A small group of white women meet in a small town church, amid baked goods and friendly introductions. Before the first bite of pie is consumed, however, this seemingly innocent meeting reveals its true intent.
One of the most audacious American debuts of the year, writer-director Beth de Araújo’s “Soft & Quiet” shocks one’s system from its opening moments and doesn’t ever slow down to let you fully process it as it happens. The film is a whirlwind full of hateful speech that escalates into violence. It was shot in real-time and intended to appear as a single take. This makes it a disturbing and intense experience.
The club, which was formed recently by Emily (Stefanie Estas), is a kindergarten teacher who poisons young minds. It also promotes white-supremacist ideologies. Collectively, they complain about people of colour at their jobs or in the workplace. “falsehoods”After being taught at schools to their children, they plan on creating a publication to spread their racist views and perform the Nazi salute while having a good time.
The blandly suburban demeanors among them — a mix of tired soccer moms and twentysomethings searching for a romantic partner — don’t evoke the vision of hatred and bigotry one has come to expect from the far right and other fringe groups in this country. And that’s exactly what makes their “soft and quiet”Their twisted approach to organizing and recruiting for their hateful community is all the more perverse. They infiltrate society by stealing from within.
Blunt as the themes of the film are, De Araújo’s writing maintains a character-driven focus that allows for these women to not come off as caricatures of evil but something far scarier: everyday individuals with venomous beliefs. There are moments of camaraderie and belonging between their worst remarks (while at the initial gathering), and the more vile turn that happens as they transition to another locale.
Leslie (Olivia Luccardi), a newcomer to town, is keen to sell her vintage clothing to help their cause “cause,”Emily and other members have offered to help Marjorie, Eleanore Pienta, find a man who is compatible with a long-term relationship. Even though they may appear to be casual guests, many will eventually become complicit.
Estes anchors her effectively unnerving performance as Emily on a false sense of composure that’s seemingly always about to burst into rage. Hidden just behind a reassuring smile for her accomplices is a desperate need for control — at all costs. The self-righteous notion that she is superior fuels her first confrontation with two Asian sister who are trying to purchase wine at a store owned and managed by Kim (Dana Millican), a mother to the group. When their victims escape, the deranged sisterhood decides they will visit the sibling’s home to further taunt them.
Early in the nefarious plan, Emily’s husband Craig (Jon Beavers) tries to intervene, first to stop them from doing anything and then to mitigate the results of their actions. But he succumbs to the pressure of Emily’s expectations. She is willing to accept masculinity in any toxic form that pleases her conservative outlook in return for her respect. Although de Araújo doesn’t absolve him of guilt — he drives there with them — she zeroes in on white women’s responsibility in perpetuating the patriarchal conventions that are harmful to all genders.
As the events devolve into tragedy at the sisters’ home, the power dynamic shifts, and Leslie emerges as the one willing to execute their repugnant mission to its final consequences. It seems that Emily is beginning to see the tangible results of her rhetoric. Not that she shows remorse, but there’s perhaps a tacit acknowledgment that she knows deep down what they are doing is wrong. Maybe they will be influenced by the fear of being caught, and this could feed into their narrative of a system that is against them. Estes’ distressed expression illustrates the conflicting thoughts.
That we know nothing about the two girls who become the target for the white women’s vitriol feels appropriate, as it doesn’t matter who they are; nothing justifies what they undergo at the hands of their victimizers. This is the conceit behind “Soft & Quiet,”Because it unfolds in one go, it demonstrates how dangerous ideas can quickly lead to bloodshed. Their insane worldview transforms them into home invaders who are ruthless and murderous in less than 90 minutes. This is an excellent example of how quickly dangerous ideas can lead to bloodshed.
Both cinematographer Greta Zozula’s ability to not call attention to the “one-take” gimmick (so as to distract from the content of the fluid scenes) and de Araújo’s imposing directing talent, which succeeds at creating the illusion of naturalness in the actors’ movements and emotions while likely being highly choreographed for the camera, are responsible for the powerful immediacy and intimacy of the storytelling. If only de Araújo had pulled back on some of the supporting performances that, at times, briefly veer into theatricality, this first feature would be even stronger.
In showing how unremarkably human the perpetrators are, De Araújo confirms that some of the most despicable monsters on earth don’t wear masks or hide behind the darkness of the night; they walk among us with a prim and proper façade while festering inside. It is hard to imagine what it would be like to “Soft & Quiet” is too off-putting, it might help knowing that the filmmaker doesn’t wrap up the ordeal without a slim glimmer of hope for the possibility of retribution.
“Soft & Quiet”Momentum Pictures opens Nov. 4, in US theaters