Don't Worry Darling and Companion: The 1950s Male Fantasy

Don’t Worry Darling (DWD) and Companion (C) explore similar themes: lonely, insecure men attempting to control women in futuristic-vintage worlds. However, while DWD loudly proclaims “controlling women is bad” (a message audiences are already well aware of), Companion layers its commentary with subtlety and adds an extra edge by making technology itself part of the conversation. Companion succeeds where DWD stumbles, particularly through its sharper use of costumes, characters, and setting—managing to deliver richer insights within a 20-minute shorter run time.

Both Jack (DWD) and Josh (C) are desperate to regain control over their lives—and what they believe they deserve. In DWD, Jack resents that his girlfriend is the breadwinner, the intelligent one, the one with a promising future. This portrayal feels implausible in the 21st century; it’s hard to believe any man today would genuinely be upset that his girlfriend is earning money while he stays home. Realistically, a lazy boyfriend would likely be thrilled to avoid work, as exemplified by Andy from Parks and Recreation. In contrast, Companion resolves this more effectively. Josh orders his robot simply because he can. This subtle change eliminates the need for an overblown villain speech like Harry Styles’ in DWD. By showing rather than telling, Companion advances to more essential details, delivering a nuanced portrayal of the privileged male antagonist who initially presents himself as a devoted lover.

The contrast in Companion—not just between Iris and her boyfriend, but between Iris and everyone else—is particularly powerful in highlighting her difference. From the start, we sense something unique about her, even before we learn she’s a robot. Her crisp blouses and 1950s gingham evoke images of Betty Draper, making her stand out starkly from her modern surroundings. Josh’s casual T-shirt attire signals he’s under no obligation to be anything but himself, while Iris must embody exactly what he desires: a hybrid of Zooey Deschanel and a Stepford Wife. In stark contrast stands Kat, portrayed as a modern, independent woman who uses men rather than being used, often seen in sloppy T-shirts and basketball shorts. Kat is “brave,” as Iris admits, saying, “I wasn’t built like that.”

Meanwhile, in DWD, everyone is dressed in 1950s fashion, yet it would have been more effective for Florence Pugh’s character to visually stand out—signaling her awakening to the simulation. In Companion, costume design builds character tension and deepens the thematic resonance, not just offering visual appeal.

DWD, on the other hand, fixates on vintage costumes and striking shots of Palm Springs, losing focus on its characters’ driving motivations. Companion utilizes its remote setting to enhance the narrative. While the location is still picturesque, it serves as a crucial plot device: isolating characters and setting the stage to pin the murder on the robot.

Where DWD states “women should be free” (an obvious, simplistic point), Companion goes further by exploring the complexities of technology—presented as both innocent and capable, akin to a trapped 1950s housewife. Notably, in Companion, the robot triumphs, riding off into the sunset with the cash. This twist suggests that technology, thrust into existence, isn’t at fault for learning, evolving, and becoming more capable—it’s simply doing what we’ve asked it to do. The film shows humans falling while robots rise. Ultimately, Companion might not merely assert “men should treat women better” but hints at a deeper message: we should also be more compassionate toward what we create.