The Trigger Warning Dangers of Gaslighting Bleeding Into Reality

 

Kiki Layne has three pivotal scenes as the troubled Margaret in Don’t Worry Darling.

Well, the critics were certainly right to dismiss Olivia Wilde’s second feature Don’t Worry Darling. Now that behind-the-scenes antics are finally dying down, let us unpack this catastrophic mess of a storyline failing both feminism and womanism perspectives. For starters, the small part that Margaret provides in this cookie cutter Stepford wives fantasy parallels real-life situations vulnerable Black women have placed themselves in. The all-smiling cult set in the always suspectedly sunny Victory, California promises to be nonthreatening, but they only represent great harm.  

We hear about Margaret before even seeing her onscreen because the vintage styled housewives are complaining that she didn’t show up to mandatory yoga. If that doesn’t sound like modern day gentrification conversational BS.... 

Interestingly, Wilde plays Bunny, a harsh, shallow character (who also may be racist) painting Margaret as a borderline psychotic. Alice is the simpering “do not speak ill” on the former friend, but does little service in defending, let alone understanding poor Margaret’s disposition. The most important thing to Alice is Jack and only Jack, the first key punch to feminism. Alice is obsessed with making Jack’s meals and making sure his horniness is fulfilled by any means necessary. So, who cares if her neighbor is a little on the fritz when Jack centers Alice’s life? 

Alice then spies Margaret standing robotically still on her lawn, gazing at nothing. Yet, the woman does not even speak, let alone acknowledge her neighbor’s silent presence. If this isn’t an example of “white silence is white consent,” other events bring that statement to light. Alice continues carrying on, living her idyllic dream with her dull, secretive husband, including feeding his endless sexual appetite. 

At a posh party that includes the whole small population of Victory, Margaret interrupts Frank, the eccentric, seemingly omnipresent leader, with her first spoken lines being, “why are we here? We shouldn’t be here.” 

Margaret is immediately escorted away. Frank laughs it off. 

Margaret is forced to remain silent. 

Alice immediately goes to a dazed Margaret who repeats her earlier refrain that none of them belong there. And where is the “there” exactly? What is Victory? Does anyone care? Before anything else could be stated or even explained, the curtain closes on Margaret (obviously drugged) and Alice wanders away, finding her husband who draws her in with public sex to shut up any curious thoughts. Things get creepier as Frank catches them. 

According to Bunny, Margaret is unliked because she took her son to the desert— a big no no. Later, we learn that despite all the couples trying for children and Bunny herself having two of her own, that children are not real in this strange concept. Perhaps Bunny’s great disdain for Margaret has more to do with her going to the desert with her son and that son mysteriously disappearing rather than Margaret’s perceived mental state. Bunny seems content with the housewife role even though her children much prefer Alice over her. Margaret presents a threat to that— a certain rule breaking independence. Bunny makes it her business to castrate Margaret, influencing the other women to ostracize Margaret as well. Although it is saddening that Bunny has lost her children in the real world, her treatment of Margaret is an appalling reaction that maybe involves self-hatred. 

Still, Alice doesn’t entirely write Margaret off— though she doesn’t talk to the woman. After staying on the bus as opposed to shopping with the other ladies, Alice sees a plane crash, but the driver cannot go up the desert mountains to feed Alice’s temperament. Alice knows that the desert is against the rules. Look how they treat Margaret— no one even wants to associate with her. The mystery begins to crack a little until Alice awakes to find herself back at home. Soon, all Alice thinks about is the desert and she asks questions much to everyone including Jack’s dismay. Yet, when Margaret calls, cryptically saying that she knows what’s happening, Alice practically calls her nuts and hangs up. It is pretty cruel that Alice decides to treat Margaret how everyone else does. Alice sees what Margaret has been going through and is starting to receive the brunt of that particular experience. Instead of standing by Margaret’s side, Alice casually dismisses the horrifying situation— eerily similar to telling folks the realities of racism, sexism, ableism, etc., only to be criminally told “it’s all in your head.”  

