Much has been written about the fact that this is a film about a female superhero helmed by a woman, and about how this has brought a unique set of sensibilities to the genre. I have nothing further to contribute in this regard. I agree with the assessment in general, and I agree that it is a wonderful thing. (But since my favourite superhero movie still happens to be M. Night Shyamalan’s Unbreakable, you will forgive me if I don’t go into raptures about yet another movie that involves a lot of stuff going bang.)
That having been said, here are a few things I noticed:
There is obviously a feminist angle to the whole plot (how many really famous superheroines can you think of?), but what makes this one interesting to me is that this idea is presented through a different trope: fish-out-of-water. To Diana, this world, and its notion that the woman’s place is in the background, is simply alien. Her thrill at seeng babies and eating ice cream is endearing (Gal Gadot nails these portions). When she walks into a meeting where a bunch of old men are deliberating the armistice, her expression conveys that she cannot think of any conceivable reason why she shouldn’t be there. It’s like watching someone who would break the glass ceiling simply because, well, it was glass and she didn’t see it. (As a result, though, the line about slavery she tells Steve’s secretary Linda, funny as it is, feels out of place.)
The relationship between Diana and Steve is developed through gentle humour for the most part. There are moments when Diana’s naivete about the world, and about relationships between men and women, set things up for broad humour, and the film wisely sidesteps the obvious. The laughter comes from what isn’t said. (I was reminded of Bill Murray’s ageing comedian in Lost in Translation.) Chris Pine really excels in these scenes.
The scenes where Diana first encounters the horrors of World War I are a big misfire. Maybe this has to do with the fact that enough movies have laid bare the horrors of war (the long opening sequence of Saving Private Ryan comes to mind). I can see the filmmaker’s dilemma — if the scenes work only at a superficial level, they feel fake, and if they work too well, they end up being tonally inconsistent with the rest of the film — but there you have it.
Speaking of people dealing with wars, what works well is the performance of the two older supporting actors playing the Amazons Antiope and Hippolyta. Robin Wright’s lean face conveys such fierceness of expression that one wonders if she would’ve even been considered for the part, had she not done House of Cards before this. Her expressions provide a nice counterpoint to Connie Nielsen’s, which project a certain weariness of spirit (one imagines that this is the aged queen that her character in Gladiator might have grown to become). Those two by themselves provide a nice little commentary about living with the memories of an old war.
There are some interesting aspects to the visual strategy in the film. The backstory narrated by Hippolyta is pictured like it was a motion poster painted by Caravaggio. (I know that the art purists among you will throw up upon hearing this description, but hey, I couldn’t find a better analogy for it. Besides, which art purist reads my blog anyway?) Similarly, the fight sequences involve slow motion at crucial moments, like for instance when Wonder Woman is leaping into the air while attacking someone.
Why is this important? In both cases, the objective of adopting this strategy is to translate onto film, the way in which people think of these stories. When people hear about Greek myth, their internal frame of reference is Renaissance painting, because that is the best known depiction of these stories. When people think of action sequences involving comic book heroines, their internal frame of reference is comic book panels frozen in mid-action. The approach shows an active intelligence at work, and that is gratifying.
On the whole, I’m happy this film got made. It could’ve been better, but it does enough right to be worth a watch. Sort of like how a certain Diana, Princess of Themyscira, feels about mankind, I guess.