Everything about this film is derivative. 

A pastiche of a pastiche. 

Mashing up a bunch of good and great films like Seconds, Rosemary's Baby, Abre Los Ojos/Vanilla Sky, The Truman Show, and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind isn't enough. 

What's worse, it's possible that it's all some sort of conscious hommage. 

The production company formed for the film is called Vertigo, at some point, Florence Pugh's hair is styled in that famous chignon from that film and there is an abundance of Saul Bass-style imagery in various dream/hallucination sequences. 

It's all rather stylish, but what does it mean?

Nothing, it turns out...not a thing. 

Harry Styles can dance (Why's he dancing? Who knows?) but can't act.

Florence Pugh and Chris Pine can act, and their performances further expose the weaknesses of the rest of the cast, to say nothing of how their talents are squandered by this script. 

Speaking of the script, the final film bears little resemblance to the original 2019 blacklist script which, while no masterpiece at least knocks on Rosemary's Baby's door and is coherent while the film...isn't.

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Narain