Taking place in an isolated religious community, Women Talking explores what happens when the women of the group realize they have been taken advantage of and abused by the men. They only have a limited amount of time before the men return from the town where they are being protected by the police (not, as one would hope and assume, being held accountable for their crimes), during which they have to decide the course of action they’re going to take: stay and do nothing, stay and fight, or leave and start anew somewhere else.
As the title suggests, Women Talking features a lot of, well, women talking. As witnessed at this year’s Mill Valley Film Festival. Much of it centers around a single conversation that takes place in a barn where they debate which of the three solutions to pursue. There’s Scarface Janz (Frances McDormand), who’s staunchly in favor of staying and doing nothing, though she recuses herself early. We’re left with Salmone (Claire Foy), who wants to stay and fight like hell, and Mariche (Jessie Buckley), who attacked the perpetrators with a scythe when word of the rapes got out. Both fierce and simmering with justifiable anger, the two clash often — with each other and Ona (Rooney Mara), whose soft-spoken idealism and intellectual approach don’t always mix.
There are also elders Agata (Judith Ivey) and Greta (Sheila McCarthy), who try and keep everything on the right path. They must also reconcile with their own role in everything that’s happened in some of the most deeply affecting and surprising moments. In addition, there’s August (Ben Whishaw), the gentle male schoolteacher who the women ask to stay and keep the minutes of their meeting.
Perhaps the most intriguing, however, are the perspectives of the youngest members: Nietje (Liv McNeil) and Autje (Kate Hallett). The childlike perspective on it all is compelling and refreshing, as they’re often complaining of the boringness of the discussion or innocently braiding each other’s hair during the proceedings. However, their presence adds so much to the film: a constant reminder that what the older women decide will have a direct impact on them. That though the discussion is complicated, the reason for it is simple and important: to keep them safe.
I’d also be remiss not to mention Melvin (August Winter), a trans character who often cares for the children. They don’t get a ton of screentime, but the little they do is extremely powerful and adds even more richness to the already layered story.
In lesser hands, this film could be a disaster. The characters could feel more like stiff, one-dimensional mouthpieces for a cause or side of a debate. The setting could feel bland or dull. The plot could feel irrelevant or contrived.
This is not the case with Sarah Polley’s approach. It’s hard to pick a standout performance. Not only are all of them phenomenal — nuanced and raw and full of genuine life — but none of them would work nearly as well without the others. It’s a true ensemble piece, a puzzle of sorts — one that snaps beautifully into place under Polley’s sensitive, quietly bold and decisive direction.
The setting is full of beauty, and when Polley wisely does cut away from the conversation to showcase the larger scope of the community, the imagery is gorgeous. The barn scenes can feel suffocating, but that’s on purpose — they are stuck there, debating, until they can come to an agreement. The walls are closing in as the clock is ticking down.
Though the plot takes place in a Mennonite community, where there are no modern luxuries and the clothes are modest and old-fashioned, the story takes place in 2010 and feels more relevant than ever. It’s not a conversation only this religious community is having — it’s one that women all over the world are — just with slightly different vocabulary against a slightly different backdrop.
Yes, the movie features a lot of women talking. But it also features women feeling, women connecting, and — most importantly — women thinking. The story is, as a card at the beginning suggests, a work of female imagination. Though the story can be bleak, there’s also a silver lining of hope. They can imagine a freer, safer, and better future for themselves and their children. And it all starts with a conversation in a barn.
— Taylor Gates