What a beautiful and refreshing wee film. Written by Kelly O’Sullivan, who also stars as our 34-year-old protagonist Bridgett, and directed by her husband Alex Thompson, Saint Frances is an engaging, emotionally raw, and a remarkably un-Hollywood tale.
The plot, at face value, has all the markings of a typical Hollywood story – “the Hollywood, super-cutesy ’woman learns tons of lessons from a precocious kid’ movie”, as O’Sullivan said – but the duo’s approach is decidedly more realistic and therefore has a much more poignant emotional punch. There is no clean ending, no ultimate moral lessons or decisions, and I love it for that.
Saint Frances follows Bridgett, a 34-year-old restaurant server who becomes a nanny for Frances (Ramona Edith Williams), the young daughter of an inter-racial lesbian couple, the Black workaholic Annie (Lily Mojekwu) and the Spanish Catholic Maya (Charin Alvarez), who, in her late thirties, has just given birth to her first child.
Taboo: Periods and Abortions
Inspired by her own experience as a nanny in her twenties and an abortion in her thirties, O’Sullivan’s script does not shy away from the reality of these events. I cannot express how much this candid portrayal of these life experiences means to me as someone with a uterus and as someone who identifies as a woman.
Saint Frances not only represents periods as something normal – this is the first time I’ve seen period blood on screen – but it actively asserts that it is something that women can and should talk about; my favourite scene is the at the end, when Frances makes Bridgett promise to listen to her when she gets her period (this scene only minorly beat a wonderfully fun Joan Jett sequence when Bridgett and Frances bond).
It’s not treated as shameful or strange, it’s just something that happens. Women are taught from a young age that we must hide it because it makes men uncomfortable, and we internalise this and become ashamed of something that’s natural. It’s bizarre when you think about it. What makes Saint Frances’ portrayal of it so brilliant is the reaction of Jace (Max Lipchitz), Bridgett’s on-and-off again 26-year-old sexual partner. Not only is Jace not embarrassed or angry when they discover period blood on the bed after sex, he is open-minded, respectful and asks questions. It’s really refreshing.
The representation of abortion is something I also appreciated. Bridgett identifies as an agnostic feminist, and her feelings of being lost in the adult world and not feeling like she is doing enough (like having a husband, children or a successful career) are all things I identify with. Her decision to have an abortion after she becomes pregnant (she chooses not to be on birth control, and is actually reprimanded later in the film by an older musician she is sexually intimate with…what a douchebag) is treated as something logical.
Bridgett does not want children in that moment, so she decides to abort. When Jace attempts to ask about ‘other options’, Bridgett says, ‘no thanks’, and that’s it. The candid representation of how the procedure goes was eye-opening and I loved that they showed the aftermath – what it involves physically and emotionally, including medication, heavy bleeding, and lots and lots of uterus massaging. It is later revealed that Jace keeps an emotions journal (what a beautiful representation of positive masculinity) and it sparks a dialogue about the unresolved feelings about the abortion. It reminds women that it’s okay to have feelings about it, and that we should talk about it!
Talk, Talk, Talk
If Saint Frances has any kind of message, it’s to talk. Talking is good. “Women need to talk about these things,” Bridgett says to Maya after she realises she is suffering with post-partum depression (likely linked to the fact that’s she’s an older mother too), another feminine societal taboo, “because not talking is really fucking lonely”.
There is nothing ground-breaking in the cinematography or editing of Saint Frances, but what really shines through is the relationships these women develop with each other by talking. Bridgett has her eyes opened by her mother, who hilariously reveals that she used to fantasise about smashing baby Bridgett’s head against a wall when she wouldn’t stop crying, and realises she has unresolved feelings about her feminist perspective, her abortion, and whether or not she wants children.
Maya bravely admits that she feels she isn’t a good mother, and stands up to a stranger in the park after she is shamed for breastfeeding her son. Annie, the workaholic, knows what society thinks of her as a black lesbian and is proud of her identity and family regardless, but it is only when she opens up to Bridgett after accusing she and Maya of having an affair that she really confronts her emotions.
Frances is a fantastic character. She is open-minded in a way characteristic of children, she doesn’t judge, and she is refreshingly honest. She also speaks like a normal kid her age, something Hollywood films always seem to change for the sake of the older character to learn from them. Ramona Edith Williams is definitely the standout performance in the film.
Verdict
People who identify as women and those who have a uterus (or if you’re one in the same) – I urge you to see this film. I cried three times. Its normalisation of female antimony, abortion, sexual freedom and choice, and its positive portrayal of LGTBQ+ characters is not only uplifting, but important. These things are normal and because it is so un-Hollywood, no-one ends up with a tight little Happily Ever After; Saint Frances shows us that adults are still growing and learning and developing, and that is not only okay, but normal.
