good.film
2 years ago
We’ve Googled it, but there’s no evidence that Canadian-born former child actress Sarah Polley was ever on her school’s debating team. Maybe she was too busy on set to craft any persuasive motions and spicy rebuttals? We may never know. Polley has now grown to become a formidable writer/director, but judging from the way she handles the tricky verbal jousting of Women Talking - essentially one long, multi-stranded debate - we reckon she would’ve been a shoo-in for Debating Captain.
Polley’s fourth feature as director is an intelligent adaptation from the 2018 bestseller by fellow Canadian author, Miriam Toews - one that, sadly, is based in reality, not fiction. Toews describes her novel as "an imagined response to real events": these “events” being rapes that took place within an isolated, farmlike Mennonite community between 2005 and 2009. By the time the perpetrators - the “trusted” menfolk of the colony - were finally exposed, they had assaulted over 100 girls and women within their community. The reason it took so long to bring their actions to light? The women all lay unconscious during the heinous acts, because the men used animal anaesthetic, sprayed onto their victims as they slept. To say it’s difficult to fathom is an understatement - to which we’d (loudly) add, that’s exactly why this film is so necessary! Putting stories like Women Talking on screen can help us make sense of the unthinkable.
Hand on heart, we didn’t know much about Mennonites before seeing Women Talking - and by “much”, we mean zilch. But the TL;DR is that Mennonites are a Christian group with a strong doctrine of pacifism and non-violence. And that core belief is the steel rod that supports the fascinating conversations that unfold throughout the film. After a sexual assault, how do you maintain a non-violent belief when you’re filled with a violent rage?
After an opening card with a knowingly defiant edge - “This story is an act of female imagination" - Polley deals swiftly with the assaults in the first 5 minutes of Women Talking. It’s not about seeing the acts, it’s about the consequences: the choice that must be made as a result of what’s taken place. We quickly grasp that the title is a deliberately blunt description of the plot; with the culprits in police custody in the nearest town, the rest of the men leave to arrange bail, and the film arrives at its true purpose: women talking. Lots of talking.
The women sequester themselves in a barn to wrestle with an impossible dilemma, one they must decide before the men return - do they do nothing? Stay and fight? Or leave the only world they’ve ever known? (Worth mentioning: although distinct and different to the Amish, the Mennonite community live similarly simple lives, and with a daily focus on domestic labour, these women were mostly illiterate and innumerate - so skipping off to the nearest city to kick-start a new life is far easier said than done).
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As this core group of women ranging from young teens to seniors - with one even pregnant with their rapist’s unborn child - debate their choice along moral, emotional and theological lines, it’s a credit to Polley’s writing skill that our allegiance flip-flops between which solution feels the most ‘right’ to us as outsiders. What if they stay and lose the fight? What if nothing changes? What if their sons grow to become perpetrators themselves - don’t they owe it to them to leave, to give them a better life? It’s like watching hypothetical verbal tennis, and the players are all World Number #1s. Perhaps that’s why Polley is the current favourite to win this year’s Best Adapted Screenplay Oscar; she’s at 3-1 odds as we write this.
But we don’t want to let talk of shiny trophies trivialise the deeply complex issue of domestic and family violence. Yes, it’s “just a movie”; but scripted dramas like Women Talking allow us to explore and unpack this part of human behaviour that requires discussion. That’s important because, while a religious community may be a world away for most of us, the harrowing experience of partnered assault and abuse is not. In fact, it’s shamefully close to home. According to the Australian Institute of Health and Welfare, 2.2 million Australians have experienced physical or sexual violence from a partner. Mission Australia describes domestic and family violence in Australia as “disturbingly common… it is one of the main drivers of homelessness among women, children and men.” Women continue to be more likely than men to be victims of domestic and family violence, with 1 in 6 women experiencing physical or sexual violence by a current or former partner (it's also important to note that many incidents of domestic violence go unreported, so the true extent of the problem is undoubtedly greater than these numbers show).
Even if reported, being believed is another matter entirely - another complex factor that Polley juggles within the story of Women Talking. Their religious beliefs aren’t exactly the most liberal when it comes to gender stereotypes or ideas about sexual behaviour, which makes it nearly impossible for victims like Ona (Rooney Mara), Salome (Claire Foy) and Mariche (Jessie Buckley) to be believed. They are literally told they’re imagining things; that they’re having bad dreams. When they insist, the men conjure up stories of devils that have possessed them or caused their trauma. It leaves the women feeling infuriated, shattered and alone, until they draw on their greatest strength - each other.
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The performers all ooze passion and authenticity, especially Foy & Buckley as the characters most full of vitriol and seething revenge, and Ben Whishaw as the one man these women can trust, the colony’s schoolteacher; a gentle (and educated) confidante who they assign to “take minutes” of their meetings in the barn and to oversee the vote. He’s quietly in love with Ona, and shares his wish to marry her and help raise the unborn child that she carries from her assault. But that choice just isn’t compatible with his other clear desire: wanting to see Ona and her fellow women flee from the colony, to keep their children safe and keep their faith. It’s a heartbreaking story point, and only adds to the layers of Polley’s compelling adaptation, which you’ll likely be thinking about long after the credits roll. Remember when we said this stuff was complex?
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