Widows: The Struggle is Real

Widows is a far cry from the rest of director Steve McQueen’s discography. Known for artfully crafted, meticulously paced films on heavy subject matter like politically charged hunger strikes, sex addiction, and the cruelty of American slavery, this movie looks like a huge departure by comparison. Don’t be fooled, though. Based on a British mini-series from the 80’s adapted by Gone Girl scribe Gillian Flynn, Widows has a lot more on its mind than the big caper, and combined with McQueen’s talents as a director, assures that this will be a brainier, more rewarding experience than something like, say, Ocean’s 8.

Our story brings together three Chicago women: Veronica (Viola Davis), a teacher’s union leader, Linda (Michelle Rodriguez), a recently divorced business owner, and Alice (Elizabeth Debicki), a browbeaten waif at the end of her rope. They only have one thing in common: their husbands were all career criminals that were killed on the job. The money they stole went up in flames with their van, so now their boss, Jamal Manning (Brian Tyree Henry), a hustler trying to start a new career in politics, is passing the debt on to the wives. Veronica proposes they pay their debts by setting in motion a heist plan her husband (Liam Neeson) had on the back burner, which would pay them off and have plenty left over to split amongst themselves. Their mark is Jamal’s political opponent, Jack Mulligan (Colin Farrell), a fund brat from a political family dynasty who’s also been making Veronica’s day job a living hell.

Where most heist films are focused on the minutia and moving parts of the big job, McQueen and Flynn are more concerned about what the job means to its characters. These women aren’t just doing this to pay off a debt, it’s an act of desperation, a last resort lash at a world that had the deck stacked against them in a game designed to prevent them from winning. Not that it’s entirely the patriarchy’s fault here. The widows have no robbing experience, no hi-tech gadgets to give them an edge, only their wits, gall, and a vague outline from a dead man’s notebook. To call this a feminist movie would be underselling it, but there’s no denying that when the chips are down, their desire to best men at their own game supersedes everything. And in fact, it’s often men’s underestimating these women that ultimately becomes their downfall. The relationships between men and women here is a delicate balance of intimacy and distrust. Nowhere is this better conveyed in the opening scenes, where we see the widows in the intimate moments with their husbands harshly smash cutting to the disastrous job that took their lives.

On the other side of the coin, you have the subplot focusing on the political campaign between Jamal and Jack. While Jamal is trying to turn a new leaf, he isn’t above using the dirty tactics of his old profession to get ahead in the game, right down to sending his brother (Daniel Kaluuya) to intimidate adversaries and maybe break a few bones. Although he’s the unrefuted villain, he’s as much of a victim of the system as our heroines, and is only playing the same game as the big boys, coveting the privilege of politics more than the power. Jack, meanwhile, under the thumb of his racist career-politician father (Robert Duvall), sees control of the 18^th Division as something of a birthright, even if he’s not entirely sure it’s what he wants. One of the best scenes in the movie is all about showcasing this dissonance. After being confronted by a reporter about some money he suspiciously accrued, he vents his frustrations to his assistant in the car. The whole rant is done in a single take shot from outside of the car as it drives from the poverty stricken projects he’s trying to win over to the ritzy gated suburbs he calls home. A lot of credit has to go to cinematographer Sean Bobbitt, who here has presented some of the best shot compositions I’ve seen all year, giving the movie a real sense of location.

McQueen has assembled an all-star ensemble for this outing, and everyone is firing on all cylinders. Viola Davis’s role as Veronica is the perfect catalyst to utilize her talents for conveying both raw vulnerability and non-nonsense authority, with one seamlessly transitioning to another in her grief, both for her husband and for another tragic loss that ties the story to yet another great American injustice. Colin Farrell, sporting the fakest American accent I’ve heard since Saoirse Ronan in Lady Bird, is the picture-perfect presentation of clueless privilege. Elizabeth Debicki probably has one of the most compelling stories in a movie that’s rife with them as Alice, who suffered abuse at the hands of her late husband, only to be pushed into the arms of a skeezy playboy by her gold digger mother. Cynthia Erivo is unrecognizable from her debut in Bad Times at the El Royale as a last-minute addition to the team, and Daniel Kaluuya twists his typically cool demeanor into something menacing and sociopathic. Cast your eye in any direction and you’ll find a character whose story could be a movie all its own.

Bottom line, Widows is one of the most compelling and outstanding films of the year-end avalanche of Oscar hopefuls. Equal parts contemplative and whip smart, it adds artistic flair to an unabashedly mainstream genre with none of the condescension. This is what you get when you bring a bunch of Grade-A talents together with a single goal: make something that’ll both quicken your pulse and tickle your brain, maybe even at the same time.

9/10