Historical Drama – Bitch Flicks

Anne Boleyn: Queen Bee of ‘The Tudors’

Anne Boleyn was considered by many contemporaries to be the very living, breathing definition of an unlikable woman. And perhaps “unlikable” is too soft a term here – at points in the 16th century, following her execution on trumped up charges of adultery and treason, Anne was so widely reviled that very few of her own words, actions, or even accurate portraits remain today, thanks to Henry’s redoubtable efforts to wipe her off the record completely.

This guest post by Emma Kat Richardson appears as part of our theme week on Unlikable Women.

“Write me letters and poems. Ravish me with your words. Seduce me.”

These words, spoken by Anne Boleyn to Henry VIII, are an arrow dipped in love potion, shot through the king’s heart – a direct command from the courtly lady he might worship and serve. From then on, Henry will stop at nothing to have her; and the consequences of this maddening obsession will go on to tear England nearly asunder with the initiation of the Reformation. That’s… quite a bit of exposition for a mere poetry request. How, exactly, did this ordinary woman of average background and breeding manage to ensnare one of the most powerful men in Christendom? With as much information as is publicly available on these grand historical events, it’s hard to say with certainty what Anne really did to pull off such an unprecedented feat. What we can say for sure is that these words never make an appearance in any textbook or scholarly treatise on the discarded queens of England’s eccentric eighth King Henry; rather, they are a snippet of sensationalistic dialogue accorded to Anne as portrayed in Showtime’s epic, sexed up costume drama, The Tudors.

But first, before we dive into the realm of heaving bosoms and salacious, soapy one-liners, a little historical background: as the second wife of England’s first Renaissance king, Henry VIII, Anne Boleyn was considered by many contemporaries to be the very living, breathing definition of an unlikable woman. And perhaps “unlikable” is too soft a term here – at points in the 16th century, following her execution on trumped up charges of adultery and treason, Anne was so widely reviled that very few of her own words, actions, or even accurate portraits remain today, thanks to Henry’s redoubtable efforts to wipe her off the record completely. Her unpopularity with the public stemmed mostly from the fact that Henry had moved heaven and earth (almost literally, since he all but kicked the national religion of Catholicism out of England just to have her) to divorce his first wife and marry Anne in her place. That first wife, Catherine of Aragon, had been a Spanish princess whose marriage of almost two decades to Henry had produced one daughter but no living sons to inherit the crown. With the royal succession dangerously in jeopardy, Henry began casting about for a way out of his marriage, and “Mistress Boleyn,” as she was then known, was more than ready to provide not only the ends but the means to Henry’s little marital dilemma as well. A committed reformer, Anne was a vocal advocate for reforming the abuses of the clergy and papacy, and even today is widely regarded as being responsible for England’s violent split with Rome and the “old faith.”

So, clearly, she was a little bit controversial. The whole home-wrecking aspect didn’t do much to bolster Anne’s personal approval ratings, either. But, especially as she’s played by Natalie Dormer on The Tudors, it’s impossible to deny that there’s just something about Annie. She’s easy to hate, in patches, but one who manages to be both polarizing and magnetic; indeed, Dormer’s Anne is a quick-witted, razor sharp intellectual with enough sex appeal drive a wedge not only between Henry and his wife, but Henry and his mistress, Anne’s own sister Mary.

If you can believe it, this chalice isn’t filled with blood and the tears of children.

Many recent portrayals of Anne depict her as utterly ruthless and oozing with ambition – the appallingly bad screen 2008 adaptation of Philippa Gregory’s novel The Other Boleyn Girl springs immediately to mind. But Dormer’s Anne is more coy and calculating than toxic and reckless. In early episodes of the series, while Jonathan Rhys Meyers’ Abecrombie-ized Henry is flitting from one court lady’s bed to another, it is difficult to know Anne’s thoughts as her family arranges for her own physical entrapment of the king. Dormer plays Anne as cool and aloof – so much so that the show nearly refrains from giving Anne a perspective at all in the nascent days of her courtship with Henry. Whether Anne is fending off his sexual advances for strategy, as her scenes with her family patriarchs suggest, or if she has legitimate concerns about her maidenly reputation is anyone’s guess; however, once it becomes clear that Henry has his hose in a bunch at the prospect of bedding Anne, the proverbial gloves come off, and, eventually, so do Anne’s gowns.

