In some ways, 3 Women is Robert Altman’s most impenetrable, least obvious film. In other ways, it’s a pure distillation of so many themes that run throughout his filmography: psychology and psychoanalysis; identity; dreams; women and their relationships. It’s truly a relic of another time, when a poetic, atmospheric movie without a ton in the way of plot could attract major star power and see widespread theatrical release. Despite earning disappointing box office returns, resulting in 3 Women being unavailable on video for almost 30 years, it’s taken home several awards over the course of its lifetime—including the Best Actress award for Shelley Duvall from both the Cannes Film Festival and Los Angeles Film Critics’ Association in 1977—and rapturous critical praise. Robert Ebert dubbed it the “best film of 1977” even if Gene Siskel only gave it two-and-a-half stars, stating he didn’t get it despite seeing it twice.
3 Women begins with Pinky Rose (Sissy Spacek), a shy, awkward teenager who gets a job at a medicinal spa in a small California desert town. On her first day at her new job, Pinky befriends Millie Lammoreaux (Duvall), a vain and boastful young cosmopolitan woman capable, despite her faults, of kindness and selflessness. Pinky immediately becomes obsessed with Millie, beginning some Single White Female shenanigans and wedging her way into becoming Millie’s roommate. As she becomes more intertwined in Millie’s life, Pinky is introduced to the third woman of the trinity, an enigmatic muralist named Willie (Janice Rule), who owns both the apartment where Millie and Pinky live and the bar where they drink along with her husband Edgar.
Pinky’s erratic behavior, combined with Millie’s self-absorption, quickly erupt in a blow-out between the two new roommates, only to come back slightly later with a drunken Edgar in tow. Distraught, Pinky pleads with Millie to think about his pregnant wife, which Millie interprets as Pinky trying to cramp her style, resulting in some harsh words being exchanged. Devastated, Pinky throws herself off the second-floor railing into the pool below, sustaining brain damage and falling into a coma.
From here on out, most of the semblance of a linear or coherent plot goes out the window, leaving a shifting psychodrama of twisting, twinning identities and deep, loaded feminine iconography. Racked by guilt, Millie nurses Pinky through her coma, taking on a mother role. When she awakens, she’s different, no longer the shy, timid teenager but taking on the role of cosmopolitan woman of the world occupied by Millie at the beginning of the movie. All the while, Willie gets closer and closer to her due date, culminating in a quiet tragedy near the very end you won’t see coming. Nor will you know what to make of it, most likely. Like Gene Siskel, you might need to see this one a few times to make heads or tails of its twists and turns.
3 Women completes a loose trilogy of movies analyzing women’s experiences and inner worlds, including 1969’s That Cold Day in the Park and 1972’s Images. Incredibly, 3 Women is even more opaque and mysterious than Images, which says something about a movie where each character is at least two characters. 3 Women doesn’t even have the clever missing puzzle piece visual analogy to help orient the viewer. Instead, you simply have to let it take you where its dreamy currents may.
Even the trappings are rich in meaning, from the barren desolation of Palm Springs, which film critic Joe McElhaney asserts is “a space of death but also one of creation,” in A Companion to Robert Altman. Altman himself seems to back up this assertion, as he’s said the movie was about “empty vessels in an empty landscape.” It’s a game of Russian dolls, with Pinky assimilating Millie’s personality which, ironically, she herself borrowed and stole, wholesale, from women’s magazines and television. Altman’s vision wouldn’t be nearly so resonant and interesting if he were merely condemning or commenting on people with an unstable sense of self. Instead, it’s just another aspect of the dream.
3 Women came to Altman as a dream. It probably works best in that context, as it reads like a dream captured on celluloid, with its own interior logic and rhythm. If you go in looking for concrete plot points and a nice tidy bow when the beautiful font of the credits roll, you’re likely in for a nasty shock. If you meet the movie on its own terms, though, going along for its buddy hangouts and simply accepting the feminine archetype roles the three women seem to share like dressing gowns, especially when paired with the deep, timeless associations of Willie’s Greek-style murals, and you’ll be swept away by this gorgeous, beautifully-acted, singular cinematic achievement.
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