Some movies are born from inspiration. Some from trauma. Strange Darling feels like it crawled out of a methy fever dream where True Romance had a one-night stand with Reservoir Dogs and forgot to leave a note. Written and directed by JT Mollner, this is a cat-and-mouse thriller wrapped in 35mm celluloid, dipped in ketamine, and lit on fire by your ex’s final voicemail. It’s sexy, violent, self-aware—and about fifteen minutes too pleased with itself. But there’s a strange darling charm to that too.
Born in a Pandemic, Raised in Chaos
Like many pandemic babies, Strange Darling began life in 2021—when the world was locked indoors and every aspiring auteur decided it was finally time to write that movie about a serial killer in love. Mollner, to his credit, actually finished the script before the sourdough craze died. He described the writing process as “the easiest of his career,” which should be a red flag to anyone who’s ever suffered through self-help journaling or a Zack Snyder screenplay.
Miramax, whose idea of a good time lately involves resurrecting things best left dead, signed on after three minutes of Mollner’s pitch. “We’re making it,” they said. “Don’t talk to anyone else.” What followed was a production that can best be described as a mid-budget hostage negotiation. Execs hated the dailies, threatened to recast the lead, and even recut the whole damn thing in chronological order—which is the cinematic equivalent of putting khakis on David Bowie.
A Gun, a Girl, and a Very Bad Weekend
Willa Fitzgerald, fresh from Reacher and what I assume was a masterclass in weaponized smirking, plays “The Lady”—a character so icy and homicidal you’d swear she was raised by Patricia Highsmith and trained by Hannibal Lecter. Opposite her is Kyle Gallner, doing his best Ted Bundy cosplay as “The Demon,” a name that really should’ve been workshop-tested outside a Hot Topic in 2007.
Shot in the wilds of Oregon (because obviously), the film is chopped into six chapters and an epilogue, told out of order because linear storytelling is for cowards and daytime TV. We open mid-mayhem and stay there. Drugs are consumed. Guts are spilled. Ed Begley Jr. gets stabbed. Barbara Hershey, the ghost of prestige horror past, wanders in and reminds us all she deserves better.
But the real show-stealer? Giovanni Ribisi—yes, that Ribisi—who shows up not just as cinematographer (his first time!) but also in voice cameo form. The man donated his own gear to shoot on 35mm, which is either an artistic commitment or a tax write-off. Either way, he lights the film with the kind of grainy, stylish dread that makes even murder look curated by A24.
Cult Classic or Just Cult-y?
Critics loved it. Rotten Tomatoes is 95% drunk on its Kool-Aid. Metacritic gave it an 80, which for them is like a standing ovation at Cannes. People called it “unforgettable,” “electrifying,” “genre-defying.” I call it: “two-thirds genius, one-third manic pixie murder dream.” It’s a film that makes you feel smart for watching it, but not smart enough to explain it to your dad without sounding like you need therapy.
The box office, however, was less charmed. On a $4–10 million budget (Hollywood accounting is more vague than a Tinder profile), it pulled in just under $5 million. But cult films rarely pay their rent on time. This one may find its legs on streaming, or at least during 1 a.m. dorm room rewatches, where guys in flannel explain how the “Gary Gilmore reference is, like, a metaphor, bro.”
And hey, props to Mollner for sticking to his guns—literally and figuratively. He fought for final cut like it was his bar tab, and when executives tried to butcher his jigsaw puzzle into a kindergarten picture book, he nearly walked. Tiffany Haddish talked them off the ledge. No, really.
Bloody, Bold, and Just Barely Balanced
Strange Darling is what happens when you cross a feminist revenge fantasy with a Quentin Tarantino fever dream, toss it in a blender, and serve it with a side of unresolved trauma. It’s unhinged, hypnotic, and occasionally infuriating—but it knows exactly what it wants to be. Even when that “what” feels like it was scribbled in blood across a motel wall.
Would I recommend it? Yes. Would I date someone who loves it? Absolutely not.
⭐️⭐️⭐️ (3/5)
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