When a young man in a Mennonite community is caught raping one of the women and gives the names of the other men in the community who have acted out in violence, the women convene to decide what they will do as a result of this long history of abuse towards them.  Without a word in their language to even describe accurately and acutely what has happened to them, they come together to deliberate their future. Do nothing?  Stay and fight? Leave?  With a tied vote to stay and fight or to leave, eleven of the women are chosen to deliberate in secret while the men are in town and come to a resolution.   

Sarah Polley writes and directs Women Talking, an adaptation of Miriam Towes’ novel of the same name, for United Artists Releasing.  The timely drama is based not on any individual case but encapsulates the sentiment of generations of survivors features a catalytic trio of Rooney Mara, Claire Foy, and Jessie Buckley at the forefront of the ensemble that also includes mainstays such as Judith Ivey, Sheila McCarthy, and Frances McDormand in a visually striking but incredibly minor role.  At 104 minutes, the film covers a lot of ground and varying viewpoints from the different women, taking into account their individual standing in the community, their generational ideals, as well as their fears and hopes about the future.  Beautifully constructed and splendidly acted, Women Talking is a heavy piece of cinema that rewards the careful viewer will a well-rounded examination of the gradient of emotions survivors of abuse experience, magnified in an environment where the women do not have a voice to speak out about even the most mundane of things. 

Despite the premise which makes it sound very stagey and theatrical, Women Talking has the energy of a film thanks to the careful editing of team Christopher Donaldson and Roslyn Kalloo who cut away and capture the nuanced performances from the ensemble cast.  They are able to focus in on the glances and the smaller emotions that would get lost in the static wide view under the stage lights, and were one to watch Women Talking on mute, the actual arguments on whether or not to leave or stay may be lost, but the emotions and the relationships that are forged and altered across the course of the film would still be perfectly legible.  Luc Montpellier’s cinematography also plays a dynamic role in this.  The divisive choice to drain the film of almost all its color was a bold one, but it mostly pays off here.  Avoiding the lure of sepia tones, but not quite going as far into the territory of black and white as Robert Richardson in Emancipation (2022), Montpellier finds an earthy, starchy color palate for the film; one that feels uniquely oppressive as if there is danger always in the air. This feeling is enhanced by the light coming in through the slats of the hayloft, reminiscent of a jail cell.  Coupled with Hildur Guðnadóttir’s acoustic score for the film, which is equal parts heavy and hopeful, Women Talking is a stately production that sheds light on an important topic in today’s world. 

When it comes to the performances, as mentioned, the trio that does much of the driving for the film are nothing short of incredible to watch interact with each other.  Still young with their lives ahead of them, and many of them with children of their own which they want to secure a stronger future, they are all fierce to defend their positions with a sense of freedom and authority rarely if ever felt by them before in the incredibly patriarchal society they live.  They are bookended by the youngest of the committee whose remarks are flippant and blunt, but treated equally, as well as the eldest of the group which draws to a startling realization that this violence has extended for generations, and it shows no sign of stopping.  Together, they create a wide-spanning ensemble that presents all aspects of the argument at hand, and Polley is careful to make sure that aspects of their viewpoints begin to evolve and adapt as the women begin to speak more and more freely amongst themselves; a foil in a way to Sidney Lumet’s 12 Angry Men (1957), not only because Polley’s film gives a female perspective to dissecting a disagreement, but instead of the future of a single man being at stake it is the future of a community of women at the hands of men.  

The film is not devoid of the influence of men, in addition to Klaus whose presence is unseen throughout but always felt, the main male figure is August (Ben Whishaw), the son of an exiled mother who was welcomed back into the community only after his graduation from university to teach the boys.  He is drafted by the women to take the minutes of the meeting as the opportunity of an education was never extended to them, so they do not know how to read or write.  For the most part, he remains a passive observer, and is rightfully corrected when he tries to steer the conversation, but in a way he is almost too passive.  That is not to say he should have been serving as a moderator, but much of his development is tied to his romantic interest in Mara’s Ona when it could have focused on identifying and correcting mistakes that are shrugged off as just boys being boys.  Polley’s script flirts with this idea a little bit when he talks about the cruelty of teenage boys, but August is written almost too piously to be believable hindered a little further by Wishaw’s weepy performance. As the women leave, he promises to stay behind and teach the boys to be better, but it does not feel like his character grew or changed much over the course of the film one with such narrative importance.   

Women Talking is a very solid and affecting release that is both simple in its conception, yet careful and meticulous in its execution. Polley is respectful but frank in how the film handles abuse in that we only see the aftermath – the busied bodies and bloody bedsheets – coupled with the verbal accounts from the women so as not to sensationalize this violence or sexualize it on screen. It is a film that will reward multiple viewings as there are so many characters and lines of thought to follow and process, as well as an unfortunate mad rush in the tail end of the film to wrap things up, that stuff feels skipped over or missed on an initial viewing. Narratively, it makes sense as the women are on a tight timetable to leave the community at sunrise, but for a film that was so measured until this point, this sudden rapidness feels strange and out of place. Overall, though, that is but a minor point as the bulk of the film – the hayloft – is so expertly constructed and acted that this race to finish is just the film tying up all the loose ends of characterization that was brought up during the deliberation. Without this visualization of their lives, it all would have been words, and as a visual medium, the film would have suffered. This coda, rushed as it may be, still serves to extend and expand the world of these women and brings about the true urgency of their plight. They are doing this not only for themselves but for each other, and as the camera pans over the long train of buggies packed up with all of the women and the children, the film puts into visual context the scope of this pandemic of violence against women and it asks the audience when is enough, enough?