"Why aren't there any truly great movies directed by women!" This is a phrase I hear more often than I'd like to admit. I also hesitate to admit, that once I exhaust the usual "woke" responses (historical discrimination, patriarchy, etc.) there always comes the sad realization that, yeah, there really aren't a lot of movies, directed by women, that can be considered indisputably "great". There are a couple on the roster in need of cultural evaluation; Carroll Ballard's Fly Away Home (1996) and anything directed by Lynne Ramsay definitely rank at the top of my list. Yet thus far the critical consensus has been there's no Citizen Kane (1941) for women behind the director's chair (but here's to hoping), and the popular consensus has pretty much been - "wasn't The Hurt Locker (2008) a thing once?"
Yet if one were to take off the blinders of popular, American- centric cinema, and go looking for a bit, one might find the works of Marleen Gorris, specifically her austere gem of a first feature A Question of Silence. The plot: a simple setup for a simple movie. Three women are charged with murdering a male shopkeeper and a psychiatrist (Habbema) is tasked with determining whether they're sane enough to stand trial.
The struggle to understand why the murder occurred in a flash of violence provides the foundational aspects of the film. The movie cuts back and forth between the psychiatrist's prodding interrogations with the scene of the crime which, as the title suggests is largely without dialogue. We figure out early how the scene played out - we even catch a glimpse at important details before the psychiatrist realizes she's being lied to. She gets unreliable narration from sullen secretary Andrea (Tol), cackling nonsense from lonely waitress Ann (Frijda) and complete boo from catatonic housewife Christine (Barends). Yet we, we get everything.
The context of the film is forever present from the opening scene - the psychiatrist trying to get the attention of her lawyer husband (Brugman), to the films flummoxing resolution in the courtroom. Its sense of justice in the face of indifference and neglect sets itself over the story like a gossamer and sustains itself in a way that defies description. The story, it's players, it's simple musical cues are so sparse yet so fierce and brilliant it approaches being an angry visual haiku.
The film's stillness and clinical lack of ornamentation only adds to its rather nerving wit. It sets up its meticulous visual prose like the calm cadence of a damning speech then lets you fill in its devastating meaning. Every frame, every camera angle is a repudiation of patriarchy, with the movie's constant microaggressions providing context and the murder providing a bloody and pertinent focal point. It should be noted that the murder is often described yet its remains completely unseen. Thus we're forced to figuratively pick up the pieces for ourselves even as the deed is being done.
Gorris's overall message remains subversive while in plain sight; what remains obvious to some, will likely breed bewilderment for others. What remains clear is Gorris's first feature has more vitality and immediacy, than most filmmakers could ever hope to conjure out of their entire ouevre. She later fine-tuned and further explored feminist themes in Broken Mirrors (1984) and Antonia's Line (1995) though A Question of Silence remains her most concentrated dose of inspiring social radicalism. This is filmmaking not just as art but as a n incendiary device - one whose sense of empowerment leaves no prisoners.
