Film Review: Una

If there is one thing that Hollywood cannot get right – ha, joke, there’s so many things – it’s how to deal with sexual abuse, on and off-screen. For a start, there’s the widespread support of actors and filmmakers who have been accused of committing sexual violence (Woody Allen, Roman Polanski, Casey Affleck), and the sexualised depictions of rape and abuse in TV and film (Straw Dogs, Game Of Thrones). Add in the use of sexual violence as a simplistic character identity (The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, Jessica Jones), and the unsympathetic and victim-blaming responses to complex portraits of victimhood (Elle), and showbiz has real difficulty in addressing sexual violence with accountability, maturity and empathy.

Benedict Andrews’ feature debut Una, based on a play by David Harrower, is not a perfect solution to this problem, but it does provide a haunting and complex portrait of abuse and its lasting effects. Rooney Mara plays opposite Ben Mendelsohn in this story of a woman who tracks down the man who sexually abused her when she was 13.

As Una, Mara is both damaged and determined. An opening sequence establishes her habit of engaging in risky, joyless sex, and she later tries to seduce Mendelsohn’s cowardly Ray. But far from a femme fatale, Mara’s raw, unravelling performance captures the pathos of a woman trying and failing to use sex as a weapon and a source of power, just as it was used against her. Despite a distracting British accent, Mara is stunning; brilliantly broken but trying to force her pieces back together.

Mendelsohn is superb as ever, capturing both the despicable and manipulative aspects of his character and his utter assurance that he is a good person; a chilling portrait of how easily predators are forgiven, by themselves and others.

The actors put in powerhouse performances, however the theatrical nature of the material eventually traps them both. The use of flashbacks and a convoluted business sub-plot feel like padded attempts to de-stage the material, and deflate the stomach-knotting tension of the first act.