Women Talking

Delivering on the promise of its deceptively bland title, Women Talking has plenty to say about reconciling with your past and charting an uncertain future.

Featuring a first-rate ensemble cast, this stylish and evocative drama from director Sarah Polley (Away from Her) examines empowerment in the face of oppression among women living in a Mennonite-style cult.

There are only the subtlest of hints about a specific time and place, but the story is set entirely within an isolated farm colony where the women have endured a legacy of sexual abuse and been brainwashed to believe it’s religiously justified.

Three generations of victims gather in a barn while the perpetrators are away to deliberate three options — do nothing, stay and fight, or leave. Together, and perhaps to the chagrin of their unseen male tormenters, they are outspoken and opinionated while engaged in a collective fight for basic rights.

Among them are pregnant Ona (Rooney Mara), combative Mariche (Jessie Buckley), thoughtful Salome (Claire Foy), world-weary Agata (Judith Ivey), and scarred Janz (Frances McDormand).

Their philosophical sessions together become increasingly contentious when challenging each other’s deep-rooted thoughts on faith, forgiveness, mortality, and what lies ahead — often becoming divided along generational lines.

“Freedom and safety are our ultimate goals, and it is men who prevent us from achieving those goals,” Mariche surmises. But can she generate enough solidarity among her fellow women to take decisive action?

Some brief flashbacks detail specific abuses, although most of the horrors remain off-screen, instead being vividly recalled through words and emotional triggers.

Despite some uneven narrative momentum, the film gradually builds tension while probing the nature of love, compassion, and maternal instincts.

Women Talking might logistically be a better fit on stage, but the sharp-tongued dialogue and richly textured performances keep our attention, rewarding patience for its deliberate pace.

Indeed, Polley’s incisive screenplay — adapted from a novel by Miriam Toews — confronts spiritual and moral complexities to scrutinize blind faith and belief systems with harrowing precision. It’s provocative rather than dismissive.

Meanwhile, Polley’s visual approach conveys a haunting atmosphere through the meticulous use of light and shadows, along with a washed-out color palette.

Solemn and contemplative yet cumulatively powerful, the film is forceful without turning heavy-handed in communicating a resonant message that’s worth hearing.

Rated PG-13, 104 minutes.