Not that Dormer’s Anne is without her moments of pure malice, of course. As supreme seductress of the king, Anne, riding high on ego and self-confidence, boldly spars with the queen, her rival. “I care nothing for Catherine,” she declares haughtily in the first season’s finale. “I would rather see her hanged than acknowledge her as my mistress.” On another occasion, Anne viciously tears in to Henry after she discovers that Catherine is still sewing his shirts; a truly intimate betrayal in 16th century terms. And, in the face of so much antipathy toward her presence, she even changes her public motto to, roughly translated, “this is how it’s going to be; let them grumble”!

“Henry, you keep leaving the lid to the chamber pot up. I thought we talked about this.”

But really, what lies beyond Dormer’s ability to fill Anne with fire is her careful attention to the qualities that render Anne sympathetic, too. During the show’s first season, Dormer reportedly fought with Showtime’s producers to transform Anne into more of a reformist intellectual and less of an overheated sexpot. As she told Susan Bordo in The Creation of Anne Boleyn, Bordo’s probe into the continued cultural relevance of Anne: “Men still have trouble recognizing that a woman can be complex, can have ambition, good looks, sexuality, erudition, and common sense. A woman can have all those facets, and yet men, in literature and in drama, seem to need to simplify women, to polarize us as either the whore or the angel. That sensibility is prevalent, even to this day. I have a lot of respect for Michael [Hirst, creator of The Tudors], as a writer and a human being, but I think that he has that tendency. I don’t think he does it consciously. I think it’s something innate that just happens and he doesn’t realize it.” By the show’s second season, Dormer’s Anne had made the leap from elaborately dressed cock-tease to a fully formed, charismatic and courageous individual. Her execution in the season two finale saw an 83 percent spike in viewership over the first season’s finale episode, and once Dormer left the show, ratings dropped drastically.

Just as with the real Anne Boleyn, who once ruled over the kingdom of England and its monarch’s fickle heartstrings, Dormer’s Boleyn may have an unlikeable surface, but she’s so much more than a mere strumpet with a couple of decent lines. Right down to her alluring smile as she reads from the holy Scripture aloud in English, Dormer has created an Anne for all seasons: the very embodiment of just how complex and riveting she must have been during her all-too short life.

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i6-ThCEeTJU”]

Emma Kat Richardson is a Detroit native and freelance writer living in Austin, Texas. Her work has appeared in xoJane.com, Bitch, Alternative Press, LaughSpin.com, Real Detroit Weekly, 944, and Bust.com. She’s enough of a comedy nerd and cat lady to have named her Maine Coon Michael Ian Cat. Follow her on twitter: @emmakat.

Self-Sacrifice in ‘Casablanca’: Not Just for the Men

But what stands out among all this entertainment, what makes ‘Casablanca’ feel like a better movie than say, ‘Raiders of the Lost Ark,’ are the stirring emotions of self-sacrifice. And discussions of the capital-G Greatness of ‘Casablanca’ are often centered on masculine concepts of nobility. Despite all his regular protests that he won’t “stick his neck out,” Rick Does the Right Thing and gives the letters of transit to his love Ilsa and her husband (and major player in the Czech resistance) Victor Laszlo. For the good of the world.

And perhaps as a feminist I should take issue with how Rick appears to decide for Ilsa what she is going to do with her life—where to live, which man to be with. But throughout the movie, Ilsa chooses to be with Laszlo, from abandoning Rick at the train station in Paris to threatening him with a gun to get the letters of transit. Rick’s big speech at the end just reconfirms the rightness of her own decisions.

Thank goodness for Casablanca, an unquestionable answer to give when asked the loaded question “what’s your favorite movie?”

Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman in an iconic image from 'Casablanca' — Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman in an iconic image from *Casablanca*

As Roger Ebert put it, “Casablanca is The Movie. There are greater movies. More profound movies. Movies of greater artistic vision or artistic originality or political significance…” but it doesn’t matter. I’ve never met a person who doesn’t love Casablanca, and I’m not sure I care to.

Casablanca is one of those movies that “has it all”: sweeping romance, scathing political commentary, pristine dialogue (every third line is a famous quotation), surprising amounts of humor (“What watch?” “Ten watch.” “Such much?” “You will get along beautiful in America”).

But what stands out among all this entertainment, what makes Casablanca feel like a better movie than say, Raiders of the Lost Ark, are the stirring emotions of self-sacrifice. And discussions of the capital-G Greatness of Casablanca are often centered on masculine concepts of nobility. Despite all his regular protests that he won’t “stick his neck out,” Rick Does the Right Thing and gives the letters of transit to his love Ilsa and her husband (and major player in the Czech resistance) Victor Laszlo. For the good of the world.

Ilsa and her husband Victor Laszlo (Paul Henreid)

It’s not just, as Sally Albright puts it, a practical decision, choosing “to be first lady of Czechloslovakia” over “living in Casablanca married to a man who runs a bar.” Ilsa chooses to be the proverbial Great Woman behind Great Man Victor Laszlo, even though it means choosing an admiring love over a passionate one. She knows, well before Rick tells her, that she is what keeps Laszlo going. Ilsa’s self-sacrifice shouldn’’ be swept away by focus on Rick’s sudden shift back to acting noble.

A minor subplot also sees Rick’s goodness overshadowing hard choices made by women. One of the first times we see Rick act nobly is when Annina, a Bulgarian newlywed, considers having sex with Captain Renault in order to obtain the exit visas they cannot afford. Annina is distraught by the idea of breaking her marriage vows and exchanging sex for escape, but is desperate enough that she’s nearly decided to do it as she seeks Rick’s absolution. Rick chooses to make it irrelevant by letting her husband win at his roulette table. Again, Rick’s minor intervention distracts from the great personal sacrifice a woman makes in the face of the horrible circumstances of Nazi-occupied Europe.

It’s all right that Rick’s noble actions get the most attention, as he is the main character. I just wish to highlight that the women of Casablanca also choose to set aside First World Problems to address World War II problems. We must celebrate the nobility and selflessness of Ilsa and Annina alongside Laszlo and Rick.

Robin Hitchcock is an American writer living in Cape Town who must keep in mind she is not threatened by Nazis as she waits, and waits, and waits for a visa extension.

Oprah Winfrey Succeeds in a Tough Role in ‘The Butler’

Like the film, Oprah’s acting sometimes pushes the edge of melodrama, but also like the film, there’s great emotional payoff. In a film rife with occasionally distracting (although sometimes delightful) stunt casting, it’s a pleasant surprise that one of the most famous media personalities in the world is able to fade (although not quite disappear) into her character. To see the queen of elongated shouted introductions and epic inspirational content play a cynical, alcoholic who cheats on her husband and slaps her kid might smack of awards-baiting, but Oprah’s acting is actually up to snuff.

Only a few days after seeing it, I’m venturing to say that Lee Daniels’ The Butler* ranks among my favorite films of 2013. It’s about as subtle as Miley Cyrus, but personally, I don’t particularly mind that in a movie so engrossing and emotionally affecting (to wit: Black Swan is one of my favorite films of the past ten years). Condensing almost a century of history of the Civil Rights movement into slightly more than two hours is an impressive feat, one that may not have been possible with a lighter touch on the themes and message.

