PROFESSOR MARSTON & THE WONDER WOMEN

It’s striking that though the film is ostensibly Marston’s story, and is set up as such by a framing device involving Connie Britton’s deliciously unyielding representative of the pearl-clutching Child Study Association of America, it’s so clearly infinitely more interested in the sexualities, compromises and discoveries of its female characters. Sure, Evans gives an ably charming performance in the eponymous role, but it’s Hall and Heathcote who get the meatiest material to play with. Hall in particular is such a pleasure to watch as she tears into a role that is actually deserving of her talents, as her Elizabeth is no mere supportive wife on the sidelines. In fact, it could be argued that the entire conception of her character is built around her own rejection of the “supportive wife” narrative, as we get to see Elizabeth actively scrutinising her own role in her husband’s life while struggling with a society that constantly wants to demote her in his favour. It’s excitingly rare stuff for the genre, not least of all thanks to the added element of sexual exploration that is so fundamental to the film’s narrative.

These sexual exploits are indeed crucial to the film’s success, as Robinson brings a frankness and sense of play to proceedings that allow it to become the rare film that depicts sex as, well, fun. Even more refreshing is the clear sense that a man did not direct these scenes, as nothing ever feels lascivious or intrusive, qualities that so often pop up in the worst examples of the male gaze. No, these scenes are each intrinsically linked to the characters’ respective arcs, impressively balancing three different perspectives at all times.

For all its progressive ideals, though, the film can’t quite break free of its genre’s shackles. Pacing is an issue throughout, as even though William, Elizabeth and Olive’s stories have apparently been fictionalised and streamlined, the film still seems to constantly barrel forward in order to get to the next major life event. Subsequently, there’s an odd sense of weightlessness that settles in early on in proceedings. As such, the idea that anything particularly bad or problematic could happen to these people doesn’t really feel all that possible, leaving the stakes of the situation messy at best, and non-existent at worst.

Even with these shortcomings – not to mention Robinson’s occasionally clunky dialogue, obvious structuring, and a particularly flat and unimaginative visual style – it’s hard to stay mad at a film that is so unabashedly sex-positive in a genre that rarely even has a pulse. Though it may not transcend the humble biopic, at least we can be glad that in 2017 a film called ‘Professor Marston and the Wonder Women’ is more interested in the latter, rather than just the former. Hell, these days we might as well take progress wherever we can get it.