Saint Frances

 

Alex Thompson and Kelly O'Sullivan

banner from 1977 National Women's Conference

Ramona Edith Williams on the set

SAINT FRANCES                 B+                                                                                                USA  (101 mi)  2019  d: Alex Thompson

As women’s movies go, there is nothing about this overtly personal film that would ever have been written by a man, as this is a brave approach to feminist cinema on a small scale, like an open conversation with other women, accentuating the importance of women’s bodies and not having to feel ashamed, bringing a singularly unique perspective that is eye-opening, to say the least, offering a melancholy expression of modern life, dealing with the subject of abortion in unexpected ways, expressing the severe toll it takes on a woman’s body, while even a sympathetic male supporter undergoes no similar transformation, having no real idea or understanding of what a woman actually goes through.  Unlike other films that deal with the subject substantially differently, like Yasujirō Ozu’s Tokyo Twilight (Tôkyô Boshoku) (1957), Cristian Mungiu’s 4 Months, 3 Weeks, and 2 Days (4 luni, 3 saptamâni si 2 zile) (2007), Nia DaCosta’s Little Woods (2018), Eliza Hittman’s 2020 Top Ten List #5 Never Rarely Sometimes Always, or Audrey Diwan’s 2023 Top Ten List #10 Happening (L’événement) (2021), the latter three made by women, this film balances the extremes of copious amounts of blood on the sheets after sex during menstruation with all the psychological ramifications of the ensuing consequences.  Women are intentionally kept ignorant about their own bodies and manipulated by a culture that expects their lives to conform to the approved narrative, reflective of all the ways society dictates how women should feel about themselves, where obtaining truths about certain realities can be hard to come by.  The prevailing sentiment is that if men got pregnant, abortion would be legal everywhere, as easily accessible as ATM machines.  Instead, the United States Supreme Court ruled in June 2022 that there is no constitutional right to abortion, overturning Roe v. Wade (1973), which guaranteed a constitutional right, a devastating decision that will reverberate for generations to come, now making it as difficult as possible, even outlawing abortion in most places of the country, making it against the law to even provide common sense knowledge and helpful information to women.  It’s a contentious subject that has divided the nation for decades, but abortions are an existing reality in America, with more than 20 million occurring in the last 20 years, yet 82% of both men and women don’t know where to go for after-abortion support.  That amounts to 16 million people who didn’t know where to find care, and that’s when Roe v. Wade was legal, so that number would be substantially higher today, where many women who have had an abortion turn to alcohol or drugs as tranquilizers to numb their painful memories.  No statistics are mentioned in the film, and this is not some kind of moral or social crusade, remaining completely non-judgmental at every turn, instead it’s simply a refreshingly honest take in its portrayal of female life, on what makes women biologically and psychologically different than men, where the drama is presented in a very matter of fact way, becoming a deeply empathetic film about the collective struggles that all women face and the power that comes with sharing them.  It’s rare to discover a film where the menstrual cycle is presented as an everyday, ordinary occurrence, where it’s not shocking or disgusting, but just how bodies work, often showing up at the most inopportune moments, something to contend with on a regular basis, with a wide variety of accompanying mood swings, yet it’s something women at an early age are taught to hide and keep concealed, where most women have an embarrassing period story.  In other words, this frank depiction of modern womanhood is far more complex than most of us truly know or understand, becoming a film about female sexual autonomy, the kind of rights that are being stripped from women today, yet showing a willingness to tackle big topics with disarming candor, where this essentially low-key film shines a light in the dark, offering unapologetic insight into a difficult subject, yet does so with extensive warmth and humor.

