Women Talking

The title sounds like a threat to the short-attention-span crowd, doesn't it? Women Talking. It’s literal, it’s bold, and in the hands of a lesser filmmaker, it could have been as dry as the hay filling the barn where most of the movie takes place. But Sarah Polley—who jumped back into the director's chair after a long hiatus following Stories We Tell—doesn't do "dry." She turns a philosophical debate into a ticking-clock thriller, proving that words can be just as explosive as anything in a Christopher Nolan flick.

I watched this on a rainy Tuesday while wearing mismatched wool socks, and the itchy sensation of the left one somehow made the cramped, stifling atmosphere of that hayloft feel even more immediate. You feel the dust in your lungs while these women argue for their lives.

The Fury and the Faith

Based on Miriam Toews’ novel (itself inspired by horrific real-life events in a Mennonite colony in Bolivia), the film centers on a group of women who have been systematically drugged and assaulted by the men in their isolated religious community. They have two days to decide their fate while the men are away in town: Do nothing. Stay and fight. Or leave.

The ensemble is a "who’s who" of actors who could win an Oscar by just staring at a wall. Claire Foy is a revelation as Salome; she’s a lightning bolt of righteous fury, vibrating with a rage so hot it feels like it might melt the film strip. Opposite her, Jessie Buckley plays Mariche with a jagged, cynical edge that masks a deep well of terror. Then there’s Rooney Mara as Ona, the dreamer of the group, who manages to look for a "third way" even while carrying a child conceived in violence.

Watching them navigate their collective trauma isn't easy, but Sarah Polley avoids the trap of "trauma porn." We don't see the assaults. We see the bruises, the broken teeth, and the haunted eyes. The focus is entirely on the agency of the survivors. It’s a film about the architecture of a new society, built from the rubble of an old, broken one. Talking is a radical act of war in a world designed to keep you silent.

A World Drained of Color

One thing that sparked a lot of "Film Twitter" debate upon release was the cinematography. Luc Montpellier opted for a desaturated, almost monochrome color grade. To be honest, the color palette looks like a wet sidewalk in November. It’s drained of vibrancy, which some critics found alienating, but for me, it perfectly captured the sense of a world that has had the joy squeezed out of it. It feels like a memory that’s already fading, or a dream that hasn't quite begun.

The score by Hildur Guðnadóttir (who gave us the brooding cello of Joker) provides the heartbeat. It’s folk-inflected but modern, driving the pace when the dialogue threatens to become too circular. There’s a moment where "Daydream Believer" by The Monkees blasts from a passing truck—the only hint of the outside 2010s world—and it’s a total jolt to the system. It reminds you that this isn't a period piece from the 1800s; this is happening now, in the cracks of our modern world.

Why Did This Slip Away?

Despite winning the Oscar for Best Adapted Screenplay, Women Talking struggled at the box office. It’s a tough sell: a $20 million drama about sexual assault and religious bureaucracy where the main action is... well, talking. In an era where streaming services like Netflix or Apple TV+ often snap up these mid-budget "prestige" dramas, its theatrical run felt like a ghost haunting the multiplexes between Avatar sequels.

It also suffers from the current cultural exhaustion. We are living through a period of intense social discourse, and some audiences go to the movies specifically to escape the heavy themes Sarah Polley is tackling here. But to dismiss it as "homework" is a mistake. There’s a scene involving Judith Ivey and two horses that is more emotionally gripping than any CGI explosion I’ve seen in the last five years.

The film also features Ben Whishaw (our beloved voice of Paddington) as August, the schoolteacher tasked with taking minutes for the meeting. He represents the "good man" caught in a bad system, and his quiet, weeping presence provides a necessary bridge for the audience. He’s the one who will record their history because the women haven't been allowed to learn to read or write.

Women Talking is a quiet giant of a movie. It demands your full attention and rewards it with some of the best acting you’ll see in this decade. It’s a film that understands that forgiveness isn't just a Hallmark card—it's a complicated, sometimes violent process of letting go. If you missed it during its brief stay in theaters, find it on a streaming platform, turn off your phone, and let these voices into your head. It’s a conversation worth having.