The hot mess Don’t Worry Darling is too much and not enough

It would have been more fun to watch this hot mess earlier, during the miniature cultural moment that briefly dominated social media discourse. It seems that the juicy, gossipy disasters must have occurred mostly behind the camera, for the actual film itself isn’t a total fiasco. I’ve unfortunately seen the not-dissimilar Serenity (2019), and I’m here to tell you that Don’t Worry Darling is a five-star, 100% fresh tomato, two-thumbs-way-up masterpiece in comparison.

For audiences conditioned by Black Mirror, the only real suspense is waiting to see if the inevitable twist will be more Westworld– or Matrix-flavored. In other words: is our hero Flo trapped in a Stepford robot body or an Oculus Rift prison?

But take a step back and consider the core premise: does anybody think that if toxic incel/misogynist/extremely-online/gamergate types were to have the opportunity to construct a virtual fantasy world, that it would amount to mere Leave it to Beaver cosplay? (but TBH, featuring a Dita Von Teese NPC is understandable; I’m only human)

In its final moments, Olivia Wilde’s film does make a fitful attempt at adding complexity: we learn at least one woman has consciously elected to live in this man’s world. It’s too much, too late, and yet not enough.