Widows

I was admittedly curious to witness Steve McQueen’s approach to Widows. For my money, Steve McQueen is one of the finest filmmakers we have. He’s responsible for two movie masterpieces (Hunger and Shame), and the finest cinematic narrative document about American slavery (12 Years a Slave). Why then, I carefully wondered, would he embark on such a conventional genre like the heist thriller?

Upon seeing Widows, which is based on a British television series from the ‘80s, the answer was obvious: In order to avoid the conventions of the heist film, McQueen abandons them and creates his own unique narrative.

The film begins by cross cutting the last time four men see their wives, with the bloody aftermath of a disastrous heist that gets the men killed. McQueen has an uncanny ability to begin his movies in a way that makes us understand the characters immediately, while letting the audience know exactly what kind of film they’re in for. Widows is certainly no exception. The cross cutting of love (though the men in Widows have varying definitions of “love”) with tragedy is absolutely thrilling, and watching the women interact to their husbands tells us everything we need to know about the soon-to-be widows.

Once the dust settles and the men are buried, things begin to move quickly and frighteningly for Veronica (Viola Davis), whose husband, Harry (Liam Neeson), was the leader of the slain gang. Turns out that Harry and his team nabbed $2 million from a rival crime boss, Jamal (Brian Tyree Henry). And now that the money has burned up following the heist, Jamal informs Veronica that her husband’s debt is now on her. She has a month to deliver $2 million to Jamal, or else she’ll fall victim to Jamal’s psychotic brother, Jatemm (Daniel Kaluuya).

To save her own life, and make some extra cash in the process, Veronica enlists her fellow widows from Harry’s crew (Michelle Rodriguez, Elizabeth Debicki, and Carrie Coon) for help on a new job. When Harry died, he left his exquisitely detailed notebook to Veronica, which outlined plans for his next job. If the widows can pull it off, their debt will be cleared.

All of that plot, while meaty, sounds somewhat traditional. Which is why McQueen, and co-writer Gillian Flynn, add in layers of complexity. The first layer is process. I’m obsessed with process in movies; I love being shown how things are actually done and what it would take to actually pull something off. If a group of amateurs are going to execute a multimillion-dollar heist, how would they get guns? How would they find out what a blueprint means, or how they can use a few risqué pictures to their advantage? How much does a million dollars weigh? Can you run with that weight on your back? How about two million?

These are the questions that interest McQueen, and he answers them in such a profoundly interesting way. We get to witness how a layperson would actually pull off a heist, as opposed to a bunch of experts who know what they’re doing and face little consequences as a result.

Emotion adds another layer of complexity to Widows. I can’t talk about this too openly, as it would ruin important elements of the film, but many characters in the movie have a hidden agenda, or an previous traumatic event that helps explain why they’re doing what they’re doing. Every performer in the film is incredible, but once you realize the full scope of what Veronica is going through (and what she’s already suffered), it allows us to fully appreciate the depth of Davis’ performance. Veronica is a crowning achievement for Viola Davis. It could be the best work she’s done.

Finally, there is a complex political backdrop to the film that makes Widows more than just a heist flick. Jamal is running for an alderman seat in a South Side district of Chicago that has been left vacant due to the failing health of the current alderman, Tom Mulligan (Robert Duvall). Jamal’s main opponent: Tom’s politically motivated son, Jack (Colin Farrell). As we watch Jamal and Jack square off, Widows becomes a subtle but exacting examination of class and race in America.

For example, there is a single camera shot in the middle of Widows that will be remembered as one of the best Steve McQueen ever captured. The shot begins with Colin Farrell and his campaign manager (Molly Kunz) getting into a town car after Farrell has concluded a speech in a poor area of his district. Once Farrell gets into the car, the car pulls off and begins driving away. We then hear Farrell and Kunz engage in a revealing conversation. As they continue their back and forth, the camera stays put, mounted to the hood of the car, capturing a poor and forgotten area of the South Side of Chicago. This goes on for minutes.

At one point, the car turns onto a new street, and as it does this, the camera gently pans right, so it is now looking straight at the car, before continuing to move right and resting on the driver’s side of the car. We’re still only looking at the neighborhood, but now things have changed. In a few short minutes, traveling a few short blocks, we’ve seen the city change before our eyes. From broken and forgotten, to thriving and emerging. The car finally stops, and Farrell steps out at his lush campaign headquarters on the edge of his district.

I’ll admit, at first, I had no idea what McQueen was doing with this shot. Why aren’t we seeing the characters argue? Why is he showing us this? And when Farrell got out of the car at his destination, it all clicked for me: This is how cities are built, and how they are developed. Certain people live in this section, so the city looks one way; certain people live in that section, so the city looks another way. In one single shot, McQueen expertly communicates the infrastructural difference between the “haves” and “have nots,” without saying a word. I’m hard pressed to think of any other living filmmaker who would have the confidence to convey all this visually, especially while something seemingly more interesting (the conversation between the characters) is going on at the same time. This is the power of Steve McQueen’s camera. Bobby Sands and Father Moran aren’t just talking in Hunger; Brandon Sullivan isn’t just running in Shame; and Solomon Northup isn’t just hanging in 12 Years a Slave. Steve McQueen isn’t just concerned with what his characters are saying and doing, he’s concerned with how the world around them informs their actions.

To put it another way, I’ve just spent three long paragraphs describing the visual and emotional complexity of a single three-minute shot from a film. How many shots in modern movies elicit such a response? A

You May Also Like

Top 42 Things I Love About Shame

Hunger: A Shot-for-Shot Breakdown

In Character: Viola Davis

Top 10 Sean Bobbitt Films

Top 15 Underpraised Long Takes

Top 10 Movies I’ve Seen the Most