Oprah Winfrey as Gloria Gaines and Forest Whitaker as Cecil Gaines in Lee Daniel's The Butler — Oprah Winfrey as Gloria Gaines and Forest Whitaker as Cecil Gaines in *Lee Daniels’ The Butler*

The ambitious scope of The Butler is counterbalanced by its focus on one family, eponymous White House butler Cecil Gaines (Forest Whitaker), his wife Gloria (Oprah Winfrey), and their children, particularly committed Civil Rights activist Louis (a standout David Oyelowo). My Bitch Flicks colleague Erin Tatum’s piece on The Butler excellently explores how the Gaines family dynamic “chronicles the cross-generational struggle to define black identity and masculinity in a racist American society.” While the central father-son relationship between Cecil and Louis is fascinating, it unfortunately leaves Oprah Winfrey’s Gloria in a more typical beleaguered wife role.

Oprah’s performance, however, elevates Gloria. Like the film, Oprah’s acting sometimes pushes the edge of melodrama, but also like the film, there’s great emotional payoff. In a film rife with occasionally distracting (although sometimes delightful) stunt casting, it’s a pleasant surprise that one of the most famous media personalities in the world is able to fade (although not quite disappear) into her character.

Oprah Winfrey as Gloria and Terrence Howard as an extramarital paramour.

To see the queen of elongated shouted introductions and epic inspirational content play a cynical, alcoholic who cheats on her husband and slaps her kid might smack of awards-baiting, but Oprah’s acting is actually up to snuff. She plays the character convincingly while making her more compelling by leaning on her own abundant charisma. It’s always clear why Cecil loves Gloria despite the regular strain in their marriage, and that she is a good mother despite her personal weaknesses.

gloriawhitehouse — Gloria finally visits the White House when she and Cecil are invited by the Reagans as guests to a state dinner.

Oprah’s success in the role is even more important because Gloria is the only fully-realized female character in The Butler. A lot of the female characters don’t even speak, despite their significance to the plot and relatively high-profile casting. Mariah Carey plays Cecil’s mother and is raped for plot reasons but not given any dialogue. The blood on the stockings of Minka Kelly’s Jackie Kennedy get more screen time than her face. Jane Fonda as Nancy Reagan is only present long enough for us to all have a good chuckle at that cheeky casting. (Yaya Alafia has a strong single scene as Louis”s cold-as-ice Black Panther girlfriend Carol, but it’s actually Oprah’s Oscar-clip moment.)

Oprah won an honorary Oscar for her humanitarian work in 2011. Hopefully she'll win another for acting one day. — Oprah won an honorary Oscar for her humanitarian work in 2011. Hopefully she’ll win another for acting one day.

I’ve mentioned several weaknesses in this review, but again, I very much enjoyed and admire Lee Daniels’ The Butler. And despite loving it all-around, my strongest feeling leaving the film was my wish that Oprah Winfrey would act more. I admire her choosiness about her roles (and her promotion of black cinema and artists), but I wish she was just slightly less choosy so we could see more of her on screen. For a woman so successful in other fields, it seems almost unfair that Oprah is such a gifted actress, but it’s even more unfair that we only get to see her in a major film role once every fifteen years or so.

*Lest you think the director of Precious: Based on the Novel Push by Sapphire just has a thing for unnecessarily long titles, note that Daniels’s name had to be appended to the film’s title after a bizarre challenge from Warner Bros. to protect 1917 comedy short by the same name. I’m also somewhat perplexed by the decision to forgo the additional s after the possessive apostrophe because Lee Daniels is a singular proper noun that isn’t Moses or Jesus, but the Chicago Manual of Style condones this punctuation for names ending in a z sound, so I’ll let it go. /perscriptivism

‘Boardwalk Empire’: Margaret Thompson, Margaret Sanger, and the Cultural Commentary of Historical Fiction

In 1923, Margaret Sanger opened the first legal birth control clinic in America.

Almost 90 years later, HBO’s Boardwalk Empire is reminding audiences of those early struggles for women’s reproductive health and education, which don’t seem as foreign as they should.

In the premiere episode of season 3, Margaret (Schroeder) Thompson hears a radio story about Carrie Duncan, a woman who is about to take off as the first aviator to attempt a cross-continental flight.

