‘Three Women’ Review: Shailene Woodley and an Excellent Betty Gilpin Get Mired in Starz’s Clumsy Adaptation of Lisa Taddeo’s Book

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As a lover of women-centric narratives who has spent countless hours immersed in the lives and stories of complex female characters, I found myself both enchanted and frustrated by HBO’s “Three Women.” The series presents a unique blend of intimacy and disjointedness that left me feeling like I was on an emotional rollercoaster.

Instead of constantly criticizing padded limited series that could have made more impact as films, or overly ambitious movies that might have been more effective as series, let’s take a moment to propose a fresh twist:

Starz’s 10-hour limited series “Three Women” could have benefited more as three standalone films or perhaps even a trilogy of anthology seasons. As I followed Lisa Taddeo’s screen adaptation of her acclaimed book, it was hard not to feel that the format chosen for this story might not be the most optimal way to bring it to life onscreen.

The title “Three Women” might be more accurately described as three distinct narratives presented in an unrefined manner, with a possible fourth if you consider what was meant to serve as a framing device but was instead treated equally important within the book, possibly due to author’s prerogative.

The program is brimming – bursting at the seams, perhaps? – with strong acting, some exceptional ones too, and it also offers thoughtful and relevant insights about female empowerment, sexuality among women, and the strength of feminine narratives. Yet, despite clear guidance throughout, “Three Women” often fails to coalesce on a scene-by-scene basis, let alone as a fully integrated narrative.

The three stories:

In Nebraska, Lina (Betty Gilpin) is unhappy as her husband (Sean Meehan’s Ed) no longer shows affection and describes kissing her as if he were touching wet wool. She dreams of rekindling their romance with her handsome high school sweetheart (Austin Stowell’s Aidan), but when she tries to spark an affair, it doesn’t go quite as planned.

On the island of Martha’s Vineyard, Sloane (DeWanda Wise) and her husband Richard (Blair Underwood) are thriving event organizers who keep their romance alive through practices like swinging and cuckolding, with a well-defined set of guidelines. Sloane entertains dreams of breaking these rules for a more lasting connection with attractive fisherman Will (Blair Redford). However, when she tries to initiate an affair, the outcome isn’t quite as she had envisioned it.

In North Dakota, waitress Maggie (Gabrielle Creevy) is now facing the aftermath of an alleged inappropriate relationship with her teacher, Mr. Knodel (played by Jason Ralph), which occurred when she was underage and he was 30 years old. Each episode featuring Maggie starts with a title card detailing the actual outcome of her legal case against Mr. Knodel, suggesting that the reality of her situation may not match what she had hoped for.

The framing device that’s kinda a story:

In New York City, the journalist Gia, played by Shailene Woodley, is finding it tough to complete a long-awaited book about modern sexuality in America. However, when her editor discards 200,000 words on this topic, Gia gets assigned to seek advice from renowned nonfiction author Gay Talese (James Naughton), who can be both misogynistic and off-putting but motivates her to embark on a journey in search of captivating tales. Indeed, tales similar to those mentioned? You bet! Tales even reminiscent of her own experience with an endearing admirer (John Patrick Amedori’s character, Jack)? It seems so!

Not all these tales are created equal, however. Lina’s peaks early, though Gilpin’s raw and thoroughly unpredictable performance is the series’ best. Sloane’s peaks late, though its failure to smartly deal with the intersection of gender, class and race in any consistent manner become really frustrating long before that. Maggie’s comes closest to having a beginning, middle and end, but thanks to the legally required caveat at the beginning of each chapter, it infuses a note of perspective and subjectivity to all of these narratives that the rest of the show isn’t prepared to engage with.

You’ve got three storylines progressing at different paces, with twists and turns along the way. Each woman is initially introduced separately in the first act. Subsequent episodes concentrate on one woman per chapter from the second to the fourth. The sixth to tenth sections may involve a combination of two, three, or even four story threads, sometimes following a continuous narrative and other times jumping between them like a lively comedy-drama with multiple characters.

As a devoted viewer, I found that episodes which stayed laser-focused were instrumental in fostering genuine interest within each 60-minute stretch. However, the chasm between episodes two and six was so vast it left me struggling to maintain the emotional connection I’d built with Lina, despite Gilpin’s impressive performance. Regrettably, there seemed to be no palpable momentum anywhere in the series.

In the scenes where different stories were interwoven, there weren’t instances of forgetting to pay attention, but the attempts to emphasize similarities in plot and theme unfortunately made what was supposed to be serious drama feel more like a sitcom. This led me to informally rename one chapter “The One Where Everyone Experiences Orgasm from Oral Sex” and another “The Gang Deals with Bloody Sheets Once Again.” The frequent use of similar visuals and repeated dialogue served as a persistent reminder that the series, titled Three Women, originated from a book. It seems not everything that works well on paper translates effectively to the screen.

The feeling becomes stronger each time Gia, who stands in for the author with subtle name changes but preserves her family names, appears on screen. If you didn’t recognize that Gia embodies the author and that much of her dialogue is directly from the book, it might seem as though additional characters were added later during post-production to make the series more understandable for test audiences who found Lina, Sloane, and Maggie too challenging. Whenever you see Shailene Woodley’s mane or hear her voice, you can predict that there will be excessive thematic exposition following.

As a fan, I believe it’s essential to clarify that the directors, such as Louise N. D. Friedberg, Cate Shortland, and So Yong Kim, shouldn’t be held responsible for the structural issues. Each episode, even when viewed independently, is rich with intimate and poetic scenes. Though the season might seem prolonged at times, providing space for these poignant moments to unfold is a commendable approach that underscores the importance of women’s voices.

As a devoted fan, I find myself deeply moved by Gilpin’s captivating portrayal in the series. Her performance, marked by tentative smiles, red-rimmed eyes, and a barely contained longing, serves as the series’ strong foundation. The character of Lina seems to be reliving her adolescence through an old flame, which is mirrored in the vivid immediacy of Maggie. Creevy’s portrayal evokes memories of a Lindsay Lohan from the Freaky Friday and Mean Girls era, never betraying her Welsh roots.

Among the male characters, it’s challenging to find standout performances aside from Underwood, but Brian O’Byrne truly touches the heart as Maggie’s compassionate father, and Ravi Patel provides some amusing moments as a doctor whose role seems significant at first but ultimately doesn’t contribute much. I found myself in awe of these performances.

However, it’s not the men that draw your attention to the novel “Three Women”, and I suspect you won’t stick around for the narratives, which might have been better handled in Taddeo’s book. Instead, it’s the women that make this book worth reading, and one can only hope they star in a more successful series.

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2024-09-13 00:55