Content warning: This article contains mentions of sexual violence.
In an essay from her memoir “Run Towards the Danger: Confrontations with a Body of Memory,” writer-director Sarah Polley (“Stories We Tell”) details her decision of whether to come forward about her experience with sexual assault, in the light of her perpetrator being charged by other victims. She poses the question: In the process of trying to find the “objective truth with a capital T” in a courtroom, is it necessary for survivors to endure even more trauma?
Polley decided she will not come forward when the trial happens. She ends the essay by saying, “So many of us who have been sexually assaulted know that remembering the truth, knowing the truth and telling the truth about it is anything but simple.”
Polley’s new film “Women Talking” explores a similar question of reliving assault and enduring further trauma. The film, based on Miriam Toews’s 2018 novel and set in 2010, follows Ona (Rooney Mara, “Mary Magdalene”), Salome (Claire Foy, “The Electrical Life of Louis Wain”) and Mariche (Jessie Buckley, “Men”), Mennonite women in an isolated religious colony. After Mariche’s daughter, Autje (Kate Hallett, debut) observes two malicious men climbing a ladder to her window in the middle of the night, the women realize that, while they thought they had been raped by demons during the night, the perpetrators were men of the colony. The other men of the colony bring the perpetrators to the police — however, the men also decide to post bail, demanding that the women forgive the perpetrators when they return in two days.
The women of the colony vote on what to do. They quickly eliminate the possibility of doing nothing, as the perpetrators will almost certainly harm them again. With the votes tied, a select group has to decide for them all: Should the women fight back, or should they leave the colony?
Ona, Salome and Mariche are joined by Ona and Salome’s mother Agata (Judith Ivey, “Steaming”), Mariche’s mother Greta (Sheila McCarthy, “The Umbrella Academy”), Greta’s other daughter Mejal (Michelle McLeod, “Don’t Talk to Irene”) and Autje’s friend Neitje (Liv McNeil, debut) in a roundtable discussion. Save for some scenes when they take a break to check up on their children and the brief scene of the men going to jail, the film’s runtime is primarily focused on this discussion.
This film centers on survivors and survivors only. In other discussions of sexual violence, the public, law enforcement, courtroom officials and the perpetrators themselves are usually involved. In “Women Talking,” the only sympathetic non-survivor involved in the deliberations is August (Ben Whishaw, “A Very English Scandal”), a university-educated man and returning ex-colony member hoping to be a boy’s schoolteacher, who takes the group’s meeting minutes. What’s both important and maddening is that the women in the film hadn’t felt like their opinions mattered until the meetings, unaffected by the presence of outside influences, where they are finally free to speak about their collective experiences.
The women’s faith informs many of their choices — they initially question whether God will judge them favorably if they leave the colony; they sing hymns after particularly distressing conversation topics; they let their belief in God determine to what extent they should fight. They carefully consider the pros and cons of both options, like what it would mean for their sons if the women left or how staying might backfire and lead to forced forgiveness of the men. Even after much deliberation, they still aren’t fully certain of their choice, but their collective strength pushes the group forward as they refuse to look back. The thoughtfulness of the discussion serves as an excellent foundation for the film and showcases the courage it takes to make a decision regarding one’s own trauma, especially when it feels like a perfect solution doesn’t exist.
This ensemble cast is further solidified by August Winter (“Mary Kills People”) as Melvin, seen playing with the children while the others are discussing. Winter brings a resolute, subtle strength to a character that silently moves in and out of different scenes. Frances McDormand (“Nomadland”) as Scarface Janz, the most vocal supporter of doing nothing, “does more with 3 minutes of screen time and one stern look than most actors will do in their entire careers,” in the words of one Letterboxd user.
The women decide that it’s not always necessary to publicly push back or fight furiously against the systems that lead to one’s trauma. As Ona says, “We have endured enough violence.” The women, taking a stand for the first time, determine that it’s okay to do what makes them feel the safest: Protect survivors without being hateful. They determine that it’s not selfish to do what’s best for them, even if that isn’t for the colony’s men.
Polley is especially skilled in developing Mariche and Salome — characters that take opposite approaches to one another. At the start, Mariche suggests that it’s difficult to determine someone’s guilt, while Salome argues for justice. When Salome suggests that Mariche shouldn’t fight against her abusive husband, Mariche says that her children would suffer the consequences. The women come to understand each other because of their common goal of protecting their children. The most important outcome of this discussion is the comfort they find in one another.
But there are other characters who are not fleshed out. While I didn’t notice this when initially watching, after reading an article from Barry Levitt from The Daily Beast, I noticed Polley’s mishandling of Melvin’s character development and his treatment from others. Levitt points out that the “unbearable pain of his circumstances [that] pushes Melvin to come out as trans” was written in a way that frames him “entirely by his trauma,” unlike the women. The film does not allow Melvin input on the discussion of what they should do as survivors. At the same time, there are no direct scenes that explore his interaction with the children — in a scene narrated by Autje, the camera pans over him briefly, but those shots are not from Melvin’s point of view, nor do they provide insight into who he is. There is no further dissection of how Melvin’s trauma affects him, and as Levitt also points out, the other characters use his deadname until the end, where he eventually “winds up with a brief, fleeting, belated moment of validation.” That moment is not enough. Polley cannot elevate the voices of survivors if she ignores Melvin’s perspective in the process.
As the women leave the discussion, August attempts to hand Salome the meeting minutes. She says that they were for him to read all along. As much as discussions among survivors is about others listening to their stories, it is also about the survivors healing. “Women Talking” wagers that healing and moving forward from trauma is the greatest form of justice that these survivors can grant themselves. Above all, the film recognizes the support that these characters offer one another. In doing so, it serves as a message to all survivors that they, too, should do what makes them feel safe, regardless of the opinions of others who don’t understand their situation.
Daily Arts Writer Kristen Su can be reached at krsu@umich.edu.