Later in the episode, she takes a private tour of the Enoch and Margaret Thompson Pediatric Annex in St. Theresa’s Hospital, as she and her husband (“Nucky”) are its benefactors. As she tours the halls, a pregnant woman comes in and collapses, and she’s obviously miscarrying. The doctors whisk her away and Dr. Mason later tells Margaret that the loss could have been prevented, but the woman (her name is later revealed as Edwina Shearer) drank raw milk that was infected with E.coli. He goes on to explain that pregnant women are not given any instruction about nutrition or hygiene. Margaret, horrified, wants to use her benefactor status to change this.

Edwina Shearer has a miscarriage in the first episode of season 3.

At her and Nucky’s New Year’s celebration–they are ringing in 1923–she approaches Dr. Landau (St. Theresa’s medical director) about the inadequate prenatal care at the hospital. He is insulted and condescending, and Nucky chastises her.

However, as her determination and tenacity in the last two seasons has proven, Margaret will not stand down.

At the end of the episode, Margaret gets up at dawn to witness Duncan fly over the coast. She smiles as she sees Duncan’s plane.

Margaret watches Carrie Duncan fly overhead.

While Margaret’s feminist activism is a sub-plot–in fact, it doesn’t even appear in every episode–the establishment of a prenatal education program (and evolving views on birth control) is an important, sobering reminder of our history and provides context for much of what propels current conversations on reproduction and women’s health.

Margaret manages to open the St. Theresa’s Women’s Clinic after going above the director’s head to appeal directly to the bishop (although he warns her that “delicate topics would have to be avoided”). Margaret has become a power player in season 3. Certainly it’s worth noting that the hospital’s namesake could either be found in St. Therese of Lisieux, who went directly to the Pope to beg to become a nun after priests and bishops had turned her away, or St. Teresa of Avila, who was forced into the convent by her father and then became a reformer and was posthumously declared a Doctor of the Church.

Margaret, also, has been dually wedged into circumstances by her own stubborn motivations and by the men in her life. In previous seasons, she has deftly navigated her world to provide better circumstances for her children and her community, but this season she is securing her place as more than just an activist–she is a leader.

In episode 4, she and Dr. Mason set up the women’s clinic and are met with resistance by the nuns. As they discuss the mission statement, a nun says, “This is rather infelicitous language, isn’t it?” “Vagina?” Margaret asks. The doctor says that it’s a medical term, and the nun replies, “I’ve never enjoyed the sound of it.” Dr. Mason says, “I’ve never liked brussels sprouts, but I don’t deny they exist.”

Dr. Mason, left, and Margaret prep for their evening women’s health class (they are holding boxes of Kotex, and the nun in the background disapproves).

“The entire area is problematic,” the nun scoffs, adding that she doesn’t approve of the term “pregnant.”

“You are at odds with ‘menstruation’?” Margaret asks.

The nun finally storms off after seeing brown packages that Margaret tells her are Kotex–a relatively new product–which are gifts for the women in the class. “Let’s hope our evening students aren’t quite so sensitive,” Margaret quips.

As she passes out fliers for the new class on the boardwalk, she runs in to Mrs. Shearer–the woman who inspired the clinic. She seems uncomfortable, and her husband interjects, “When she’s feeling better, we’ll try again.”

Margaret passes out flyers on the boardwalk.

At the end of the episode, Margaret is reading the newspaper. Wreckage of Carrie Duncan’s plane was found, and the headline reads “Aviatrix Presumed Killed During Ill-Fated Journey.” Duncan’s trip, which clearly was inspirational to Margaret, was unsuccessful.

This moment in American history–the 1920s–was a promising time for women. The 19th amendment granted women the right to vote in 1920, and Margaret Sanger was making headway (and finding loopholes) to help women plan their reproduction.

However, there were no figurative cross-country flights completed during this era. It would be decades before the Pill was legalized and first-trimester abortion de-criminalized. Still in 2012, contraception is a divisive issue in America.

But women kept fighting, as does Margaret.

