Review: "The Woman King" Gets Flattened By It's Own Ambition... Kind Of

Story and studio clash in this misguided aim at cinematic feminism.

October 3, 2022

On the penultimate episode of HBO’s landmark television series, Game of Thrones, Daenerys Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Chains, the Unburnt, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm *exhale* burned King’s Landing, the capital of Westeros, the capital of the country she sought to liberate, to the ground.

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The intent was clear, the motivation even moreso: showrunners David Benioff and D.B. Weiss had been living on borrowed time since the show’s conception. George R.R. Martin, author of the Song of Ice and Fire novels upon which the show is based, had only penned four of the six planned books, leaving Benioff and Weiss to their own devices once they’d caught him.

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The result was an abandonment of the intricate world-building and complex political plots in favor of typical showbiz fan service. Characters received plot armor so thick that the contrast between the show’s fantastical elements and the reality of ascending the medieval hierarchy evaporated. The show forgot that a story is always about the story, never the characters. The dialogue lost its bite, becoming so sanitized and hammy that it came off like a middle schooler’s creative writing project.

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^{(Yeah... that happened)}

The most damning deviation, however, occurred in the pursuit of shock value as a substitute for a legitimate story. Daenerys was a complex character, always adhering to an inarguable moral code by employing ethically questionable practices. They were, however, questionable. In the great game of thrones, where players possess conflicting motivations and the “greater good” is unattainable by virtue, we must reflect on the meaning of justice and whether doling it out in gruesome fashion serves a higher purpose. It is never as easy as painting someone as a blanket paragon of good and tearing them down for shock value, especially since doing so will make it clear it is, in fact, for shock value.

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It boils down to a lack of trust. Yes, storytellers sometimes misunderstand what makes a compelling story, but once a writer loses faith in their creation, thematic tragedy is inevitable. Daenerys fascinated us because she defied the ethical binary. Boxing her into black-and-white ideas of right and wrong in a world unfamiliar with the concept betrayed her and the show, creating a shock value conclusion that left fans bitter at the lack of return on their 8-season investment. It may be a television show, which has the luxury of establishing and developing across more time than a movie, but the principle holds.

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A movie cannot earn anything from its audience if it does not trust its story enough to stand behind it. A studio’s job is not to be concerned with thematic integrity or historical accuracy, only to turn a profit. We cannot hold them accountable for doing what they feel necessary, but we also cannot ignore that the movie suffers as a result.

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Viola Davis is a big name, an Oscar winner with a bevy of acclaimed roles. We loved her as a courageous maid in The Help, even if she regrets starring in the film. We followed her as a defense attorney navigating a series of complex plots. Our hearts broke for her as a mother accepting the reality of her son’s abuse as she weighs it against the kindness his victimizer shows him.

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It’s enough to forge an illustrious career but does little to resolve The Woman King’s many flaws. The story is hers in the eyes of money-hungry executives but not in the actual progression of the narrative.

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It belongs to Nawi, the young girl who gets cast off by her traditional father after refusing to bend to the whims of a patriarchal society. She is the film’s heartbeat, the spirit of its central message, and the fuel that ignites its fire, however dimly it burns. She does not break new ground; her trajectory is derivative in every way possible. We have seen the young wannabe, headstrong and defiant, who lacks respect for the old ways and seeks to carve out something new. Always they slowly bend, gradually learning to embrace the teachings of those wiser than themselves, and come into their own, usually in time for a game-changing act of heroism.

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Yet, Nawi possesses some indefinable quality that compels us, even as the film weighs her down with tropes that muddy the narrative and its messages. She zig-zags between the expected and the unfamiliar more than any of her cinematic kin. She has a fire in her eyes, but also a pain, though that pain does not dictate her choices. She wants to transcend convention, though not simply to do so. She wants to belong, but not enough to forget who she truly is, though she learns more tangibly than most how much one can learn by balancing self-belief with opening your soul to new possibilities. Sadly, her movie does not trust her enough to avoid sprinkling in long-lost daughters, sassy mentors, and foreign lovers, just as it did not have the necessary faith to make her story hers alone.

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Even at its ending, when the thread of a brutalized woman forced to give away her child comes full circle, it feels hollow. In life, some dole out sympathy on principle, while others demand it gets earned. The Woman King would do little to satisfy either party. The story is not General Nanisca's, but the ending grants her a resolution that means nothing against all we’ve seen before or all the movie implies will come. She becomes “The Woman King,” but to what end and purpose? The slave trade will get outlawed? Women will receive a more expansive role in society? All that got taken from her shall get restored, and the daughter she never knew will finally have the mother she never had?

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It’s a fine idea, but the movie was never about the slave trade, women, or the years lost between mother and daughter. The film wants it to be about those things when it loses sight of the things it wants to be given credit for addressing. Alas, the story is about Nawi, and The Woman King never realizes that everything it wants to be rests inside of her. She is a lost daughter looking for a home. She is a vision of the future, the very thing a ruler would need to see to believe that his nation could forge a better path; she is a testament to all women can be in a world governed by men because she shows the best of the human spirit, sex aside.

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It’s a shame; women ruled the roost, from the director’s chair to the writer’s room to the photographer’s lens to the editing bay. It is a production of, by, and for women, and therein lies its problem: to champion women, one must first understand the psychology of men. After all, change only comes when those who have the power to grant it are understood and altered. A minority can fight all it wants and set itself apart with its own community and culture, but if it wants to tell the story of thriving in a world where it’s oppressed, it must first understand what that means. The Woman King undoes itself by caring more about painting women as wholly virtuous than forcing us to understand the complexities of their world. What are they truly up against, and how is it specific to their circumstances instead of a generality? All we know is the laziness of making all women in favor of ending slavery while the evil men want to keep their people in chains. It’s the concept we encounter across social justice platforms daily, often fueled by those least invested in genuine change: yay women, boo men.

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We experience the generality every day; what value does a movie have if it only touches upon what we already know instead of challenging us to consider things from a more exploratory angle?

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It’s a failure of ambition and faith, starting from that initial distrust in Nawi and ending with a woman who’s nothing but an idea receiving an honor that is much more than that. The Woman King does have respect. It’s what grants us incredible fight choreography, the quality of which has gone unmatched since Brad Pitt blended brute strength and dazzling finesse as the legendary Achilles in Troy. The Agojie fight with force and brutality but also rhythm and discipline.

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It’s what gives us a refreshing view of Africa, often fetishized with oversaturated colors and a carefree approach to what is, in many respects, a grim existence. The Agojie dance and sing, but against a backdrop that looks like a part of our world as much as anywhere else, and as part of a reality that, although too sanitized, doesn’t feel entirely unfamiliar.

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Sadly, The Woman King proves that good intentions can be misguided: there are many ways to whitewash. It isn’t just in casting John Wayne as Genghis Khan or ignoring Aladin’s Arabian roots by looking at a brown-skinned actress and going, “Eh, close enough.”

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It’s also in trying to cleanse your protagonists of ethical accountability. We’ve endured a half-century-long onslaught of anti-heroes since Gene Hackman’s Popeye Doyle risked the people of New York to catch an assassin in The French Connection. We’ve seen ruthless mob bosses, sociopathic meth dealers, and liberators turn the people they sought to liberate into ash. No character will ever seem complex when believing gray morality can still be virtuous or commendable, but the nuances of their world can open up new ways of thinking through their lens. The slave trade was a part of Dahomey culture; their economy relied on it. A principled stand may endear us to a character for a fleeting moment, but will it do more to inspire reflection on their composition, and the role it plays in the story, than a willingness to accept that things are rarely that black and white? Slavery is wrong; we know this, but it existed for a reason.

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Making General Nanisca so narrow in that perspective makes her decent, but not someone we can buy as a fully-realized human being. If she is to be wise, she surely must know that lecturing “Boo slavery” is not the way to rule and that economics is more complex than simply abandoning one system in favor of one that’s unproven. Taking the toughest road to salvation doesn’t mean sacrificing your character or abandoning your morals, just like fighting for freedom doesn’t mean the oppressed can get painted with a broad stroke of good while the oppressors get reduced to savage rapists. Relationships get built on knowledge and acceptance. We grow to know people and decide whether we can embrace them, warts and all. It’s the very reason why the anti-hero is so popular; building a bond with the character requires us to do the same thing we do in real life. The Woman King had an opportunity to give us a more virtuous take on a necessary archetype but settles for a bland paragon of good, one in whom we thus cannot invest.

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In effect, the movie spends its runtime proving it would have been better off as a ten-episode Netflix series, where the story could develop its true protagonist, the realities of Dahomey life would run up against ethical quandaries, the battles fought to secure freedom would be more than bursts of impressive choreography, and it could ultimately accomplish something instead of just being many things and hoping we get something out of it.

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Alas, when a movie does not trust itself, we cannot give it what it seeks. The Woman King has something worthwhile to impart but muddies its waters with a litany of tropes and a lack of faith in its merit. It occasionally dazzles, and no one could call it “bad,” but a movie this desperate to be great must get held to that standard, and The Woman King does not believe in itself enough to meet it.