PrimeWire

As a director, Olivia Wilde arrived at “style over substance” quicker than most.  Take all the tropes of the Stepford Wives and distill them through a filter of red-pilled MRAs and you’ve got the entire plot.  No social commentary or nuance deeper than what one could glean from the first couple paragraphs of a Wikipedia article about Jordan Peterson.  (Though, thankfully, it is devoid of Peterson’s constant refrain of “it’s like…no” as some sort of reasoned point.)
Someone really did their research on visuals.  The interiors notably aren’t limited to the still acceptable MCM styles that we’re still buying today.  Glassware and tablesettings especially are allowed to include pieces that sit sour on today’s palettes, but are curiously accurate.
Wilde and Pine’s characters are only about two layers thick.  Harry Styles gives it his best shot with a slightly more dimensional character, though his accent work is slapdash at best.  And if it weren’t for the middling script, this could’ve been Oscar material for Florence Pugh.
If you’re interested in a gorgeous mid-century dystopian hell of perfection, watch it on a big screen.  On mute.