In the beginning of the next episode, she’s looking over a class flyer with a friend. “Do you wish for more knowledge? sounds mystical,” her friend teased.

Margaret responds, “I can’t very well say Let’s talk about your vagina.”

Later in the episode, Dr. Mason is wrapping up their evening women’s education class (a crucifix looms above him), and one of the few women in the class says, “I wish someone would have told me all of this when I was 13–I wouldn’t have thought I was dying!”

The need for comprehensive education was clear, and for the few women who came to the first classes, Margaret and Dr. Mason were making a difference.

When Dr. Mason is called into an emergency surgery during their next class, Margaret steps to the front of the room and smiles. “We have our book, we have our chart, we have ourselves–what else is needed?”

She’s gotten the permission she needed to open the clinic and fly under the radar of the conservative leadership, and she is comfortable taking the lead.

At the beginning of episode 6, Margaret opens the mail and pulls out a copy of the Birth Control Review (along with a letter signed by Margaret Sanger).

Margaret receives a copy of Margaret Sanger’s Birth Control Review in the mail,.

This isn’t the first time that Sanger has appeared in Boardwalk Empire. In season 1, the episode “Family Limitation” (named after a brochure of the same name that Sanger produced in the early 1900s) showed Margaret douching with Lysol to prevent another pregnancy (a method that was touted as a method of birth control). Season 1–with its focus on temperance leagues, suffrage and reproductive issues–offered a preview to the show’s complex sub-plots that focus on women’s issues.

Throughout the series, men’s reactions to birth control and family planning have been venemous (Nucky referred to Margaret as a “common whore” when he discovered she’d been trying to prevent pregnancy, and Mr. Shearer insists that he and his wife will continue to procreate). Dr. Mason is the exception thus far in his progressive attitudes about women’s health.

In episode 8, Mrs. Shearer comes to Margaret, pleading. “My husband won’t keep off me,” she says, and wants to know how to not get pregnant.

She says, “I don’t need a pamphlet, or some man to tell me what I already know.”

She hesitates, and says, “I wasn’t–I stored the milk, I waited. It wasn’t an accident, you understand? I drank it on purpose to lose the baby–I won’t go through that again.”

The E.coli was self-inflicted, because she refused to have another child. This example of self-induced abortion was nothing new or rare for the time, and it was one of the reasons Sanger pushed for education and birth control.

Without judgment, Margaret simply asks, “What do you need?”

“One of those Dutch caps, that go up here,” she answers (indicating a diaphragm).

When Margaret says that those need to come from a doctor, Mrs. Shearer says, “Doctors only listen to ladies like you.”

Wealthy women of privilege generally have always had access to family planning. Mrs. Shearer knows that, and finally trusts Margaret enough to be a connection between working class exclusion and upper class privilege.

Margaret waits for Dr. Mason outside of the hospital, and tells him directly, “I need your help with something and it’s rather delicate… I would like to ask you to help me obtain a diaphragm.” He understands that that is what Mrs. Shearer wanted. “Actually,” Margaret adds, “I suppose I need two–one for her, and one for me.” (Margaret’s need for a diaphragm isn’t because of her relationship with Nucky; Nucky has had a mistress in the city, and Margaret picks up her affair with his driver, Owen.)

The issues surrounding the female characters of Boardwalk Empire are instrumental in the male characters’ lives (the late Angela Darmondy and her lesbian relationship, Gillian Darmondy’s brothel the Artemis Club, Chalky White’s daughter’s resistance to marriage, Assistant Attorney General Esther Randolph–based off Mabel Walker Willebrandt, Nucky’s late lover Billie Kent’s desire for independence and of course, Margaret), and they also serve as history lessons for the audience.

Boardwalk Empire is, essentially, a boys club. So is American history. While Nucky’s world of politics, power, alcohol smuggling and bloody violence is central to the entire plot of the show, the women’s stories underneath the surface are integral to their stories and to the audience.

