AFI FILM FEST 2022 REVIEW! It’s difficult to think of a great film that transcends terrible acting. On the other hand, there are quite a few terrible films with incredible performances. While not quite “terrible,” Sarah Polley’s ponderous slog Women Talking tilts towards the latter category. It boasts a remarkable ensemble cast. It contains breathtakingly beautiful visuals. But the messages it delivers, in a gravely solemn monotone, are simplistic to the nth degree. As the vulgar saying goes, you can’t polish a turd.
Or perhaps you can. Most reactions to Women Talking are those of unadulterated praise. The weighty themes! The gravitas! The relevance! The oppression, injustice, and perseverance against all odds! To boil it all down: f**k men, the sadistic rapists that they are. Oh, but Polley wants to make a point that not all men are like this, you see. Some are like Ben Whishaw’s character August – sniveling weaklings and struggling educators whose sole value lies in raising young boys in their likeness. As for the rest of them, well, f**k ‘em. And the Oscar goes to…
Photo credit: Michael Gibson © 2022 Orion Releasing LLC. All Rights Reserved.
“…face a vote: do nothing, stay and fight, or leave…”
Let me backtrack a little from my impassioned tirade. The film begins with the proclamation: What follows is an act of female imagination, a reference to the excuse given by the rapist men to the women that accused them. Dwell on that for a minute. All dwelled? Let’s keep going. Set in 2010, the film focuses on a deeply isolated religious community. Women are tranquilized with cow medication and then brutally raped on a nightly basis. Even four-year-olds fall victim to these swine, these unspeakably evil, and purposefully never seen, men. The one exception is the aforementioned hapless August, who is chosen as the note-taker by the group of women who have finally had enough.
Among these women are the pregnant Ona (Rooney Mara); the mother of an abused child, Salome (Claire Foy); the deeply embittered Mariche (Jessie Buckley); and the matriarch, Agata (Judith Ivey). Frances McDormand – also one of the producers – makes a short appearance as Scarface Jazz, who firmly states: “Forgive the man, so he’ll be allowed into the gates of heaven,” before refusing to have anything to do with this committee. The rest now face a vote: do nothing, stay and fight, or leave. When the vote is split between the latter two choices, the deliberations commence.
Salome, understandably, “cannot forgive [men]” and will resort to murder if she has to. Mariche questions the meaning of forgiveness. “Is forgiveness that’s forced upon us true forgiveness?” she wonders in a rare moment of gentleness. Ona has an idyllic vision of educated women and everybody loving each other. As for the men – “We’ll kill them,” she says dryly at one point. Otherwise, it’s all overwritten monologues and endless meetings, the funereal pace making the film’s 100 or so minutes seem like three hours.
