Had it not been for Vanessa Kirby’s substantial career, there wouldn’t be much reason to remember that Pieces of a Woman (2020) existed. Even with some Oscar clout to its name, it’s not a title that gets brought up a lot, even though it’s been rattling around my head every month since it came out. This wasn’t due to any revelatory factors, but rather the simple fact that few films have derailed my career quite like Kornél Mundruczó’s searing, painful exploration of a pregnancy gone wrong.
In short, Pieces of a Woman came out near the peak of my depressive state when I was quickly approaching burnout from overexposure to writing. As an awards pundit, that season should’ve been the easiest for me to regurgitate essays because there was no effort. You hopped on the platforms and got a variety of streaming titles trying to work around the lockdown requirements. And still, because my mental psyche was collapsing at this exact moment, I ended up unable to file a review for Pieces of a Woman and, thus, funnelling animosity into this symbol of my failures, my reason for giving up on the previously joyful Oscar journey. I’m still unable to engage without some dispassionate worry.
If there was one upside, it was that I promised myself to revisit it in five years and attempt to finish what should’ve been easy points. This is far from the most complicated essay that I’ve assigned myself in that time, so the chances of reaching my desired state of closure at last were more than plausible.
To finally dig into Pieces of a Woman after so long brings a surreal quality to the experience. In preparation for this experience, I also familiarised myself with other films that appealed to me during my depressive state, notably Blonde (2022), which I admired as a flawed but visceral study of mental illness. In 2025, I still come away liking it for the themes, even if I’m overwhelmingly uncomfortable at the decision to present it through a Marilyn Monroe lens. I fully believe this was the artistic intention. However, it comes as one of the boldest affronts to prestige cinema of the past five years. Many women have been depicted getting abused in the name of Oscar, but not to the degree of Ana De Armas, who is almost better read as cosplay than a sincere portrait.
By comparison, Pieces of a Woman is still a successful version of itself. Even if I felt the runtime a little more and found the miserabilist tendencies too upfront, it was never veering too far from the character drama that it presented. Blonde was always about artistic curiosity and interpretive dream logic. It’s easier to see its mess as failure because there’s nothing concrete for general audiences to resonate with. At least with Pieces of a Woman, Vanessa Kirby is going through one of the most horrific experiences a woman can go through, albeit without a reliable support group that may be present, but doesn’t always have her best interest at heart.
The inciting incident packs a major punch, especially from an artistic standpoint, as Mundruczo decided to portray the birthing scene entirely in a single take. As cinema, this may be one of the finest achievements of the decade. Within the confines of a claustrophobic apartment, the home birth unfolds with the familiar anxieties of getting everything in its proper place. There is a gamble that, if you weren’t to know the later beats, draws the viewer in and causes them to really reckon with the physical toll and limitations of this method. Beyond any accusatory nature to the midwife that becomes a villainous figure, this is a welcome effort to make cinema feel alive, as if witnessing a very private act unfold without question.
In short, the birth does not go well, and the remainder of the film deals with the fallout. It’s safe to say that nothing comes close to the intensity. However, Mundruczo still uses his camera in ways that force the audience to linger. At times, he mounts the camera in a place, rotating to different conversations that spiral further into arguments until the room has no choice but to disperse. The dramatic touches are at times reminiscent of the stage and others surveillance cameras, but they also aim for pathos that shines through a script that feels intentionally goading the worst tendencies of everyone involved. It’s not entirely acidic, but the base is still leaking through most scenes. For better or worse, it’s the camerawork’s single takes that cause an otherwise drab house to appear mad, as if there’s a horror-like quest to get out.
The biggest saving grace is, of course, the Oscar-nominated performance by Kirby. Nobody can fully understand the situation like she does. It was her body that went through labour and had to deal with physical limitations placed upon her. Beyond that, it’s the revelation of the past few months leading to unfulfilled potential. For as mad as the husband, played by Shia Lebouf, can be, she’s the one who can behave however she wants. The turmoil of holding that deceased child and seeing your future fall apart is devastating. To have others force you into a trial that she doesn’t fully endorse only pushes one further into the realm of hell. She’s already in a grief that takes an unknown period to heal. Making her relive it through the court system is another level of cruelty.
The best part is the depiction of interpersonal dynamics, which are never healthy. The grandmother character, played by Ellen Burstyn, is at odds with Kirby and encourages Lebouf to separate from her to live a happier life. As everyone attempts to find their place in this new world, they are stuck in the reality of a trial that could pin the faults on the midwife, whom some see as incompetent, but others could attribute to simply being an unfortunate act of nature. There have always been those who deny that tragedies just happen, and those people tend to do what Burstyn does and go to court.
Which is all to say that there are things about the world that are futile, incapable of ever capturing the convenience everyone wants. Miscarriages are a horrifying event, but trying to relieve oneself of their existence with jurors exposed to the most vulnerable elements of one’s life is to suggest that biology is that simple. Kirby recognises that, but the world around her is seeking closure that is more symbolic, less determined by soul searching. The anger that fills their heart may or may not be relieved by the sound of a gavel. Either way, the baby’s gone, and it’s distracting from any deeper resonance in grief.
Even beyond the initial physical demands, there are scenes where she’s given meaty dialogues to execute, doing her best to ascend tonally without ever going mad too early. There’s a convincing despair in her voice, a recognition that something about her doesn’t feel whole. She is someone who feels real, and it’s a testament to the script by Kata Weber that those lines feel genuine. While the script fails to make great small talk, it gets the big moments right, allowing its overt themes to give their cathartic primal yell.
I don’t know personally that Pieces of a Woman is as great as I thought it was in 2021. With some distance, I’m able to see it without fanfare. There’s no lockdown making every overwrought emotion feel stronger. For as much as it still feels like an excellent piece of cinema about isolation and remorse, there’s a lot that keeps it from ever becoming great. It’s very much an actorly movie, at times feeling more at home on a stage than on film. That isn’t to say anyone does a bad job, but the execution is so set on deflating the air in the room that it becomes breathless at times. Mileage may vary on how that impacts the overall thrill, but it keeps it from feeling more honest and versatile.
For what it’s worth, Kirby has only continued to be a shining light in spotty projects. Even if it’s not great, I am a fan of Italian Studies (2021), and her work in Fantastic 4: First Steps (2025) is one of Marvel’s more innovative properties in a few years. Ironically, it also brings her back to the awkward birth plot idea, albeit with a more philosophical bent. I’m unsure that she’s found a truly great role yet, but I love her balance of vulnerability and tough outer shell that has defined a lot of her work.
Pieces of a Woman is still a good movie. While I was worried that rewatching Blonde was the start of a bad omen, it instead made me realise how much I can forgive when a performance is as engaging as Kirby’s. It’s pushing beyond the artifice and giving something that comes from deep down, capturing an anguish that’s real. De Armas does a lot to make Monroe compelling, but it’s never able to escape the shocking nature of its set-up. It’s exploitative, and whatever heartbreak is there comes from the cinematography. Kirby can at least be credited with doing better than that.
It is with this sigh of relief that I wrap up my review of a movie that’s lived in my conscience for close to five years. While not the worst burden to have, it’s still something that made me once question if I could ever review cinema again. I’m personally not in the game of doing it full-time, but I want to mix it back into my other cards when the inspiration strikes. It’s not often anymore, but I’ve pushed past the block and found something meaningful on the other side. This may not have been worth all of the strain, but it makes everything a little funnier in the end, and that’s fine by me, too.
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