[rating:3.5/5]
In spite of my lack of uterus, I was able to feel the strain of the mothers that Christy Turnligton Burns follows in her directorial debut “No Woman, No Cry” — a documentary that, in an hour, gives you the rundown on the very real issue of maternal mortality.
Hopping from Tanzania to Bangladesh to Guatemala to the United States, we see stories involving different causes of maternal death. The film works as an awareness vehicle. But with Christy Turlington Burns’ bland narration intercut into the mix, it feels a little lackluster as a gripping documentary.
The film comes off as rather low budget through its simplicity — the rawness therein is effective as an emotional tool if nothing else — and the film reaches its apparent goal of raising awareness and promoting the organization, Every Mother Counts. And with the shocking stories, the call to action is a loud one.
In Tanzania, Janet is over nine months pregnant and unable to go into labor — the umbilical cord is wrapped around her child’s head. The nearest clinic is a five-mile walk away, has only four beds, walls with chipping paint and sheets pinned against windows as curtains. With no money, Janet needs to be taken to Mt. Maru Hospital to induce labor. Getting a van to take her is an issue in and of itself.
Monica in Bangladesh does not want medical care for societal reasons — it is preferred for childbirth to happen at home. She says she would be embarrassed if it happened any other way.
Rather than being woven together, each story ends before the next begins. In an attempt to smooth the transition, Turlington uses the story of her own pregnancy — she hemorrhaged after giving birth to her daughter, Grace. It is a nice touch, she is sincere and her narration puts some context to the other stories, something that is absolutely necessary in bridging the gap between the third-world mothers and audiences.
But the narration also poses a few problems.
It is pushed too far. There are shots of Turlington and her children reading a book on a bed as snow falls outside their window. She says something sentimental on why she cares about maternal mortality and makes a sweet connection between that and her kids. But she, while admirable, was somewhat weak as the documentary’s connecting voice.
In a very “Dear Diary” way, it weakens the film by trying too hard to appeal to emotions. There are screens of text here and there with statistics, but they don’t seem to receive their due attention.
Smartly though, Turlington Burns does not solely focus on the mothers at risk for maternal mortality. Linda is the central character when the story jumps to Guatemala. Unsafe abortions are not uncommon there and lead to several cases of maternal mortality. And then in the story that takes place here in the United States, Robbie is left a widower after his wife dies from blood loss.
It is a lot of information to ingest in a single hour, but it is emotionally potent and tied together with light narration. The combination works well. But with all the frightening stories of troubled pregnancies and the astounding data, the film could have pushed past the short runtime with a little more energy and given the global issue more clout.
Regardless, Christy Turlington Burns makes a passionate, philanthropic film that comes from the goodness of her heart. And flawed or not, it remains an important film about an important problem.
