Wow. The power of women.
I remember Nicole Kidman's speech at the 2018 Golden Globes like it was yesterday. You certainly could sense a genuine sisterhood between the five principle stars (Kidman, Reese Witherspoon, Shailene Woodley, Zoë Kravitz and Laura Dern) of Big Little Lies, HBO's unexpectedly titanic, initially limited series. Amid the backdrop of #MeToo, it was quite a moment for Nicole Kidman and company.
The actress's output in the 2010s was, charitably, something of a mixed bag. For every dazzling turn in Rabbit Hole (2010), The Paperboy (2012), or Paddington (2014), there were plenty of barely released (if at all) misfires like Tresspass (2011), The Railway Man (2013), and Queen of the Desert (2015). With the notable exception of Lion (2016), things looked awfully bleak for Kidmaniacs stateside heading into a post-presidential election year...
I can't say Big Little Lies was super high on my radar before it premiered. Other than having heard the pairing of Kidman and Witherspoon, a rather oddball one at the time, in a David E. Kelley-scripted soapy melodrama (?), the exact nature of the project—or Kidman's role in it—eluded me. Until that point in her career, Kidman had stuck to the big screen since coming to Hollywood, the long exception being Hemingway & Gellhorn (2012), a Philip Kaufman-directed biopic that aired on HBO. So it was interesting to see her segue to "prestige television" in what would become pretty much her mainstay today.
Watching the first episode of Big Little Lies, arguably the entertainment event of early 2017, it was spunky, foul-mouthed Witherspoon who really popped for me. Her firebrand Madeline Mackenzie immediately became the fan favorite, while Kidman's ex-lawyer Celeste Wright appeared recessive by comparison and even inscrutable at times. What exactly is going on in Celeste's world—or in her head?
Seven years is plenty enough time to avoid spoilers. (If you haven't seen Big Little Lies, it's well worth the seven-hour investment.) Let me just say that, dark secrets and intrigue aside, Kidman's performance as an outwardly "perpfect," wealthy wife and mother in an idyllic, seaside California town—it's the slow-burn that subtly powers the back half of the series in a really impactful way. Kidman rarely has been in better command of her immense gifts of an actress.
For as many films as Kidman has starred in thus far, two of the more common characterizations curiously remain underrepresented in her filmography: motherhood and (figurative) sisterhood. Big Little Lies allows her to plum the depths of these particular relationship dynamics in interesting, challenging ways—whether that be hanging out, albeit guardedly, with her girlfriends, or carefully parenting her twin sons who may know more about her abusive marriage than she cares to admit. (You can feel the palpable fear and trepidation, even in silence.)
By the penultimate episode, Kidman truly is firing on all cylinders, particularly in scary confrontations with her onscreen husband (played chillingly by Alexander Skarsgård) and her enormously affecting therapy sessions (opposite a criminally underrated Robin Weigert as their therapist).
It's a masterclass in acting, for all involved.
When things finally do come to a head, Kidman responds with a mix of both conviction and compassion. Her heartbreaking intervention with one of her sons, who is found to be emulating his father's violent tendencies, demonstrates a quiet fierceness and maternal care Kidman seldom has been asked to deliver. And, boy, does she deliver.
"You need to tell me what you've been doing at school. You're not gonna get into trouble, but you gotta tell me the truth. Do you understand? We all do bad things sometimes. I can help with them, but you need to tell me. It's all right, baby."
Regrettably, the creators and stars of Big Little Lies and HBO pushed their luck and opted for a second season of the series, which ended on just the right note after seven perfectly crafted episodes. Despite adding none other than Meryl Streep to the cast, the second season paled in comparison to the first. (Recently, they maddeningly have been threatening a third.) Yet this in no way dimishes the potentcy of Kidman's work here, which won her a well-deserved Emmy and still ranks among her very best.
Previously in the Nicole Kidman TFE Tribute:
- Introductiom (1983-1989) - Early Australian films
- Billy Bathgate (1991) – her first Golden Globe nomination!
- Malice (1993) - when Kidman met Sorkin
- To Die For (1995) - her first Golden Globe win!
- The Portrait of a Lady (1996) - a Campion experiment
- Practical Magic (1998) - comfort food cinema
- Eyes Wide Shut (1999)- Kubrick. Cruise. Kidman.
- Moulin Rouge! (2001) - her first Oscar nomination!
- The Others (2001) - a foray into horror
- The Hours (2002) - the Oscar victory!
- Dogville (2003) - Lars von Trier's masterpiece
- Birth (2004) - her best performance ever?
- Chanel N°5: The Film (2004) - a glamorous miniature
- The Stepford Wives (2004) - horror remade as comedy
- Bewitched (2005) - a magical misfire
- Margot at the Wedding (2007) - Rohmerian thorns
- Rabbit Hole (2010) - her third Best Actress nomination!
- Paddington (2014) - a villain turn in a fuckass bob
- Lion (2016) - her first Best Supporting Actress nod!
Nicole Kidman's travails through on-screen motherhood continue in our next installment. Get ready for things to get viscious, as this TFE Tribute delves into the cruel cosmos of Yorgos Lanthimos and his The Killing of a Sacred Deer.