Hal Kitchen
In my review of Aftersun, I said it was the best film of the festival until I saw an even better one the next day. This is that film, and it’s no shadow on Aftersun to say so as I’m not sure I have seen or will see a better film all year. I’ve not been so impressed by a film since I first saw Mass at this same festival this time last year.
Much like Mass, Women Talking is a chamber piece, one about a group of people who have come together to air their perspectives and feelings in the aftermath of an unspeakable tragedy and the light of their faith, and hopefully reach some form of release. In Women Talking, that tragedy is this: the men of a reclusive religious community have been drugging and raping the women and young girls of their commune for years, possibly decades. The men responsible have been caught and taken to the authorities in the city. However, the elders of their community have decreed that the men should be allowed to return, and that the women should all forgive their attackers. With the men absent in the city, the women have two days to decide amongst themselves whether to accept or reject these terms. With most, but not all, finding acceptance unconscionable, the women of three trusted families have assembled in a hay loft to decide what form their rejection of these terms ought to take.
As you’ll no doubt assume from such a synopsis, Women Talking is at times extremely dark and upsetting viewing. Of that there can be no question, nor should there. Films must be made about such subjects, and such films as are made cannot shrink from the reality they face. Women Talking gives them their due. That being said, it is not a bleak or dispiriting experience. It is a morally cleansing one. A truer form of baptism than you’ll find in any font in any church. It is not the sins of violence that one can feel washing away while viewing it, it is the suffering and tension and grief of these women. The pain they all share and which they all internalize and express differently, through devotion, hostility, humor, wrath, calm, restraint, resentment, playfulness, love.
The cast is large, yet no character does not have a distinct and unique role, a defined perspective that’s informed by their experiences, age, gender and temperament. The spotlight is shared equitably, but some roles are more pivotal and singular than others. Ona (Rooney Mara) is quiet, reflective and compassionate. Salome (Claire Foy) is defensive, maternal, and vengeful. Mariche (Jessie Buckley) is cowed, cynical and angry. Among their number is also August (Ben Whishaw) a schoolteacher who takes the minutes of their meeting and whose experience of the world outside their commune has granted him a blessedly modern perspective. Yes, his presence is there to fill the “not all men” knee-jerk response, but that’s something this film has thought of and therein lies its brilliance.
Women Talking has thought of everything. It’s pre-empted every counterargument and every angle and does so with such an inclusive, devastating grace. It’s not a strictly naturalistic film and therefore it doesn’t matter that it strains credulity that every single character should be so staggeringly articulate, even in their ignorance, in some cases. The dialogue is so rich, with both character and perspective. As the title implies it’s an extremely wordy film. Words run like water between its characters as they wrestle for dominance in the argument and the discussion. Like Mass or Judgement at Nuremberg, it’s one show-stopping monologue after another. Our society will continue to debate the appropriate response to sexual violence and how the phenomenon might be extinguished, for long after any of us are dead, and Women Talking understands this. It considers every possibility and understands the magnitude of the ideas it’s wrestling with, but it does so with such power, maturity and intelligence that it meets the challenge and then some.
Some might bridle at such a verbose screenplay, but I would refute out of hand any accusation that the film is stagey or uncinematic. Nothing could be further from the truth. It’s play-like in structure and setting, but director Sarah Polley surpasses herself with the way she composes her film, the sheer beauty of the steel-grey color palate and the changing lighting as the days and night wear on, the perfect ebb and flow of every immaculately timed cut, and above all the vivid, dangerous intensity of the performances.
Sweep away any expectations you had of this coming awards season, the best supporting actress category is now this film five times. It’s the most uniformly magnificent cast assembled this year, though some women do manage to stand out. Perhaps Jessie Buckley was a little miscast, the same fire and spirit she can’t help but bring to a role and which served her so well in Men is actually a bit of a disadvantage here, but oh my God give every award you can to Claire Foy, now! And to Luc Montpellier the cinematographer, and Hildur Gudnadottir the composer, to whatever genius thought to put “Daydream Believer” on the soundtrack, and above all to Sarah Polley, who wrote and directed the f*ck out of this!
Perhaps the film does wane a little in its last third, but by then it’s place in film history is already assured. It’s a classic in the making that brings a perspective on these issues that’s as cathartic as it is intellectual. Between The Assistant, Never Rarely Sometimes Always, Promising Young Woman and Men, some of the best films in recent memory have tackled similar subjects, and Women Talking earns its place among them all. It’s a film that deserves all the acclaim the community can bestow, and I fervently hope to see it take wing as one of the most discussed and acclaimed films of the season.
