Nothing but snow for miles. All that meets the eye is a white, pure as a celestial’s love for their soulmate. In that freezing land, cold as the heart of a woman trapped in a loveless marriage, passion is a rare sight. And it’s where Abigail (Katherine Waterston), lives with her husband Dyer (Casey Affleck), trying her best to cope with the loss of her daughter while doing the job of a homemaker. Their conversations make it plenty clear that the attachment has become commoditized over the ages, the marriage gradually shrinking into a mere functional entity, despite the love not having faded away. In that bleak existence, a new neighbour, especially a pretty woman like Tallie (Vanessa Kirby) provides a source of much-coveted companionship. And it’s the bond forged between the two navigating the pitfalls of married life that lights a fire even the fierce life-threatening blizzard cannot blow out. It burns with the passion of a wildfire, but their extenuating circumstances prevent its proliferation.
The visual grammar of The World to Come is the most powerful tool at director Mona Fastvold’s disposal to convey the frenzied nature of the relationship between Abigail and Tallie. For example, the first time they meet, Abigail is dressed in black, while Tallie wears a white dress. This possibly acknowledges that Abigail is in a state of mourning for her lost child, and is also the more repressed of the two. Tallie, at the moment, is a fresh presence in her life. It might also be foreshadowing for the reveal that she’s isolated in her marriage, as her husband Finney (Christopher Abbott) is harshly unappreciative of her. However, at the moment, she also represents a gift from the world for Abigail. Everywhere she looks outside, it’s white, and then Tallie walks in from outside, dressed in white, a stark contrast from the inside of her house, which is dimly lit in the daytime, and definitely distinct from the brightness that Tallie seems to exude by just being herself. Moreover, the way the camera lingers on Tallie’s hands, as she fidgets with her cuff, or on her face as Abigail narrates to us, how she perceived Tallie, makes abundantly clear, the nature of the affection Abigail wanted to engage.
The play on colours continues when Abigail and Dyer visit Tallie and Finney. Now Abigail’s in a red gown, while Tallie’s dressed in black. Abigail seems to have found a newborn interest with love, now that she was occupied all the time with thoughts of her newfound companion, and this liveliness is reflected in the red. Tallie, on the other hand, is still perceived as a source of intrigue and definitely authoritative in Abigail’s perception because she longs for Tallie to take command as she’s still bereft of words. Even before that, the first time they make physical contact, a subtle movement from Tallie as her finger creeps over and curls around Abigail’s, the frame is shot with the fireplace in the background. It’s a much less subtle metaphor for sure, but I believe it’s the visual representation of the richness of the emotional journey set in motion by that one slight touch. The first kiss actually has Abigail take the lead, and interestingly she’s in black, the image of authority, while Tallie’s in white, hesitant in her innocence. On the other hand, their riskiest moment, in Abigail’s house, has Tallie in black, as she takes control as the temptress, leading the pure Abigail into uncharted territories of thrill.
On the matter of representation, the film’s title, as Vanessa Kirby herself mentioned in an interview with The Guardian, is a nod to the fact that this is a world inherited by women from less fortunate ones, and hopefully being passed on to more fortunate ones. The deplorable plight of women who were mere possessions of their husbands, in the 19
century, in which the film is set, happens to be the central focus of the rift between Tallie and Finney. Finney repeats verses from the Bible to support his claim that Tallie shouldn’t behave like her own person, and her importance derives from the necessity of her existence, as decided by him. The misogyny is confronted head-on, in their marriage, and it’s not watered down for the comfort of the audience, except for a modesty in presentation which reflects on the time it’s set in. You’ll not see fights like in Big Little Lies between Nicole Kidman’s and Alexander Skarsgard’s characters. Like everything Abigail, the situation in her marriage is addressed much more subtly, most memorably in the form of an exasperated observation she makes to herself. She says ‘Daughters are married off so young that everywhere you look, a slender and unwilling girl is being forced to stem a sea of tribulations before she is even full-grown in height.’ She laments about her plight as who doesn’t even appear in her husband’s records beyond the rare purchase of an expensive dress, despite the innumerable chores she completes, for which she’s taken for granted.
