On the Basis of Sex

The visual of a single blue skirt amidst a literal ocean of charcoal-grey suits ascending the steps of Harvard Law is a bit on the nose, but it’s the exact kind of high-contrast imagery Mimi Leder excels at. We live in an age where the "Notorious RBG" has become a literal brand—tote bags, workout books, dissent collars—but back in 2018, On the Basis of Sex faced the impossible task of humanizing a statue while she was still very much alive and sitting on the highest court in the land. I actually watched this on a Tuesday night while my cat, Barnaby, was trying to eat my copy of a legal thriller I’d abandoned on the coffee table, and the irony wasn't lost on me: the law is usually dry as hard-tack, yet this movie tries to make it move like a heist film.

Released during the fever pitch of the #MeToo movement and the cultural canonization of Ruth Bader Ginsburg, the film sits in a weird spot. It’s a traditional, glossy biopic that arrived right when we were starting to get suspicious of traditional, glossy biopics. But looking at it now, away from the immediate political heat of 2018, it’s a fascinating artifact of how we tell "great person" stories in the modern era.

The Ginsburg Power Couple

The heavy lifting here falls on Felicity Jones, who had just come off Rogue One: A Star Wars Story. She doesn't go for a broad caricature of the elderly Justice we all recognize; instead, she plays Ruth as a woman vibrating with a very specific, quiet frequency of "don't tell me no." It’s a performance of restraint, which is probably the only way to play someone who spent her life winning through logic rather than histrionics.

But the real secret sauce—and the part that feels most "2018"—is the portrayal of Marty Ginsburg. Armie Hammer plays Marty as a man who is essentially a sentient "World’s Best Husband" trophy. At the time, critics joked that he was a fantasy figure, but by all accounts, the real Marty really was that supportive. In the context of contemporary cinema’s push for better representation, Marty represents a shift in how we view "the spouse" role. He’s the one in the kitchen; he’s the one minding the kids while Ruth grinds away at the tax law books. Marty Ginsburg is basically the cinematic patron saint of secure masculinity. Their chemistry is the engine of the movie, turning what could have been a dry procedural into a genuine domestic drama.

Making Tax Law Thrilling (Sort Of)

The plot focuses on Moritz v. Commissioner, a 1972 case involving a man denied a tax deduction for caregiver expenses simply because he was a man. It’s a brilliant choice by screenwriter Daniel Stiepleman (who happens to be Ginsburg’s nephew, talk about family access). Instead of trying to cover her entire life, the film zeros in on the moment she realized that the law could be used as a lever to move the world.

Mimi Leder, who directed 90s staples like Deep Impact, treats the courtroom like an action set-piece. There are soaring strings by Mychael Danna and dramatic close-ups that suggest the fate of the universe is at stake. Is it a bit much for a tax case? The movie is basically a superhero origin story where the superpower is reading footnotes. But in an era where we’re saturated with CGI explosions, there’s something oddly refreshing about a climax that hinges on a well-constructed oral argument. It’s a drama that respects the intelligence of its protagonist, even if it occasionally coats the reality in a layer of Hollywood sugar.

Why It’s Fading into the "Hidden Gem" Pile

Despite the star power and the cultural relevance, On the Basis of Sex often gets overshadowed by the documentary RBG, which came out the same year. The documentary gave us the "real" Ruth, making the dramatized version feel like a "lite" alternative. Additionally, it arrived just before the pandemic shifted our focus toward streaming-first prestige dramas. It feels like a "theatrical" movie in the old-school sense—solid, mid-budget, and earnest.

The supporting cast is a 2010s "who’s who." Justin Theroux (hot off The Leftovers) brings a frantic, neurotic energy as Mel Wulf of the ACLU, while Kathy Bates shows up as the legendary Dorothy Kenyon to remind everyone that the fight for equality started long before the 70s. These performances ground the film, preventing it from becoming a two-person stage play.

Turns out, the real RBG actually makes a cameo at the very end, and it’s a gut-punch of a moment. It bridges the gap between the 1970s struggle and the 2010s icon. If you can watch the final stroll up the Supreme Court steps without feeling a little misty, you might actually be a legal textbook.

On the Basis of Sex isn’t trying to reinvent the cinematic wheel. It’s a well-oiled machine designed to inspire, and in that, it absolutely succeeds. It captures a specific cultural moment where we were desperate for heroes who used their brains instead of their fists. While it occasionally leans too hard into biopic tropes—yes, there is a "Eureka!" moment in a rainstorm—it’s anchored by a genuine warmth. It reminds us that the "good old days" were actually legally exhausting for anyone who wasn't a man, and it does so with enough style to keep you off your phone for the full two hours. It’s a solid, "adult" drama of the kind that’s becoming increasingly rare in the franchise era.