Avedon 2026 Movie Review Trailer Poster
While the good lads drank whiskey and rye, their wives conspire to make America great again in this tense tale of a real-time hate crime.
That homemade cherry pie you see Emily carrying in the opening scene of "Soft & Quiet"? It is not what you are thinking. But neither is Emily, a tall, blonde kindergarten teacher who comes through the woods behind the school to attend a gathering of like-minded women. Women who call themselves "Daughters for Aryan Unity" and complain about concepts like "reverse racism." Upon arrival, Emily removes the foil, revealing a giant swastika carved into her bark. It's her idea of a joke of hers, like the transgressive Nazi salute she sneaks out in the parking lot after the meeting.
You know what else Emily tells herself that's just a joke? Gathering up her spiteful white friends and driving to the home of a local waitress, a non-white woman who doesn't fit Emily's narrow idea of racial superiority, with the goal of confiscating her passport. But that's not a joke; it's a hate crime, and writer-director Beth de Araújo wants audiences to feel the sheer, horrifying force of what such people are capable of, especially when they coalesce their prejudices.
“The media like to paint us as these big scary monsters,” one of the women tells Emily, who is played with chilling conviction by Stefanie Estes (“Mary Last Seen”). Her gathering serves as a "safe space" for harmful ideas, which de Araújo suggests these women think and say when in the company of like-minded people. Maybe you're right. Diversity initiatives and evolving social values have threatened their position, so these white supremacists, one of whom admits his father was president of the Ku Klux Klan chapter, have adapted. Instead of changing their views, they have changed brands: they are "soft on the outside," quiet in public, but organized.
As a teacher, Emily is in a unique position to encourage the young white children in her class to be more assertive. (She is seen doing exactly that in one of the early scenes, when she instructs a boy to berate an immigrant cleaning woman.) Emily works with kindergarten kids, but de Araújo's producer is called Second Grade Teacher, and the reason is in the press releases. : “It reminded me of my second grade teacher who put all the POCs in the lowest reading group and belittled my parents in front of me,” explains the de Araújo principal's statement. “It is insidious how intentionally planted these women are in the education and information systems.”
Once again, maybe she's right. She hadn't thought of it before, but that's why it's so important that independent film allows us to hear more than just white male voices. For more than a century, American movies have reinforced negative stereotypes about people of color. D. W. Griffith's "Birth of a Nation" presented the KKK as chivalrous crusaders, for shouting loud. It's about time we found out about the other side. Emily and her sisters arias of hers are monsters, and it makes sense that Blumhouse (a company that is almost exclusively dedicated to horror) would be interested in this project.
Shot, or at least presented as a single 89-minute take, "Soft & Quiet" plays like the first act of a Quentin Tarantino movie, as the villains give us every reason to hate them. Nothing is forbidden, not hate speech, not homophobia, not the N-word. When Tarantino transgresses like this, we can stomach it because we know such irredeemable characters will get their due (his last seven feature films have been stories of bloody revenge), while de Araújo does not give us that satisfaction.
In addition to Emily, this white supremacist club consists of new recruit Leslie (Olivia Luccardi) and single girl Marjorie (Eleanore Pienta), whom the young mothers (Mahoney and Rebekah Wiggins) offer to help find husbands, another of group tactics. for maintaining whatever genetic superiority they imagine they possess. Convenience store owner Kim (Dana Millican) is the most outspoken, adding anti-Semitic conspiracy speeches to the mix.
After being kicked out of the local church, four of the women drive to Kim's store, where a confrontation with two Asian-American customers, Anne (Melissa Paulo) and Lily (Cissy Ly), leaves them feeling aggrieved. It doesn't matter that the disrespect originates from white women, and it's Kim who pulls out a gun and makes the situation dangerous.
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