Three Billboards
Outside Ebbing, Missouri, the third cinematic outing by Irish playwright
turned filmmaker Martin McDonagh, sounds like a harrowing yet cathartic tragedy
on paper, and while it’s definitely both of those things, it’s also one of the
most darkly comic films of the year. That seems to be a trademark of his: his two
previous efforts, In Bruges and Seven Psychopaths, are pitch black with
no cream or sugar (I haven’t seen any of his plays, but I’ve heard they’re more
or less the same), but Three Billboards
is without a doubt the angriest movie he’s made yet. And sense there’s plenty
to be angry at in the world at the moment, it couldn’t have come at a better time.
Our story follows Mildred Hayes (Frances McDormand), a cantankerous
misanthrope who has suffered a great loss. Her daughter was raped and brutally
murdered, and the crime has gone unsolved for seven months. Fed up with the police’s
lack of action, she rents out three billboards on the outskirts of town and
plasters them with a message calling them out, particularly the sheriff, Bill
Willoughby (Woody Harrelson). The fact that he’s a decent family man and
popular with the townsfolk who just happens to be dying of pancreatic cancer
doesn’t matter to her one bit. The police and townspeople are not pleased with
this open challenge, especially Willoughby’s alcoholic racist deputy Dixon (Sam
Rockwell), and Mildred is now at war with nearly the entire town.
On the surface, Three
Billboards is an underdog story, but to simplify it as such wouldn’t be
doing it justice. Despite that, it’s hard not to root for Mildred. While some
of the townsfolk are sympathetic to her loss, nearly everyone objects to the
drastic measures she’s gone to make her message, and Mildred simply doesn’t
give a fuck who gets in her way. Whether it’s the cops, the news, or even the town
priest (who she dresses down in a scathing monologue), if you’re in her path,
you’re gonna get steamrolled. Frances McDormand brings Mildred to life and turns
in not just the best female performance of the year (arguably, I’m torn between
her and Saoirse Ronan in Lady Bird),
but possibly her best performance since Fargo,
in a role that was tailor made for her: defiant, merciless, ferociously
uncompromising, and unwilling to take anyone’s crap.
McDormand doesn’t carry the film alone, though. One of the
best tricks the movie has up its sleeve is presenting us with characters that come
off one-dimensional, mean-spirited caricatures, and imbuing them with hidden
depth. Harrelson as the chief that Mildred is leading her one-dimensional
crusade against is sympathetic to her cause and tries to find some kind of
happy medium with her. There’s even hints that if they could’ve been friend
were they not on opposite sides of the conflict, as made evident when she puts
an end to a shouting match when he starts coughing up blood. Meanwhile, Sam
Rockwell shows why he’s the most underappreciated actor alive in his role as Deputy
Dixon. At first he comes off as the living embodiment of why American cops,
especially those in the deep South, are pegged as slack-jawed, racist thugs. He
becomes even more unhinged when Harrelson is taken out of the picture and the
war escalates, but even he’s shown to have a more understanding side after he
has a crisis of responsibility.
But while the movie has plenty to say about police brutality
and rape culture, it realizes that the situation is as cut and dry as it seems.
While Mildred’s fury is wholly justified, the lengths she’s willing to go to
have pushed her pass the point of reason. Hell, she’s far from the ideal
parent, as she and her daughter didn’t exactly leave on the best of terms, (a
fact that has taken an exponential toll on her mind), and her surviving son
Charlie (Lucas Hedges) was caught in the blast radius of her crusade. The lack
of closure in the murder case wasn’t so much an act of complacency as it was a
lack of evidence. McDonagh takes on a Coen brothers-esque view of the American
heartland, acknowledging all that’s wrong and ugly about, but not letting it
overshadow the bright spots of humanity. Just like In Bruges and Seven
Psychopaths, McDonagh walks the crooked path between comedy and tragedy
without sacrificing one for the other. Not an easy feat for any filmmaker, but one
that’s second nature to him.
Bottom line, Three
Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri is a darkly hilarious, caustic tale of
grief, outrage, and misdirected anger. The performances are top notch, the
story is unpredictable, and the script walks a crooked path of righteous fury
and tender humanity. I didn’t have as much fun with this as I did with Seven Psychopaths, but considering that
this isn’t a “fun” movie, that’s a compliment. It definitely deserves to be in
the conversation of film in this point in time, especially with things being as
bitterly divided as they are, it’s refreshing to see a movie look beyond the
pale and see that we have more in common than we’d like to admit.
9/10
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