While the film is heavily female in tone and content, offering a perspective on both having a child and choosing not to, one unexpected surprise is that it’s actually directed by a man, Alex Thompson, who is also the editor, yet written by and starring his partner Kelly O’Sullivan as Bridget, a 34-year old woman that we see at a party in the opening, where she meets Jace (Max Lipchitz), ending up together in bed (in the actor’s own Uptown apartment in Chicago), where the unthinkable happens, as the sheets are covered in blood afterwards.  OK, she started menstruating during sex, not that big of a deal, but the blood motif is a sign of things to come, as she later gets pregnant and decides to terminate the pregnancy at home taking prescribed pills.  And while the much younger Jace is totally on board and supportive of her choice, the film shows a clear delineation between what they each experience.  It’s kind of cute, at first, how they act like a couple without really being a couple, something she makes unequivocally clear from the outset when Jace incorrectly assumes that he’s her boyfriend.  He does accompany her to the clinic, and tenderly reads her the precise instructions to follow afterwards, and while he may be politely supportive, she resents the fact that it’s her body alone that must suffer, as she loses copious amounts of blood, spending a great deal of time in the bathroom, as intermittent bleeding is a common aftereffect following an abortion, where it’s all a bit unsettling.  Yet there’s a breezy air about this woman, quick-witted and smart, easy to like, expressing an inherent decency, using dark humor to cover her anxieties, often making jokes at her own expense, exposing her own vulnerability, reminding some of the restless spirit of Greta Gerwig in Noah Baumbach’s Frances Ha (2012), yet she’s not without flaws, describing herself as “not an impressive person,” but somehow the overall tone is humorous and invigorating.  Audiences are invited into this strange new world, as it’s not something typically seen in movies, where the entire film is filtered through her eyes, working a frustrating job as a server at an American diner restaurant that she abruptly quits for a new summer job as a nanny for a biracial lesbian couple, who have two young children living near Northwestern University in a middle class suburb just north of Chicago, essentially so that the two mothers can look after their newborn.  While she never thought she’d be offered the job, not exactly acing the interview, the original hire did not work out, so she fills a need as the sensible choice, probably way overqualified, but has no real experience working with children.  In fact, she doesn’t even like children.  Not much is known about her initially, with viewers learning details much like her perspective employer does, and there’s not instant rapport with the children, as six-year old Frances (Ramona Edith Williams, who is a true revelation onscreen) gives her a hard time, bluntly informing her “You’re not good at anything,” instantly challenging the acceptable boundaries, feigning that she’s being abducted by a stranger, so when the police return them both to the door after a routine visit to the park, the mothers are predictably concerned, but they know their precocious daughter, who is smart beyond her years, a reflection of her mixed-race parents, Maya (Charin Alvarez), a practicing Catholic who is the nurturer and provider of the newborn, and Annie (Lily Mojekwu), a strong-willed lawyer working long hours who is more intellectually demanding.  No one is without sin in this film, which becomes universally relatable to the mainstream, even if the specific circumstances faced by the protagonist are completely unfamiliar, shockingly made for less than $150,000 and winning the Audience Choice Award at the 2019 SXSW Film Festival.  The film’s biggest weakness is depicting men exclusively as disappearing characters who hardly matter, while it’s also laced with a wistful, indie-heavy musical score that’s just not that interesting, sounding overly bland and generic.

