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| Alex Thompson and Kelly O'Sullivan |
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| banner from 1977 National Women's Conference |
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| 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.
