Following a brief prologue, as a young woman drives to her home with a load of groceries, a text block informs us that “The FBI documented the following events with an audio recorder. The dialogue in this movie is taken entirely from the transcript of that recording.”
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| It begins innocuously, as FBI agents Garrick (Josh Hamilton) and Taylor (Marchánt Davis) discuss little more than superficial topics with Reality Leigh Winner (Sydney Sweeney). But the tone soon becomes much more serious... |
This version is fueled by a powerful performance from Sydney Sweeney, who recently competed against herself with Emmy Award nominations for The White Lotus and Euphoria (losing both, alas).
It’s impossible to take your eyes off her, whether in group shots or cinematographer Paul Yee’s probing close-ups. Sweeney’s expressions and posture range from blithely unconcerned to cheerfully animated, defiant to guilt-ridden. What’s most mesmerizing — and horrifying — is the degree to which her very “being” is incrementally taken apart, as these events proceed: like a jigsaw puzzle being disassembled, piece by piece.
The date is June 3, 2017, the setting Augusta, Georgia. The improbably named Reality Leigh Winner (Sweeney), 26 years old, has just returned from the aforementioned shopping trip. She’s greeted by two men who identify themselves as FBI agents Garrick (Josh Hamilton) and Taylor (Marchánt Davis).
They have questions.
Garrick, establishing himself as the congenial point guy, hastens to ensure that Reality understands her cooperation is voluntary (but never suggests that she contact a lawyer). He and Taylor further explain that they have a search warrant for her home (which they don’t bother to show her).
Reality is agreeable and cooperative; her gaze suggests confusion, bewilderment and just the right amount of concern. She seems an honest citizen, who wants to do the right thing … and yet she also doesn’t quite mask the undercurrent of terror that folks often experience, in the presence of unexpected authority.
Besides, the dynamic is just a little off. Garrick and Taylor appear to be going from some invisible, carefully rehearsed script. Despite the former’s jovial smile, they radiate censure and mild hostility. What are they after? What did she do… if anything?
(This incident flew beneath my radar, in the summer of 2017; ergo, Satter’s film remained an intriguing mystery until its third act, which won’t be the case with anybody who remembers how things went down back then. But if you’re similarly unaware, don’t spoil the suspense by researching Winner ahead of time.)
Garrick is friendly and sympathetic, particularly when Reality expresses concern about her pets: a frisky dog that “doesn’t like men” — Taylor snaps to wary attention — and a cat that won’t come out from under her bed. The two agents soon are joined by several carloads more, most notably a hulking guy (Benny Elledge) whose bored expression suggests impatience regarding the “dance” being choreographed by Garrick and Taylor.
Reality nonetheless is allowed to secure her pets (for which we are profoundly grateful).
The two agents carefully shade their queries, when asking if Reality owns guns; indeed, she admits to having quite a little arsenal. Just as we’re wondering, Who the heck is this woman, the interrogation turns toward her career: six-year U.S. Air Force veteran, with intelligence training as a cryptologic linguist, fluent in Dari and Pashto; honored with a Commendation Medal; currently employed — thanks to her top-secret security clearance — by Pluribus International Corp., under contract to the NSA.
In other words, a pretty smart cookie.
By this point, the “conversation” has moved into a large and clumsily unfinished room some previous owner tacked onto the back of the house. Reality is uncomfortable there, apologizing because it’s so “dirty”; Garrick, astutely aware of this psychological advantage, exploits the absence of furniture by making her stand, back to one wall. (This is the “room” of Satter’s original play.)
Then Garrick plays her, for the next 40 minutes or so, like an experienced angler: pulling her in a bit, letting her out again — giving her increasingly panicky bursts of hope — and then pulling her in a little further.
Some of her responses occasionally “blip out” into dreamy flashes of color, due to redacted portions of the original FBI recording. This is a clever touch, deftly reflecting Reality’s increasing disorientation.
These “live” events occasionally are intercut with news segments, photographs, actual media posts and images of the transcript being typed: all pieces of an increasingly captivating mystery.
So … is Reality a Russian spy? A budding, home-grown insurrectionist? Something else?
Hamilton, an extremely busy character actor who’s been all over TV and the big screen since the mid-’80s, has never been better. His congenial smile turns predatory in the blink of an eye, the surface bonhomie always laced with guile. Garrick probes, pushes, cajoles and wheedles, never quite ratcheting into full-blown interrogation. He has the patience and shrewdness of a parent who knows his daughter has done something wrong, but wants her to admit it.
Taylor serves mostly as a grim presence, responding as necessary to some of his partner’s maneuvers, but mostly staring quietly at Reality. When Davis’ arms cross, he becomes quite intimidating.
Nathan Micay’s score is purely atmospheric: never melodic, and extremely unsettling.
The answer eventually comes, of course, after which Satter concludes her film with a series of argumentative film clips. Talking-head reactions in the moment are much harsher than the verdict likely rendered by history … but that’ll be up to each viewer’s political sensibilities.
That aside, this is a mesmerizing depiction of recent American events, and an acting tour-de-force by Sweeney.
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