One of the few films to stand out during a Covid pandemic lockdown, the dialogue is sharply written and candidly honest, perceptively dealing with unpleasant subjects or treading into often forbidden territory with down-to-earth humor, which makes this a rare film in that regard alone.  But the film really takes off as Bridget and Frances start to warm to each other, as the back and forth between them leads to some really touching moments, becoming amusingly playful and heartfelt, like having a longtime sidekick, knowing they are friends and allies, worthy of trust, and most of all safe companions.  The film is unusually charming in the breadth of their extraordinary honesty, with this young child stealing every scene she’s in, a remarkable contrast to the acute psychological stress from the lingering effects of the abortion, which is equally stunning in its transparency.  Bridget appears to be aimlessly stuck in a mid-life crisis, “an agnostic feminist” no longer connected to her lapsed Catholicism, where abortion remains a mortal sin, but retains an inherently old-fashioned adherence to the rhythm method of contraception, not really discovering her true purpose in life. Having achieved nothing of what is generally understood as a success, this brief introduction to motherhood has caused her to reassess her situation, as all her friends from school have gone on to either be super successful or married with children.  But she defiantly refuses to be defined by others, including her own disappointed parents, where her rather bossy mother (Mary Beth Fisher, a frequent collaborator of the Goodman Theater in Chicago) offers a lurid story of her own travails with early motherhood, where parenthood often feels like simply too much to handle, suggesting it’s always important to have someone to talk to so you don’t feel so isolated and alone, which allows for the possibility of growth.  One of the scenes of the film takes place on a playground, with Maya breastfeeding a young newborn, which offends one of the other mothers, offering a piece of her mind, attempting to guilt-trip her, with Bridget stepping in to defend a woman’s right to feed her own child, as that’s one of the wonders of nature that should never be judged as “offensive.”  Fraught with emotion, it’s like a provocative scene out of Todd Field’s Little Children (2006), where women are often meanest to other women, for some reason, and can be the patriarchy’s best enforcers, where a similar incident happens again when Frances is having a play date with another child, and the mother (Rebekah Ward), recognizes Bridget from a year spent together at Northwestern, when Bridget was thought of as “the next Sylvia Plath,” but after she realizes she’s just a lowly nanny, she starts ordering her around like a servant, reflective of pervasive class bigotry.  There are equally compelling scenes of Bridget dressing up Frances as a budding Joan Jett rock star, complete with playful anger and a badass attitude, where the bond they share is positively uplifting, but of course once Annie returns home she wipes off all the makeup and sends her daughter off to her room, as if she’s being punished for something.  There are plenty of contrasting moments or divergent points of view, including the lesbian relationship, which has its own issues, with Maya feeling overwhelmed, suffering from postpartum depression, worrying that she’s failed as a parent, not receiving enough support from her partner, who is in denial about what her partner is going through, but what really works is the evolution of these relationships, as we come to know these characters, who are so carefully drawn out as to become completely recognizable.  Frances is like a child savant, whose poignant reflections are astonishing, ultimately providing the saving grace, as her openness appears to be a healing bridge to all Bridget’s concerns, as she’s so essentially human that she resuscitates the sagging life force within her, allowing her to breathe again and just be herself, as mattering to someone is what matters.      

Olympia

Director Gregory Dixon

 

Writer/actress McKenzie Chinn with the director

 

OLYMPIA                 B               
USA  (93 mi)  2018  d:  Gregory Dixon                Film website

The longtime personal project of Chicago writer/actress McKenzie Chinn, who developed the storyline as a grad student at the Theatre School at DePaul University, where she met fellow student and budding director Gregory Dixon in the film school.  Both are recipients of awards and grants, with Chinn the recipient of a Leonore Annenberg Fellowship, which authorized $50,000 to get this project started, while the film is Dixon’s Master’s Thesis film, distributed by a company largely staffed by DePaul alumni.  Both are also producers on the film.  Starting with an early working title, Olympia ― An Instruction Manual For How Things Work, the indie film (complete with a folk track) is about two struggling black artists trying to make it in Chicago, Olympia (Chinn) and her boyfriend Felix (Charles Andrew Gardner), both approaching thirty, believing your 20’s is an age when you’re still trying to figure things out, but by thirty a career path should be evolving.  A little unsure about why that’s not happening, Olympia has a dead-end job as a receptionist in a downtown office building that’s going nowhere, as there’s hardly any visitors, but this allows her plenty of free time to draw, as she’s a budding sketch artist and illustrator, while Felix is a failed musician now working on a start-up app supposedly on the verge of being successful.  What’s immediately unique about the film’s approach are the animated hand-drawings sketched onto the film, allowing viewers to gain some insight into Olympia’s state of mind, something we’ve seen before in films like Marc Webb’s (500) Days of Summer (2009) or Marielle Heller’s Diary of a Teenage Girl (2015), though the beginning is easily the weakest part of the film, as there’s little about it that distinguishes it from watching any television show, feeling like pretty standard fare, where the skyline of Chicago and the downtown area River Walk are used to good effect.  But thankfully things only get better as we grow more familiar with the characters.  Easily one of the best experiences in the film is Olympia’s best friend and roommate Jemma (Ericka Ratcliff), who she’s known since childhood, who adds a spark of energy and sardonic wit (and says everything with those fierce looking eyes), a budding writer who gets a job in New York where she’s actually paid to write, like her dream job, but it requires her to relocate.  At the same time, Felix’s company is relocating to California, where he needs to go with the flow if he wants to stay onboard, something he realizes he has to do, but all their friends and family connections are in Chicago, including, as we soon realize, Olympia’s mother (Penelope Walker) who’s gravely ill in the hospital with cancer. 

