It’s the dick-washing of The Sapphires all over again.
Apart from the value of its explicatory gloss on anti-feminist Phyllis Schlafly, there is entertaining, gratifying drama in the clash of so many complex feminist women working against her.
Maxine Peake is stupendous in this deliciously audacious period horror, ambitious in emotional scope and with monsters who feel unexpectedly modern: men who wield religion as a tool of oppression.
A simple, honest, deeply satisfying tale of the complex mixed emotions and desires that make up a woman’s life and often exist in secret.
Peggy may be something of an anomaly in the 1960s, but she feels like today’s everywoman — and maybe even today’s everyperson, male or female — who feels a discrepancy between what she really wants and what she’s pressured by society to think she wants.
Thank Jimmy Choo for feminism! Am I right, ladies? I mean, not the nasty hairy feminism that’s all about equal pay and publicly subsidized day care and all that nonsense…