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DON'T WORRY, DARLING - Uh, Start Worrying


Ah had bout nine hours to kill the other night, so ah took in the latest from Olivia Wilde. Y'all know her as Hugh Laurie's medical supply cabinet fantasy from "House."

We all know her as "That aktriss looks familiar. Who is she agin?"

Ms. Wilde di-recks and stars in Don't Worry Darling, a movie that takes so long to get to it's point that it misses it entirely.

Also head-linin' the cast is Harry Styles, who needs to stick to singin' and wearing jump suits . . . and not in that order.

To the movie.

Victory is a small desert town in which all the people who live there, work for the same company. At least the menfolk do. The womenfolk shop; wear pretty clothes; and do something married ladies do not.

They have lotsa sex.

The company, stuck in the middle of a dry lake bed with a batcave entrance, is the provider of sumptin' or nuthin'

Hard to tell.

But over the course of the nine hour viewing, turns out things ain't what they appear to be. There is a few murders, or suicides. Take yer pick. Heavy consumption of alcohol. A 40's style shindig, which is weird since the film is, for some reason, set in the 50's.

All-in-all, there is a plot to get in the way of the movie, but bah the tahm Olivia gets to it, the audience has left the theater, or the couch.

For those playin' along at home:

Three or four dead bodies, including Harry Styles tryin' to ackt. Four partial breasts. Tongue Fu. Gratuitous bi-plane into the side of a mountain.

And Drive-In Theater Academy Award nomination for Francis Pugh fer havin' sex with Harry Styles on a mahogany table in Chris Pine's house, and allowin' Chris to have a free look at her goodies.

No stars.

Joe Bob sez check it out.

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