[tw: sexual assault]
In Manitoba Colony, a Mennonite settlement in Bolivia, at least 151 women and children were raped over the course of four-or-so years. An anaesthetic normally reserved for livestock was sprayed in through their windows, knocking everyone inside the houses unconscious. At first, the men of the village attributed the ‘mysterious’ incidents to demonic attacks or possibly being done by Satan himself; in common parlance, once the event broke through the isolated nature of the village and its inhabitants, one name attributed to it was the ‘ghost rapes of Bolivia’.
While this film, and the novel on which it was based, is set with the backdrop of this atrocity, they primarily serve as a dramatic addendum to it. Described on-screen as an “act of female imagination” (a phrase also used to describe the assault itself when the women came forward about a more terrestrial culprit than Christianity's favourite strawman), the story depicts an impromptu council of women from this settlement, who meet up and try to come to a consensus about what they do next. Do they do nothing? Do they stay and fight? Or do they leave?
Befitting the title, the dialogue and performance of said dialogue is the main draw of the production, and on both counts, this succeeds with flying (muted) colours. The cast are all absolutely fantastic, from Rooney Mara’s soon-to-be-parental grace, to Claire Foy’s fiery vengeance, to Jessie Buckley’s sardonic defeatism, to Judith Ivey’s composed poise, to Michelle McLeod’s anxious trauma, to August Winter's non-binary perspective, to Ben Whishaw as the male ally taking the minutes for the meetings.
But it’s the words that really bring the shine out of their respective skill sets, as writer/director Sarah Polley really digs into the practicality of all three options, with each character serving as a different but organic argument for or against each one. It does justice to the based-on-actual-events basis of the setting, as a lot of the film does come across like what women who have been assaulted actually have to consider and think through and argue amongst themselves about. There’s something about how this even is an argument in the first place that works particularly well, cutting through a lot of the modern-day presumptions concerning feminism and even the MeToo movement as these monolithic groups where any and all discussion is made from a single viewpoint… because this is what happens when a patriarchal structure is built on the premise that all women are ‘supposed to’ be the same across the board.
Hell, the very tempered nature of their discussions, factoring in what would happen to their sons should they decide to leave, or indeed what would happen to them if they decide to say, ends up saying a lot about life under patriarchy without being too direct about it. The way that a society built with men at the forefront is also built with the assumption that they are necessary in all things, and that women would be unable to exist without them. It’s a gendered version of the standard ‘argument for leadership’ that tends to come up whenever individuals decide that, y’know what, I’m starting to think that I’d be better off doing my own thing. The overall approach to the notion of leaving in particular highlights the spuriousness of questions as to why women don’t just do that: Leaving behind the only way of life, and the only people, you’ve ever known isn’t exactly an easy decision to make.
Then there’s the presentation, which finds its own way to be slyly confronting. Now, aesthetically, there’s not a whole lot different going on here as opposed to any other depiction of a rural period setting, with its aforementioned muted colour palette and humble shot compositions. However, I’d argue that that effect does the story a world of good, because it creates a genuine timelessness to the material. I intentionally left this out earlier, but the actual rapes in Manitoba Colony? They occurred between 2005 and 2009, with this film specifically taking place either just before or during 2010.
It's the kind of event that a lot of us, if only to preserve whatever semblance of hope we have that humanity isn’t totally fucked, might imagine happening long before then. There’s a joke in there somewhere about the real horror coming from the idea that the mid-to-late 2000s would count as a period setting, but after watching this, it feels like that was part of the point. To directly highlight this moment as recent history, despite popular conception of these kinds of rural tragedies of existing in, like, the days of The VVitch. Something refracted in all manner of modern bullshit concerning the abusive treatment of women.
That history-bending perspective is enforced by Kate Hallett’s narration, addressed in the second-person to the child of Rooney Mara’s Ona. The story of the film is told to the next generation about how their own story will be different than what their parents had to live through, but delivered directly to us, the audience. It’s confrontational, yet comforting, like a coded lullaby detailing a tragic family tree.
As is the case with just about any piece of media built on the message of ‘believe women’, there’s a chance that this will only find traction with those who either already get the idea or just those who want everyone to think that they do (much like with the MeToo text She Said, this is also produced by Brad Pitt’s Plan B Entertainment). But there’s also a chance that this will land with the people it needs to reach, since its fleshed-out characterisation and reasoned arguments are balanced out with some surprisingly well-timed moments of humour, and genuine appraisals of faith and pacifism, even in the context of a violently abusive religious colony. It is honestly quite relieving that a message film, for as incredibly affecting as said message is, has entertainment value that goes beyond just being the package for that message, all coming from a genuine want to inform and cultivate discussion.
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