And there, the white and the black trickle and meld as it becomes clear that Mildred’s singularity is at a price. She blames his squad, the local news, her ex-husband, the world. Willoughby (played with pained tenderness by Harrelson) is the local police chief, and the man she holds responsible for the lack of justice, though it’s not a burden he alone carries. McDonagh’s screenplay is his best since In Bruges. Her messages are soon writ large in 20-foot type: "Raped while dying", "Still no arrests" and finally, "How come, Chief Willoughby?" When we see her laying down $5,000 to rent the billboards for a month, she’s warrior-like in navy overalls and a bandana pulled tight across her forehead her face, voice, her entire being rendered raw by her desperate thirst for justice. The silence that has defined the investigation into her killer since has made Mildred (McDormand) battle-hardened and battle-ready. Though it actually began seven months prior when Mildred Hayes’ daughter was raped and burned and left for dead on the side of the road. It starts with three battered billboards on a road outside of Ebbing, Missouri that nobody drives down anymore. This is McDonagh at his most complex, painting entirely in greys as he surveys the cruelties born from barely buried hurts. Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri dwells and squats in the ugly pain, the very fire of the grief, muddying preconceptions and presumptions beyond recognition, while still speaking to both small realities and profound truths. The simple tale you presume it to be at heart: that of a mother’s most primal pain and her redemptive path away from it. Yet, it is not a tale simply of loss, grief The third film written and directed by profane poet Martin McDonagh is a rough meditation on the true nature of loss, grief and vengeance.
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