In 2012 America, a female legislator was punished for using the word “vagina” in a debate about reproductive choice. Religious groups are fighting the Affordable Care Act’s provision that contraception be covered by insurance as preventative medicine. States are attempting to close women’s health clinics that don’t even provide abortion, but provide women’s health services. Abstinence-only education is pushed nationwide. The same resistance that Margaret faces in Boardwalk Empire is the same resistance faced by activists and leaders in today’s fights to prioritize reproductive education, health and choice.

By showing these struggles in an award-winning, critically acclaimed HBO drama, audiences are able to hold a mirror up to the failures of not only prohibition, but also limiting women’s reproductive choices. Boardwalk Empire serves as a reminder that when women’s options are limited, they will fight back–even if it means risking their lives. With only three episodes left in season 3, we can hope that Margaret will remain steadfast in her fight for women’s reproductive education and choice.

—

Leigh Kolb is a composition, literature and journalism instructor at a community college in rural Missouri.

Preview: Meek’s Cutoff – A Feminist Western?

Shirley Henderson, Zoe Kazan, and Michelle Williams star in Meek’s Cutoff

I’ve never really talked about my love for Westerns here, or all of my jumbled ideas about the genre and feminism (someday I’ll write a long post about it, or an essay, or a book). But, let me try to (briefly) sum up my interest here, and express how excited I am about Meek’s Cutoff.

The Western genre is traditionally tied up in all kinds of rugged masculinity, and of all film genres, maybe best exemplifies the dominant way the United States collectively imagines itself: sturdy, adventurous, self sufficient, brave, and, well, pretty butch. The problem is, however, that this narrative leaves out a significant number of people, and a significant portion of the story. The Western (and the story of the U.S. West) tries to be the story of the United States itself, and reveals ideology so clearly where it fails–namely, in its depiction of women, indigenous peoples, immigrants, and African-Americans. The genre is, in other words, ripe for retellings and allegory.

Directed by Kelly Reichardt (who also directed Wendy and Lucy and Old Joy), Meek’s Cutoff opens this weekend in New York, followed by a limited-release roll out. The critical consensus is positive, and Reichardt is already being praised for making an artistic and accessible film. Not-so-subtle connections are also being made between the film’s title character and a certain former U.S. president who may have also been overconfident in his ability to lead.

Mahohla Dargis has called the film “unabashedly political,” and J. Hoberman of The Village Voice, writes

Having split off from a larger wagon train, the party elected to follow Stephen Meek (Bruce Greenwood), an extravagantly hirsute, self-regardingly loquacious guide who, in his most obvious misjudgment, brings them not to the foothills of the Cascade Mountains but the shores of a great saline lake. Is he “ignorant or just plain evil?” the Williams character asks her husband (Will Patton). “We can’t know. . . . We made our decision,” he tells her. “I don’t blame him for not knowing—I blame him for saying he did,” she replies, establishing herself as the party’s moral compass.

In a NYT piece, “Oregon Frontier, from Under a Bonnet,” Nicolas Rapold writes

“There was a quote I remembered that I had liked when I was 18 or something, that popped into my head: ‘I’ll go where my own nature would be leading,’ ” Ms. Williams said of her character, Emily Tetherow. The verse, by Emily Brontë, which continues, “It vexes me to choose another guide,” proves peculiarly apt for Mrs. Tetherow, who emerges as Meek’s prime skeptic and becomes an unusually vocal opponent. The actual diaries of women migrating West were also a source of inspiration for Ms. Williams. She said she marveled at the effort spent on writing at “the end of the longest day you could imagine.”

The forbearance and point of view in the journals comes out in Ms. Reichardt’s shading of events through the women’s perspective. Besides the constant visual metaphor of the obscuring bonnets, there are the intervening moments devoted to their chores (laundry, grinding coffee) and wide shots from their point of view that suggest their exclusion from major decision making, like when Meek and the men consult upon arriving at a lake that proves unpotable. But it’s also Mrs. Tetherow who first spies an Indian (Rod Rondeaux) who becomes another competing voice of authority as they drift along in increasing distress and disagreement.

Watch the official preview: