QR Film Reviews: Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri

Upon leaving the screening of Martin McDonagh’s newest directorial offering, the blindingly good Three Billboards outside Ebbing, Missouri, the first thing I did was to text every cinephile I knew to tell them to go and see this film, which probably says more than this review ever could. As a huge fan of McDonagh’s previous black comedies, In Bruges and Seven Psychopaths, my expectations for Three Billboards were already high; awards buzz and critics’ anticipatory talk of blistering performances from Frances McDormand, Sam Rockwell and Woody Harrelson stoked my excitement even further. Three Billboards, thankfully, did not disappoint. Documenting the righteous, grief-fuelled quest of protagonist Mildred Hayes (Frances McDormand) to achieve justice following the violent rape and murder of her daughter Angela, McDonagh’s latest release melds blacker-than-tar comedy with true sorrow and an often uncomfortable, piercing examination of the small-town American psyche.

Angry that Ebbing’s police force – led by the stoic chief Bill Willoughby (Woody Harrelson) and populated by racist, casually violent cops like Officer Dixon (Sam Rockwell, on incredible form) – have done little to solve her daughter’s case in the months since her murder, Mildred takes it upon herself to spur Willoughby and his men into action. Renting the three derelict billboards that stand on the road beside her house from local town advertiser and sweet-hearted oddball Red Weltby (Caleb Landry Jones, on fine form), she emblazons them with a bold message: “RAPED WHILST DYING AND STILL NO ARRESTS? HOW COME, CHIEF WILLOUGHBY?” The billboards drive a wedge between Mildred and her fellow townspeople, even between she and her son; turbulence of the worst kind ensues. What follows is two hours of deliciously filthy, violent and genuine laughs, interspersed with genuine melancholia, heartbreak, and pathos. A dark tragicomedy this certainly i

s, and it’s beautiful to look at, too: Ben Davis’ cinematography – especially the frequent lingering shots of the billboards, and the way his camera captures and focuses on characters’ faces or small movements – is quietly gorgeous. McDonagh’s use of sound, too, is fantastic. The silences dotting the film only work to amplify its emotion, and I still can’t listen to Amy Anelle’s cover of Buckskin Stallion Blues without getting slightly sad, in a lovely, bittersweet way.

McDormand and Rockwell are more than deserving of their Golden Globe wins for their performances. In a film defined by and about violence and injustice against women, McDormand and McDonagh craft a wonderfully multi-dimensional female protagonist in Mildred: she is unbelievably strong in more than the flat, stereotypical manner, whilst also possessing flaws, personal demons and an often wonky moral compass. The moments at which Mildred herself is threatened by assault are made all the more frightening by McDormand’s beautifully nuanced performance, showing Mildred’s own fears and vulnerability beneath her sharp, resilient bombast. Similarly, Sam Rockwell manages to take what could be a caricature of a character and transform Dixon into someone deplorable yet strangely empathetic, sickeningly dumb and yet heartbreakingly desperate in his quest for recognition and value from those he sees as superiors.

This isn’t to say, however, that McDonagh’s work isn’t flawed. As The Guardian’s Marc Bernardin, as well as many other critics, have pointed out, McDonagh’s exploration of race and racial tensions in the rural Midwest seems shallow at best. Certainly, not only is the film’s diversity lacking, but Dixon’s racism – introduced as a narrative and character-defining trait – is eventually excused and ‘explained’ as an anger problem triggered by his own grief. A hugely problematic and clunky form of absolution, Dixon’s racist-to-redeemed character arc sits extremely uncomfortably in a film that manages to hold many other delicate issues to account.

Three Billboards is blindingly good: a truly tragic comedy that melds the pathos of a grieving mother’s experiences with acidic, tar-black humour and interesting attempts at an examination of the heart of modern, rural America. With blistering performances from Frances McDormand and Sam Rockwell especially, this is McDonagh’s best cinematic work to date.

By Eilis Lee