips (!), and he takes a right turn so wildly, it’s hilarious. Slow motion is used to good effect in several scenes (the animals jumping out of the truck toward Buxton’s residence is one example), but it’s used too frequently, rendering the slow motion in the final third less satisfying (as when Bheem and Raj work together to attack a guard on a platform). And the words don’t always match the characters’ mouth (e.g., a man tells a British authority figure there’s a “shephard” who will “retrieve the missing lamb”).

Rajamouli’s screenplay is nicely layered. He has Bheem and Raju become fine friends without really knowing each other. That allows Rajamouli to flesh out Raju’s tale in a way that enables the viewer to see him in anew. However brave Raju is, it’s easy to be baffled by his loyalty to the British, many of whom are cruel and sadistic in this film. Rajamouli’s flashback structure answers that concern, giving a fuller picture of who Raju is and why he acts as he does.

Did I mention there’s dancing? Yes, RRR is part action movie, part drama, and part musical. The dancing is nearly as impassioned as the action. Bheem and Raju even have a kind of dance-off, and it’s wonderfully entertaining. Since the dancing doesn’t involve the danger in the action or the sense of betrayal in the drama, the dance sections are the most joyful in the movie. They give off a Seven Brides for Seven Brothers-like vibe, though the dancing is more exuberant.

N. T. Rama Rao Jr. convinces as Bheem, handling the gentle and intense sides of his character with equal self-assurance. Ram Charan does more than show mere determination as Raju. His ferocity illustrates a character so steadfast and remarkable he at times comes to the doorstep of the supernatural (as with his extraordinary desire to capture a lawbreaker). And given how Rajamouli heightens his movie’s “reality,” Charan’s depiction fits the film perfectly. The lead actors are also appropriately ebullient during the dancing sequences. M. M. Keerivanni composed the score and the soundtrack, and both are winsome. My favorite song is the catchy “Dosti,” with its memorable refrain “Dara dum dara dum/Dara dum dum.”

The craft on display is outstanding. K. K. Senthil Kumar’s cinematography is very vibrant. There are multiple crowd scenes and the clarity with which the people in the background can be seen is impressive. Sabu Cyril’s production design is handsomely mounted, and his set pieces are easily the best I have seen this year. Rama Rajamouli, the director’s wife, made the top-drawer costumes, and A. Sreekar Prasad does the polished editing.

Although RRR is extremely long (three hours and seven minutes), the movie races by. Simply put, it’s great fun.