While there is a 30th birthday celebration surrounded by a diverse group of family and friends, Olympia gets some not-so-needed advice from an aunt or big sister Grace (LaNisa Renee Frederick), who urges her to get real and move on with her life, having little good to say about Felix, who she finds too weak and insecure, never really sure about what he wanted to do, who may fall flat on his face with this new job, and then where does that leave her.  This is followed, of course, by a heartfelt singing tribute from Felix to Olympia, which includes flashbacks to their first date, where she sees him perform, but plays hard to get when he expresses an interest in her.  In fact, the relationship trajectory is quite different here, as Felix is always waiting patiently as the nice guy while she puts him off time and time again, where she makes him work to stay connected, but there’s a nice and easy low-key connection about them that’s also beautiful to watch, as both are generous and likeable, sympathetic towards others, and not just wrapped up with themselves.  But then, the moment you realize this, they both get overly wrapped up with themselves, which doesn’t “feel” right, as we were lead to believe they were both way cooler than that.  Felix asks Olympia to come with him to California, to build a life together, with marriage as the ultimate option, but only if she’s ready, yet she’s too absorbed with her own life to actually listen, preferring to separate from his reality, at least momentarily, as she’s not yet ready to give up on her own, which includes a gallery showing, where she awkwardly stands around her own work waiting for anyone to express a hint of interest, and when they do, she’s too nervous to inquire why.  There’s a cute little scene with an interested customer, Gabrielle (Charin Alvarez), a no-nonsense businesswoman who simply doesn’t waste time with chit chat, where Olympia’s simply too nervous to get the right words out, which is a wonderful example of first impressions going haywire, but at least she establishes a bona fide contact with a buyer/seller.  Meanwhile she has a little heart to heart with her mother who wonders why she’s spending evenings in the hospital with her instead of the young man in her life, who’s emotionally put himself out there with his offer that she’s resisting, reminding her daughter that everyone has regrets in their life, but isn’t it better to regret something you’ve done instead of something you never had the courage to try.

We learn Olympia is something of a diva, pretty high maintenance, thinking very highly of herself, especially the way she keeps putting Felix off, not even bothering to return calls or texts, but there’s a lot swirling around in her life and she’s stressed with so little time to process it all.  Jemma returns home, completely flummoxed by the extreme degree of pressure at work, suffocating the life right out of her, so she had to get away.  Olympia calmly reassures her that she’s the strongest person she knows, and that if anyone could handle it, she can.  It’s a tender moment that defines the smaller moments in our lives that seem to have the most meaning.  When her mother takes a turn for the worse, the family gathers at the hospital, spending nights at her bedside, including flashbacks of her earlier life, but she passes, leaving a huge emptiness in Olympia’s life.  Distraught and wanting to be alone, she receives a message from her distant father who she hasn’t seen since she was a little girl, having abandoned the family, but she has a photograph of her mother and father together.  Before she can even finish the message, she rips that photograph up in a fit of rage, angry at how anyone would leave without a word for decades.  However, in the next scene she’s taping that photograph back together again, pulling out her drawing pad and starts sketching them, working through the night, finally completing a project she’s been working on forever, the illustrated book of her life.  Setting up an appointment with Gabrielle, she’s eager and anxious to show it to her.  The epitome of cold reserve, Gabrielle waits to hear what she has to say while simultaneously answering several emails, not really certain why this young woman is taking her time.  But when she looks at the book, she’s really encouraging and hopeful, exactly what any budding young artist would like to hear, where it’s like an epiphany, or a divine revelation, where all of a sudden her life is restored and the world finally makes sense.  By the time she gets to Felix’s door, he’s busy packing, but he’s also pissed, as the train has left the station on their relationship, and he’s simply moved on without her.  But that’s not how this film ends, as it’s a sweet effort that suggests nothing comes easy in life, that you have to go through struggles that don’t necessarily make sense to finally stand on solid ground and discover the person you really are.  When you have a strong parent, always living under their wing, sometimes it takes a tragedy to discover your own inner strength.  What’s unique about this black experience is that it doesn’t fit the traditional stereotypes, but is revolutionary in its own simplicity, where expressing how human you are is always a big deal.