by SaraKay Smullens, MSW, LCSW, DCSW, CGP, CFLE, BCD
At first glance, the focus of Pieces of a Woman is the loss of a deeply yearned-for baby and the impact this loss has on a family. However, upon reflection, issues raised in this brave, authentic film are far broader. They involve the complexity of a mother-daughter separation process, intensified when the mother is unable or unwilling to let go, as well as the devoted, patient work necessary in every successful union - work compounded when two from entirely different cultures plan a life and family. Still further, the film is a commentary on the nature of grief and how each of us must find our own road to relief.
As important, Pieces of a Woman provides badly needed exposure to an accurate depiction of the primitive progression of childbirth, in which a woman’s body takes total control over all else. That this education is necessary is evidenced by a review by Richard Brody in The New Yorker, where Brody describes the birthing scene as “mere stunt.” Phew!
Although these themes are addressed in broad plot outline, the life direction and choices of characters and specifics about the heart of their interactions will not be disclosed in this review.
Pieces of a Woman is a brutally difficult film to experience. Brief intro scenes tell us that Sean (Shia LaBeouf, yes, the intense and talented actor accused in real life of physical and sexual abuse) is a verbose construction foreman, leading his team in the completion of a bridge, where progress is shown throughout the film. Sean and his partner, Martha (Academy Award nominee Vanessa Kirby, best known until now for playing Princess Margaret in The Crown), whose background has been far more economically and culturally privileged, have forged an extremely close union. Their sexual and emotional attraction is palpable. Martha is in her last trimester of pregnancy, and abruptly, as the couple’s story unfolds, we stop being viewers and are propelled into their Boston home.
When Martha goes into labor, her trusted midwife is not available. A replacement (Eva, played caringly by Molly Parker) finally arrives. Eva is portrayed as the kindest of women. However, calling Martha “honey” and “babe” to express her caring gave me pause: Although surely well intended, the terms are condescending, patronizing, unprofessional, and called for script revision. Midwives, obstetricians, and obstetrical nurses can judge script demonstration of Eva’s skill: Should Martha have delivered in a supine position? Was Martha’s excruciating pain during a pelvic cause for grave concern and evaluation? Should an ambulance and hospital involvement have been insisted upon? (Please know, I am in no way faulting Eva for what subsequently occurs. I raise the questions because I see them to be important.)
Viewers know horrific, unabated danger awaits in a 24-minute-long labor scene filmed by Benjamin Loeb with no break. Kirby has never given birth. Prior to filming this scene, Mundruczó sent her footage of live home births. She also spent countless hours watching midwives at work and speaking to women about the process of childbirth, as well as the loss of a child. Described as “The Scene” by The Guardian’s Adrian Horton, we see the truths of early labor – the nausea, sometimes with vomiting, and subsequently the body and leg shaking, accompanied by moans primitive and animalistic in nature.
Although some women describe pain and discomfort of childbirth without meds as mild, minimal, and barely there, for most, even when prepared by courses and breathing practice, as with Martha, there is overwhelming, relentless pain during “transition,” usually, but not always, a relatively brief period as the cervix progresses from seven to the necessary 10 centimeters. As in Martha’s experience, the pushing itself (especially for a first birth) can also be exceedingly painful. A client accurately (in my opinion and experience) described “transition” as a time of fear that you are going to die followed by fear that you won’t. But, for the fortunate, every iota of pain becomes utterly unimportant when indescribable joy follows.
This said, for one million women and their families worldwide, a child lives only one day or far less, and physical pain finds no relief through an aftermath of joy. Rather, it morphs into an abyss of emptiness – an unparalleled trauma that cannot be described in mere words. Vanessa Kirby brings the torment of this loss to life for each of us, whether, in her words, it occurred “early on, or (one) had to give birth...or they lost (their babies)...after birth.”
Martha and Sean hold their beautiful, seemingly healthy newborn daughter for only minutes before death grabs her. Martha has prepared for months for her birth with her partner and lover ever at her side – preparing also. The lost child’s lovingly prepared room awaits, but the child is no more. This tragedy is highly personal to an extraordinary Hungarian couple – the film’s writer, Kata Wéber, and its director, Kornél Mundruczó. Pieces of a Woman is based on their 2018 play of the same name, a play based on the unanticipated loss of their child. As in the film, the play also features the trial of the midwife blamed for the death.
We watch the members of this drama cling to their own ways to handle grave loss. And we watch as family members do all possible to impose their ways on an unreachable Martha. We come face to face with all the longed-for answers to what went so wrong that medicine cannot provide, as well as disagreement about allowing the baby’s body to be used for science and a religious burial. The sexual scene (halfway through the film) between a grief-stricken couple, whose former physical involvement was essential in their attraction and union, leaves the viewer with an intimate understanding of Sean’s deeply felt neediness and Martha’s frigid protective defense.
Although we learn nothing about Sean’s past and its impact on how he deals with grief, far more is understood about Martha. We see her rivalry with her sister Anita (Iliza Schlesinger), whom she isolates herself from yet loves. And we learn a great deal about Martha’s formidable mother, Elizabeth Weiss, in the early stages of dementia, played with distinction by Ellen Burstyn. (Burstyn surely deserved an Oscar nod, but was snubbed.) We learn that Weiss, of Hungarian Jewish descent, survived the Holocaust because of her mother’s bravery and determination. A starving, hidden baby, ever in the clutches of death, her mother risked her life by stealing food to nurse her – Weiss has internalized her mother’s will to live. Elizabeth Weiss has remained determined to gift her way of survival, despite all, to her daughters. Anita sees her mother’s intent and follows her lead, but Martha has ever rebelled. Her attraction to and selection of Sean as partner and father of her child, a man she knew her mother would vehemently dislike and distrust, is part of this rebellion.
As you experience Pieces of a Woman, you will find “the apple theme” to be constant – a complex symbol of connection to a longed-for child cruelly denied, the child others have, often taking their magical presence for granted. With consistency, we see Martha attracted to an apple, eating it, becoming intrigued by its seeds. In both Greek and Roman times, the apple was a sign of fertility, of childbirth, and also of lust. In Biblical description, Eve’s offer of the apple and Adam’s acceptance of “forbidden fruit” connote original sin. Also, an analytic interpretation of the apple is oral sex – thus its porn derivative, "fruit salad" -- for which punishment is deemed necessary by a sexually repressed society.
As the film culminates, and in two follow-up scenes, one with Martha, her sister, and her mother, and another years later, these meanings have coalesced, offering Martha freedom from guilt and failure. Martha has forged her own path. Of special interest, however, she has internalized her mother’s will and determination to live, despite all – yet, in her own way.
SaraKay Smullens, MSW, LCSW, DCSW, CGP, CFLE, BCD, whose private and pro bono clinical social work practice is in Philadelphia, is a certified group psychotherapist and family life educator. She is a recipient of the Lifetime Achievement Award (2004) and the Social Worker of the Year (2018) from the Pennsylvania chapter of NASW, and the 2013 NASW Media Award for Best Article. In 2018, she was one of five graduates of the University of Pennsylvania School of Social Policy and Practice selected for the school’s inaugural Hall of Fame. SaraKay is the author of Burnout and Self-Care in Social Work.