‘Widows’ Review: A timely heist thriller that will take your apathy hostage
If you’re looking for a film that takes the standard tropes of a taut heist thriller and puts them in a blender with a heavy dollop of feminist kick-assery, a heaper of political corruption, a sprinkle of minority disenfranchisement, a pinch of Black Lives Matter, a healthy slathering of socioeconomic inequality, and two whopping serving spoonfuls of women having to pay for the follies of men, then you’ll have one filling, artful cinematic experience with Steve McQueen’s Widows.
And yes, the food analogies are included because it’s close to Thanksgiving and I’m starving.
If you’re familiar with McQueen’s work (see: Shame or Twelve Years a Slave), then you would know that he was never going to make a shallow, stereotypical heist film. No, this film is overflowing with not-so-subtle themes of racial and socioeconomic inequality, political graft, and female empowerment that permeate every single frame of the film, and while I would say that much of it can be a bit on-the-nose (or like a hammer… to one’s nose?), it resonates as a socially timely film, forcing the audience to recognize the cornucopia of injustices that exist around us, while still delivering the energetic twists and beats for those looking for a great popcorn flick.
Widows begins with a heist gone terribly wrong. Liam Neeson’s Harry Rowlings is the leader of a band of experienced robbers, and one unfortunate night, he and everyone get riddled with bullets and decimated in a massive explosion that not only kills them (obviously), but also destroys all of the money that they just stole. This leaves Rowlings’ well-heeled widow, Veronica (played by the impeccable Viola Davis), to pick up the bill, via a threatening demand by local African-American crime boss Jamal Manning (played with effortless menace by Brian Tyree Henry). Turns out that Manning is also running to be this minority-populated Chicago district’s alderman, and his opponent is the privileged Jack Mulligan (Collin Farrell), whose family has run the district for decades despite it being increasingly populated by minorities. And while it’s this relationship that exposes a lot of the film’s exploration on it’s more racially-focused themes, the main drive of the film revolves around Veronica seeking out the widows of the other men that died in the failed heist so that she can pay the debt she inherited from her criminal husband, and go on with her life.
The other widows include a modest, but strong-willed store owner and mother named Linda (Michelle Rodriguez); the seemingly mousy, dependent, and physically abused Alice (Elizabeth Debicki); the new mother to an infant (the drastically underused Carrie Coon); and the fierce and physical hairdresser/babysitter Belle (Cynthia Erivo), who isn’t one of the widows but gets sucked into the debacle nonetheless.
Along the way, McQueen and writer Gillian Flynn use these female characters to examine all of the ways that women get left behind by men – whether they share an intimate relationship with them, or whether they’re simply dependent upon them to create the rules and laws that give them opportunity. Davis’ character is very well off financially, but she’s still burdened by her late husband’s debts without the skills to dig herself out of her situation alone. Alice is the delicate, statuesque trophy wife who suffers through abuse and has always been completely dependent on a man in the most basic sense of the word; she’s uneducated, but easy on the eyes, and is encouraged by her horror of a mother (Jacki Weaver) to use her physical attributes to support herself in the wake of her husband’s death. And Belle is literally sprinting after buses to commute between her hairdresser gig (which is a business beholden to dirty money), and her babysitting jobs just to get by. But she’s slick, spry, and tough and finally gets to apply these qualities towards making a better life for herself, albeit by criminal means. All of these women are symbols in their own right of the different roles of submission women often inadvertently find themselves in, and that the only way to break out of it is to literally fight for it, beat men at their own game, and blow some shit up in the process.
While the emphasis here is on women reclaiming their independence through pretty extreme methods, there are a ton of other topics related to race, class, politics, economics, and everything you can find on the Washington Post front page in this film. And for the most part, it works. McQueen is no stranger to extremely long, uncomfortable takes to drive home his points, and he makes pretty masterful use of them here with the help of DP Sean Bobbitt. However, there were moments where I felt McQueen and Flynn were trying to fit too many socially-relevant topics into the film, and there’s one significant reference to police brutality that seemed almost like a throw-away element. But I ultimately admire McQueen’s ambition in not letting the audience get away with not seeing what’s happening in the world around them and drawing parallels to injustices that have become all too frequent in the real world. McQueen likes to let shots with dramatic heft linger for way longer than most audiences are comfortable with (see again: Twelve Years a Slave), but it’s also incredibly effective in having the discomfort metastasize in your cinephile bones to the point where you can’t avoid talking about it afterwards. And if you can avoid talking about it, you’re probably an asshole, and this movie is not for you.
Widows wouldn’t carry nearly the emotional weight that it does if it didn’t enlist some of the best actors working today. Robert DuVall turns in a brutal performance as Jack Mulligan’s abhorrently racist father, and recent Best Actor nominee Daniel Kaluuya sheds his good guy persona from Get Out to unleash something much more sinister and violent as Jamal Manning’s mob muscle, Jatemme. Collin Farrell is appropriately sleezy as Mulligan, and he expresses his swaying moral compass with impressive nuance. Even Lucas Haas brings his A-game as a wealthy john who apparently only wants to have the elements of an affectionate relationship when it suits the sways of his fickle desires.
But this film really belongs to the ladies.
First of all, Viola Davis plays the somber, bitter, and smoldering Veronica with such visceral authenticity that she almost busts through the screen. You can help but have respect for the woman and if she asked me to rob a bank with her, I’d probably do it. Her ability to swing between steadfastness and uncertainty, confidence and despair, is truly remarkable and provides the film with a beating heart. Elizabeth Debicki elevates Alice to more than just a pretty face; though she hits a definite low in her life after the death of her husband, when given the opportunity to show that she can be a good contributor to her new girl heist crew, she squeaks through using her street smarts. It’s a subtle but riveting evolution made even better by Debicki’s layered performance. Rodriguez is more vulnerable her than in her usual tough-girl typecasting, and it pays off big time here, revealing to us that she can turn in acting greatness when guided by the right director. As a matter of fact, these women are so good at personifying the core feminist premise, that I almost wish McQueen had spent less time trying to throw in the entire social justice kitchen sink than retaining focus on them.
And speaking of kitchen sinks, if Widows was a Thanksgiving Day meal, you would barely have any waste to throw down your disposal. For even though some of the bites are slightly bitter and hard to swallow, it’s still a thoughtful, focused, delicious meal of a film that finishes with a bang and you’ll leave the theater feeling cinematically satiated.
Okay, let’s eat. Happy Thanksgiving!
