Suffragette is one of those films in which the parts are greater than the sum. Or, in this instance, the part, singular, as it’s Carey Mulligan’s central performance that gives this the emotional power it might otherwise lack, and the sense of involvement it might otherwise lack, and she therefore saves the day, thank Christ. This is a story that deserves to be told, and it would have been a tragedy had it entirely got away. Here we do, at least, see that these women didn’t just ninny about while wearing elaborate hats, as the stereotype sometimes has it, but were astoundingly heroic and brave, enduring endless rounds of prison and hunger strikes and being force-fed. I truly think I’d only have needed to see the force-feeding trolley coming at me the once to say: ‘OK, guys. You’ve made your point. Didn’t want to vote much, anyhow.’ I would have also got smartly out of the way of any oncoming horses.
Directed by Sarah Gavron (Brick Lane), Suffragette is written by Abi Morgan (Brick Lane, Shame, The Hour and The Iron Lady, which was also a performance film, come to think of it). It’s told through the eyes of a woman at the sharp end; that is, a working-class woman, rather than the higher-class, elaborate-hatted women most versions of these events seem to prefer. Our woman is Maud (Mulligan), who is plain-hatted, lives in Bethnal Green, and works in the laundry she has worked in since she was seven. The laundry is a hellhole involving scalding irons, scalding chemicals and scalding water. Maud’s mother, we are given to understand, also worked here and was killed by a vat of such water. Maud works longer hours than the men, for less money, and for a slimy boss who can’t keep his hands to himself, shall we say.
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