Shirley

In the grand Netflix tradition of churning out well-meaning but generic political docudramas about extraordinary historical figures who deserve better, this drama about the groundbreaking presidential campaign of Shirley Chisholm checks all the streamer's biopic boxes. It leaves viewers with an understanding of who the first Black woman to be elected to the United States Congress and the first woman to run for the highest office in the land was, but it fails to inspire the audience in the way it should and is clearly designed to. The screenplay by director John Ridley (co-writer of Three Kings, Undercover Brother, Red Tails, and 12 Years a Slave) wisely skips over most events of Chisholm's early life and career to focus on the run that made her such a landmark figure, organically working some backstory details into scenes with the various folks in her personal life. The film looks far less shoddy than George C. Wolfe's Rustin, Netflix's previous well-meaning but generic biopic about an overlooked civil rights hero. Ridley also spares us the horrendous all-star miscasting of that regrettable picture.

Shirley focuses on a small handful of characters surrounding Chisholm at this point in her life. The late-great Lance Reddick plays Chisholm's mentor, Wesley McDonald "Mac" Holder, who became her advisor. Lucas Hedges plays Robert C. Gottlieb, the young, idealistic former Senate page to Chisholm, who drops out of law school to join her campaign. Terrence Howard and Brian Stokes Mitchell are rival campaign advisors Arthur Hardwick Jr. and Stanley Townsend, and Michael Cherrie plays Chisholm's "long-suffering husband," Conrad. A few other notable historical figures pass through, but the movie is smart to maintain its focus on this tight-knit core group.

The film's most significant issue is that co-producer and star Regina King (Boyz n the Hood, Friday, Jerry Maguire, Ray, If Beale Street Could Talk) almost always plays Chisholm as if she were delivering a speech. I have no idea what Chisholm was like behind closed doors; maybe she always spoke as if she was addressing TV cameras or speaking in Congress, but even if that were the case, it doesn't come off credibly for an actor trying to humanize a historical figure. It's as if King has perfected her character's timbre, inflections, and speech patterns by studying countless recordings, perfecting the impression, but then neglecting the last key stage of such a performance, which is to internalize all that preparation and then forget about it.