From the opening scene of vast fields and children running and playing, set to a stunning emotive score by Hildur Guðnadóttir (‘Chernobyl’ series), there’s absolutely no wonder this looks like a major Oscar contender.
But as beautiful and considered as every shot is by Canadian director Sarah Polley, it’s her imaginative and nuanced script adapted from Miriam Toews' 2018 novel that really makes ‘Women Talking’ such a mesmerising watch.
The movie follows the main premise of the book’s fictitious (but based on the real events of) Mennonite religious community in Bolivia, in which nearly all the women had been drugged and raped by a handful of men (who made them believe it was “wild female imagination” – or ghosts). We learn that the men have gone to town to post bail for a rapist. Seeing a chance like no other, the women take a vote on what they should do – stay and do nothing, stay and fight, or leave their remote, insular rural Canadian community.
Polley’s ‘Women Talking’ takes one real masterful turn from the book, however. In Toews' work, the story is told through the eyes of one of the men, an ‘educated’ teacher of the boys in the community, August (a wonderful Ben Whishaw), who has been enlisted to take the minutes and the notes of the meeting since the women are illiterate. Here, the recounting of the events of those crucial hours is by one of the teenage girls watching on as her mother Mariche (Jessie Buckley) debated their future. But Autje (Kate Hallett) doesn’t just narrate to the audience; she’s telling the story of “the day we learned to vote” to the unborn child of another of the women, Ona (Rooney Mara), who we assume is born several months later.
From here is where the real magic lies; for a film with so little ‘action’, it’s a thrilling, gripping and electric main act. Yes, the subject matter is heavy and the trauma plays out in so many ways (pure rage and white anger for Salome – a magnificent Claire Foy – whose four-year-old daughter had been the one attacked by the man arrested in town, crippling panic attacks for Mejal, played by Michelle McLeod). But the attacks are never shown beyond a few snippets of flashbacks of the women waking up confused, bloodied (which is, of course, their only memories of their attacks). As the women, young and old, discuss the pros and cons of staying or leaving, the practical gives way to the philosophical and broader issues: Would they be forgiven by God if they left? Are they abandoning the young boys of the community who could be taught another way if they stay? What if the future place is no better – or worse – than their remote rural Canadian farm commune?
The dialogue is sizzling and the performances of the talented cast (which also includes a scarred-face Frances McDormand, who is staunchly staying no matter what the women decide) make it an emotive but not overwrought experience for the viewer. We laugh, we cry, we listen and we find ourselves having our own internal debates over times in our own lives that women and men have had complicated relationships with each other and how difficult it is to reconcile so many aspects of these.
Similarly, this is not a perfect movie – parts are messy and complicated, much like the subject matter – but it’s an absolute joy to watch, also helped along by Luc Montpellier’s stunning cinematography.
Just do yourself a favour and stay away from any comments section of film reviews, because the men are talking, and they’ve got many, many thoughts.
