The movie tells the story of Autumn Callahan (the wondrous Sidney Flanigan), a 17-year-old girl in Pennsylvania who suspects she is pregnant. This is confirmed at a crisis pregnancy center where they tell her she is ten weeks along and then make her watch an anti-abortion video when she says she would consider that as an option. Desperate for help, she confides in her cousin Skylar (the also wondrous Talia Ryder), and the two buy bus tickets to go to New York City, where Autumn will be able to get an abortion without requiring parental consent.
The majority of this movie could be a silent film: there isn't a ton of dialogue and instead you just watch Autumn moving through her world in a bit of a daze. She has the typical teenage loner affect: her face is closed off and blank, but in those eyes lurk some dark stories. She doesn't say much, but is clearly an intelligent girl with the maturity to realize that having a baby is not a viable option for her. Her cousin Skylar is also quiet, but a little prettier, a bit more effervescent, the kind of girl who is always getting hit on by gross older men at the grocery store where they work, or younger men on the bus when they travel to NYC. She could so easily be dismissed as a ditz, but as the story progresses, you see what a strong and brilliant support she is for Autumn, and how she will do anything to make sure her cousin gets the help she needs.
The turning point of this movie for me was the scene in which we understand this movie's title. It is based on a series of questions that the social worker at the NYC Planned Parenthood office asks Autumn about her relationship history. In that one scene, we finally see the facade crack, and the sullen Autumn is revealed as a vulnerable teenage girl who has been treated horribly by the men in her life. It's a tale as old as time, but that one scene is so powerful in that it still reveals no details about what exactly happened to this girl. It is purely emotional, overwhelming, and cathartic. For the first time, someone is listening to Autumn and telling her that it's all right and she is going to be fine. It is so sad that this girl hasn't had that until now, but such a relief that she is finally being heard. Also, if possible, I would like to nominate Kelly Chapman, the actress who plays the unnamed social worker in this scene, for a Best Supporting Actress Oscar. The camera isn't even on her for the majority of the scene; all we hear is her voice and then we watch Autumn's face crumple in reaction to these questions. But her soothing, calm, empathetic demeanor radiated off the screen and straight into my heart. This is the kind of social worker that every girl and woman needs to meet when they are facing one of the most difficult moments of their life.
Abortion is a topic that always moves and enrages me, as it is something that generally gets politicized by men who have no uteruses and religious women who have no compassion. You would have to have a heart of stone to watch this movie and come away from it thinking that this girl deserves to be punished for the rest of her life because she had sex and became pregnant. Naturally, that is still what a lot of pro-life advocates will say, but for me, this movie is yet another reminder of how frustrating it is that women have to navigate so many bewildering restrictions depending on the state in which they live before they can get the healthcare they deserve. During the pandemic, so many women have lost abortion rights or access to care, and this movie is a timely reminder that this isn't a religious or political issue, but simply a healthcare decision that should be based on a woman's right to choose what happens to her body.
This movie also affected me greatly in the way that it portrays New York City. Half of it takes place in the Port Authority Bus Terminal, which any New Yorker will tell you is hell on earth. And yet, I was filled with such bizarre fondness for that godforsaken place, remembering all the time I spent there during college as I took buses to and from Boston. It was so bizarre to watch a pre-pandemic New York as the girls took subways around the city and spent a brief interlude in Chinatown buying egg tarts and red bean bao: my mouth watered at the sight of all those delicacies and my heart ached to think of when I might get to enjoy that carefree freedom of movement again. Writer-director Eliza Hittman grew up in the city and she has perfectly captured all the wonder, all the grime, and the frenetic loneliness one can experience in Manhattan. I must also give kudos here to the wonderful cinematography by Helene Louvart. Everything feels dirty and gross, and you want to coat yourself in hand sanitizer. And yet--and yet!--the camera somehow perfectly captures how this city can also feel like your salvation.
Never Rarely Sometimes Always is a miniature masterpiece. It tells such a small, poignant story, but its themes are grand and universal. There is such an emphasis on how these young girls have been treated by men their whole lives, and how they have already learned as teenagers to commodify their bodies to get what they need. It's heartbreaking to see them go through the world with their heads down and witness their terror when they first arrive in the maelstrom of NYC. They are so acutely aware of all the ways that they can be harmed, and yet they are resolute and defiant in their purpose. At the end, this tiny story feels like an epic quest, and it is a celebration of the many women who have to fight this fight every day. It is moving, somber, oddly uplifting and showcases what happens when women have each other's backs. Their lives are still hard and full of pain, but the going gets easier.
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