Since 2016, we’ve all been more or less in agreement that we’re living in the worst timeline. Netflix’s Shirley (not to be confused with Josephine Decker’s film of the same name) may leave you thinking that a far better alternate universe would be the one where congresswoman Shirley Chisholm actually got elected to the White House. Not much about writer/director John Ridley’s biopic of the trailblazing politician stands out—it’s more interested in deifying Chisholm than interrogating her counterintuitive campaign choices—but based on what it gives us, she would’ve been pretty great.
Chisholm, a former schoolteacher, became the first Black woman elected to Congress in 1968. She served seven consecutive terms from 1969 to 1983. But Ridley’s film primarily focuses on Chisholm’s 1972 presidential campaign, which made her the first Black candidate for a major party nomination. Despite the establishment’s refusal to take her seriously, Chisholm (Regina King) runs a very serious campaign, where she’s forthright about the issues she cares about, suffers no fools and is passionate about engaging young voters (the 1972 election was the first that allowed 18-year-olds to vote). Ridley presents Chisholm as unimpeachable, and though it often feels like the other characters are constantly trying to refute that claim, the writer/director prefers to drown them out rather than give them credence, ultimately to Shirley’s detriment.
Performance-wise, King’s Chisholm is a delightfully blunt character who’s fun to watch, even if the film around her isn’t. She’s unafraid, for example, to fire her frustrated campaign manager Stanley Townsend (Brian Stokes Mitchell) by telling him “Ya done!” in a “mother is mothering” tone. She inspires young activists like future congresswoman Barbara Lee (Christina Jackson) with her optimism and honesty. A short interview at the end of Shirley with the real-life Lee affirms what we see of their relationship on screen.
Chisholm is also consistent and uncompromising in her beliefs. This is refreshing for anyone exhausted by presidential politics (be real, that’s all of us). It is, however, unrealistic if you want to run for president. Ridley writes Chisholm as obstinate, a politician who refused to acknowledge this fact despite extensive evidence from her advisors. The film’s inability to deal with this complex position with nuance is the biggest spot where Shirley falls short. For instance, Chisholm refuses to attend a large, influential convention of Black voters because she knows this particular group doesn’t value the voice of Black women. It’s uplifting to see a female character who thoroughly knows her worth, but a large part of politics is building relationships with people you don’t see eye-to-eye with. In moments like this, King’s Chisholm comes across as preferring to shoot herself in the foot over her pride rather than create a dialogue. Obviously, that’s not what Ridley is intending to put across.
This isn’t an isolated incident—Chisholm’s refusal to bend to literally anyone damages her relationships with her staff, her advisors (Terrence Howard and Lance Reddick) and Conrad (Michael Cherrie), her husband of 19 years. Ridley clearly wants us to side with her every time, and while his film certainly has a point regarding the silencing of Black women’s voices, the people telling Shirley to behave like a politician are also correct. It’s unlikely Chisholm ever would have had a real shot at the presidency in 1972 (this was the year of Watergate, after all, and Nixon surely would’ve played even dirtier if he were running against a Black woman). However, seeing how Shirley’s version of Chisholm repeatedly refuses to play ball, even when all conventional logic says it would help her, makes it increasingly difficult to root for her as a character, however much Ridley’s framing of his subject might want us to.
Chisholm’s relationship with her husband is also underdeveloped, which misses an opportunity to confront her steamrolling personality and the toll it takes on her interpersonal relationships (in real life, she and Conrad divorced five years after her campaign). In the film, Conrad is a nice man, but ineffectual, failing to step up in cartoonishly stereotypical ways. In one scene, he falls asleep in front of the TV and fails to fix food for his tired wife when she gets back late from a campaign event. In another, he totally overlooks a man with a knife who tries to attack Chisholm at a rally. The movie’s understanding is that he’s kind of a boob, which feels disappointingly flat and kind of unlikely.
Parts of Shirley are inspiring. It would be incredible to see a candidate have the honesty and courage of conviction that she expresses throughout this film. Most of it, however, feels confusing and muddled in its message. Ridley wants us to feel the passion Shirley Chisholm felt, to feel encouraged to act and speak the way she does, and seemingly to require the same of our own elected representatives. However, as a character study, it repeatedly points out contradictions in Chisholm that it refuses to interrogate for fear it will come off as critical. The result is a hagiography with some obvious holes, something that a better film might try to balance.
Director: John Ridley
Writer: John Ridley
Starring: Regina King, Lance Reddick, Lucas Hedges, Brian Stokes Mitchell, Christina Jackson, Michael Cherrie, André Holland, Terrence Howard
Release Date: March 15, 2024 (theaters); March 22, 2024 (Netflix)
Abby Olcese is an entertainment writer based in Kansas City. Her work has appeared at /Film, rogerebert.com, Crooked Marquee, Sojourners Magazine, and Think Christian. You can follow her adventures and pop culture obsessions at @abbyolcese.