Suddenly, during yoga, Alice turns into Margaret’s mind reader, staring helplessly as Margaret repeatedly bangs her head against the mirror. No one else in the studio sees Margaret. Only Alice sees Margaret’s distorted faces among the shattered fragments. Alice quickly leaves to witness Margaret slit her own throat from the roof of her perfect house. The scene itself is trauma inducing, but it is Alice’s later flashbacks that pierces the soul. Margaret deserved better— better than this terrible Victory concept, better than white women neighbors like Alice and Bunny. 

This disturbing scene foreshadows Margaret’s suicide that Alice (Florence Pugh) will witness. 

A devastated Alice is haunted over and over by Margaret’s death— a death of someone she claimed an old friend but did not treat as such. Despite Victory’s people claiming that Margaret is indeed “okay” and “feeling better,” we never see her onscreen alive again. Then, Alice keeps seeing Margaret’s fallen bloodied body— a disturbing, unsettling picture that does something to a psyche so accustomed to televised Black demise. It seems almost as though a sadistic pleasure comes out of this phenomenon, both in real life and fiction. Dead Margaret drives Alice to further action. Earlier, Alice allowed herself to be stilted, mainly by Bunny and Jack. Now with Margaret gone, detective Alice seeks to uncover the mysteries of Victory and Frank. Unfortunately, Jack knows more than he pretends to. When Alice expresses her findings to Bunny during Jack’s pseudo weird job promotion dinner, a freaked out Bunny tells the woman to be proud of her husband’s accomplishments. Talk about setting feminism back a few decades. 

At last, Alice realizes she is really an overworked doctor and that Jack is a depressed loser who signed them both up for Victory’s virtual reality without Alice’s consent. He felt neglected— always hungry and sex deprived. Wow. The vicious twist that Bunny has known the truth is also very detrimental. Instead of helping Margaret in any shape or form, Bunny chose to bash this Black woman every time her name is spoken. Bunny instilled major verbal abuse on Margaret (out of earshot of course because Margaret is severely lacking screen time) and encouraged others to do the same. Yet, the moment Bunny realizes Alice is in danger, she rushes forth to rescue her fellow white woman, her mirror self from the horror dystopian society. This speaks volumes about the brand of feminism this film reveals— that women of color are not to believed, gaslit into isolation, told that their fears are purely a result of psychological illness. Thus, Margaret still retained hope that her former friend could see the breaks in the false perfection structure. Alice, however, becomes a disappointing extension of Bunny, ignoring the warning signs that Margaret insists upon until it is far too late. Furthermore, a person who dies in Victory, dies in the real world too. So sadly, Margaret has died twice. Did she know that? Did she discover that Victory was a simulation, a false world? Was that what she found out in the desert? Did she even volunteer to be there or was that her barely seen husband Ted’s doing? Who is Margaret and where is her body? So many inquiries and not enough smart choices. 

Whether it be the alleged abuser Shia LaBeoff originally being cast to the noticeable tension between Academy Award nominated Florence Pugh against director Olivia Wilde or the false feminist values that the storyline is supposed to accomplish, future Razzie Awards winner Don’t Worry Darling was a mess during production to the end. Katie Silberman’s screenplay written alongside Carey and Shane Van Dyke is altogether messy and complex, introducing more riddles than answering questions. Yet, another crucial behind-the-scenes backfire is Affonso Gonçalves’s preposterous film editing. Although this is Wilde’s directional effort, Gonçalves must be partly blamed for Kiki Layne and Ari’el Statchel’s scenes being cut. Layne, with already lesser film credits and awards nominations than the rest of her cast mates, deserved this opportunity to broadcast her talents, especially among the nearly all-white crew. However, with the red flags planted on the Pugh and Wilde controversy and even her name included in top billing, it should be noted that Layne wasn’t at all an active participant in the press junkets. Despite whatever personal feelings Wilde has in regards to Pugh, the clear message is that Pugh’s Alice is who matters more, who is ultimately saved from this gawd awful wreckage. Thus, where is the true solidarity onscreen and off? The inclusivity of all women? None to be found. 

Letterboxd’s demi adejuyigbe summed it best on Don’t Worry Darling with, “standing outside the theater telling every white woman that leaves ‘so messed up. I would never do that to you.’