Saint Frances opens, as so many movies do, with a boy and a girl crossing paths at a party, their chemistry sparking into a night of passion. But this is no meet cute. In the bleary, cold light of morning, unexpected menstrual blood smears the sheets, hands and faces of Bridget (Kelly O’Sullivan) and Jace (Max Lipchitz). The easy, jokey way in which the pair deal with this embarrassing situation sets the film’s ballsy tone, and shows that they may be made for each other. Yet O’Sullivan’s whip-smart debut screenplay (which is based on her own experiences) isn’t concerned with romance, but with Bridget as a 30-something woman struggling to figure out what she wants, and needs.
With her quick comic timing and everywoman quality, O’Sullivan is immediately endearing as Bridget, who, facing pressure from all sides — a mother who clearly expects grandchildren, old school friends with high-flying careers — accepts a position as nanny to smart six-year-old Frances (a scene-stealing Ramona Edith Williams). Soon after, Bridget finds herself with an unwanted pregnancy, and then dealing with the surprising physical and emotional fallout of an abortion that she very much knows is the right choice for her. As the summer progresses, and Bridget’s relationship with her young charge develops, she begins to develop insight into herself, and the life that she may want.
While the film may be centred around Bridget, everyone in the film is fully developed.
Don’t expect a sepia-tinged journey to acceptance, however. This is a warts-and-all exploration of what it means to be a modern woman; not so much a breath of fresh air as a smack in the face of tired genre — and gender — traditions. Not only does it tackle the so-called taboos of abortion, periods, postnatal depression and motherhood-as-choice-not-duty head on, giving raucous voice to issues that women have long been taught to keep hidden, it does so without fuss or fanfare. Bridget isn’t ashamed of her lifestyle choices or her mistakes, and she doesn’t need anyone to come and save her; she is, like so many of us, simply figuring things out as she goes along. The film acknowledges, and even celebrates, the fact that this process can be messy.
Director Alex Thompson allows this authentic, moving story room to breathe, and O’Sullivan the autonomy to fully inhabit her character’s flaws, contradictions and knotty humanness. Crucially, too, while the film may be centred around Bridget, everyone in the film is fully developed, right down to Frances herself. She may be small but she is mighty, a tangled confusion of childlike emotions and wisdom beyond her years without a hint of precociousness. Frances’ parents, mixed-race lesbian couple Maya (Chalvin Alvarez) and Annie (Lily Mojekwu), are struggling, too — a new baby and high-flying job both flies in the ointment of their carefully-made plans. The three of them have much to learn from Bridget, as she has from them. Life is tough, no matter how you choose to live it. And a monumental moment in a local park, in which Maya artfully manages an aggressive woman who objects to her breastfeeding in public, is a lesson for us all.
