Film Review: Rachel Weisz and Rachel McAdams enact a compelling seduction in “Disobedience”
In "Disobedience," the unexpected reunion of two childhood friends stirs long-suppressed desires
Rachel Weisz swans through the lesbian romance Disobedience (★★★), radiating independence as successful photographer Ronit Curtis. A Londoner living in New York, Ronit’s loose curls and flinty, no-fucks-given demeanor — she smokes everywhere, even in hotel rooms — signal her hard-won sense of freedom.
The film tallies the high price Ronit has paid for her liberation: complete ostracism from her strictly Orthodox Jewish family, friends, and community back home in the U.K. She’s suddenly called home upon the death of her father, Rav Krushka (Anton Lesser), the spiritual leader of their synagogue and most respected member of the community.
Sebastián Lelio’s follow-up to his Oscar-winning trans-themed A Fantastic Woman similarly tracks an outcast’s fight to assert her identity. Here, the prodigal daughter’s return forces a reunion with her father’s most devoted pupil, Dovid Kuperman (Alessandro Nivola), who was raised practically as a brother alongside Ronit. Now married to their childhood friend Esti (Rachel McAdams), Dovid takes Ronit into his home as the community mourns the Rav and lays him to rest.
As Ronit, Weisz is a sardonic force of nature, barreling from awkward family gatherings to staid ceremonies, her cigarettes and short fuse always lit. Facing confrontation after confrontation, Ronit is pressured to answer for all of her choices, particularly for how she left. Although, no one much wants to discuss why she took off.
Despite her bravado, she’s not impervious to the community’s disapproval, most of it emanating from her stern uncle Moshe (Allan Corduner). Weisz is most effective exposing the guilt Ronit bears for disappointing her family, for abandoning her community, and ghosting her friends. Ronit wants forgiveness, even if she doesn’t agree on what she supposedly has done wrong.
Lelio, directing from a script he co-wrote with Rebecca Lenkiewicz, based on Naomi Alderman’s prize-winning novel, likes to work with the camera in tight closeup. In Weisz, he’s found a master collaborator for his mode of relying on each twitch of the actor’s face, revealing truths that words and actions might disguise.
The filmmaker also seems intent on keeping characters in motion — roving, puttering, and pondering. In that, McAdams excels, drawing attention at first to Esti’s quiet servitude. Then, gradually, Esti’s whole presence dawns with the reemergence of the forbidden same-sex attraction she’s long kept hidden.
Where Dovid falls in all of this is more inscrutable than perhaps it should be, as the character recedes, in many senses of the word, from this triangle, and from the story. Nivola imbues the devout man of HaShem with the sensitivity of someone genuinely in awe of the divine. But when he’s thrown into crisis, neither the script nor the performance exploits the detailed portrait of religiosity that’s been established in the film’s first act. A challenge arises, but the character just caves.
The movie at times seems singularly interested in having its way with Ronit and Esti’s scintillating affair, and no obstacle of plotting or character development is going to stand in the way. The pair goes at it with a sensuality that, for Esti, fills a void untended by Dovid’s affections. But somehow the women’s passion feels less exhilarating than perfunctory.
Their scenes of intimacy do feature more than enough panting and moaning to state a case for the R-rating. However, the heat of their attraction doesn’t register the most powerful impact. The weight of convention bearing down on Esti lands harder. Lelio’s close-up inspection of the dutiful wife’s struggle against an ingrained orthodoxy captures the distinct oppressiveness of living even a comfortable life in denial.
McAdams isn’t necessarily subtle in delivering Esti’s awakening, but it’s a moving journey nonetheless. By the same token, the film isn’t subtle in its messaging, either — for instance, the Rav dies delivering a sermon describing human beings’ elemental flaw as their propensity for exercising free will.
But peeking through the obvious melodrama are brilliant facets of truth to keep the story grounded. And Weisz and McAdams, both ready for their closeups, enact a compelling seduction between the two lifelong friends. As is often the case with seduction, though, the buildup penetrates deeper than the resulting act.
Disobedience is rated R, and opens Friday, May 4, at the Landmark E Street Cinema. Visit landmarktheatres.com.
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